#Mental exercises for sharpness

[lelopatienceklaas-blog]

Move It to Feel Amazing: 7 Surprising Benefits of Regular Exercise

Image by Daniel Reche from Pixabay Exercise isn’t just about getting into shape; it’s about feeling good inside and out. And trust me, once you start moving, you’ll wonder why you didn’t begin sooner. Let me share 7 amazing benefits of regular physical activity that’ll have you tying those shoelaces today! 1. Boosts Your Mood Feeling down? Exercise is like a natural happy pill. It releases…

[writestuffonline]

Boost Your Brain: Memory Enhancement Tricks

🧠 Ready to boost your brainpower and become a memory master? 🚀 Try these fun tricks to keep your mind sharp! 💡 It's time to level up your cognitive game. Let's get brainy! 😂📚💪 #BrainBoost #MemoryMagic #MindHacks #CognitiveGains #BrainyLife #Mental

I’ve learned that simple changes in our lives can greatly improve our memory. Our brains can change and get better at remembering things. This is thanks to new hobbies and staying active. This article will dive into how our brains can get better at remembering. By living a healthy life, our brains stay sharp, no matter how old we get. Let’s find out how to keep our memory strong every day. Key…

[diaryofareporter]

Unlock the secrets to a longer, healthier life with Edward Thorp! 🌟 Focus on healthy choices, mental sharpness, regular exercise, quality sleep, stress management, and strong social connections. Optimize your life for longevity!

[justposting1]

How I wake up at 3:14 am everyday | Train your Body Clock

How to train your biological body clock (Circadian Rhythm) to wake up early. Waking up early brings a sense of tranquility that’s hard to find during other parts of the day. The world seems so quiet, and while the rest of your family and friends are still fast asleep, you’re already up, washing your face, and sitting at your desk. There’s something empowering about getting ahead, whether it’s…

[quarterlifekitty]

Post TBI Johnny who’s been making up all sorts of shit to keep the COs happy. Make them think he’s incredibly well adjusted and fit for service. Make it seem like he does more than just stare at cracks in the ceiling until his head pounds when he’s sent on leave.

His evaluations are well constructed plays. Talk about new hobbies, sports— axe throwing, failed attempts at crochet, making a mess of the kitchen with baking, trying a new drink every time he visits his favorite coffee place. Making it seem like he’s living his life to the fullest and has a healthy, engaged mind. He’s been slacking a little in the social engagement areas, though.

So he invents a girl. Talks about what he loves about her hair, how she’s so gentle with him, how they can barely keep their hands off each other, how she’s always reminding him to do his PT stretches and exercises. Soon enough he ticks that box as well.

Price knows about what goes on in these evaluations. Doesn’t approve necessarily, but doesn’t disapprove enough to bring it up as an issue. He has no proof, anyways— but he is worried. He knows what isolation does to a man who’s had chunks of himself torn away by combat.

So he subtly needles Johnny. Bring this bird around sometime, hm? Wanna meet the girl who’s been babysitting you, lad— give her my thanks for keeping you in check.

And Johnny could do a lot of things. Say she’s gone somewhere for work. Say they’ve broken up (this would only raise more concern as to his mental wellbeing). He’s in the middle of a rather narrow grocery aisle, lost in his dilemma, when he hears a gentle voice and a hand on the small of his back.

“Sorry, love— I’m just squeezing behind you,” you say as you nudge your way through to reach some marmalade. He looks your way and stares. You look back, not with fear or discomfort like he’s used to these days (with his sharp blues and the bright pink scar on his temple), but with a sort of surprised concern.

“You feeling alright there, love?”

Same hair and eyes. Gentle just like he’d said. A body he couldn’t be dragged off of, if he ever got his hands on it.

Maybe there was an easy solution for this.

Maybe someone up there likes him.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

460 Adjectives

as reference for your next poem/story

BEHAVIOURAL ADJECTIVES

Affectionate - feeling or showing affection or warm regard; loving

Adoring - feeling or showing great affection and devotion

Affable - being pleasant and at ease in talking to others

Amorous - strongly moved by love; enamored

Caring - feeling or showing concern for or kindness to others

Devoted - characterized by loyalty and devotion

Loving - affectionate

Sweet - pleasing to the mind or feelings; agreeable, gratifying

Sympathetic - given to, marked by, or arising from sympathy, compassion, friendliness, and sensitivity to others' emotions

Tenderhearted - easily moved to love, pity, or sorrow; compassionate, impressionable

Agreeable - ready or willing to agree or consent; being in harmony

Courteous - marked by respect for and consideration of others

Decorous - marked by propriety and good taste; correct

Gallant - nobly chivalrous and often self-sacrificing

Gracious - marked by kindness and courtesy

Pleasant - having qualities that tend to give pleasure; agreeable

Polite - marked by an appearance of consideration, tact, deference, or courtesy

Respectful - marked by or showing respect or deference

Well-behaved - behaving in a polite or correct way

Well-mannered - having good manners; polite

Amiable - friendly, sociable, and congenial; generally agreeable

Affable - being pleasant and at ease in talking to others

Congenial - sociable, genial

Convivial - relating to, occupied with, or fond of feasting, drinking, and good company

Cordial - showing or marked by warm and often hearty friendliness, favor, or approval

Friendly - serving a beneficial or helpful purpose

Genial - marked by or freely expressing sympathy or friendliness

Hospitable - promising or suggesting generous and friendly welcome

Warm - marked by or readily showing affection, gratitude, cordiality, or sympathy

Welcoming - to greet hospitably and with courtesy or cordiality

Cheerful - full of good spirits; merry

Buoyant - cheerful, gay

Cheery - marked by cheerfulness or good spirits

Forward-looking - concerned with or planning for the future

Hopeful - full of hope; inclined to hope

Lighthearted - cheerfully optimistic and hopeful; easygoing

Optimistic - of, relating to, or characterized by optimism; feeling or showing hope for the future

Positive - marked by optimism

Sanguine - marked by eager hopefulness; confidently optimistic

Upbeat - cheerful, optimistic

Clever - mentally quick and resourceful

Astute - mentally sharp or clever

Bright - intelligent, clever

Brilliant - distinguished by unusual mental keenness or alertness

Intelligent - guided or directed by intellect; rational

Knowledgeable - having or showing knowledge or intelligence

Quick-witted - quick in perception and understanding

Sharp - keen in intellect; quick-witted

Smart - intelligent, bright; witty, clever

Wise - marked by deep understanding, keen discernment, and a capacity for sound judgment

Eloquent - marked by forceful and fluent expression

Articulate - expressing oneself readily, clearly, and effectively

Graceful - displaying grace in form or action

Influential - exerting or possessing influence (i.e., the act or power of producing an effect without apparent exertion of force or direct exercise of command)

Persuasive - tending to persuade (i.e., to plead with; urge)

Poised - marked by easy composure of manner or bearing

Refined - fastidious, cultivated

Silver-tongued - marked by convincing and eloquent expression

Smooth-tongued - ingratiating in speech; persuasive

Well-spoken - speaking well, fitly, or courteously

Good-natured - of a pleasant and cooperative disposition

Benevolent - marked by or disposed to doing good

Big-hearted - generous, charitable

Compassionate - having or showing compassion; sympathetic

Considerate - thoughtful of the rights and feelings of others

Good-hearted - having a kindly generous disposition

Helpful - of service or assistance; useful

Kind - of a sympathetic or helpful nature

Nice - polite, kind

Thoughtful - given to or chosen or made with heedful anticipation of the needs and wants of others

Patient - not hasty or impetuous; steadfast despite opposition, difficulty, or adversity

Accommodating - willing to please; helpful, obliging

Forbearing - to hold oneself back from especially with an effort

Forgiving - willing or able to forgive (i.e., pardon)

Long-suffering - patiently enduring lasting offense or hardship

Stoical - firmly restraining response to pain or distress

Tolerant - permitting or accepting something (such as a behavior or belief) that one does not like

Uncomplaining - not complaining; patient

Understanding - endowed with understanding; tolerant, sympathetic

Unexcitable - not responsive to stimuli

Reflective - marked by reflection; thoughtful, deliberative

Contemplative - marked by or given to contemplation (i.e., an act of considering with attention)

Insightful - exhibiting or characterized by insight (i.e., the act or result of apprehending the inner nature of things or of seeing intuitively)

Introspective - characterized by examination of one's own thoughts and feelings; thoughtfully reflective

Inward-looking - more interested in themselves than in other people or societies

Meditative - marked by or conducive to meditation (i.e., a discourse intended to express its author's reflections or to guide others in contemplation)

Pensive - musingly or dreamily thoughtful

Self-analyzing - relating to or using self-analysis (i.e., a systematic attempt by an individual to understand his or her own personality without the aid of another person)

Self-examining - a reflective examination (as of one's beliefs or motives); introspective

Self-observing - introspective

Sensible - having, containing, or indicative of good sense or reason

Analytical - skilled in or using analysis especially in thinking or reasoning

Cerebral - primarily intellectual in nature

Judicious - having, exercising, or characterized by sound judgment

Logical - capable of reasoning or of using reason in an orderly cogent fashion

Practical - actively engaged in some course of action or occupation

Pragmatic - relating to matters of fact or practical affairs often to the exclusion of intellectual or artistic matters; practical

Rational - relating to, based on, or agreeable to reason

Realistic - able to see things as they really are and to deal with them in a practical way

Reasonable - being in accordance with reason

Valiant - possessing or acting with bravery or boldness

Adventurous - disposed to seek adventure or to cope with the new and unknown

Bold - fearless before danger

Courageous - having or characterized by courage; brave

Dauntless - incapable of being intimidated or subdued

Fearless - free from fear

Gallant - spirited, brave

Heroic - exhibiting or marked by courage and daring

Plucky - spirited, brave

Valorous - valiant

Apprehensive - viewing the future with anxiety or alarm

Doubtful - marked by qualities that raise doubts about worth, honesty, or validity

Hesitant - slow to act or proceed (as from fear, indecision, or unwillingness)

Insecure - beset by fear and anxiety

Mistrustful - to be suspicious

Self-conscious - uncomfortably conscious of oneself as an object of the observation of others; ill at ease

Self-doubting - timid, diffident, insecure

Self-effacing - having or showing a tendency to make oneself modestly or shyly inconspicuous

Uncertain - not having certain knowledge; doubtful

Unconfident - lacking in confidence; unsure

Disillusioned - having lost faith or trust in something formerly regarded as good or valuable

Bleak - not hopeful or encouraging; depressing

Cynical - contemptuously distrustful of human nature and motives

Defeatist - an attitude of accepting, expecting, or being resigned to defeat

Downbeat - pessimistic, gloomy

Fatalistic - hacing a belief or attitude determined by a doctrine that events are fixed in advance so that human beings are powerless to change them

Hardened - callous

Negative - marked by features of hostility, withdrawal, or pessimism

Pessimistic - of, relating to, or characterized by pessimism; gloomy

Skeptical - relating to, characteristic of, or marked by skepticism (i.e., an attitude of doubt or a disposition to incredulity either in general or toward a particular object)

Dull - tedious, uninteresting

Bland - dull, insipid

Boring - causing weariness and restlessness through lack of interest

Charmless - unattractive or unpleasant

Stodgy - boring, dull

Tiresome - wearisome, tedious

Uncharismatic - lacking charisma (i.e., a special magnetic charm or appeal)

Unexciting - not exciting; dull, commonplace

Uninspiring - not having an animating or exalting effect

Uninteresting - not attracting interest or attention

Fierce - violently hostile or aggressive in temperament

Aggressive - marked by obtrusive energy and self-assertiveness

Antagonistic - showing dislike or opposition

Argumentative - having or showing a tendency to disagree or argue with other people in an angry way; disputatious

Bellicose - favoring or inclined to start quarrels or wars

Belligerent - inclined to or exhibiting assertiveness, hostility, or combativeness

Confrontational - clashing of forces or ideas; conflict

Defiant - full of or showing a disposition to challenge, resist, or fight; bold, impudent

Hostile - marked by malevolence; having or showing unfriendly feelings

Violent - emotionally agitated to the point of using harmful physical force

Impassive - giving no sign of feeling or emotion

Aloof - removed or distant either physically or emotionally

Apathetic - having or showing little or no interest, concern, or emotion

Cold - marked by a lack of the warmth of normal human emotion, friendliness, or compassion

Detached - exhibiting an aloof objectivity usually free from prejudice or self-interest

Dispassionate - not affected by personal or emotional involvement

Expressionless - lacking expression

Indifferent - marked by a lack of interest, enthusiasm, or concern for something

Stoic - not affected by or showing passion or feeling

Unemotional - not easily aroused or excited; cold

Lethargic - of, relating to, or characterized by laziness or lack of energy

Idle - not occupied or employed

Inactive - not active; sedentary

Indolent - averse to activity, effort, or movement; habitually lazy

Inert - very slow to move or act

Languid - sluggish in character or disposition; listless

Lazy - disinclined to activity or exertion; not energetic or vigorous

Slothful - inclined to sloth; indolent

Slow-moving - slow-footed, slowgoing

Sluggish - averse to activity or exertion; indolent; torpid

Mysterious - exciting wonder, curiosity, or surprise while baffling efforts to comprehend or identify; mystifying

Closemouthed - cautious in speaking; uncommunicative; also: secretive

Discreet - having or showing discernment or good judgment in conduct and especially in speech; prudent

Enigmatic - of, relating to, or resembling an enigma; mysterious

Evasive - tending or intended to evade; equivocal

Inscrutable - not readily investigated, interpreted, or understood; mysterious

Secretive - disposed to secrecy; not open or outgoing in speech, activity, or purposes

Taciturn - temperamentally disinclined to talk

Tight-lipped - reluctant to speak; taciturn

Uncommunicative - not disposed to talk or impart information; reserved

Odious - arousing or deserving hatred or repugnance; hateful

Abhorrent - causing or deserving strong dislike or hatred; being so repugnant as to stir up positive antagonism

Despicable - deserving to be despised; so worthless or obnoxious as to rouse moral indignation

Detestable - arousing or meriting intense dislike; abominable

Hateful - full of hate; malicious; deserving of or arousing hate

Horrible - extremely bad or unpleasant

Loathsome - giving rise to loathing; disgusting

Unkind - not pleasing or mild; inclement; harsh, cruel

Vicious - dangerously aggressive; savage

Vile - morally despicable or abhorrent

Presumptuous - overstepping due bounds (as of propriety or courtesy); taking liberties

Audacious - intrepidly daring; adventurous; recklessly bold

Bad-mannered - discourteous, disrespectful, ill-bred, impolite

Churlish - of, resembling, or characteristic of a churl; vulgar

Discourteous - lacking courtesy; rude

Disrespectful - to show or express disrespect or contempt for; insult, dis

Ill-mannered - having bad manners; rude

Impolite - not polite; rude

Impudent - marked by contemptuous or cocky boldness or disregard of others; insolent

Rude - offensive in manner or action; discourteous

Prickly - vexatious; easily irritated

Bad-tempered - easily annoyed or angered; surly, ill-tempered

Cantankerous - difficult or irritating to deal with

Crabby - easily irritated; peevish and irritable; grouchy

Curmudgeonly - (especially of an old person) bad-tempered and negative

Grouchy - given to grumbling; peevish

Ill-natured - having a bad disposition; cross, surly

Irritable - easily exasperated or excited

Sensitive - highly responsive or susceptible

Surly - irritably sullen and churlish in mood or manner; crabbed

Proud - having or displaying excessive self-esteem

Cocky - boldly or brashly self-confident

Conceited - having or showing an excessively high opinion of oneself

Haughty - blatantly and disdainfully proud; having or showing an attitude of superiority and contempt for people or things perceived to be inferior

