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lubdubology · 8 months ago

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When Things Turn Green Again

SYNOPSIS: Hoping to mend the pain of your broken heart and bury the memory of your failed marriage, you turn towards the woods. A cabin was left in your name and it’s the exact distraction you were looking for. What you didn’t anticipate is meeting a quiet, ruggedly handsome man along the way who helps you heal.

PAIRING: Logan x fem!reader

WC: 11k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; mentions of cheating/divorce; emotional trauma; fluff; sexual innuendos; brief mentions of drinking; dirty talk; slight dom!Logan; oral (f receiving); fingering; doggy style; cock warming; sex with feelings; unprotected p in v

A/N: I pictured either Origins!Logan or Wolverine!Logan, but I think you can envision any Logan you’d prefer. And again thanks to @joelsgoldrush for the support through writing this ❤️ I really do love this piece I wrote and I hope you do too. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! And thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked and reblogged both Soft Edges and Til The Sun Turns Black—I never imagined either of those stories reaching over 1k notes.

The gravel crunches under your tires as you roll down the long driveway. Memories bloom deep in your chest as you near the cabin, of times simpler than this, unburdened by trappings of real life. You spent your formative years out here in the woods with your grandfather. Summers spent learning how to fish on the lake; how to recognize the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones; and making fires, roasting marshmallows long after the sun had gone down.

Your grandfather had helped build this cabin. He’d always preferred the outdoors and solitude from people—with the obvious exception of your grandmother and mother—and he’d often come here to escape. Especially after he lost them both.

The cabin comes into view through the trees just starting to unfurl their spring foliage. Patches of snow still dot the landscape but the wet brown of winter is losing to spring’s verdant hues. The structure has seen better days, last having been lived in over ten years ago.

A stab of regret pierces your chest. The cabin was willed to you when your grandfather died, but this was your first trip up here since the funeral. You planned to, of course, but as the old saying goes, life happened. Now, you’re hoping the old place can give you something to sink your energy into besides thinking about your failed marriage.

You park the truck and step out, surveying the property. The shrubs and flower beds are overgrown and choked with old growth and weeds. Years worth of leaves rest upon the roof and clog the gutters. The front porch has several loose or missing spindles and you’re almost afraid to step up onto the old boards. Proving yourself right, the wood groans and creaks beneath your feet, certain spots threatening to give way.

“That’s going to be a fun project,” you mutter to yourself.

Opening the front door, you’re met with the damp mustiness of a long closed up space. A layer of dust seems to coat nearly every surface and cobwebs linger in the corners. You’re hoping the repairs needed inside the cabin are more cosmetic than costly.

You open up the old blinds, letting the early morning light filter in the room. It’s not a large space, an open kitchen, living room and dinning area with separate bedroom and attached bathroom. A small set of steps leads up to a loft, which also doubles as a sleeping space or bonus area.

You unload your belongings from the truck, tucking them away inside the bedroom, before opening all the windows to let in the fresh air. Thankfully, the glass and protective screens are in relatively good repair—a few need replacing, but an easy enough job. You feel a sense of purpose flourish within you, something you haven’t felt for months and you wonder if this is just the reprieve you need to find yourself again.

+++

You spend the morning taking inventory of the repairs needed around the cabin to make it immediately livable. Jotting down a list of supplies, you hop in your truck and head into town to hit up the hardware store.

The owner, George, recognizes you from previous trips with your grandfather when you were younger. He greets you warmly and helps you find everything you need. As you’re checking out, he asks, “Run into Logan yet?”

“Logan?”

He nods his head. “Shares a property line with you. Has a cabin of his own just about a quarter mile north of yours. Asked him to keep his eye out on the place.”

“Oh, well, that was nice of him,” you comment, stuffing your receipt in your purse.

George shrugs. “Figured it would give him something different to do. Doesn’t interact much with people.”

“Guess I’ll just have to introduce myself then,” you say, lifting your bags up off the checkout counter.

“Good luck with that,” George responds with a huffed laugh. “He’s not one for small talk.”

You give George a polite smile and leave the store, bags in hand. But the conversation sparks your curiosity and you find yourself thinking of the man who shares the woods with you. You promised yourself once you were settled, you’d make the short hike towards his place and introduce yourself.

Arriving back at the cabin, you park the truck and hop out, stopping short when you spot a lone figure walking around from the back of your property. You can’t stop the prickle of anxiety that zips up your spine as the figure comes closer, but he doesn’t see you yet, his eyes on the ground as he walks.

You shut the truck door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing off the trees. He looks up then and you suck in a short breath as his rugged features come into view—well trimmed but scruffy beard, wild dark hair and a fit muscular frame you can see even under the flannel of his shirt.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this. You can feel a blush creep across your face and you grip the bags in your hands tighter just to feel something other than the hammering of your heart in your chest.

He stops short of where you’re standing and jerks a thumb behind him. “Turned your electrical breaker on,” he says without introduction and you can only stare at him.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I, uh—thanks.”

He tilts his head and looks at you and you feel like you’re on fire under his glare. It’s an inquisitive one, like he can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in a place like this and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And yet, you don’t want him to stop looking at you.

“Right,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for something. He fishes out a key and holds it in your direction. “This is yours.”

You shift the bags, so you’re holding them all in one hand and reach for the key. Your fingertips brush against his just briefly, but it’s enough to set sparks along your skin and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As he steps back from you, you blurt out your name and then immediately wish for a swift death at your awkwardness.

God, this was embarrassing.

It’s like you’ve never interacted with humans before.

He gives the barest hint of a smile. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” you say, just so you can taste his name in your mouth.

Logan nods and turns to head down the path that leads away from your cabin and deeper into the woods. You watch him go, his figure fading further into the distance and you can’t help but think, I’m in trouble.

+++

You spend the rest of the day keeping busy around the cabin—wiping down dusty surfaces, sweeping up cobwebs, replacing broken light bulbs—but your mind never strays far from Logan and the inexplicable pull you have towards him.

You’ve dated. You were married. You weren’t a stranger to the opposite sex and physical attraction, but this felt like more. Like an unavoidable pull between you and him and you’ve just been spun into his orbit.

And that attraction terrifies you.

Over the next few days, you try and shove him from your mind. It helps that you haven’t seen him again, but your eyes inevitably dart towards the path leading away from your cabin as if you’re expecting him to come walking through.

Then, the idea comes to you late one night as you’re sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick higher. No matter how hard you had tried, Logan remained firmly planted in your mind, his roots stubborn and unyielding.

Your grandfather always said your grandmother’s cooking was always something that warmed his heart.

But as you walk the small path towards Logan’s property you briefly wonder if you’ve lost your mind. You carry the small pie dish in your hands and as his cabin grows closer you’re actually contemplating turning back and forgetting the whole thing.

Who the hell bakes pies for people any more?

His cabin is smaller than yours, a little more rustic and worn, which seems fitting based on the little you know about him. Several piles of firewood line the roofed porch and at the opposite end, a single chair and table sit in front of the window. With one last shaky inhale, you climb the steps and rap your knuckles against the door. From inside you hear heavy footfalls and then the door opens.

Logan looks down at you and then towards the dish in your hands, an odd expression crossing his handsome features.

“I made you a pie,” you blurt unceremoniously and you instantly wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Logan just continues to stare at you and you think you see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. But maybe not.

“I, uh, my grandfather lived in the cabin next to yours and it’s mine now. I’m fixing it up, because…well, just because and he taught me to pick berries as a kid? So, I did that and I made you this,” you finish in a ramble, flames of embarrassment licking across your skin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His eyes flick down at the dish in your hands again and you hold it up a bit higher, nudging it closer towards him. As he reaches out to take it, his fingers brush against yours and you again feel electricity tingle down your fingertips. If he notices it too, he says nothing, not that he’s said anything since you showed up on his porch.

Logan tucks the dish closer to his body and gives you a slight nod. You take that as a good sign and step back to leave. “Okay, cool, cool. Well, um, enjoy. I made sure all he berries were the edible ones so you don’t end up throwing up everywhere.”

At that he actually huffs a chuckle. “Good to know,” he finally says, his voice warm and rich and just a bit gruff.

“Right, well, enjoy!” You turn to leave and can feel his stare against your back and it takes all your remaining functioning brain cells to walk normally.

You spend the next few days trying to forget all about your ill-fated attempt to play neighbor, figuring if he didn’t want to know you before, he definitely didn’t after that.

You’re coming back from a hike when you spot Logan through the trees walking away from your place, hands tucked deep within his pockets. Your heart quickens in your chest as you walk up to the front door and find the baking dish sitting on the old welcome mat. It’s freshly washed with a folded up piece of paper sitting inside—Thank you.

You’re certain your smile could rival the light from the sun.

+++

It becomes a routine over the next few weeks—you bringing him food and him returning the dish, all without exchanging any words. You’re thankful he’s not much of a talker because you can’t seem to stop making a fool of yourself around him.

And you don’t know why.

He’s a handsome man, that anyone can see, but you’ve never been so flustered around a beautiful man before.

There’s something else about Logan you can’t pinpoint that sets your heart fluttering behind your ribs. He seems lonely in the same way you are, and you wonder if he’s out here to lick and heal old wounds just like you. You have an inexplicable want to help him, even if that means sharing your food leftovers with him and trying to chip away at the wall that surrounds him.

A part of you is hoping he can help break down your walls, too.

You’re waist deep under the kitchen sink when a knock on the door drags you from fixing the leaking drain.

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, trying to maneuver out of the space while also not spilling the stagnant water left in the sink trap. As you set the old drain down you call out, “Just a second!”

You wipe your hands against your thighs and swing the door open to find Logan standing there, your glass baking dish from yesterday in his hands. For a second you blink silently at him, unable to think of anything but the fact that you’re wearing grease stained overalls and probably smell like a swamp.

“Logan, hi,” you finally say, brushing your hair out of your face.

He gives you a strange look as he hands the dish back to you. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you, “Why do you feed me?”

His question hangs in the air and you freeze. Of all the things he could have asked, you weren’t sure why you didn’t expect that one. His voice is a little gruff, but underneath there’s something that makes your heart race. Something vulnerable.

You swallow and grip the edge of the glass dish. Logan stares at you, his gaze intense, and you feel exposed. Like he’s trying to dissect you with just a look.

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you finally admit. “You just…seem like you could use some kindness.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel your pulse quicken. “I can stop if—if you want.”

“No,” he says, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of tenderness. “No, you don’t have to stop. Just not used to people doin’ things like that for me.”

His admission catches you off guard being the first real piece of personal information he’s shared with you. You’ve gleaned certain things from George—he’s told you about Logan being a mutant and a few pieces of his past—but you know there’s still a world of history hiding behind his loner facade that he keeps hidden. You’re hoping eventually he lets you take a peak inside.