Overbearing - harshly and haughtily arrogant

Overconfident - excessively or unjustifiably confident; having too much confidence (as in one's abilities or judgment)

Pompous - having or exhibiting self-importance; arrogant

Smug - highly self-satisfied

Snobbish - being, characteristic of, or befitting a snob (i.e., one who has an offensive air of superiority in matters of knowledge or taste)

Supercilious - coolly and patronizingly haughty

Silly - exhibiting or indicative of a lack of common sense or sound judgment

Brainless - devoid of intelligence

Dense - slow to understand

Foolish - having or showing a lack of good sense, judgment, or discretion

Idiotic - showing complete lack of thought or common sense

Ignorant - destitute of knowledge or education; unaware, uninformed

Mindless - marked by or displaying no use of the powers of the intellect

Slow-witted - mentally slow

Vapid - acking flavor, zest, interest, animation, or spirit; flat, dull

Witless - lacking wit or understanding; foolish

Talkative - given to talking

Babbling - idle, foolish, or nonsensical talk or chatter

Blathering - engaging in or characterized by foolish or nonsensical talk or writing

Chatty - fond of chatting; talkative

Conversational - given to conversation

Garrulous - given to prosy, rambling, or tedious loquacity; pointlessly or annoyingly talkative

Gossipy - characterized by, full of, or given to gossip (i.e., rumor or report of an intimate nature)

Loquacious - given to fluent or excessive talk; garrulous

Rambling - straying from subject to subject

Verbose - given to wordiness

Timid - lacking in courage or self-confidence

Bashful - socially shy or timid

Diffident - reserved, unassertive

Introverted - possessing a reserved or quiet nature typically with an inclination to solitude

Meek - deficient in spirit and courage; submissive

Reserved - restrained in words and actions

Reticent - inclined to be silent or uncommunicative in speech

Sheepish - meek, timid

Shy - easily frightened; timid

Withdrawn - socially detached and unresponsive

Tightfisted - reluctant to part with money

Avaricious - greedy of gain; excessively acquisitive especially in seeking to hoard riches

Close-fisted - unwilling to spend money; stingy

Miserly - marked by grasping meanness and penuriousness

Parsimonious - frugal to the point of stinginess; sparing

Penny-pinching - frugal

Penurious - given to or marked by extreme stinting frugality

Scroogelike - not generous with money; miserly

Stingy - not generous or liberal; sparing or scant in using, giving, or spending

Ungenerous - not generous; petty, mean; stingy

EMOTIONAL ADJECTIVES

Angry - feeling or showing anger (i.e., a strong feeling of displeasure and usually of antagonism)

Enraged - very angry; furious

Furious - exhibiting or goaded by anger

Incensed - very angry; enraged

Infuriated - furiously angry

Irate - roused to ire; arising from anger

Raging - causing great pain or distress

Seething - constantly moving or active; agitated

Upset - emotionally disturbed or agitated

Wrathful - filled with wrath; irate

Calm - free from agitation, excitement, or disturbance; still

Peaceful - untroubled by conflict, agitation, or commotion

Relaxed - easy of manner

Sedate - keeping a quiet steady attitude or pace; unruffled

Serene - marked by or suggestive of utter calm and unruffled repose or quietude

Tranquil - free from agitation of mind or spirit

Unbothered - not feeling or showing agitation, worry, or annoyance

Unflappable - marked by assurance and self-control

Unperturbed - not worried, upset, or disquieted

Untroubled - not given trouble; not made uneasy; calm

Cheerful - conducive to cheer; likely to dispel gloom or worry

Beaming - radiant; bright; smiling brightly; cheerful

Content - contented, satisfied

Gleeful - full of glee; merry

Happy - glad, pleased

Jocular - characterized by jesting; playful

Jovial - characterized by good-humored cheerfulness and conviviality; jolly

Joyful - experiencing, causing, or showing joy; happy

Merry - full of gaiety or high spirits; mirthful

Radiant - marked by or expressive of love, confidence, or happiness

Content - contented, satisfied

Appreciative - having or showing appreciation (i.e., a feeling or expression of admiration, approval, or gratitude)

Fulfilled - feeling happiness and satisfaction

Grateful - appreciative of benefits received

Gruntled - in good humor; happy, contented

Pleased - feeling or showing pleasure and satisfaction, especially at an event or a situation

Satisfied - pleased or content with what has been experienced or received

Thankful - well pleased; glad

Untroubled - not given trouble; not made uneasy

Unworried - not afflicted with mental distress or agitation

Disgruntled - unhappy and annoyed

Agitated - troubled in mind; disturbed and upset

Annoyed - feeling or showing angry irritation

Cross - marked by typically transitory bad temper

Distressed - of, relating to, or experiencing economic decline or difficulty

Exasperated - having or showing strong feelings of irritation or annoyance

Irritable - easily exasperated or excited

Resentful - full of resentment (i.e., a feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury)

Stressed - subjected to or affected by stress (i.e., bodily or mental tension)

Vexed - feeling or showing irritation, annoyance, or distress

Jealous - hostile toward a rival or one believed to enjoy an advantage

Begrudging - said, done, or given reluctantly; grudging

Bitter - exhibiting intense animosity

Covetous - marked by inordinate desire for wealth or possessions or for another's possessions

Desirous - impelled or governed by desire (i.e., conscious impulse toward something that promises enjoyment or satisfaction in its attainment)

Envious - feeling or showing envy

Grudging - unwilling, reluctant

Malicious - having or showing a desire to cause harm to someone; given to, marked by, or arising from malice (i.e., desire to cause pain, injury, or distress to another)

Resentful - caused or marked by resentment (i.e., a feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury)

Spiteful - filled with or showing spite; malicious

Lively - briskly alert and energetic; vigorous, animated

Animated - full of vigor and spirit; lively

Elated - marked by high spirits; exultant

Electrified - to excite intensely or suddenly

Energetic - operating with or marked by vigor or effect

Enthusiastic - filled with or marked by enthusiasm (i.e., strong excitement of feeling)

Excited - having, showing, or characterized by a heightened state of energy, enthusiasm, eagerness, etc.

Exhilarated - very happy and excited or elated

Spirited - full of energy, animation, or courage

Thrilled - extremely pleased and excited

Unhappy - not cheerful or glad; sad, wretched

Crestfallen - feeling shame or humiliation; dejected

Dejected - low in spirits; depressed

Gloomy - low in spirits; melancholy

Glum - broodingly morose

Grief-stricken - very sad; deeply affected by grief

Melancholic - of, relating to, or subject to melancholy; depressed

Miserable - being in a pitiable state of distress or unhappiness

Sad - affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness; downcast

Sorrowful - expressive of or inducing sorrow (i.e., resultant unhappy or unpleasant state)

PHYSICAL ADJECTIVES

Aged - grown old

Ancient - having had an existence of many years; venerable

Centenarian - one that is 100 years old or older

Elderly - of, relating to, or characteristic of later life or elderly persons

Gray-haired - having gray hair; of or relating to old age or old people

Mature - of, relating to, or being an older adult; elderly

Nonagenarian - a person whose age is in the nineties

Old - advanced in years or age

Senior - a person older than another; of, relating to, or intended for seniors

Wrinkled - to become marked with or contracted into wrinkles

Attractive - arousing interest or pleasure; charming

Beautiful - having qualities of beauty; exciting aesthetic pleasure

Dashing - marked by vigorous action; spirited

Fetching - attractive, appealing

Good-looking - having a pleasing or attractive appearance

Gorgeous - splendidly or showily brilliant or magnificent

Handsome - having a pleasing and usually impressive or dignified appearance

Pretty - having conventionally accepted elements of beauty

Striking - attracting attention or notice through unusual or conspicuous qualities

Stunning - strikingly impressive especially in beauty or excellence

Average - not out of the ordinary; common

Forgettable - fit or likely to be forgotten

Homely - plain or unattractive in appearance

Mediocre - of moderate or low quality, value, ability, or performance

Ordinary-looking - not different or special or unexpected in any way; usual

Plain - lacking ornament; undecorated

Plain-featured - ordinary

Plain-looking - not beautiful, distinctive, or remarkable in appearance; normal

Unexceptional - not out of the ordinary; commonplace

Unremarkable - unworthy or unlikely to be noticed; not remarkable; common, ordinary

Feeble - markedly lacking in strength

Decrepit - wasted and weakened by or as if by the infirmities of old age

Delicate - not robust in health or constitution; weak, sickly

Doddering - showing or involving a loss of physical or cognitive abilities in old age

Frail - easily broken or destroyed; fragile; physically weak

Infirm - of poor or deteriorated vitality, especially: feeble from age

Sickly - somewhat unwell, also : habitually ailing

Unwell - being in poor health; ailing, sick

Wan - suggestive of poor health; sickly, pallid

Weak - lacking strength

Muscular - of or relating to physical strength; full-bodied

Athletic - vigorous, active

Brawny - muscular, also: strong, powerful

Burly - strongly and heavily built

Fit - sound physically and mentally

Herculean - of extraordinary power, extent, intensity, or difficulty

Powerful - having great power, prestige, or influence

Robust - having or exhibiting strength or vigorous health

Strong - having or marked by great physical power

Sturdy - firmly built or constituted 

Short - having little length; not tall or high

Diminutive - exceptionally or notably small

Little - not big

Petite - having a small trim figure

Pint-sized - small

Short-legged - having short legs, particularly in proportion to one's body

Small - having comparatively little size or slight dimensions

Stubby - being short and thick

Teeny - tiny

Tiny - very small or diminutive; minute

Sophisticated - deprived of native or original simplicity

Chic - cleverly stylish; smart

Dapper - neat and trim in appearance

Dignified - showing or expressing dignity (i.e., formal reserve or seriousness of manner, appearance, or language)

Elegant - of a high grade or quality; splendid

Majestic - having or exhibiting majesty; stately

Noble - possessing outstanding qualities; illustrious

Regal - of notable excellence or magnificence; splendid

Stately - marked by lofty or imposing dignity; haughty

Stylish - conforming to current fashion

Stout - bulky in body

Big - large or great in dimensions, bulk, or extent

Chubby - somewhat fat; having a full, rounded form

Heavy - having great weight

Large - exceeding most other things of like kind especially in quantity or size

Overweight - exceeding expected, normal, or proper weight

Plump - having a full rounded usually pleasing form

Plus-size - extra large

Portly - heavy or rotund of body; stout

Potbellied - having a potbelly (i.e., an enlarged, swollen, or protruding abdomen)

Tall - high in stature

Colossal - of, relating to, or resembling a colossus (i.e., a person or thing of immense size or power)

Gangling - tall, thin, and awkwardly built; lanky, gangly

Giant - having extremely large size, proportion, or power

Gigantic - exceeding the usual or expected (as in size, force, or prominence)

Long-legged - having long legs

Massive - forming or consisting of a large mass; bulky; weighty

Monstrous - having extraordinary often overwhelming size

Statuesque - having a tall and shapely form

Towering - impressively high or great; imposing

Thin - not well fleshed; lean

Angular - lean and having prominent bone structure

Bony - having prominent bones

Lean - lacking or deficient in flesh

Scrawny - exceptionally thin and slight or meager in body or size

Skinny - lacking usual or desirable bulk, quantity, qualities, or significance

Slender - spare in frame or flesh, especially: gracefully slight

Slim - of small diameter or thickness in proportion to the height or length; slender

Underweight - weighing less than the normal or requisite amount

Willowy - pliant; gracefully tall and slender

Unattractive - not attractive; plain, dull

Ugly - offensive to the sight; hideous

Displeasing - to incur the disapproval or dislike of especially by annoying; to give displeasure

Hideous - offensive to the senses and especially to sight; exceedingly ugly

Ghastly - terrifyingly horrible to the senses; frightening

Repulsive - tending to repel or reject; cold, forbidding; arousing aversion or disgust

Unpleasant - not pleasant; not amiable or agreeable; displeasing

Grotesque - fanciful, bizarre; absurdly incongruous; departing markedly from the natural, the expected, or the typical

Revolting - extremely offensive

Unsightly - not pleasing to the sight; not comely

Young - being in the first or an early stage of life, growth, or development

Adolescent - of, relating to, or being in adolescence; emotionally or intellectually immature

Boyish - of, like, or characteristic of a male child or young man

Childlike - resembling, suggesting, or appropriate to a child or childhood, especially: marked by innocence, trust, and ingenuousness

Girlish - of, relating to, or having the characteristics of a girl or girlhood

Juvenile - reflecting psychological or intellectual immaturity; childish

Immature - exhibiting less than an expected degree of maturity

Teenaged - of, being, relating to, or intended for teenagers (i,e., someone who is between 13 and 19 years old)

Underage - of less than mature or legal age

Youthful - having the vitality or freshness of youth; vigorous

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[mapis-putellas]

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 2897

Warnings: body image issues. Quite detailed too, so be careful and look out for yourselves.

Summary: After you tear your acl, your mental health takes quite a severe hit. [Requested]

Notes: one more draft to go after this, then we is done for a little while

It was no secret that Alexia was the epitome of fitness. Every muscle seemed to have its place on her body, sculpted from years of dedication on the field and in the gym. She was renowned for her strength and endurance, and her intense daily workouts left her with abs sharp enough to carve ice. Her legs were powerful, capable of sprinting up and down the pitch for ninety minutes straight, and when she wrapped them around you, every single coherent though you had immediately leaves your mind. It was impossible not to admire her—no, to adore her for it. She didn't just look incredible; she carried herself with a natural grace, a quiet confidence that made her strength seem even more alluring.

She was up before the crack of dawn every morning, lacing up her trainers and stretching quietly in the hallway while you mumbled sleepy protests from bed. And she'd just smile, soft and affectionate, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead before heading out.

Sometimes, she'd even sneak a second workout into her day, returning to the gym after training if she was feeling restless. It was her way of clearing her mind, finding her center amidst the stresses of her intense schedule. Her body was her temple, her mind, a fortress—and she was diligent in caring for both.

You were in good shape, too, of course. It was a necessity as a professional footballer, but you didn't feel the same love for exercise as Alexia did. To her, fitness was a passion; to you, it was a means to an end. You'd lace up for runs, lift weights, and do the drills, but it was all about maintaining strength for the game, not about striving for the chiseled perfection that Alexia seemed to attain effortlessly. You had some definition—your muscles were toned in places, and you were proud of the fitness you had. But you didn't have a six-pack, or the rock-hard thighs and sculpted arms that Alexia did. There was softness to your body, a gentle curve that felt miles away from the physique she held herself to.

You'd grown to accept that, too. Sure, some days, you'd catch a glimpse of Alexia in her workout gear, fresh from a morning session, muscles rippling under her taut skin, and you'd feel a pang of envy. But it wasn't enough to change how you viewed yourself. You might not have the carved-out, intensely toned build that she had, but your body was yours, and that was enough. You nourished it, rested it, treated it well. Alexia adored you for who you were, and she'd always made it abundantly clear that you didn't need to change a thing. So, you held onto that, content in the comfort of her steady admiration and your own quiet acceptance.

And then it happened.

Tearing your ACL was more than a setback. It was a wrench thrown into everything you knew about yourself, your career, and your confidence. The physical pain was intense, yes, but the mental toll? That was a different beast altogether. The moment the diagnosis came, you were handed a new path, one that demanded you start over, essentially relearning how to walk, run, and move in ways that had once come effortlessly.