“Everyone deserves kindness, Logan,” you say.

His gaze flickers, a shadow of something crossing his features that makes your heart ache. He shifts on his feet and stares down at the dish in your hands. “I’m not so sure of that,” he replies.

“Well, I am.”

Logan’s eyes drag back up to yours and you try to calm the nervous energy that bubbles under your skin as his stare presses into you. He gives you a small nod then before turning to leave.

He pauses as he hits your driveway and looks back at you, cursing lowly to himself. Scratching at the back of his head, he walks back up the steps and pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, here,” he says uncertainly as he hands you the small cloth bag.

You can only stare as you take the bag from him, the gift surprisingly light in your hand, but the gesture heavy with unspoken emotion. Your mind races as you think of what could be inside and your heart hammers loudly in your chest.

Logan stands there, eyes not quite meeting yours as he waits for you to open it. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo the drawstrings and peer inside, finding a mixture of different seeds. You can’t help but trail your fingers through them, feeling the faint warmth they hold from where they were nestled against Logan’s body.

“Oh, Logan,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion.

You glance up at him and he’s looking at you, scratching at his beard, the faintest hint of blush staining his cheeks. “They’re wildflowers. Don’t know what kind. But, I dunno. I thought you could use them for your garden.”

Your chest tightens as you pull the strings close and tuck the bag in your pocket. “I love them, Logan,” you say, offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you see the tension in his shoulders relax just a bit as he exhales. “Just seemed like something you’d appreciate,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you.

Something has shifted between you and you find yourself itching to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. The thread holding you two together is there, but thin, and you don’t want it to fray. “I really do appreciate it,” you say softly, stepping just the tiniest bit closer.

Logan nods and his mouth tugs into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. “Okay. Good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and jogs down the steps.

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” you call after him, a smile spreading across your face.

He glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you will.”

And maybe, just maybe, the walls around him are beginning to crumble.

+++

Sweat beads across your brow as you work, but you pay it no heed. Your attention keeps slipping to Logan as you pry another nail loose from the rotted board. You’ve fallen into an odd relationship with the elusive man whose property line you share, yet you still barely know anything about him.

It’s been a week since he stopped by and gave you those wildflower seeds. A warmth still spreads in your chest when you think about it. And true to his promise, you do see him around, albeit not as much as you’d like. He seems wary, as if his gift opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready for you to see.

But at least he doesn’t drop off your clean dishes and run anymore.

As you pry the last nail free, the rotten board comes free and you toss it down onto the grass along with the others. Thankfully, the porch isn’t terribly large and you figure another hour or so to remove the remaining boards before you can start laying down fresh lumber.

The crunch of gravel pulls you from your work and you look up to find Logan walking down the path, a large leather bag in his hand. You look up at him, wiping the sweat off your brow and lean back onto your heels, trying your best not to stare at his forearms.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” you say, wiping your hands against your jeans as you stand. “What brings you to my side of the woods?”

He actually smiles at you and nods towards the porch. “Need help?”

You hate the little flutter you feel pressing against your ribs. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh, well, if you insist,” you say, trying to calm your nerves. “It would be nice to have a second set of hands.”

He sets the leather bag down on the porch with a thud and you catch a glimpse of the tools nestled inside. Logan notices you looking and comments, “I know a few things.” His smirk makes your legs feel like jello.

“Oh, I bet you know a lot of things,” you blurt, and your eyes widen at the double entendre of your words, heat flushing across your face.

Logan laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s always good to be well educated,” he says with a wink.

Fuck, you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Shoving down your raging embarrassment, you lay out your plan to fix the porch and Logan gives a small nod. He starts at the opposite end, prying loose the first board with ease. You try not to stare at the way his muscles move and how his skin begins to slick with the first beads of sweat. You work in silence for a while, the only sounds those of the forest around you.

“So, what actually brought you out here?” Logan finally asks.

You glance over at him and watch as he tosses another board onto the grass. He looks at you expectantly and you sigh. “I got divorced,” you answer honestly. “And I needed something pour my energy into other than wondering where the fuck I went wrong.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your openness leaving you feeling raw, and instead focus on the board in front of you. Anger begins to simmer in your veins at the thought of the last couple of years and you grab the next plank with just enough force to wedge a splinter deep into your palm. A loud curse falls from your lips as you drop the board.

You feel Logan next to you and you suck in a deep breath as he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “Lemme see,” he says, pulling you close and you can smell the earthiness of him, like damp soil and campfire smoke. You find yourself staring at him, his proximity intoxicating, as you drink in his long lashes and the slope of his nose.

He tilts your palm towards himself, his fingers pressing gently yet with firm enough pressure to push the splinter out of your skin. Pulling it out the rest of the way, his eyes flick up to yours. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one that fucked up, sweetheart.” His voice is warm and you want to melt into him.

“Well,” you start, clearing your throat, “I certainly wasn’t fucking his mistresses.”

Something in his eyes darkens and a shiver runs down your spine. “He’s a fool for losin’ you,” he growls, and his words hit you with more force than you’d care to admit.

His hand still lingers on yours, steady and reassuring and warm and for a moment you think he might lean closer. You desperately want him to. To press his mouth against yours, to feel his breath against your skin, to have his taste against your tongue. But he pulls back, his expression one of thin control, but you can see the storm behind his gaze.

“A damn fool,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself or your ex.