Your recovery plan was strict. "Get stronger," the physical therapist had told you. "Anything you can do to support that knee." The aim was to build strength before agility, to make sure that when you eventually stepped back onto the field, your knee would hold up. And to build that strength, you needed more muscle.

So you followed the program. A different nutrition plan meant eating more, much more than you were used to. It was a meticulous routine of high-protein meals and heavier weights, adjusting your body to a new rhythm. The change in your body was immediate and striking. Muscle mass took time, but the weight gain didn't wait for anyone. Your once lean and toned frame grew softer, the athletic lines you'd been so familiar with blurred into something different. Every time you caught yourself in the mirror, the difference seemed glaring.

You tried to remind yourself that it was part of the plan, and in some ways, it was working. The muscle you gained gave you the stability you needed in your knee, and as you got stronger, so did your confidence in moving. But it was a far cry from what you were used to, and the internet, naturally, had a field day with it. Photos started surfacing, snapshots of you out and about or in training, and the comments came fast and merciless. Every little flaw was picked apart: a fold in your chin, the curve of your waist, the size of your thighs. Strangers felt entitled to judge you, to dissect every inch of your body in ways that left you reeling.

It got to you. How could it not? The comments slipped into your thoughts, lingering like a shadow every time you ate, trained, or even looked at yourself in the mirror. Even the smallest gestures became tainted by this newfound self-consciousness. In the shower, you'd notice the places that felt softer. In the gym, you'd feel acutely aware of the way your body didn't look like it used to. And it followed you home, creeping into the space you shared with Alexia, a place that had once felt like a sanctuary.

Alexia, in her usual affectionate way, was none the wiser. She treated you exactly the same, her hands roaming freely over your body with the same warmth and adoration she'd always shown. But every time she touched your waist, your stomach, or the soft flesh of your thighs, you'd feel a pang, a quiet discomfort that you tried desperately to ignore. You told yourself it was silly, that she hadn't even noticed the change. But each time her hands grazed over the parts of you that felt different, the ones the internet was so quick to call out, you couldn't help but brace, almost flinch.

When Alexia would lie beside you on the sofa, her head resting on your thighs, the weight of her presence suddenly felt heavy, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. You'd struggle to enjoy the moment, fighting the urge to shift away, to hide. Or when she'd wrap her arms around you from behind, resting her head against your shoulder, and you'd feel her fingers press softly into your stomach, all you could think of was whether she felt the difference. If she noticed the extra softness there.

Then, there were the times she wanted to be closer, when her hands wandered a bit further, her gaze lingering with the kind of adoration that used to set you at ease. But now, each brush of her fingertips over your skin, every glance that she stole felt like a magnifying glass on every insecurity you'd grown to harbor. It was as if the comments you'd read online were imprinted on you, and every time Alexia's touch lingered, they echoed in your mind.

You tried to bury it, to keep your discomfort hidden beneath the surface. Alexia never let on that she'd noticed anything different; if she did, she was remarkably patient, waiting for you to open up. But you couldn't bring yourself to admit the insecurity gnawing at you. She didn't seem to mind, so why should you make her aware of something that, to her, didn't exist? So, you hid it, smiled through the lingering self-doubt, and tried to keep up appearances.

But it was exhausting, living in constant vigilance, battling an inner voice that refused to quiet. And as much as you wanted to shake it, to silence the nagging insecurities, they lingered, shadowing your every thought.

*

Alexia's gaze was intense as she leaned over you, her body pressed to yours, the warm weight of her presence grounding you in place as her lips moved insistently against yours. It was a familiar rhythm, one you usually found yourself melting into. Normally, her touch—firm yet gentle—would have had you feeling nothing but desire, lost in the anticipation that only she could draw out in you. But tonight, you found yourself bracing against her, your mind elsewhere as self-doubt seeped into every crevice of your thoughts.

Her hands moved purposefully down your sides, her fingertips grazing the hem of your shirt. The familiar touch that once filled you with security now left you tense. She had been so patient, so understanding, never pressing you to go further. You hadn't made love since before the surgery. First, it was because you couldn't physically handle it. Then, as you started healing, there was always some excuse. You'd kept her at arm's length, letting yourself be the one in control, making sure her attention stayed solely on her own pleasure. You'd hoped it would distract her, keep her from noticing the hesitation that lingered in your own movements.

But tonight, Alexia's determination to close the distance between you was clear. Her hands, more insistent than before, slid up the curve of your waist, drawing you closer, pulling you back into the intimacy you'd once shared without question. The air felt heavy with the unspoken, and you felt the edges of your own defenses starting to fray, your discomfort edging into something you couldn't suppress.

When she tugged at your waistband, her intention was unmistakable, and your body instinctively pulled back as your voice rose, pleading, "Stop." It was barely more than a whisper, but the tremor in your tone cut through the haze between you, and Alexia stilled immediately. Her hands halted as she pulled back, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and yearning. Her breathing was still ragged as she leaned back, moving to her knees, studying you with furrowed brows. The way she looked at you, raw and concerned, was almost too much, the shame twisting inside you like a vice.

She asked gently what was wrong, her voice softened, but the words sat heavy in the air.

Your hands flew to your face, covering your eyes in an effort to hide the turmoil, but you felt her move closer, her presence warm and unwavering. Her hands reached for you, wrapping around your shoulders as she drew you to her chest, her bare leg slipping behind your back as she cradled you against her. One of her arms slipped under your legs, tugging you sideways so that you were cocooned in her embrace, sheltered and safe.

The tears you had been holding back spilled over, and you stifled your sobs against your palms, feeling Alexia's gentle sway as she rocked you. Her hand stroked up and down your back, a steady rhythm that eased some of the tension from your body. You clung to her, desperate for the comfort her touch provided, feeling your breath catch as you tried to force yourself to calm down.

There, in her arms, you knew that hiding wasn't an option anymore.

"What's wrong, amor?" her voice was so tender that the words you'd been holding back spilled out before you could stop them. Choking on each syllable, you told her everything—how much you hated the way you looked, how every curve felt wrong, how the stretch marks on your thighs and hips felt like a betrayal. You admitted that fueling your body had become a battle, that you'd started skipping meals, working out to the point of straining your knee, forcing yourself to push through the ache just to feel worthy.

"I spend so much time," you said, your voice breaking, "just standing in front of the mirror, analysing everything. Picking myself apart until I can't stand it anymore. I can't even..." Your voice faltered, thick with tears. "I can't even look at myself."

Alexia's hold on you tightened, her fingers digging slightly into your back, as if to keep you grounded. Her eyes never left your face, absorbing every raw word, her own eyes brimming with tears, reflecting the hurt you'd been carrying.

"I didn't want you to see me like this. I didn't want you to look at me without clothes because... if I hate what I see, then... then surely you would too." The admission slipped out, a final, aching confession. "Maybe if you just waited... if you could just hold on a little while longer, I'll be back to how I was before. And then...then it'd be okay. Maybe—”

But before you could finish, Alexia cut you off, her voice firmer than you'd ever heard it, startling you with the sharpness of her words. "Don't you dare say that," she whispered, her tone fierce with a hurt that mirrored your own. You flinched, and she immediately softened, her fingers brushing your cheek as she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'm sorry, amor. I didn't mean to scare you. But you're wrong," she said, her voice still laced with intensity. She tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"Please, just listen."

You nodded, still sniffling, your fingers curled into her shirt as you leaned into her touch.

"You are beautiful," she said firmly. "Siempre. Every day. Every moment." You opened your mouth to protest, but she pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you before you could interrupt. Her gaze softened, her thumb brushing away the remnants of your tears as she continued.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see someone strong, even when you don't feel it." Her hands slid down your arms, squeezing gently. "These arms? They hold me, support me, even when you're feeling like this. And your legs? I know you think they're different now, but to me, they're perfect." She moved her hand down to rest on your thigh, tracing small circles with her thumb. "Do you remember the times I've rested my head here, just because it's where I feel safe?"

You bit your lip, feeling your resolve waver as her words seeped into the cracks of your defenses.

"And your stretch marks?" She leaned down, her lips brushing over your thigh, a gentle kiss that made you shiver. "They're proof of what you've been through. Proof that your body is fighting, that you're healing. They're beautiful to me. You are beautiful to me."

Still, the doubts clawed at you, whispers of insecurity that wouldn't quiet. She saw the uncertainty in your eyes and, as if reading your thoughts, she brought her hand up to cup your face, her gaze locked with yours.

"Please, amor," she murmured, her voice almost a plea. "Let me show you."

You could barely bring yourself to nod.

With that, she kissed you, her lips moving slowly, reverently. Her hands cupped your face, her fingers tracing the lines of your jaw, holding you as though you were something precious. And with each kiss, each soft murmur of adoration, you felt a little bit of the weight start to lift.

She coaxed you to lie back, settling you against the pillows, her hand trailing down to link with yours, her fingers warm. As she leaned over you, her lips found your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses that sent warmth spreading through you. Her lips traced every inch of exposed skin, reverent, tender, making you feel seen in a way you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in so long.

“I love this," she murmured, her fingers tracing over your hips, the slight curve of your waist. "Every part of you is beautiful to me."

She kissed the stretch marks on your thighs, her lips brushing over them with a tenderness that brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Her hands remained steady, her fingers tracing over your body as if memorising every curve, every line. She didn't rush, allowing you to sink into the feeling of her touch, to let yourself be held, to let yourself be loved without hesitation or restraint. She murmured soft assurances, telling you how much she adored you, how lucky she felt to have you.

And somewhere in the midst of her gentle worship, you found yourself relaxing, the tension in your body easing as her love wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You felt her hands against your sides, her lips pressing tender kisses to your skin, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel beautiful.

As she continued, her lips pressing gentle, adoring kisses over every inch of your body, you knew that healing wouldn't be immediate, that learning to love yourself again would take time. But with Alexia by your side, holding you, loving you, showing you the beauty she saw in you, you felt a glimmer of hope that one day, you might see it too.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @silentwolfsstuff @simp4panos @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[hannieween]

the traitor | yoon jeonghan

› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: demon hunter jeonghan, supernatural au, demon reader › genres: angst, smut (18+) › word count: 8.4k

› 🎧: mood – dpr ian | shameless – yuni | symphony – highvyn ft. jey | read your mind – meloh | dive – jooyoung | dead man running – seulgi | for us – v | moonstruck – enhypen | war-r-r – colde

› this is part 2 of the curse - hannieween fest

› warnings after the cut! READ THEM CAREFULLY 🗣️

› warnings: smut with plot, unprotected p in v sex, oral sex (both receivers), pussy drunk jeonghan, cockdrunk reader, cum swallowing, creampies, cowgirl, mating press. pet names: baby, baby demon (hers)

› disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

› author's note: this is part two of my demon hunter hannie! hehe i loved writing it sm and thought to give you a follow-up part!

› additional note: this isn't proofread

the traitor

JEONGHAN WAS WOKEN UP BY A TINGLING FEELING. As a hunter, he needed to pay attention to a few things, like sudden surges of emotions. Hunches. Tingling sensations were not particularly something he would consider in the bunch. But alas.

He pushed himself up, swinging his legs at the rim of the bed and stared at his knees for a long second. He took a deep breath, rubbing his leg. It was pointless, he thought when he could not find a reason to leave his bed in the middle of the night.

But being a hunter also meant he needed to be on high alert nearly all the time. In his experience, sometimes it was a good idea to pay attention to those moments when nothing made sense at all, such as this.

Sucking in a breath, he got up, stretching his arms over his head as he went over to the small bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as usual.

Upon the first splash of water hitting his face, he thought of you. It was inevitable. The image of you sitting on the ground, surrounded by trees. That night, he left you for good. That night nothing made sense.

Needless to say, he was exercising all of his will not to go back to you.

Stop trying to make sense of everything.

After that, he debated whether to go back to bed or not. He could take a bottle, try to numb his senses and finally get a good night of sleep. But he needed to stay sharp.

It was a lost game. He got dressed, throwing his pair of black pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Finally strapping his chest harness on with his knife. Going out in the middle of the night meant to him that he was out for blood.

That was his way to distract himself.

“Jeonghan, don’t go.”

He recoiled, shaking his head and mentally reprimanding himself for thinking of you. But your last words to him were a curse, echoing inside him every night, refusing to leave.

Jeonghan let out a long exhale as he wandered through the night. The streets of the town were completely deserted, he knew he would have to stay out for some hours before he found a target.

These nights, he had been hunting until he travelled three towns over. All because he cannot find it in himself to sleep, he has to fight the urge to seek you out somehow.

Maybe this will be the night he breaks.

There was nothing in this town. It was too safe, too clean. He knew it would not be long until he had to move to a different town and start over. He had been commissioned to travel to different parts of the globe to find something to hunt down, so maybe he was doing his job right.

So why did he come back to this shitty town? 

Something spiked in his nightly walk. There was something unusual in the air and it was not good. Jeonghan had really good senses, but his intuition was something that discerned him from the rest. Sometimes, people would tell him that his intuition was something out of the ordinary for hunters. So he paid more attention to that rather than his other senses.

He subconsciously rubbed his leg and caught his hand just as it dawned on him.

“Jeonghan, don’t go.”

Fear set in, and adrenaline kicked in as he started for a run. He had been stupid. So fucking stupid. How come he did not think that by killing every single demon within the town’s radar he was putting a target on you for other hunters?

Jeonghan knew the town by heart, but he could travel to your apartment with his eyes closed. Countless were the nights he stumbled upon your front door, burdened with misery all over. This cannot be the way he finds you dead.

“No, no, no, no…” he had been repeating the word like a prayer as he climbed through a labyrinth of stairs, panting, sweating until he burst the door open, already knowing you would not be there.

He called your name, either way, his voice bouncing back the walls. There was something off. A glass was shattered, pushed against the corner of the room. One of the chairs was drawn back, in the middle of the way. Jeonghan painted a scene of what could have gone down.

You were probably having the bowl of cereal that was abandoned on the table when the other hunter burst in. Jeonghan could not catch the scent of the other hunter, so that meant whoever that was, they masked themselves well.

No, you would have felt his presence before he could even breathe in your direction. Even if you were young, you were not completely inexperienced in the world of hunters. He made sure of that.

Another possibility was that you were asleep when the other hunter came. The sheets of your bed were tossed to one side. Jeonghan crouched next to the mattress, a terrible feeling sinking inside him upon getting your scent lingering on the pillowcases.

Jeonghan missed you.

“Where are you?” he whispered, closing his eyes to focus on your scent.

You smelled like freshly picked flowers. The smell he would get in the early morning after a night of rain. The fact that you did not smell like death, or blood made it hard for him to focus sometimes.

He opened his eyes, his focus falling on the open window. Then, he knew why he could not make a story from his surroundings. He had been wrong to assume it was just one hunter.

Someone had also come through the window. You were trapped from the beginning. His chest contracted painfully. But somehow he knew you were not dead yet. Have you been taken? For what end?

The possibilities were endless. Even if hunters had a long history of hating demons, some of them were missing some screws in their heads too.

Jeonghan needed to find you, soon.

Making his way down the stairs, part of him wondered why try at all. He could be rid of you once and for all. He could probably turn a blind eye to this and wait for your name to appear on the ledges. He would be free from the fucking pull that lead him to you every time.

The pull.

The feeling he got every time he closed his eyes, the need and deep craving for you that made him go insane. He let himself feel it. It tugged inside him, like a thread that was tied to his very core.

Jeonghan had refused that feeling ever since he met you, thinking it was some kind of trick you played on him. Silly little hunter got all wrapped in a demon’s finger.

But if he dared to give in to the pull, everything smelled of you. Every gulp of air he took as he walked in the direction his senses told him, he saw your face, your teary eyes as he walked away. Fool, he was a fool.

He was led to the forest, the same path he had gone through when he saw you last. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he should go back and hunt you down.

But then he heard noises, leaves rustling, and a small intake of breath. The sweet way you drew air into your lungs.

He thought of risking calling your name, but he did not know if the hunters were around. So he just followed the sound of your movements until he could get his sight on you.

You could barely walk right. Something had brought you to your knees, your arms were shaking as you forced yourself to stand up, with a low grunt.

Jeonghan called your name this time, making you lift your head.

He stopped abruptly at the sight of something shiny in your fist.

“Don’t move,” you said, punctuating each word painfully.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone declining in sickening worry, his gaze coasted at each of your limbs, zeroing in on your thigh. The same thigh he had been rubbing since he woke up. It made no sense.

“Step back, Jeonghan,” you panted in pain, raising the knife at him when he made a motion toward you.

“You didn’t notice me coming,” he muttered, analyzing the situation quickly. He sent his gaze around, seeing if there were signs that there was someone lurking by. “Let me take a look at that.”

“How did you find me?” you asked, letting yourself plop back to the ground, letting go of the knife.

Jeonghan got to your side, dropping to his knees to look at your thigh. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, eyeing you. “I’m going to touch you now.”

You nodded and braced yourself for the searing pain in your leg. “Two hunters came for me,” you said, clenching your jaw tightly to resist the pain throbbing in your skin, around the gaping hole that was turning black.

“I know,” he said, examining the open wound. “Did they stab you?”

You shook your head twice. “They were using a crossbow. Silver arrows,” you explained despite the need to rest your head on the ground and sleep through it. “I feel dizzy.”

Jeonghan shot you a look. He was worried. “It’s the poison, they must’ve poisoned the arrows to neutralize you,” he said at once. “What did you do to the arrow?”

“I used it on one of them,” you replied with half a smirk that slowly vanished as Jeonghan started to press on the wound, seeing any signs of anything odd or unfamiliar.

“Sorry,” he breathed as you tensed in pain. “I need to see if there’s anything in there,” he explained, but what did not satiate the doubts running in his mind.

“I can’t heal it,” you repeated and now he could see that beneath the pain and the need to deflect it with humour, you were scared.

“I know, I know,” he told you, giving you a stern look. “I can help you but you’ll have to be quiet.”

“Are you missing this opportunity to gag me?” you quipped but your tone was made weak by the fear of feeling pain.

Demons were used to pain, yes. But you were a fairly young demon and lived for most of your life in the human world. Such pain was not welcome for you.

“Breathe,” he instructed and used his hands on your thigh to squeeze the blood that had gone black and tacky around the wound.

You gritted your teeth, writhing in pain on the cold ground. “Stop, stop, stop,” you cried out, trying to get his hands off you.

But Jeonghan was quicker, and stronger than you at that moment. He did not deter from his task to squeeze the poisoned blood out of you despite your desperate cries for him to stop.

You lied, nearly limp from the exhaustion the pain had put you through. A sheen layer of cold sweat covered your face and neck, breathing hard. “Fuck you,” you sighed when he stopped squeezing your flesh.

“I’m not done yet, I need pressure on the wound,” he said, moving back to unfasten his belt with his bloodied hands. He strapped the belt around your upper thigh, forming a tight tourniquet.

“Hurry,” you said through heavy breaths. As you eased your back on the ground, Jeonghan caught sight of the dark wings splayed beneath your body, a clear sign that you could not conceal yourself any further.

Jeonghan made no comment about the weakened state you were in. A knot was set in his stomach upon realizing that you were dying. He grabbed one of the vials he kept in his hunter’s belt, it contained a white liquid. “This is going to sting a little,” he murmured, unstoppering the vial with his mouth and not pausing before pouring the antidote on your open wound.

Your hand flew to clench at his wrist, letting out a scream that was quickly muffled by his hand clasped in your mouth.

“I’m nearly done,” he said with a composure that you could see through. Beneath that, Jeonghan was worried you would not make it.

“Am I going to be all right?” you asked in a daze, slurring out your words.

“Drink this,” he pressed the vial to your lips, pouring the rest down your tongue, which you gulped willfully, it tasted like white vinegar.

You rested your head on the ground, taking slow and deep breaths as though you had just finished running a marathon.

“You’re going to be all right,” he said after a quick examination of the wound. “But you’ll need to feed soon.”

“Right,” you mumbled in understanding. By feeding, Jeonghan did not mean human food. Although you could eat human food just all right, it did not sustain what your soul craved.

He meant sins. You needed to feed off human sin. They made you stronger, and faster. They gave you the fuel needed to fight hunters. Going off sins for a while made you just as strong as an average human.

“Why haven’t you fed?” he asked, and it took you a while to understand that he was reprimanding you.

“Been busy,” you sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

The last thing you heard was Jeonghan mumbling, “We’ll need to move soon,” before you fell into a deep sleep on a floor covered by dead leaves. 

Upon regaining consciousness, you noticed with some slowness that you were not surrounded by trees, and you were moving. Your wings were cradling you, so that meant your horns were on sight too.

You tensed up, drawing in a shaky breath, palming your body in search of the knife that you stole from your attackers.

“Easy,” Jeonghan murmured next to you, a hand on the wheel, the other on the shift stick.

“Where are we?” you said, looking around.

“Radewood town,” he replied nonchalantly, eyes set forward on the road.

“Why?” you asked slowly, hiding your wings, from his view, then your horns.

“How’s your leg?” he asked instead, glancing at your thigh.

The wound had stopped bleeding, it was no longer oozing that black substance that had Jeonghan looking worried. You hissed painfully upon searching it with your fingers. The blood had dried, but it was not healing at the speed you would normally have.

“It hurts,” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip. “It’s not healing.”

Jeonghan nodded. “You need to feed,” he reminded you with the same tone of reprimand of earlier.

“Well, I fled without stopping to grab my purse so,” you sighed. “I don’t have money.”

“I’m not talking about human food,” he said with annoyance, shooting you a look that made you shrink in your seat. “Why haven’t you been feeding?”

You blinked slowly at him and shook your head after deciding that there was no answer that would please him. “I have–,”

“Don’t say you have been busy,” he cut in.

“Well, it’s the truth,” you said with a clear tone that gave away your lie.

But Jeonghan could feel it. Whenever you told a lie, there was a change in the air that only he could notice as a hunter. No human could ever detect your lies, only people like him.

“You know I know when you’re lying,” he said flatly, throwing you a dark look.

“Be content with that,” you bit back. “I’m not telling you anything else.”

Jeonghan shook his head, deciding not to press any further on the matter. He licked his lips, filling his lungs with the fresh midnight air that swept in through his rolled window.

“Jeonghan,” you called softly and did not proceed with your question until he glanced your way. “Why are you helping me?”

Jeonghan turned on a different street again, checking his rearview mirror, pretending to ready his answer. “I don’t know,” he replied.

There it was the empty void extending between you and him. If he lied, you would have sensed it too.

“How did you find me?” you pressed, trying to the best of your ability to analyze him. You were still weak, but you could still observe him despite your foggy brain.

“I don’t know,” he repeated with a low tone that barely cut through the noise of the engine of the car.

It made no sense. The way he found you in the woods was not done with any of his training. He simply closed his eyes and let him be taken to you. He did not even think twice as he carried your body to his car and started it, taking you far away from the town where you would be at risk of being hunted down.

“We have to lay low for now,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes as he cut the engine on an empty parking lot.

You raised your gaze to the motel sign, flaring in red neon light. “Is this your version of laying low?” you said with a sarcastic huff. “We could’ve done that back in the forest.”

Jeonghan opened the door, not bothering to look at you or give you a reply. “Stay here.”

You saw him walking away from the car, putting his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, his long hair tied in a messy ponytail.

You could run away. You did not know if Jeonghan was even aware of this. Maybe he was, you had a bad leg, and you were growing weaker.

Plus, there was the fact that he was now aware that he could trace you with his eyes closed.

You swallowed hard, waiting for him in the passenger seat of his old Mustang. You were going nowhere.

Some minutes later, you saw Jeonghan exiting the building and walking towards your door, which he opened to retrieve his belongings, which were his belt and his knife.

“This way,” he mumbled, motioning to one of the doors with a jerk of his head.

Reluctantly, you exited the car, closing the door behind you. Jeonghan turned and walked over to the door, introducing the key, and opening it for you.

You knew better than to fight it. There was a quiet storm brewing in the man’s head, and you were in its eye. You knew him well enough to tell when something was bothering him. And you knew what it was.

With a sigh, you walked inside the room.  “One bed?” you turned to him with an exasperated look.

“I didn’t think you would mind,” he froze by the doorframe.

“Whatever,” you waved a hand dismissively before he could offer to change it.

As soon as Jeonghan closed the doors and the blinds, you started to the bathroom, taking all of your clothes off in front of him. You made no invitation, no offer but you still left the door open, the sound of the shower filling the tiny room.

Jeonghan made another small inspection, looking out of the window through the blinds before deciding to relax. He took his jacket off, leaving it neatly by the chair that was pushed to one corner of the room. He took his boots off, sitting down on the chair with a low grunt of exhaustion.

As he sat up straight, he caught sight of his hand, only noticing because he had started moving it, rubbing his palm on the exact spot where you had been injured.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself, raising his gaze as you returned to the bathroom, wholly naked, pressing a towel to your hair.

“You okay, hunter?” you eyed him curiously, like a cat that just noticed a flashy light.  

Jeonghan frowned, not at you but at the thing stirring inside his chest. That feeling he got only when he was with you. “When is the last time you fed?”

“Here we go again,” you rolled your eyes but continued towel-drying your hair without bothering to respond.

“Answer me,” he muttered when you turned your back on him. Your reluctance to answer his question might have given him the answer.

“The last time we saw each other,” you said, your words echoing his own thoughts.

“Why?” the word was sharp like it took everything in him to suppress the dark emotion pulling on his every nerve. “That happened months ago.”

“Why do you care so much?” you spat, turning around to face him.

The question seemed to make him return to his senses, his eyes flickered with an emotion that you were to weak to catch. “I don’t,” he replied, stepping back from his initial anger.

“I’ll feed whenever I want to,” you said and this time you did not lie.

Jeonghan stood up, commanding your gaze to lift up to find his. “So you’re not hungry?”

You bit your tongue. Your eyes were dead, and despite the hot shower you had just taken, you were cold to the touch as Jeonghan curiously raised a hand to your shoulder. It was pointless, your plan had crashed and burned miserably.

“I’ve heard stories…” you whispered, closing your eyes to repel the sensation firing inside you. “Stories of ways a demon can become human. You can’t become human if you’re feeding off them, right?”

When Jeonghan did not reply, nor move you opened your eyes again. He was still rigid in the same trance he had been upon finding you injured and bleeding in the forest.

“You’ll die,” he sentenced after some seconds. “Are you insane?”

You brushed his hand off. “I knew you’d say that,” you whispered with a pained look, turning around to sit down on the bed.  

“Why do you want to become human?” the words sounded ridiculous as he uttered them.

“Not your business, Jeonghan,” you replied impishly, throwing the towel to him, which he saw coming, catching it with ease.

“It is if you’re running away with me,” he said. Your temptation to feed could become dangerous. And he was toeing that line too deliberately.

“I didn’t choose to run away with you,” you bit back with an indignant huff.

“That’s the thanks I get?” he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “What was I supposed to do, then? Leave you to die? To be found by them?”

He did not need to explain who he referred to. The two hunters must have noticed that Jeonghan ran away with his things, his car, leaving an empty place behind. And you are nowhere to be found. He was a traitor.

“Maybe,” you whispered, lowering your gaze to your lap. You skirted the pads of your fingers around the wound that still refused to heal completely.

Jeonghan stood before you, using a hand on your chin to force your teary eyes on him. A finger scooped your tear as it rolled down your cheek. The tear glistened on the pad of his thumb as he showed it to you, a shocked expression plastered on his face.

Demons felt emotions, yes. But nothing like sorrow. Jeonghan had never seen a demon cry, let alone one that wanted to become human. It made no sense.

“It’s possible, Jeonghan,” you whispered shakily, letting your tears flow freely.

“Humans are weak. They get sick, they die. Besides, the guilt of everything you’ve done as a demon will crush you,” he said, dropping his hand from your chin. “Why would you want something like that?”

“I’m done talking,” you said childishly, turning over to draw the covers of the bed and tucked yourself in. “Goodnight.”

He blinked perplexedly at you. The best option was to wait for another opportunity to bring up the matter, but for now, he needed to rest. He disposed of his chest harness, and his knives, leaving them on the old and battered bedside table, where he could reach out if needed.

A smile threatened to break on his face when you turned slightly at the sound of him taking his pants off, then his long-sleeved t-shirt, discarding his clothes at the foot of the bed.

He paused, tugging the band of his black boxers with his fingers. He took them off, making things fair.

“Is that necessary?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him as he sank under the covers with you.

“Just playing your game,” he said, tugging the hair tie loose before lying his head on the pillow next to yours.

“I’m not playing any games,” you huffed with annoyance, turning over so your back was to him once again.

There it was the ripple in the air between you and him. Jeonghan did not need to comment on it, but you hated it.

Hunter abilities or not, Jeonghan would be able to read through your lies blindfolded. He was just that good at reading people, reading you.

Jeonghan stared at the ceiling, his heartbeat going a mile per hour, like a bird’s wings batting frantically inside his chest. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge pushing him to raise his hand at you, to reach out and touch your skin.

You closed your eyes, commanding yourself to sleep. But it was nearly impossible. Jeonghan’s scent was too distracting. The hunger caved a hole deep inside you. It was no ordinary hunger, it was one that had your soul twisting.

You balled your hands into fists, sinking your face into the pillow. His lust was nearly palpable, looming over you like a monster preying on you.

However, you were too weak to actually act upon it. Soon, you fell asleep, not noticing when or how.

Jeonghan however, was too riddled with questions to do the same. He turned his head on the pillow, seeing your wet hair, your naked shoulder. His thigh throbbed in something that reminded him of pain, though his flesh was fine and did not hurt.

Why would you want to become human? What could be a good enough reason to want to abandon your life full of pleasures? It made no sense. Jeonghan had never heard of a demon becoming human, but he saw you crying, so that must mean that it could be done.

Still, it meant that there was a price to be paid. There always was.

Wandering through endless questions, Jeonghan fell asleep. Now and then he was reminded of your presence in the bed, feeling your warmth or hearing you move beneath the sheets.

Even if he were not a light sleeper, the distraction of your warmth was enough to stir him awake. He found himself entirely pressed to your body, his front to the back of yours. His nose buried in your mane of hair, an arm draped over your waist.

And he was hard. Fuck, he was so hard it was starting to become annoying. It would be so easy to slip himself inside your pussy, waking you up in the process. He had done it countless times before.

He let out a silent sigh through his nose, only getting the scent of your hair when he breathed in. Your hand found his arm parked on the curve of your waist, you were awake. Jeonghan pressed himself another inexistent inch further, his hard cock wedged on your ass.

“Jeonghan,” you mumbled sleepily, turning over to see him. You threw him an innocent look, big eyes, pouting lips. “What are you doing?”