Logan lets your hand go, turning back towards the porch and you mourn the loss, your skin still tingling from the contact. You swallow hard, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. It’s Logan—quiet, gruff Logan, who never really sticks around for a real conversation and yet here he is, offering help and showing that maybe he’s not entirely as unaffected by you as you thought.

Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you watch him go back to work, prying up the next board, his muscles flexing beneath his worn shirt. His jaw clenches and there’s a focused determination in his movements and you can’t tell if he’s working out some anger or trying to keep himself in check.

You work in silence for several more minutes, the only sounds being the prying of loose boards and creaking lumber. There’s a tension between you now, more so than there was before, something palpable.

It’s enough to drive you mad.

“What about you?” you finally ask, your voice somewhat hesitant. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”

Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye and his brow furrows, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Not much to tell,” he grunts, pulling up another board with more force than necessary.

“Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t just wake up one day alone in the woods with forearms like that.”

Logan looks over at you and smirks. “Maybe I’m just really good with my hands.” His voice dips low and you can’t help the warmth that pools low in your belly at his words.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, no…yep. I’m starting to figure that out.”

He’s silent for a few moments as he goes back to work and the air between you hums with something charged. “You really want to know?” he asks, his voice rough. “I’ve been around for too long, longer than anyone should. Done things I’m not proud of.” He tosses another plank aside and all you can do it watch him. “I’ve…I’ve hurt people I care about. People I’ve cared about have hurt me. I’m not really sure I belong anywhere, so I just…drift.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something broken and vulnerable, and it catches you off guard. For all his outward strength, there’s man deep down inside who’s lost, and your heart aches for him.

“You belong here,” you say softly.

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension shift as the weight of your words settle between you. Another board gets tossed aside. “Yeah, maybe.”

He finally raises his gaze to yours and for a moment the world quiets—the forest, the porch, all of it—as his eyes lock onto yours and his expression softens. You offer him a warm smile and then return back to the porch, hesitant to push him any further.

You work comfortably together after that. The old boards removed, Logan helps you place and nail down the new ones. Your conversation is limited to the project, but you don’t mind.

As Logan packs up his tools, you glance over at him. “Thank you.”

A half smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome,” comes his reply as he steps off the porch and heads down the path back towards his cabin.

“Logan!” you call, lightly jogging after him before he slips out of view. He pauses and turns back towards you. “Can I make you dinner?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already been doin’ that?”

“No,” you say shaking your head, “I mean, yes, I have, but like a proper dinner? Fresh from kitchen to table. I can come by you, if you’d like.”

Logan studies you for a moment, his gaze intense and you can feel your heart beating against your ribs. He’s silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped and you open your mouth to speak when he says, “Alright. Come by tomorrow, six o’clock.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “Tomorrow it is.”

+++

You’re up before the sun, your nerves a tangle of raw edges. You lay there, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into.

You weren’t expecting to meet someone out here in the woods. You were hoping for tranquility, a distraction to quiet the voice in your head that kept nagging you for how your life veered off course. That maybe if you worked more, did more, loved more you wouldn’t be a thirty year old divorcee.

Instead, you find a mysterious man who sparks within you a flame you long thought extinguished. A ruggedly handsome man who’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has you wondering if maybe he can’t help mend the pieces of your broken heart.

Except you don’t know if that same spark is ignited within him and if his gesture of dinner is simple kindness. A response to the kindness you’ve shown him over the last two months or if he’s feeling that same attraction you do.

God, you hope he does.

You spend the morning cleaning, trying to pour your nervous energy into something productive other than worrying about what the evening may bring. Driving into town, you agonize over what to make even though he’s been eating what you’ve made without complaint for weeks now. You opt to keep it simple—pasta with homemade meat sauce, a nice loaf of bread and a couple bottles of wine.

While the sauce is simmering on the stove you get ready. You dress for comfort, a simple pair of leggings and a flowy top that hangs slightly off your shoulders. You catch your reflection in the mirror and give yourself a silent nod of encouragement. Despite this just being dinner, the night brims with the possibility of maybe something more.

Once the food is prepared, you carefully pack everything in a large basket and begin the walk to Logan’s cabin. The night is cool, but still holds the warmth of day and the promise of summer to come. You feel your anticipation heighten the closer you get to his place and your stomach drops when you see it appear up ahead.

It’s just Logan, you remind yourself.

Stepping up onto his porch, you give a hesitant knock at the door. He greets you almost instantly and you suck in a deep breath. Logan looks good and your heart does a flip as you take him in—well fitting jeans, a clean white shirt underneath a soft red flannel button down, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower.

“You’re early,” he comments, standing aside to let you in. You catch the slight frown tug at his mouth as he notices the basket. “You coulda cooked here, you know.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know if you’d want me invading your space,” you reply, following him deeper into the cabin and setting the basket down on the counter.

Logan turns back towards you, bracing his hands against the counter. “I don’t mind you in my space.”

His words hang in the air between you and you can feel your pulse quicken. You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—steady and unflinching—sends a thrill down your spine.

You clear your throat, trying to settle the nerves in your chest. “Next time then,” you say lightly, hoping he can’t hear the slight waver in your voice.

Logan’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Next time,” he agrees.

He reaches into a cabinet above him, pulling down a couple of plates and glasses, setting a small table in the corner of the small kitchen. You keep yourself busy unpacking the food, arranging the bread, pasta and sauce on the table, working around him as he uncorks the wine and pours both of you a glass.