He responded by giving you a confused look. In other times, you would not even ask questions, you would just let him take you, take whatever he wanted, for however long.

Jeonghan brought a hand to your chin, his touch igniting your skin, making you blink dumbly. “How long are you going to keep resisting it?” the words flew out of his mouth before he could even comprehend his own question.

But he knew what you were doing. He was an expert in pushing his feelings down, particularly, he knew what it felt like to resist this pull.

“However long is necessary, Jeonghan,” you replied, but your tone wavered in the urge to press yourself against his hand, to feel him.

“Why?” he asked, his eyes skirting through your reaction. He knew you wanted this, why were you refusing him?

“If I keep this for long I might get what I want,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes in utter shame.

“Why do you want to become human so desperately?” he asked again, looking at you with an obfuscation that was hard to mask.

You shrugged, keeping your sunken gaze on his chiselled chest. “That doesn’t concern you.”

Jeonghan pressed his fingers on your chin gently, tugging you so you locked your pretty eyes with his. “Does it not, really?”

Your brow furrowed, your gaze darkening. Feeling like you were being mocked, your eyes watered again. “Fuck off, Jeonghan,” you scoffed weakly, trying to free yourself from his grip.

He did not want to see it, but your reaction told him everything he needed to know. It took him some seconds to shake the perplexion off. It made no sense. “Did you think that being human would change things?”

You made no verbal reply, scoffing as you brushed his hand off you one more time.

But you knew him well enough to expect that would not work on him. He needed an answer now, and he would stop at nothing to get it now that he knew it fully concerned him.

“Did you think I would want you more if you were human?” he asked without heat in his words, his gaze reading your features over and over. “Did you think that would give you a shot at a normal thing happening between us?”

“No, Jeonghan,” you rolled your eyes, but he could see how much his questions had pierced through you. “Quite the opposite.”

He made a motion to pull his head back on the pillow as if that gave him a better frame of your face. “What?”

“I want this to stop,” you whispered, rolling over the bed to sit up with a sigh.

Jeonghan looked at your back, you let your head drop forward, sniffling softly but you were fully crying now.

“Maybe being human will make this stop,” you whispered, motioning a hand between his body and yours. By this, you meant, the out-of-the-ordinary need for him, the desperate craving that refused to let you live. Maybe then, the bond between you would not be so unbearable.

Jeonghan sat up too, trying to read any signs of your words being insincere. But he found nothing, the quiet tension falling in the room startled him, and it made him uncomfortable. Even more, the battering inside his chest was making it difficult to even breathe.

“That makes no sense,” he mumbled with a hollow tone.

“It makes perfect sense,” you bit back, throwing him a sad look.

You were weak, nearing a state that you did not comprehend. Becoming human meant that you also had to deal with human emotions, and they were flowing freely through you, giving you a taste of what you were about to face as a human.

However, making yourself human condemned you to a myriad of threats. Not just mortality. You would become a demon that betrayed its own kind. A traitor, too.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, trying to hold your gaze to read you better.

“I want to be rid of you by whatever means necessary,” you hissed, coating your words with venom.

“Liar.”

There was a shadow of a smile on his face, and before you resorted to a crazed fit of violence, you decided to crush your mouth with his, kissing him with enough vehemence it would hurt him if he were human.

But he was tough enough to take you. He released a grunt in your mouth that was from half arousal, half annoyance at you.

“You’re a baby,” he grunted between hard kisses. “A bratty, fussy, melodramatic demon.”

“Shut up, Jeonghan,” you hissed. “Shut up or I swear–,”

“What?” he bit back, holding your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks. “What will you do, eh?”

“Don’t try me right now,” you said, kissing him repeatedly you were running out of breath.

“That’s exactly what I want to do,” he chuckled. “Did you think that making yourself human would make me stop wanting you?”

“Yes,” you hissed, pushing him back onto the bed with all the strength you had.

Jeonghan was stronger than you at that moment, but he allowed you to handle him with a triumphant smirk on his face. Nothing in existence would make him stop wanting you, damned to hell or not.

Though it made him curious to know. “Do you want to stop wanting me, then?” he leaned his head to his shoulder.

“It would be nice to stop craving you all the time,” you said, sinking your face in the crook of his neck to kiss him.

“Liar,” he grunted, holding your hips as you made a trail of kisses down his beautifully scarred chest. “Even worse, you’re a masochistic one at that.”

The guilty giggle escaping through your lips gave him all the reassurance he needed. You were now soaking up his need for you.

“Gods,” he breathed when your lips reached his hipbone. Your touch would never satiate the craving need inside him, but this night he would at least attempt to.

His fingers tangled in your hair, keeping his grip light but it would become difficult as you gave him a long lick from his ball sack to the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” he gritted, tensing as you wrapped your mouth around the bulbous head of his cock. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

The room fell silent again, but now all that surrounded you and him was lust and bliss. It had your blood revelling, sizzling beneath your skin to take him into your mouth. His fingers thread in your hair, caressing you as you bobbed your head up and down on him, sucking him off eagerly. You were tasting him, not only his skin, his arousal, but his lust. It drove you crazy.

“Gods, I fucking missed you,” he drawled, closing his eyes briefly before he lost all control. He wanted to push his hips, to drive his cock into your throat. But he also wanted to take this patiently.

You explored him with your mouth, just like your hands were exploring his body. Not that his nakedness was new to you, but you had just gone months without touching him. And not for a single second did you forget the taste of him, you also missed him.

But did he miss you the same way you did? Did he crave to hear your voice like you did his?

Your transition from demon to human was painful, and you were throwing it all away in one night. And Jeonghan was willingly letting you feed off his lust, you were relishing the taste of his greed, sucking off the last bit of the self-restraint he had in him.

His fingers curled around your hair, clenching his jaw as he moaned in pure pleasure. He let out a gasp when your tongue swirled around his cockhead. “Keep doing that, baby,” he said languidly, following the movements of your head on him.

A strangled moan bubbled in your mouth, and you followed his command, rolling your tongue around his blunt head.

Jeonghan smirked knowingly. You weakened whenever he treated you with softness, so words like baby drove you crazy. He threw a look down at his body, capturing your eyes, darkened with a lascivious greed that only fueled his. “Touch yourself,” he said with a gruff tone. “I want you to come with me.”

You sneaked a hand between your thighs, moaning salaciously when your fingers stroked your clit.

Jeonghan sighed, blinking slowly at the sight of you, thinking of your drenched pussy, your fingers coated in your arousal as you rubbed fast swirls around your clit. “That’s it, baby, just like that,” he praised, brushing your hair back with his long fingers. “You’re such a good girl for me, you don’t even know it.”

You moaned around his cock again, succumbing to a fast orgasm, your body trembled slightly.

“Coming,” he whispered, his mouth falling open as ropes of cum spurted down your throat, moaning at the sight of you drinking him off completely, licking to the last bead of his cum. You littered the reddened cockhead with sweet pecks trailing down to his shaft, eliciting a raw chuckle from him.

“That was amazing,” he whispered, enjoying the twinkle in your dark eyes upon being praised by him.

Jeonghan sat up, hooking one arm around your waist to throw you back onto the mattress. “Your turn,” he said with a wolfish grin.

You had recuperated the color in your cheeks, but you were still weak enough to fight his strength. You grunted as your head hit the pillows, but returned the smile at him. “You’ll see when I get my strength back.”

“Ooh, scary,” he said, grazing his lips on yours.

“You’ll see,” you remarked.

“Scary baby demon, what are you going to do?” he teased again, kissing the apple of your cheek, his breath caressing your ear.

“I’ll make you suffer,” you mumbled faintly, closing your eyes as his lips reached the underside of your jaw, making you tilt your head back for him.

“I want to see that,” he said mockingly. “Make me suffer.”

You sighed a moan when he kissed your throat, giving you a broad stroke with his tongue, tracing your collarbones. “Jeonghan…”

“Don’t throw another tantrum like that again,” he murmured against your skin, leaving another kiss on the plain of your breasts, before adding, “I’ll be mad at you.”

A spark of wrath got mixed along with greed and lust, it was not new to you, but it was rare.

“It wasn’t a tantrum,” you argued, though your tone was made weak by his lips, his tongue licking one of your nipples, making you arch your back.

He paused, “I don’t care,” he decided at once. “You’re not doing it again.”

“You don’t get to decide what I do, Jeonghan,” you mumbled breathily, moaning as his mouth wrapped around your nipple, suckling at it softly once, then swirling the tip of his tongue around it.

Jeonghan did not respond verbally to your obvious lie. He did not have a say in your choices, but there was a force greater than him or you that tied you to him. So every choice you made, every choice he made, was bound to affect you both.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, moving your thighs gently to slot his waist between them. His fingers traced a circle around the scar that was beginning to form.

“Better,” you sighed.

“Mmn,” he smirked at you, leaning over to kiss your lips. “Will it heal completely by the time I’m done eating you out?”

“Why, are you in a rush?” you quipped, arching an eyebrow at him.

There you were, he smirked. “I ache for you,” he whispered, letting his forehead fall upon yours. The shame coursing through him made you recoil but sensing it, he added quickly: “You have not only starved yourself but starved me with your stupid little plan.”

“You avoided me too,” you accused.

“I know, I was a fool,” he confessed, running his palms all over your body as if he could not do anything else. He sank down, leaving wet kisses down your tummy, his hands palming your breasts, his fingers lingering on your sensitive nipples.

You bit your lip, only in your most crazed fantasies did you dare to imagine him saying this. “You were,” you whispered. “The biggest fool.”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, kissing your mound generously, his hands grabbing your thighs with the lightest of touches before licking your pussy with a broad stroke.

“Jeonghan!” you cried out, brushing his dark hair gently as he ate you out like a starved man, licking your folds thoroughly, his tongue sliding up to your clit to then suckle at it.

You arched your back, not caring about the light pain throbbing on your thigh. Jeonghan was giving you everything you needed, giving your pussy open-mouthed kisses, drinking your arousal in with pleased moans.

“Fuck-k,” you gritted weakly, letting yourself be swept away by the gentle waves of your orgasm building inside you. “I m-missed you too, Jeonghan,” you mumbled.

He raised his gaze to yours, blinking slowly at you, pressing his tongue on your swollen clit, moving it swiftly in figure-eight motions, driving you to the edge. You gripped the bedsheets with one hand, the other flying to grab at the railings of the headboard.

“I’m close,” you gasped, breathing rapidly, welcoming the pleasure barreling through your body. “I’m close, I’m–, Jeonghan…” you closed your eyes, repeating his name over and over as you climaxed in his mouth.

But Jeonghan was not stopping. He continued making out with your pussy, enjoying the taste of your arousal pooling in your entrance, licking your folds with raunchy moans. His hands held you down as you shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm, caressing your tummy languidly.

“Jeonghan,” you called, shuddering when his hand caressed your thigh as he littered it with kisses.

“See? Healed,” he placed another kiss, right where your scar used to be.

You used your newly regained strength to push him, flipping the positions over so you were now straddling him. You let out a pleased sigh, effortlessly pinning his body down on the mattress.

“I take that you’re all set now,” he smirked, his hands roving all over your thighs.

Gods, you were a sight to behold. Your wings were at full display, resting freely at your sides. Your dark horns, curving back from the crown of your head, were on sight too. That meant you were comfortable around Jeonghan. You trusted him.

“Not yet,” you said, grabbing his hardened cock in one hand, planting the other on his abdomen for support as you eased your pussy down his length.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan gritted, his hands flying to grab your hips as you started rolling them on him.

“What’s wrong, hunter?” you teased, leaning down so your face was close enough to prop kisses on his lips. “Lost your footing?”

“You got me for a second there,” he admitted with a smirk. “Didn’t think you’d recuperate your strength that quickly.”

“Mm, keep that in mind next time you kiss it better,” you said, trapping his bottom lip with your teeth, nibbling it softly.

Jeonghan moaned, your hips picking up the pace mercilessly, knowing the exact pace and motion that drove him insane. He closed his eyes, sighing out the euphoric feeling of being with you, like this, consuming each other.

“It won’t happen again. You’re not doing this to yourself again,” he said with a faint tone.

“You don’t make choices for me,” you retaliated, sinking yourself down on him with pleased sighs, planting your hands on his chiselled chest.

In a blur, Jeonghan grabbed your wrists with one hand flipping your bodies over, pinning your body with his hips on yours, his hand holding your arms above your head. Jeonghan moved his hips slightly, finding your entrance with his hard cock quite effortlessly.

Jeonghan gave a few shallow thrusts, stretching your walls, making your mouth part, giving way to a long moan. “Fuck, Jeonghan,” you groaned lewdly.

“Say it,” he hissed, rolling his hips on yours slowly, but pushing his cock inside you deeper each time he thrusted in. “You won’t do it again.”

“Fuck you,” you gritted, falling deeper into the puddle of pleasure he was slowly submitting you into.

“Say. It,” he commanded, his thrusts gaining strength, becoming harder at each motion of his hips on yours.

You wrestled his grip on your wrists, without using your full strength. “No,” you said with a hollow tone, the pace of his thrusts knocking the wind out of you.

“You fucking brat,” he spat, pressing his face on yours, giving you a hard kiss in the process. “Delusional little demon. Did you think you could get rid of me that easily?”

“Stop,” you gasped, shame heating your cheeks.

Jeonghan released his grip on your wrists, not letting you regain control by grabbing your thighs, throwing them on his shoulders before resuming with his near animalistic thrusts, groaning on your mouth as such, like an animal.

“Jeonghan!” you cried out, his cock reaching inside you deeper… and deeper.

“Did you really think… I’d stop wanting you?” he panted in between his hard thrusts, the strain in his voice telling you how close he was to his release. “I’ll never stop wanting you.”

“Jeonghan…” you moaned.

“Say it.”

“I won’t do it again,” you said, trembling on the bed, reaching out to hold him right before you came undone beneath him.

“That’s it… that’s my girl,” he gasped, his bottom lip parting, releasing a raw grunt. Jeonghan moaned your name as he came, fucking his cum inside you with sloppy thrusts until he stopped, breathing hard on top of you.

Jeonghan eased your legs from his shoulders, deciding to rest his head on your chest. The sound of your heartbeat resonated through his head as he took a long breath. Your fingers caressed his nape lazily, shuddering under him when Jeonghan ran a fingertip on one of your wings.

This made no sense. To Jeonghan, everything had been black and white. His world was rigid, surrounded by unbreakable rules that made him into the person he was until he met you. Now, he was but the shadow of the man he was. He used to hate himself for wanting you. You were the thing he was raised to hate, to kill.

He did everything to keep you away. He bedded other women, he drank himself to sleep to not dream of you, he flew himself to different parts of the world.

And there he was, blissfully nestled in your warmth, in your embrace.

“Would you hate it if I became human?”

“No,” he replied after some seconds. “But I don’t want you to do it because you think that’s going to change something between us. Some things aren’t meant to change.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked with a tiny tone.

Jeonghan raised his head, curiously looking at you. Even back with full strength, you still clung to some human vulnerability. “I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I don’t understand many things. But I know that changing yourself won’t bring you happiness, only misery.”

“I’m just tired of this,” you said, and it did not matter that you could not cry anymore, he knew that the statement hurt to say.

Jeonghan got to his knees, pulling out of you gently to slump his body next to yours. He took one long look at you, reminiscing of what he felt when he knew you were slipping away. It was fear, that was undeniable, he was too familiar with that feeling. But never like this.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said with a light frown.

“How did you find me, Jeonghan? How did you know I was in trouble?” you dared to ask again, now your words taking another meaning.

Jeonghan paused. “I just did,” he said but rolled his eyes when you saw through his lie. “I felt something.”

“Jeonghan,” you started, your tone reducing itself to a whisper. “There is a reason why we can’t get rid of each other.”

He went rigid, his eyes coasting all over the features of your face.

“Have you ever tried to… kill me?” you asked, hating how your words came off while lying naked next to him.

“You’d know it if I had,” he said, taken aback by your questions. “Why are you asking me this?”

“There is a reason why you can’t kill me,” you said, despite how crazy you were sounding. “I know you’ve felt it…”

Jeonghan sat up on the bed, gripping the bedsheets to steady himself. He felt lightheaded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” you whispered, sitting up next to him.

He ran his hands on his face harshly. “Stop that. This isn’t a game.”

“The last time we saw each other, you felt something,” you pressed, searching his eyes as he faced you.

“It makes no sense,” he whispered dejectedly.

It made perfect sense. The grip that you had on him was unlike anything else he had faced. Time after time he tried to run away, to put distance between you and him. He always found his way back to you somehow, either by greed, by lust or purely by fate. He never knew why, he was bound to you.

“Look at me,” you said, and his gaze found you. “There’s no point in fighting this. I know you’ve tried it before, I tried too.”

“It’s–,”

“Impossible?” you scoffed with a mocking smile.

It was a sick joke. A demon and her hunter. The lamb and the wolf, chasing each other endlessly.

“Is this why you thought becoming human was an option?”

You paused but nodded slowly after some seconds of pondering.

Jeonghan sighed, touching your forehead with his. “That’s a high price to pay,” he whispered.

He knew your next words before you uttered them, “I’m willing to pay it, Jeonghan.”

“I don’t want you to,” he gritted out his words, even if he did not understand, he could not stop fighting it any longer. “I like you the way you are.”

Demon or not, you felt something in your chest, tugging at you. “That’s not the problem,” you shifted back, looking at his confused face.

“I can’t have any ties to anyone,” he said. “Someday I’ll end up dead fighting something stronger and quicker than me.”

“After today’s events, I think it’s clear that I am chased by the same danger.”

“I’ll grow old, and slow,” he added.

“I would too, if I were human. No one would hunt me down,” you countered, not convinced by the obfuscated look on his face. “I wouldn’t have to feed from you.”

“You could die in the process,” he said, and that was the final reason he needed.

“Jeonghan–,”

“No,” he shook his head.

At that, you stopped fighting. You got out of bed, slowly picking up your torn clothes and putting them on without looking back at him.

His heart faltered, looking at you as you sat down on the edge of the bed, next to him. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“Give me a reason to stay.”

Jeonghan swallowed his words, taking a last look at your eyes. Something tugged at his heart, urging him to stop you. But you were slipping through the door before he could spring to action.

Fool. He was a fool.

› author's note: heyyyooooooo

once again i have nothing to say. i just need jeonghan on his knees, begging for forgiveness and mercy

anyway, stay tuned for my next hannieween fest piece!! next post will be loser hannie!! hehe

toodles!

read the next part!!

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[aventurineswife]

Can I request Ratio, Moze, Aventurine, Sunday, Dan heng, Argenti and Jing Yuan involving their s/o or spouse in their exercise? Ill leave it up to creative freedom fr u but like the kisses when doing push ups or somehow practicing their attacks on their s/o in wholesome ways (just an idea but Churin doing the coin drop attack while his partner holds an umbrella above their head or something more wholesome)

-🍮♠

Love Is The Most Dangerous Strategy Of All

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Moze x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Fluff, Romantic Moments, Established Relationship, Playful Banter, Combat Training, Sweet Gestures, Slow Dancing, Quiet Moments.

Warnings: Mild Violence (in sparring and training sequences), Themes of Emotional Vulnerability(?), Light Suggestive Content (kisses and teasing moments), Mentions of Intense Training Practices.

Ratio sat at his desk, papers scattered around him in an organized chaos. His long hours of intellectual pursuit often left him longing for an outlet, and today, he had come up with an idea. He glanced toward you, lounging on the couch, your eyes glimmering with curiosity.

"Would you like to join me in a mental exercise?" Ratio asked, the usual sarcasm in his tone replaced by something more playful.

You raised an eyebrow. "Mental exercise? What kind of game are we playing?"

Ratio’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. He stood, stepping to a corner of the room, and retrieved a sleek board game filled with complex patterns and symbols, designed to challenge even the sharpest minds. "A game of logic and strategy. You will need to anticipate my every move—much like our relationship."

You laughed. "That sounds... dangerous."

"Only for those unprepared." Ratio smiled, his usual arrogance softened by the lightheartedness of the moment.

The game began, and Ratio’s mind whirred at full speed, trying to anticipate your every move. You were quick to catch on, forcing Ratio to keep up. At one point, after a particularly sharp maneuver, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, catching him off guard.

"Consider that a victory." you teased.

Ratio smirked, adjusting his glasses. "Such tactics will not deter me. But... they may motivate me to work even harder."

The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of distant winds. Moze stood in the middle of a training ground, his blade drawn, eyes focused. You watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, concerned but intrigued.

"You’re being too hard on yourself." you called out softly.

Moze’s eyes flickered briefly, but his expression remained cold, impassive. He was practicing his shadow strikes—silent, swift, and deadly. You stepped forward, offering a gentle suggestion. "What if you let me help?"

Without a word, Moze nodded, moving toward you with eerie grace. He signaled for you to stand in the middle of the training area. “I won’t hurt you.” he said, though it sounded more like a command than a reassurance.

The training began. Moze’s strikes were fast, but he purposefully slowed them down, practicing his precision. You stood still and calm, evading each strike with fluid motion, barely moving a muscle.

After several attempts, Moze finally approached, his blade hovering near your neck. Instead of striking, he lowered his weapon, looking into your eyes.

"Perfect. You’re becoming as swift as shadows themselves."

He didn’t need to say more. You smiled, taking a brief pause to kiss him gently on the lips before stepping back. "And you’re finally letting go of the shadows, aren’t you?"

Aventurine grinned mischievously, twirling a coin between his fingers. You stood beneath a large, intricately designed umbrella, a slight frown tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Are you certain this is safe?" you asked, shifting your weight to one side as you adjusted the umbrella.

"Of course!" Aventurine said with a wink. "It’s all about the thrill of the game."

He took a deep breath and dropped the coin. With a fluid motion, he twirled his body, hands outstretched. The coin landed perfectly in his palm as he spun, effortlessly dodging the shower of raindrops that fell on you both.

You laughed, but it was a laugh filled with admiration, your gaze following his every move.

"Impressive," you said, watching him strike a dramatic pose with the umbrella still held above you. "Maybe I should take a gamble with you sometime."

Aventurine, ever the charmer, closed the distance between you and kissed you gently on the lips. "The best bet I’ve ever made is the one on you."

Sunday stood in a garden bathed in the soft glow of twilight, his coat flowing behind him like a royal cape. You stood nearby, watching him with admiration. Today, Sunday had chosen a more gentle form of exercise—a slow dance, a symbolic gesture for peace, a reflection of his own philosophy.

"Shall we begin?" he asked, extending his hand.

You smiled, taking it without hesitation, your fingers intertwining. As the music started, you moved in tandem, each step purposeful and elegant. Sunday’s eyes met yours with a quiet intensity, his every movement controlled, graceful.

"Feel the rhythm," Sunday whispered, spinning you under his arm. "Life, like dance, is about harmony."

The dance flowed seamlessly, your movements as one, until Sunday pulled you close, his lips brushing against your ear. "You are the perfect partner, in every way."

You smiled, your heart full, and kissed him back tenderly. "And you are the dream I never want to wake from."

Dan Heng stood at the training grounds, the spear in his hands. He was practicing a series of swift thrusts and spins, each movement calculated, precise. You stood by, leaning casually against a tree, watching with a mix of admiration and concern.

"Don’t overdo it!" you called out after a particularly powerful strike that sent a gust of wind rippling through the air.

Dan Heng paused, his stoic expression unchanged. He glanced at you, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I’m fine." he replied softly.

However, it wasn’t long before he offered to let you join in. "Would you like to try?"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. "With the spear?"

Dan Heng nodded. "It’s about control, not strength. Let me guide you."

With a gentle hand on your waist, Dan Heng showed you the proper stance, your bodies aligning in perfect symmetry. As you practiced together, Dan Heng’s stoic demeanor softened, the quiet moments filled with shared trust. After a few successful strikes, you smiled up at him.

"Not bad for someone who’s all about silence," you teased.

Dan Heng chuckled, albeit quietly. "It’s not about what’s said. It’s about what’s felt."

He kissed you lightly on the forehead, grateful for the peace you brought to his turbulent heart.

Argenti stood, his sword gleaming in the sunlight, the red fabric of his attire flowing in the breeze. You sat nearby, watching him intently. His expression was one of perfect concentration as he practiced his swings, each movement a deliberate attempt to maintain his sense of purity.

He turned to face you, his expression noble yet inviting. "Would you honor me by joining my exercises today? A bout of sparring, if it pleases you?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to fight me?"

Argenti's lips curved into a resolute smile, his eyes gleaming with unyielding determination. "Fear not, for I seek not to harm you, but to temper my resolve. It is the sanctity of honorable combat that stirs my soul."

With a gentle nod, you agreed, standing and grabbing a sparring sword. The match began, and Argenti’s movements were swift and graceful, the perfect blend of honor and beauty. Despite the intensity of the fight, he ensured every blow was controlled, never too harsh.

As you crossed blades, you suddenly spun and caught him off guard, knocking the sword from his hand. You stepped close, your breath mingling, before pressing a quick, teasing kiss to his lips.

"Seems like you need more practice," you teased.

Argenti inclined his head, his voice brimming with pride and humility. "I shall redouble my efforts and train with greater fervor to earn my place in our next match."

Jing Yuan stood in the training hall, his hands poised on the reins of his strategy. You stood before him, the subject of his training today.

"Shall we begin?" Jing Yuan asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You nodded, gripping the training blade he’d given you. As Jing Yuan moved through the motions, his calm demeanor was evident, but there was a playful undertone to his every move. His strikes were light but precise, testing your reflexes and balance.

At one point, as he parried an attack, Jing Yuan swept you into a spin and caught you in a gentle embrace, pulling you close.

"You are growing stronger," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But I still hold the advantage in speed."

You grinned, your arms winding around him as you kissed him back. "We’ll see about that."

Jing Yuan’s laugh rumbled softly in his chest as he kissed you again, the warmth of the moment eclipsing the training. "I always look forward to our challenges."

[cece693]

could I maybe request something for a male reader and hannigram? something where the reader is always really quiet and generally avoids people so everyone thinks he’s shy, but one conversation with him shows that he is NOT shy—he’s just on the verge of murdering someone constantly. ‘Never plan a murder out loud’ type shit

so idk like quiet, anger issues-y type of reader? anyways thanks :3

On the Tip of Your Tongue

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader isn't who he seems, hannigram is supportive, no murder today, short but sweet, kinda au

You’ve always been the quiet type—or at least, that’s what everyone thinks. You’re the coworker who slips in and out of the office with barely a nod in passing. The neighbor who’s so hard to catch in conversation that people decide you must be shy or painfully introverted. After all, you rarely speak unless spoken to, and even then, it’s usually just a few carefully chosen words.

But Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham know better.

They see the way your eyes linger a second too long on potential threats. They hear the deliberate pace of your breathing when you’d rather lash out than listen to unwelcome commentary. They’ve witnessed how your fists tighten and then relax at your sides, an exercise in self-control so you don’t do something you’d regret—or maybe something you’ve been itching to do all day.

No one suspects that you’re coiled tight like a predator, mentally skirting the edge of violence at every sharp word or rude glance. Well, no one besides your boyfriends.

You live with Will and Hannibal in a large, old house on the outskirts of Baltimore. It’s tastefully furnished—Hannibal’s touch, of course—with warm wooden floors and richly colored walls. Tucked into a corner near the fireplace is a battered armchair that’s Will’s favorite spot. When you get home from work tonight, you find Will curled up there, jacket tossed over the chair’s arm, while Hannibal stands by the mantle, hands clasped behind his back.

“There you are,” Will says, sounding relieved. “Busy day?”

You loosen your tie with a quick tug and hang it over the coat rack. “Something like that.”

“‘Something like that’?” Hannibal repeats with a faint tilt of his head. He steps forward, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “It’s rare you come home so tense.”

You offer him a crooked half-smile. “I had a run-in at work.”

Will sits up straighter, frowning. “Everything okay?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you say, your voice low. You’re aware, in that moment, that anyone else would have shrugged it off with a polite, noncommittal phrase. But you don’t bother hiding the edge in your tone. Not in front of these two men. “Let’s just say I gave someone a wake-up call.”

It’s Will’s turn to smile, the corner of his mouth quirking with interest. “I’m guessing there’s more to the story than that.”

You shrug. “Maybe a bit.”

Earlier That Day

You work at a forensic consulting office attached to the FBI. You’re not a profiler—Will’s got that covered, and so does Hannibal, in his own capacity—but your role is instrumental. You file case reports, cross-reference data, catalog evidence, and do some background research that often proves vital. It’s not glamorous, but you do it well. Quiet competence, that’s your calling card. Nobody expects the seemingly shy, unassuming coworker to have sharp claws.

Apparently, Joseph Sykes in the archives department was in the mood to push buttons today. He’d made an offhand remark about your “lack of communication skills,” implying you were borderline useless in a high-stakes environment. Maybe if you were more gregarious, you’d climb the ladder faster.

You could practically feel your temper thrumming. There’s a little tingle in your fingertips, that familiar rush of heat across your temples. The darkness that’s always lurking on the edges of your mind wanted to creep in, to let you imagine just how easy it might be to…

No. Not here. You repeated the same mantra you always do. Never plan a murder out loud, and never lose your cool so publicly.

Instead, you turned to face him slowly. You allowed the silence to stretch until Joseph got a little uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet enough that only he could hear, but laced with a menace that forced him to pay attention.

“Joseph,” you said, leaning in slightly, “I don’t need to be loud to get results. If you want to see me really speak up, keep trying to push me.”

His expression froze as he realized that, beneath the polite exterior, something lethal flickered behind your eyes. You gave him a small, dangerous smile, then calmly walked away. He was left standing there, mouth slightly open, unsure of what to say.

Back Home

Will’s eyebrows lift as you finish recounting the incident. “You put him in his place without even raising your voice?”

“Didn’t have to.” You shrug, crossing the room to where Hannibal stands. He places a hand lightly on your shoulder, warmth radiating through his long fingers.

“We all have our own ways of asserting dominance,” Hannibal murmurs, a private amusement in his tone. “I’m glad you didn’t escalate things. Though, one day, perhaps you’ll indulge me and share how you control that hunger.” His eyes flick over yours, curious and admiring.

“I don’t know if you’re the last person who should be encouraging that or the best person,” you tease. “But it’s not about control so much as picking the right moment. I’m not going to waste my time or energy on something that small.”

Will stands, padding softly over to the two of you. “That’s what I love about you,” he says. “Everyone thinks you’re just quiet and shy, but the reality is far more interesting. You’ve got more bite in you than half the people at the Bureau combined.”

You offer a wry smile, stepping closer so that Will can take your hand, and Hannibal, your other. “There’s a lot they don’t know, that’s for sure.”