Logan joins you then, raising his glass and clinking it gently against yours. He nods in a silent cheers and tips his head back as he drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t suppress the shiver that shoots down your spine.

Setting down his glass, he serves you and then himself, commenting, “This smells amazing.”

“Family recipe,” you reply, taking another sip wine. “Remind me to make it for you when I have fresh tomatoes. It’s even better then.”

“I’ll have to do that,” he says with a smile.

Conversation starts off slow, but not awkward, as you both test the limits of what you’re wiling to share. Logan’s answers are often short, reserved, but what he does reveal helps bring into focus the outline of the man before you. An outline you’re hoping he’ll let you fill in.

“George says you’re a mutant,” you start slowly and you don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, his fork scraping harshly against the plate.

He goes still and you wonder if you fucked up. Crossed a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross.

Eventually, Logan’s eyes flick up to yours and he lets out a small hum. “He did, did he?”

You nod, chewing. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “It bothers most people.”

“I’m not most people,” you reply, your voice soft.

Something in his face softens then, the furrow of his brow a little less pronounced. A slight smile plays at his lips. “No. No you’re not.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest and your face flushes. Taking another bite, you ask, “Can I see?”

Logan studies you for a moment and you can see him deciding whether or not to show you that part of him he’d rather keep hidden. He sets the silverware down and he flexes his fingers before resting his palms back on the table. Then, he unsheathes his claws and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips.

You see him flinch at your reaction and he goes to retract his claws and you reach for him. “Don’t,” you say, your fingers hovering just above the blades.

As he relaxes, you gently rest your fingertips against the metal, finding it surprisingly cool but still holding a faint warmth from his body. His eyes drop to where you’re touching him as you slowly begin to trace each blade with your fingers, following the slight curve down to where they emerge from his skin. You look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on you and you shiver under the intensity.

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. You feel him shudder beneath you as he retracts his claws, leaving your fingertips nestled against the skin between his knuckles.

You pull your hand away from his, mourning the loss of his skin against yours. Logan clears his throat and pulls his hands into his lap, glancing down at them as if they’re foreign, something he’s never taken the time to notice before. He flexes his fingers once more before dragging his gaze back to your face.

“Do they hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Thank you for showing me.”

Logan studies you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s trying to figure you out. You know he’s probably not used to this, someone seeing him as something other than a mutant, an aberration, someone who should be hidden away. Then, his face softens.

“People don’t usually ask,” he says quietly.

You smile gently, feeling that flame inside you burn just a bit brighter. “I just want to know you.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze still steady, but more open, as if some of those invisible walls he surrounds himself with have started to come down. If only just enough to let the light shine through.

An unspoken tension simmers, thickening the air, and you know he can feel it too, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with promise. You turn your attention back to your plate and for a few moments, neither of you speak.

“So,” you say after a beat, “Do you ever use them as forks?”

Logan huffs out a laugh, the sound surprising you and his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “I can’t say that I have,” he replies with a smile.

You grin. “You should give it a try.”

“If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

The rest of dinner passes with easy conversation and you feel your nerves begin to settle, just a bit. Logan seems less guarded too, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.

You help him clear the table, ignoring his request that you just sit and relax. As you stand next to him, emptying the leftovers into a container, you feel his eyes on you. When you hand him the container, your fingers brush again, but this time he doesn’t immediately pull away. His fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks for dinner, he says quietly, voice low. “And for…understanding.”

You nod, feeling that unmistakable pull between you, the tug that’s kept you orbiting closer and closer to him. “Anytime, Logan,” you answer softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s been burned before and is still figuring out if he can trust what you’re offering him. And you understand his turmoil, trust having shattered your heart into pieces, pieces you’re still trying to pick up and reshape.

Logan steps a little bit closer then and before you can say anything else, his hand gently reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is simple but intimate and it sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling lowly in your belly.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me walk you home.”

He grabs your basket before you can protest and you follow him out into the night. There’s a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, illuminating the path in front of you, yet you remain close to Logan. You curse to yourself as you trip over an exposed root and then you feel Logan reach out for you, his fingers wrapping securely around your own. The heat of his palm against yours is almost overwhelming.

Your cabin comes into view and Logan slows, his fingers slipping from your grasp as he sets the basket down on the porch.

“Good night, Logan,” you say softly as you walk up the steps.

As you turn from him, he reaches for your wrist, his fingers curling and pressing hotly against your skin. Your breath hitches as he climbs the steps to join you on the porch, and your gasps dies in your throat as he tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his gaze.

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is low, breath hot and damp against your skin.

“Yes,” you breathe, somehow inching closer to him, your fingers reaching for the hem of his flannel and twisting into the fabric.

“Why?” He brushes his nose against yours and you chase after the touch.

Swallowing hard, you look up at him from under your lashes. You tilt further into him, your mouth hovering just over his. “Because I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and I don’t want it to go away.” Don’t want you to go away.

Logan nods and whispers, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And then he presses his mouth to yours.

It’s soft, barely a hint of skin against skin, but when you whisper, “Please,” against his lips, Logan growls and then he’s everywhere. His kiss claims you, his tongue licking in your mouth and you whimper as his fingers curl along the nape of your neck somehow pulling you impossibly closer.

You wind your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short strands at the back of his head. Your entire world is focused down to the feel of his lips on yours and the press of his fingers against your jaw as he pulls you towards his hungry mouth.