A small silence settles over the three of you—comfortable, warm. Even with your smoldering anger from earlier, you can’t help but feel at peace here. In their presence, your edges don’t feel quite so sharp. There’s an understanding that hums beneath the surface; you don’t need to watch your every word or apologize for the way your thoughts naturally veer. Will and Hannibal know who you are in your quiet moments and in the moments where the darkness tries to seep out from behind your eyes.

And they accept you, entirely.

Later that night, you’re in the kitchen with Hannibal. He’s slicing vegetables for a late dinner, and the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board is almost hypnotic. You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a lazy sort of fascination.

Without looking away from his task, Hannibal speaks up. “There’s a question on your mind.”

You exhale slowly, pushing off the counter to stand at his side. “I’m not sure it’s a question so much as an observation. Everyone at work still thinks I’m meek. Even after all this time. When someone like Sykes decides to test me…some part of me wants to prove them wrong in a very, very final way.”

Hannibal’s lips curl into that refined, knowing smile. “The instincts we share can be…difficult to restrain. But you have an advantage: clarity. You know when to yield, and you know when to stand your ground. That’s more power than you realize.”

He sets the knife down and meets your gaze, eyes dark with a fond, predatory glint. “And perhaps you enjoy having them underestimate you.”

Will appears in the doorway then, shoulders relaxed. “Dinner almost ready?” he asks lightly, though he picks up on the electricity in the air. His gaze dances between you and Hannibal, reflecting his quiet understanding of the unspoken tension you both carry.

“Almost,” Hannibal replies, returning to his slicing.

Will moves close enough to rest a hand on your lower back. “And you? You alright now?” His tone is gentle.

You let out a tight breath and allow yourself to lean into his touch, if only a little. “I’m fine.” Your voice drops, turning wry. “Calmer than I was earlier, anyway.”

“Glad to hear it,” Will says. He presses a light kiss just behind your ear. It’s casual affection, but it’s enough to smooth out the last of your lingering frustration.

You smile, truly smile, for the first time that evening. Because this moment—this comfortable, domestic moment with Hannibal and Will—is what keeps you anchored. You can keep your secrets and your darkness close, but never alone. You can unleash your quieter, deadlier side at will, knowing they won’t turn away from you. If anything, it only draws you closer.

[tifosipogue]

When Shadows Fall Soft

xaden riorson x reader

No one looks Xaden Riorson in the eye—except you.

They all flinch, turning away like moths from a flame. You, however, meet his gaze like you’re daring him to blink first. He never does. But you never stop trying.

"You are playing with fire," your friend whispers one day after training, eyes flickering to where Xaden stands, arms crossed, watching the sparring match like he’s mentally cataloging everyone’s weaknesses. His eyes meet yours and he raises one eyebrow, like he is challenging you.

You smirk. “Good thing I don't mind getting burned."

You’re assigned to the same squad for a field exercise—just your luck. He stands at the edge of the group, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the map and mission outline. He barely looks at you during the briefing, but you can tell he’s listening. Every word seems to land sharp.

His shoulders tense slightly when you speak, barely a shift, but it’s enough. You notice the way his fingers twitch once before stilling. The room isn’t cold, but there’s a chill that seems to hang around him like a storm cloud, subtle and heavy. In the corners, where the light doesn't quite reach, the black shadows seem to move—just slightly—like they’re leaning in to hear you too.

That’s the first surprise.

The second is when he saves your life.

You react quickly—training taking over, instincts firing—but not quickly enough. The danger comes too fast, a blur of motion and sound that you can’t fully register until it’s already upon you. Heat flashes near your side, the sign of incoming death. You pivot, heart slamming into your ribs, knowing—without question—you’re too late.

And then something colder than fear coils around you.

The shadows hit first—wrapping you in a sheath of darkness that clings to your skin like a second heartbeat. It’s not just a barrier; it’s a command. They pull you out of the blast zone, fast and sharp, snapping you through space like a blade slicing through silence. The ground reappears beneath your feet, unfamiliar and shaking, and you stumble—but you're not alone.

Xaden is already there.

He steps into the space where you were standing seconds ago, a wall of muscle, shadows, and raw fury. His power roils around him, violent and barely contained. Smoke-like tendrils lash out from his shoulders and spine, shifting like they’re alive, like they’re angry. At what—you’re not sure. The enemy. The threat. Or the fact that you’d almost been hurt. Again.

His eyes find yours—just for a second.

The way his jaw clenches. The way his fists flex. The way his power doesn’t retreat from your skin—it lingers, as if it refuses to let go until it’s sure you’re safe.

“Stay behind me,” he growls, voice low, threaded with something that might be fear—or something far more dangerous.

And even though the battlefield still rages around you, even though there’s no time to breathe, let alone feel—you do. Just for a heartbeat. Because in that moment, with the scent of lightning in the air and the ghost of his shadows still curled around your ribs, you realize something terrifying.

You free your arm from his grip, rolling your eyes. “I had it handled.”

“Like hell you did.” He snaps, his eyes wild as he dares you to talk back.

Your breathing is quick, your heart quicker, but you don’t back down. “You don’t get to play hero.”

He steps closer, voice low making you shiver. “And you don’t get to die on my watch.”

You see it—not just the anger, but something under it. Fear. Frustration. Maybe... concern?

____

The tension between you only worsens. It coils tighter with every shared breath, every glance that lasts too long, every word said just a bit too sharply. It’s unspoken but undeniable—an invisible thread pulled taut between you, threatening to snap or ignite, and you’re not sure which would be worse.

During drills, it becomes a battlefield all its own.

He pushes you harder than anyone else, relentless and unyielding. His commands are clipped, his tone edged in steel, and his eyes—gods, those eyes. Every misstep, every falter, every half-second delay is met with immediate, brutal correction. “You’re hesitating,” he snaps one morning, breath fogging in the cold. “That’ll get you killed."

You wipe the sweat from your brow and fire back without missing a beat. “And micromanaging my every move will get you punched.”

His jaw ticks. Just slightly. And for a flicker of a second, his shadows stir—barely—but they do. You know it wasn’t your words. It was your voice. The heat beneath it. The frustration. The fear. And maybe something else.

You don’t hold back either. Every time it’s his turn to spar, you hit harder, move faster. You press his limits like you're daring him to snap. When he corrects your stance with razor-sharp precision—clinical and cold—you meet it with sarcasm laced in venom. “Thanks for the unsolicited feedback, Wingleader. I forgot I signed up for a personal critique."

He steps closer. Too close. His breath ghosts across your cheek, and for a second you think he’s going to say something—something real—but he doesn’t.

And just like that, the moment implodes.

Because beneath the tension is something dangerous. Something that simmers beneath the surface like a fault line—shifting, straining, threatening to crack. You tell yourself it’s just frustration. Just adrenaline. Just the pressure of war, of survival.

But it’s not.

It’s you and him.

____

It happens after a night patrol turns into another disaster—ambush, chaos, the kind that leaves your ears ringing and your hands slick with blood that might not even be your own. You're still high on adrenaline, limbs shaking with the aftershock, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your chest.

There’s a gash tearing across your shoulder, deep and ugly, warm blood soaking into your sleeve. You’re breathing hard, pain dull behind the buzz in your head, but you’re standing. That counts for something.

He’s not impressed.

Xaden is pacing in front of you, jaw tight, movements sharp enough to cut through the night air. His shadows slither around him, alive with fury. Every step he takes feels like thunder, like he’s barely holding something back—his voice, his temper, his power. Maybe all three.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps, finally rounding on you.

You straighten despite the pain, even though every instinct tells you to sit down before you pass out. “I was thinking I’d keep the squad alive."

His eyes flash. His shadows twitch, sensing his anger before he even speaks again. “You’re not invincible,” he growls, stepping closer. “Stop acting like you don’t care what happens to you.”

“And you stop acting like it’s your only job to keep me breathing!” you snap back, voice rising, blood still dripping from your arm. “I know the risks, Xaden. I’ve known them since day one.”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, chest rising and falling too fast, fury painted across his face—but underneath it, something else. Something quieter. Raw. Unspoken.

Then his gaze drops—just briefly—to the blood on your arm.

He exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s trying to swallow something back. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but more dangerous than before. “You think I’m angry because you disobeyed?” he murmurs. “I’m angry because you got hurt."

You freeze.

The words land harder than any blow. You can still hear the echoes of battle in your ears, still feel the sting of your wound, but suddenly none of it matters. Not compared to the way he’s looking at you now—like he’s furious with you, yes, but more than that... terrified.

You didn’t know he could look like that.

“You should have run,” he hisses, voice tight. “You think dying proves something?”

“Better than hiding behind shadows like you do.”

You expect him to yell, give you a silly punishment like all the times before. Maybe even walk away.

Instead of replying, he storms forward.

His eyes burn into yours, shadows curling at the edges of his silhouette like they can’t decide whether to lash out or hold you tighter. He’s barely two breaths away when he suddenly reaches out, rough hands catching your face, fingers splayed across your jaw with a grip that’s more desperate than tender.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

The world narrows to the heat between your mouths, the press of his body, the taste of adrenaline and fury and everything you’ve both been holding back for far too long. It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s wild—teeth clashing, breath stolen, lips bruising with the force of it. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if there’s even a sliver of space between you.

You kiss him back. Gods, you shouldn’t—but you do.

Because all that tension, all the biting words and hard stares and dangerously close moments—it’s always been this. A storm waiting to break.

Your blood is still warm from the fight, your shoulder throbbing, and yet none of that matters now. Not with his mouth on yours like it’s the only way he knows how to speak, like it’s the only language he trusts. You push against him, not to stop him, but to fight back—matching the kiss with your own ferocity, your own aching confusion. It’s a battle neither of you were ready for. And slowly—breath by breath, touch by touch—you start to lose.

And you don’t even care.

But eventually, reality crashes back in. The smell of smoke, the taste of copper, the ache in your arm—all reminders that this shouldn’t be happening. Not here. Not like this.

You break the kiss with a gasp, chest heaving, lips tingling. You don’t step back—can’t—but you meet his eyes with yours, and for a moment neither of you says a thing. His hand is still on your jaw, thumb brushing your skin like he doesn’t want to let go.

“That was a mistake,” you whisper, though your voice cracks around it.

He leans in again, lips brushing your jaw.

"Was it?"

____

The war catches up faster than expected.

You’re stationed together during a border defense—an urgent call. When your squad gets split up, it’s just the two of you, back-to-back against impossible odds.

You're both barely standing.

Wounded, exhausted, covered in dust and blood that isn't just your own—your limbs ache with the weight of the fight, and your vision blurs at the edges, but you move. Because you have to. Because stopping means dying. The enemy is relentless, the air thick with smoke and magic and screams swallowed by the night.

And then something shifts.

A flicker of movement—a flash of metal too fast to counter. It’s coming for you, and you don’t see it until it’s too late. You spin on instinct, weapon raised, but it won’t be fast enough.

You feel the power surge behind you first. Cold and consuming.

His shadows explode into your periphery, dark tendrils lashing forward like living smoke, forming a barrier between you and death. They strike with feral precision, swallowing the blade before it can reach your skin. The sound is sickening—a clash of steel against something ancient and unnatural.

But then—

A strangled breath. The shadows falter.

And you know.

You turn—heart already breaking, throat already tight—and scream his name, raw and panicked.

"Xaden!"

He’s still standing. Just barely.

His body is between you and the blow. His shadows flicker and writhe around him, unsteady now, like they’re confused. Hurt. And then you see it—dark crimson blooming beneath his armor, soaking through the fabric at his side in thick, spreading waves.

The blood.

Your breath stutters. “No.”

He sways once before catching himself, jaw clenched, hand pressed to his ribs like he’s trying to hold himself together with sheer will. His face is pale, eyes clouded with pain, but locked on you—only on you. Like the rest of the world doesn’t matter as long as you’re still breathing.

You’re already moving, dropping to your knees beside him, hands scrambling for pressure on the wound, for anything that’ll help, that’ll do something. But your hands are slick with his blood, and he’s already too cold, and he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing he’s sure of.

“You idiot,” you whisper, choking on the words. “You weren’t supposed to—I didn’t ask you to—"

He reaches up, fingers brushing your cheek in a ghost of a touch. “Didn’t need to.”

You press harder on the wound. His shadows respond, curling weakly around your hands like they’re trying to help, trying to hold on.

“Don’t you dare die,” you growl, fierce and shaking. “Do you hear me, Xaden? I’m not letting you.”

And he gives you the faintest, bloodstained smirk—equal parts defiance and affection.

"I know you won't."

You pull him close feeling his heart starting to slow as you sob.

Later, after the healers stabilize him, you sit at his bedside, holding his hand.

When he wakes, he groans but smiles as soon as his eyes meet yours, “You again.”

“Welcome back,” you reply, tears slipping down your cheek despite your smirk.

“I almost died.”

“You almost left me.” Your voice cracks. “That’s worse.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Not unless you’re with me.”

After that, the shadows soften completly.

They don't disappear, they are still here but know they protect you, fight for you, sleep with you and dream with you.

He still growls at you during training. You still roll your eyes and make a snide comment. But the fire between you is no longer all heat and rage—it’s warmth, too. It’s home.

[kleopatra45]

Mercury in the House [Solar Return]

Mercury in the 1st House

When Mercury is in the 1st house of your Solar Return chart, communication and intellectual pursuits take center stage for the year. You may find yourself more curious, talkative, and eager to learn. Your ability to express yourself is heightened, making this a great year for networking, studying, or starting new projects that require mental agility. Be cautious of becoming overly nervous or scattered in your focus.

Mercury in the 2nd House

With Mercury in the 2nd house, your thoughts and conversations will revolve around finances, possessions, and personal values. This year, you might explore new ways to make money, manage resources, or assess your worth. Analytical thinking will aid in budgeting and investment decisions. Be mindful of not becoming too materialistic or overly worried about financial matters.

Mercury in the 3rd House

Mercury in the 3rd house emphasizes communication, learning, and short trips. This year, you may be more involved in writing, teaching, or engaging in frequent conversations. Your mind will be sharp, and you could take on new studies or skills. Siblings, neighbors, and your immediate environment play a significant role in your experiences. Watch out for becoming too scattered or superficial in your interactions.

Mercury in the 4th House

When Mercury is in the 4th house, thoughts turn towards home, family, and personal foundations. You may find yourself more involved in family matters or interested in genealogy and history. Communication within the home becomes crucial, and you might engage in home improvement projects or move residences. Emotional intelligence is essential to navigate family dynamics effectively.

Mercury in the 5th House

With Mercury in the 5th house, creativity, romance, and children are highlighted. This year, you might explore creative writing, engage in playful intellectual pursuits, or enjoy hobbies that stimulate your mind. Romantic relationships could involve more communication and mental connection. Be aware of becoming too critical or analytical in matters of the heart.

Mercury in the 6th House

Mercury in the 6th house focuses on work, health, and daily routines. You’ll likely be busy with work-related tasks, and your attention to detail will be sharp. This is an excellent time to organize your workspace, improve efficiency, and focus on health through diet and exercise. Avoid becoming overly worried about minor health issues or getting bogged down in mundane details.

Mercury in the 7th House

When Mercury is in the 7th house, partnerships and relationships take center stage. Communication with significant others, business partners, or close friends becomes crucial. This year, you may negotiate contracts, resolve conflicts, or discuss the future of your relationships. Be cautious of becoming too argumentative or overly reliant on others for mental stimulation.

Mercury in the 8th House

With Mercury in the 8th house, your thoughts dive into deep, transformative topics such as psychology, finances, and shared resources. You might engage in research, explore occult subjects, or deal with inheritances and taxes. Intense conversations and a desire for profound understanding mark this year. Be mindful of becoming too secretive or obsessive in your thinking.

Mercury in the 9th House

Mercury in the 9th house emphasizes higher learning, travel, and philosophical exploration. This year, you might pursue studies, travel abroad, or engage in discussions about religion, law, or ethics. Your mind will be open to new ideas and cultural experiences. Avoid being overly dogmatic or scattered in your intellectual pursuits.

Mercury in the 10th House

When Mercury is in the 10th house, career, and public image are in focus. This year, you might take on roles that require communication, writing, or teaching. Your professional reputation could be shaped by how effectively you express your ideas. Networking and strategic thinking will benefit your career. Be careful of becoming too consumed with public opinion or overly concerned with status.

Mercury in the 11th House

With Mercury in the 11th house, social connections, and future goals take precedence. This year, you might join groups, clubs, or organizations that align with your interests. Friendships and networking play a significant role in achieving your aspirations. Collaborative projects and innovative ideas will flourish. Avoid spreading yourself too thin or becoming overly dependent on group approval.

Mercury in the 12th House

Mercury in the 12th house brings a focus on introspection, spirituality, and hidden matters. This year, you might find yourself drawn to meditation, dreams, and subconscious exploration. Communication may take on a more private or secretive nature. Writing in a journal or engaging in solitary intellectual pursuits can be beneficial. Be mindful of becoming too reclusive or overwhelmed by unconscious fears.

Retrograde

Mercury retrograde in the houses of a Solar Return chart signifies a year of introspection, reevaluation, and revisiting past issues related to the themes of each house. Communication may be more reflective and internalized, with possible misunderstandings and delays in these areas.

In the 1st house, it prompts self-reflection and identity reassessment

In the 2nd house, a reevaluation of finances and values

In the 3rd house, reconsideration of communication and local interactions

In the 4th house, reflection on family and home life

In the 5th house, rethinking creativity and romance

In the 6th house, revisiting work and health routines

In the 7th house, reassessing relationships

In the 8th house, deep introspection on shared resources and transformations

In the 9th house, reconsideration of beliefs and long-distance matters

In the 10th house, reevaluation of career and public image

In the 11th house, reflection on friendships and future goals

In the 12th house, a deep dive into the subconscious and hidden aspects of life.

©️kleopatra45

[bloomzone]

2025: #10 take care of your mind

your brain is the most powerful tool you will ever own. YOUR BRAIN IS MORE POWERFUL THAN UR PHONE, LAPTOP ... . Yet how many of us actually take care of it? How many of us think twice about what we feed it, how we use it, or how we let it rest? u don’t rise to the level of your dreams you fall to the level of your mind. And if your mind isn’t sharp, disciplined, and protected, you’re setting yourself up for failure.

✒️..You’re probably wondering: “What does it mean to take care of my brain?” It’s simple but not easy. First, let’s talk about what you’re consuming EEEEVRY single thing you watch, listen to or read is planting seeds in your mind. Are you planting weeds or flowers? Scroll endlessly on social media, filling your brain with nonsense, comparison, and negativity—guess what? You’re planting weeds, and they will grow. Your thoughts become your beliefs, and your beliefs become your actions.

THE TRUTH IS you are what you allow into your mind. If you keep surrounding yourself with negativity, if you keep replaying the same self-doubt, if you keep absorbing content that doesn’t serve you don’t be surprised when you feel stuck, overwhelmed, or anxious. You’re not broken you’re just fueling yourself with the wrong things.

"So, what do you do?"

1. Detox your mind. Cut out the noise. Start filtering what you consume. Unfollow accounts that drain your energy. Stop watching content that makes you feel small. And for the love of everything pookie stop engaging in drama—it’s not worth the space it takes up in your head.

2. Feed your brain the right fuel. Read books that challenge you. Listen to podcasts that inspire you. Surround yourself with people who uplift you. And no, this isn’t just some feel-good advice it’s about wiring ur brain for growth. The more you surround yourself with knowledge, positivity, and action-oriented energy, the more your brain starts working for you instead of against you.

3. Train your focus. Your brain is a muscle. If you don’t train it, it gets lazy. Meditation isn’t just for monks it’s for anyone who wants to build laser-like focus. Start small—two minutes a day. Sit down, breathe, and let your mind rest. Because a rested brain is a powerful brain.

4. Protect your energy it mean it’s about who you let into your space. People can either fuel your fire or extinguish it. If someone in your life constantly drags you down, you need to set boundaries. Your mental energy is sacred. Guard it fiercely.

🪧-FACT BOX !

『When you kick unhealthy habits to the curb, your brain actually starts to thrive! Imagine cutting out constant stress it’s like a weight lifted off your mind, lowering cortisol levels and giving your memory and learning a boost. Eating betteeeeer and healthier cuz those omega-3s and antioxidants help reduce brain fog while also cranking up serotonin and dopamine, the feel-good chemicals that keep you motivated and happy. Regular exercise is like a power-up for your brain, releasing endorphins and encouraging the growth of new neurons. It’s like giving your mind a fresh start every day (try to wake up early and do any type of exercise and u will see how well ur day will roll) Sleep is another secret weapon—by getting enough (6-7 or even 8 )you’re helping your brain detox and organize memories, keeping everything sharp. And let’s not forget about avoiding things like alcohol and drugs—this keeps your brain’s reward system in check and prevents it from burning out or killing you lmaooo .. All these changes together supercharge your brain, boosting focus, creativity, and mental strength. Your brain will thank you!』

@bloomzone ❕

[tteotlma]

Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here. 

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in. 

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned. 

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place. 

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight. 

Not that exhaustion was new to you. 

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved. 

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem. 

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].” 

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around. 

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.” 

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind. 

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise. 

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin. 

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration. 

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you. 

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough. 

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body. 

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder. 

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back. 

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles. 

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click. 

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood. 

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for. 

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part.  “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat. 

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust.  Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up. 

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.  

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes,  wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him. 

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.” 

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking  your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed. 

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely. 

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

[copper-16]

Mascot

Elena's first time getting to be Alexia's mascot.

(a/n: I feel like I'm on such a roll with these lol. Hope you all enjoy! Feel free to send more requests if you have more of Elena you want to see before I settle in to work on my next bigger project I have planned :)

Alexia had gone into the gym to do a few extra exercises after training, just to get a few reps in before the important game the next week. It was El Clásico in Barcelona once again, the day before her birthday in fact. She wanted to be prepared, she wanted to be sharp and focused. She was still coming back from her ACL, she was still yet to get back to the form everyone expected from her. 

The mental load was beginning to take a toll on her, and her birthday wasn’t really helping anything. Yet another reminder that she was getting older, that everything would get more complicated as tried to play whilst she aged. 

She was so focused on her reps that she doesn’t realize that Elena is standing in front of her until there is a tiny tap on her thigh, and she looks down from the weights she is holding to see that the three year old is peering up at her rather shyly. 

“Pequeña! What are you doing here my little love?” Alexia said sweetly, carefully setting the weight down before she sat down, scooping the baby into her arms and smothering her with kisses. The little giggles and laughs that Elena let out relaxed her whole body, and she felt herself smiling more genuinely than she had in days. 

“I…um…uh…I had a….a question!” The little girl explained, leaning back slightly as she reached up to shove some of her hair away from her face. It was sort of braided back, but a lot of the baby hairs that framed her face had gotten free, and now flowed freely in the slight breeze through the gym. Alexia followed her little hand with her larger ones, running it soothingly over the little girl’s forehead. 

Mapi and Ingrid’s daughter seemed nervous for some reason, and the midfielder furrowed her eyebrows a little bit, wondering what was making the usually outgoing and bubbly little girl so anxious. She looked quite concerned for someone who was only three years old.

“What is it Elena? It is okay, you can tell me,” she promised, her voice gentle. This seemed to settle the green eyed girl for a moment, enough for her to ask her question. 

“Walk out with you?” She asked carefully, her words clearly well thought out. Alexia’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline with surprise. Mapi or Ingrid usually never let their daughter walk out with anyone else, and she wasn’t sure if she could say yes. 

She hesitated for a moment, knowing what her heart wanted, while also wanting to respect her friends' boundaries. 

“PSSSST!”

The blonde turned her head to see that Mapi and Ingrid were peering around the corner, the Norwegian’s head over her wife’s as they leaned into the gym while not wanting to go into the room completely. 

Both of the defenders reached their hands up to give thumbs up, citing their clear agreement with the situation. Alexia felt her smile grow as she turned back to Elena, who was looking at her hopefully. 

“Yes! I would love for you to walk out with me!” She agreed easily, picking up the little girl and twirling her around, inciting another round of laughter and squeals as she hugged the toddler. 

Suddenly the game seemed a little bit more exciting, and a little bit less overwhelming. At the very least, she had something to look forward to. 

—

“Where is my baby!” Alexia announced as she all but ran into the changing room, throwing her bag down when she caught sight of Elena. 

“Tia!” She cried, running over on her little legs and running directly into the midfielder. The laugh that came out of the Barcelona captain’s mouth was more natural than anything, as she bent down to peel the toddler off of her legs and to lift her up into her arms, dancing her back and forth. 

Elena clapped along with the bopping the midfielder was doing, horribly out of rhythm but still joyful all the same. 

“Tía, Tía, look at my shirt!” She announced, pulling at the little Barcelona jersey she was wearing. Alexia assumed that it was one of Mapi or Ingrid’s shirts, but when she turned the little girl around it was her name and number plastered on the back. 

“You have my shirt! What, do you love me or something?” She teased in an overly exaggerated attempt to hide the emotion that bubbled up inside of her, and when Elena nodded enthusiastically, she tucked the girl into her to give her a big hug. Little arms wrapped their way around her and held her tightly, and she found that her nerves had dissipated for the most part, at least for now. 

Elena was passed back to Mapi for a while so that Alexia could get ready, and before she knew it they were getting ready to head out. 

Elena was passed back to Alexia, who held her hand very securely as they walked out into the tunnel, preparing to go out onto the field. The little girl was oblivious entirely to Alexia’s nerves, and she babbled about everything and nothing at all to her Tía. 

When Elena looked over at the Real Madrid team, she quickly noticed a familiar face in line, and before anyone could stop her she had turned her body entirely, calling out with a force that was rather surprising from a three year old. 

“HOLA TÍA MISA!” Elena called out as though Misa was not ten meters from her. Mapi and Ingrid were standing further back in the line, and the Norwegian had to hide her laughter in a cough while the Spaniard smacked her forehead with her palm. 

The goalkeeper was known for her focus before matches, and for her stony expressions when she was in the zone, so Alexia looked over almost in panic when Elena called out to her. She wasn’t sure if Misa not responding would make Elena sad or not, and what she was supposed to do with an upset toddler when they walked out for the match. 

But to her surprise, Misa’s expression broke at the sound of her name, and her whole body softened as she turned slightly, offering a small wave to Elena, her gloves strapped securely onto her hands. 

Elena’s whole face lit up in excitement that Misa remembered her, and she turned back to Alexia with a bright smile on her face. 

“That’s Misa!” She explained cheerfully, and Alexia pretended to be surprised, looking up at the Real Madrid goalkeeper, following Elena’s instructions. 

The toddler managed to keep them preoccupied until they were ready to walk out, and Alexia held her hand carefully as they made their way out. She had been sure to inform any photographer she could find that she really wanted pictures of walking out with Elena, and she could hear the snap of the shutter as they walked out to get ready. 

The crowd roared around them, and as Elena took it in while they lined up, she found herself hiding behind Alexia’s leg a little bit. She was clearly a touch nervous, and found safety in the Barcelona captain. 

It was one thing to know her goddaughter and love her, but it felt like another for the little girl to find safety in the midfielder. It had this ability to make her feel such warmth inside, and like suddenly football mattered just a tiny bit less. 

The blonde looked down at the little girl, her forehead creasing in concern. 

“Are you okay pequeña? It is okay to be scared, I know they are loud. But they are just excited for the game!” Alexia whispered loudly, pretending that she was telling the curly haired little girl a big secret. Elena looked up at her, seemingly holding onto every word she said as she watched her godmother, nodding slightly. 

She reached her hands up as soon as Alexia stopped talking, and the Spaniard easily picked her up, popping her onto her hip and adjusting her little jersey down over her stomach with a practiced ease. 

“Do you want to wave to the crowd?” The captain asked, and Elena’s smile spread as she reached her hand out, waving at everyone in the stands. 

There will be a picture for Alexia to frame, of the toddler with a big smile on her face as she waved at the crowd, while the midfielder laughed at her, gazing down at the little one adoringly. 

It’s only after the coin toss, which Elena helps with, that the little girl has to part from Alexia, so that they can play the game. The green eyed girl is passed to Patri, who begins to take her from her fellow midfielder before Elena calls out, causing Alexia’s steps to falter. 

“Tía Ale! Tía come back!” Elena all but wails, and for a second the game becomes obsolete to the Spaniard, who instantly turns back at the sound of the little girl’s clear discontent. 

“What? What is it?” She replies as she jogs over, and the curly haired girl reaches her hand up to her mouth before she runs over to Alexia, exaggerating a kissing motion off of her mouth and then pressing her hand to the Spaniard’s knee. 

“Good luck kiss! Score a goal!” Elena nods her little head at Alexia before she runs after Patri, who scoops her up and jogs them both to the bench so they can start the game. 

The Barcelona captain looks down at her knee for a second. The one the toddler had tapped was her bad knee, and even though Elena couldn’t know that, it felt a little symbolic. Her resolve to win strengthens as she sets up to play the match. 

—

Elena squirmed in Mapi’s hold as the game wound down, the Spaniard’s daughter knowing full well that it was nearly over. She had been subbed off about twenty minutes prior, and had collected her daughter from Patri to sit together on the bench, but all the little girl wanted today was Alexia it seemed. 

“Just one more minute!” Mapi laughed as the little girl let out a big huff, clearly displeased with that answer. She continued to twist and turn until the final whistle blew, and finally the center back released her, allowing the green eyed girl to take off as fast as her little legs would allow it. 

Ingrid was standing in between her and Alexia, and she bent down to receive her daughter, only for the little girl to drive by her completely, clearly not in search of her. Mapi, who had been trailing after her, laughed easily at the semi-annoyed look on her wife’s face. 

“Gosh, when did we become old news?” The Norwegian shook her head with a slight frown on her lips, but the brunette could tell her wife wasn’t really annoyed, not when they turned to see where their daughter was headed. 

Alexia was headed for the little girl just as much as Elena was running to her, and she bent down just as Elena made it to her, so that she could feel the toddler bury herself in her arms as she wound them around her in exchange. 

“You did it!” Elena announced happily, because the captain truly had. 

Alexia had scored a goal in the 79th minute of the game, and with the very leg where she had received a good luck kiss from the curly haired girl right before the match. 

“I did! And it was all thanks to you and your magic kisses, thank you so much!” Alexia gushed happily, pecking kiss after kiss to Elena’s little cheek as she held her tightly. The squeals and giggles released in response were well worth it, and she found herself leaning into the kisses that the curly haired girl offered in response, pressing wet little kisses to her cheek before she nestled herself further into Alexia. 

“Love you Tía,” Elena announced as she fisted one of her little hands in Alexia’s kit, and the midfielder was absolutely positive that her heart doubled in size at the words. 

“I love you too pequeña, always,” she promised as she pressed another kiss to the top of her head, holding the little girl securely to herself, rocking her back and forth.