Logan’s grip on you tightens, one hand splayed across your lower back and the other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. The heat between you is palpable, each movement of his lips setting you further aflame. You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his beard scraping against your skin, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless and his forehead rests against yours, your shared breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are dark and intense as they search your face and you feel untethered, Logan being the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, but surprisingly tender as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw.

You nod, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Good.” He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his hand lingering at the side of your face. He presses one last soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before he steps back and walks down the path back home.

+++

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss—Logan’s lips against yours, the taste of his tongue, the press of his hands against your skin, hot and heavy, yet gentle.

You want to live in that moment forever. Want to know only his kisses for the rest of your life, for him to be the first person you kiss good morning and the last person you kiss goodnight. For him to kiss you just because he can, because he misses you, because he can’t get the feel of your mouth out of his mind and he needs to feel you again pressing against him.

You also want to run away, hide yourself from these emotions that are overwhelming you and leaving you feeling raw and exposed and absolutely terrified. You haven’t kissed another man in two years and he broke your heart, leaving nothing but shattered pieces and dust in his wake. Dust that still clings to you despite your best efforts to sweep it up. Those pieces of your heart are still sharp, jagged where they should be smooth.

You’ve always been trusting, choosing to see the light in others as opposed the darkness. Believing deep down that everyone deserves kindness, deserves a second chance, that one bad deed does not a bad person make. But he stole a part of that from you and you hate him for it. Hate that even now, after all this time, he’s able to worm his way into your brain and make you question the motives of the man who’s made you feel more alive than you have in months.

Last night you felt unshackled, unbound by the fear that had chained you for so long. You felt as if Logan’s very touch, his presence, had set your soul on fire and instead of fearing the burn, you were ready to embrace the warmth.

But now, raw contempt begins to simmer in your veins and you need something to pour your frustration into before it threatens to consume you whole.

Throwing your hair up into a messy bun and throwing on a paint-stained shirt and ripped jeans, you head outside looking for a project to sink fingers into. In the small shed behind the cabin, you find a few gardening supplies—a small shovel, trowel, bow rake—and you drag them out and to the overgrown flower beds.

You don’t even bother with the tools at first, ripping at the dead growth with your bare hands, pulling it from the earth in great clumps and tossing it aside. Your pulse beats loudly in your ears as you move from bed to bed, clawing away the old growth, your breathing growing ragged and your palms staining with dirt.

Grabbing the rake, you dig at the remaining plants, tearing at the roots, destroying the new growth. Tears run hotly down your face, blurring your vision and your throat aches from force of your breathing and screams you’ve been holding back.

From behind you, you hear the sound of your name and you whip around so quickly, the rake goes flying from your hands. You can hear the snikt of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe and the splintering of wood as he deflects the rake flying at him. It clatters to the ground between you as he retracts his claws and looks at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You wonder, then, exactly what you look like in that moment. Dirt caked on your hands and under your fingernails, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair a halo of disarray. The pure adrenaline you’d been running on wanes and your limbs suddenly feel heavy and you sink to the ground in front of him. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you’ll see.

Logan approaches you slowly, kneeling down in front of you and gently raising your chin to look up at him. The stark worry etched on his face makes you ache and fresh tears burn in your eyes. You wipe at your eyes, which only serves to smear dirt across your face.

“I’m terrified, Logan,” you whisper, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to touch him. “I terrified of how much I like you.”

“You scare me too,” he confesses softly and your heart breaks.

He leans closer, fingers resting hesitantly against your knees. You reach for him too, grabbing on to the open sides of his jacket and pulling him to you. Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back and instead envelopes you into his arms, your head resting against the solid warmth of his chest.

Safe in his arms, you cry. Harsh, broken sobs as he rubs your back, the soft caress of his fingers along your spine anchoring you to him as he holds you. He murmurs into your hair that he’s got you, to let it all out, and you do.

Eventually, you calm and sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest, loathe to move just yet. “I’m broken, Logan,” you mumble into his shirt. You look up at him then, the softness and concern on his face making you physically ache. “I still have broken pieces where I should be whole.”

Slowly, tentatively, he brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brush at the dirt and tears under your eyes and he smoothes the hair away from your forehead. “Maybe some of my pieces fit,” he says, voice low, but steady.

His words send a flood of emotion through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then the gravity of what he’s saying hits you—he’s offering you himself, all his jagged and scarred pieces, the pieces no one else sees.

The pieces he wants you to see.

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. His sigh is hot against your cheek, but he doesn’t press further.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin and somehow it feels like the most important thing you’ve ever said.

“C’mon,” he says, “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Logan stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slipping into his and his grip is steady, yet gentle as he helps you up.

Without a word, Logan grabs the broken rake and begins removing the debris from the beds you laid waste to. You watch him work for a moment before joining in, pulling the weeds from the beds you hadn’t gotten to yet. Every now and then your eyes meet, but you don’t say anything. You don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, his presence beside you speaking volumes more than he could ever say.

After a while, Logan pauses and looks over at you, wiping the dirt from his hands into his jeans. “You still got those seeds I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Go get ‘em,” he says nodding towards the cabin. “We’ll plant something new.”

You retrieve the small pouch where you’ve kept it safe and come out to find Logan kneeling in the dirt, his fingers making small pockets of earth to house the new flowers. He looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You join him on the ground, dropping a few seeds in each well as he moves to create the next one.

“I’m not very good at this,” Logan starts, covering the last well with dirt, “but I promise I won’t break you. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”

He looks at you then, his hazel eyes meeting yours and you reach for his hand, your thumb brushing across his dirt stained knuckles.

“No,” you reply with a smile, “I don’t think I do.”

+++

It’s been three days since that moment with Logan in the garden and the air between you has been quiet. Logan hasn’t come by the cabin, but you hadn’t sought him out either. You weren’t avoiding him, exactly. More a need for space, a chance to process the feelings you felt for him, to test if you were truly ready to open yourself up to him.

Your mind never strays far from him, though. An almost constant loop plays in your brain of the way he held you, the way he spoke, the quiet promise he made not to break you. There’s a large part of you that believes him; your heart is screaming at you shed your lingering doubt and trust him, but your rational brain is grasping desperately to the kernel of truth that vows can be broken.

So you turn to what you do best—pour your energy into other things. The cabin is spotless now, cleaned of disuse and age, turned into a cozy place of retreat, a simple shelter turned into a home. And yet…

You’re sitting on the porch, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the book you’d been trying to read long forgotten. The forest is peaceful, alive with the sounds of early summer. But as calming as it is, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest—you miss him. More than you thought possible.

Just as you’re about to stand, the sound of boots against gravel catches your attention. You look up and there he is—Logan. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket as he walks up the path. His look is cautious, as if he’s unsure whether or not you’ll accept his presence.

Your heart skips a beat and you stand, wiping your palms against your jeans as he draws closer. His hazel eyes meet yours and there’s something softer about him, something open.

He stops a few feet away from you, gaze steady. “I wasn’t sure if I should come by.” His voice is still gruff, but quieter than usual. “If you needed space or not.”

“I did, need space. But not from you,” you clarify. You take a hesitant step towards him. “I missed you.”

Logan sighs then, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I wanted so badly to see you. I didn’t know if I should stay away.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you step down from the porch, closing the distance between you. You stand in front of him, noticing the faint lines of tension around his mouth, the way his jaw is clenched as if bracing himself for your rejection.

“Don’t stay away,” you say softly, “I want you here.”

You reach for him, your fingers brushing against his hands as you pull them from his pockets. Logan doesn’t pull away and the warmth of his skin against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. You feel it then, that familiar pull—the one that’s been there since the beginning, drawing you closer and closer into his orbit, his sun.

You brush your thumbs across his knuckles and look up at him. “You wanna come inside?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make you something to eat?”

Logan nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you lead him inside, something in the air between you shifts, something subtle. But you know one thing for certain—you’re not afraid anymore. Not of this.

+++

The sun has set, the food long gone and as Logan’s hand reaches for the front door, you slip in front of him. His scent overwhelms you, that earthy dampness you’ve come to associate with him flooding your senses.

“What if you stayed?” you ask, the slight waver in your voice betraying your boldness.

You watch as his eyes darken and he leans even further into your space. “Do you know what you’re asking, sweetheart?” he replies, eyes searching your face.

Swallowing, you nod. “I do,” you whisper.

Then you slide your arms around his waist, pulling him closer as you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat. You can feel him swallow hard beneath your lips and you smirk into his skin as you drag your mouth higher, over the long column of his neck to nip at the corner of his jaw.

“Stay,” you murmur in his ear.

Logan turns, his nose brushing against your cheek as he seeks your mouth and you inhale deeply as his lips find yours. His fingers wind themselves into your hair, resting against the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer. You whimper into his mouth when he pulls back, eyes blown black.

“Show me where,” he says, his voice low.

You lead him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours and you barely make it to the top before Logan’s spinning you around, mouth finding yours. His is kiss is demanding, so different from that first one all those nights ago. This is urgent and desperate, like he can’t possibly get you close enough to satisfy the need deep within him. And you feel it too, pouring yourself back equally into the kiss, moaning as his tongue finally slips alongside yours.

Your fingers fumble along the top of his jeans, pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked and sliding your hands up along the sides of his ribs. He rewards you with a deep groan of his own, nipping slightly at your bottom lip.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your lips, kissing you once, twice, “I’ve been dyin’ to feel your hands on me.”

“Me, too,” you reply, gasping as his hands find the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to brush his fingers hotly along your skin.

Logan pulls back just enough to look down at your face, his fingers still clutching the fabric of your shirt, but lifting it just a bit higher. His gaze is questioning, asking for silent permission to continue. You nod once and he slowly drags the shirt up, his fingers skimming along your sides, over the swells of your breasts as he pulls the shirt over your head.

Despite the heat coursing through your veins, you shiver under the intensity of his stare. He kisses you again, inhaling deeply, before moving down, nipping over your chin, your throat, in between your breasts.

Logan’s hands follow his mouth, running a trail from your shoulders, down long your spine, easily flicking open the clasp of your bra on the way. He glances up at you as he moves to pull the straps aside, dragging them down your arms.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs fanning out across your nipples.

A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine and pools low in your belly. You feel like you might spontaneously catch on fire and he’s barely touched you. You can’t remember ever feeling like this when a man has touched you, so consumed by want and need.

His fingers trail lower, brushing along the top of your jeans, popping open the button. You grab for his hand, stopping him. You see the concern flicker across his face and you smile. “Your turn,” you say, sliding your palms up his chest and pushing the flannel from his shoulders, his shirt following suit.

You revel in his muscular physique, your fingers tracing along his collarbones, down over the broad planes of his chest, feeling the wiry hair beneath your fingertips. His muscles flutter beneath your touch as you follow the trail of hair lower, down to the vee between his hips.

Logan’s arousal is evident by the tenting of his jeans, and your eyes locked on his, you dip lower, giving the faintest of caresses over the fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”

It’s a command, not an ask, and one you’re more than willing to comply with.

Nervous energy licks at your skin as your fingers tuck into the waistband of your jeans and pull them down. Logan follows your lead, unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans over his hips, kicking them aside. His cock juts out proudly, thick and heavy, nestled in a bed of hair.

Logan’s on you before you can kick away the last leg, hoisting you up under your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms are hot against your ass and you can feel his cock trapped between you.

He moves you both to the bed, setting you down before crawling over you and slotting himself between your thighs. Leaning back on his heels, he stares down at you, skin flushed. He kisses you softly once, before dragging a single finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the waistband of your panties.

“What do you like?” he asks lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend his question as he slides his finger back and forth across your skin. Electric sparks of anticipation crawl up your spine and you can feel the rapid flutter of your heart against your ribs.

“You want me to touch you with my fingers?” His voice is low, so low and you shiver.

Your mouth has gone dry and you can only nod.

“You want me to touch you with my mouth?” Logan leans down, skimming his lips across your collarbone, nipping lightly.

Your fingers stutter across his shoulders and wind themselves into his hair. Logan’s smirk presses into the corner of your jaw. “Want me to touch you with both?”

“Please,” you whine into his neck, breath hot against his skin.

Logan trails back down your body, kisses peppering over your neck, both breasts, your belly before he presses a kiss to the top of your clothed mound. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and looks up at you, asking for permission. At your nod, he pulls he material down, eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your legs and tosses the fabric aside.

You’re fully bare, exposed in a way you haven’t been in a long time and your nerves blush across your skin. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he stops you, his hot palms curling against your thighs.

“You don’t gotta hide from me,” Logan says, kissing your knee and spreading your legs further apart. “You’re so pretty like this. Flushed and wet and smelling so sweet for me.”

A jolt of desire zips down your spine. Nothing could have prepared you for the filthiness of words that would spill from his mouth. Or how much you’d enjoy hearing them.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you murmur.

“That’s not possible.”

“Other men have—“

Your words die in your throat as Logan grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face. His expression is soft, but his eyes flash with a glint of something dark. “When I fuck you, I’ll be the only man in your bed, understand?”

The roughness and edge in his voice makes you shiver and heat pools between your thighs. You swallow heavily and nod.

“I want this,” he says, his tone softer. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

Slowly, you reach for his hand and guide his fingers to where you’re wet and aching for him. At the first brush of his fingertips against your folds, you gasp and your fingers dig deeper into his skin.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Logan coos. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And then he’s touching you, fingers dragging through your arousal before circling around your clit. He caresses you like he knows you and you’re molten beneath him. One finger, then two slip inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you squirm and grip at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “You weren’t lying.” Logan quirks an eyebrow, fingers still curling within you, his rhythm picking up speed. “You are good with your hands.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest as he continues to move, this thumb working over your clit. Your hips jolt off the bed when Logan replaces his thumb with his tongue, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth.

He continues to work your cunt, long, flat presses of his tongue against your clit punctuated by the short, sharp thrusts of his fingers. The dual sensation is enough to wind that tension in your core tighter, building you up higher and higher until you feel yourself reaching that inevitable peak.

“Logan, I—I’m so close,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into his hair.

His growl against your cunt is enough to send you over the edge, the vibrations rippling through your body as your orgasm washes over you. Through half lidded eyes, you meet his gaze from between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire and you shiver at the intensity of his stare.

Logan crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, bright and sour, as he licks into your mouth.

“Do you trust me?”

Logan’s fingers are still moving against you, wringing out the last of your orgasm and you can only nod. He withdraws his fingers and you whine, but he just smirks and taps your hip.

“Turn over,” he commands lowly.

A shudder ripples through you as you willingly comply, rolling onto your stomach as Logan’s palm trails from your hip over the swell of your ass. His fingers kneed into your flesh and you squeak as he curves them over your skin, pulling you up onto your knees, drawing your hips flush with his. The thick feel of his cock presses into your ass and you can’t help but push back, enjoying the strangled moan that falls from his lips.

“I can’t wait to be nestled deep inside you,” he groans, slotting his cock between your thighs, running the length along your wet cunt.

You peer over your shoulder and smirk at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan lines up then and the air punches out of your lungs as he slowly eases himself in to the hilt. He’s deep at this angle and you feel claimed, owned in the best way possible as he begins to move his hips. The drag of his cock against your walls is exquisite and you’re sure you’ve never experienced pleasure quite like this before.

His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, grabbing as much as he can to pull you back into him and you push back, meeting him thrust for thrust. His grip is enough to be bruising, teetering that line between pleasure and pain and yet you relish it.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Look so good stretched around my cock.”

Pleasure zips along your spine and curls along your limbs, each drag of his cock against you coiling that band in your belly tighter and tighter. Yet, you need more. You need to feel him, feel his arms around you, on you, feel his mouth hot and open against your skin.

“I need to feel you closer,” you whine. “Please, I—”

Logan’s arm slips underneath you, curling just under your breasts and pulling your back flush to his chest. He holds on, fingertips splaying across your ribcage as he fucks up into you, his breath hot and damp against your ear.

You turn your head just enough to capture his lips, your mouth pressing against his in an open-mouthed kiss. He steals the moan from your throat as his other hand dips to where you’re joined, fingers beginning to circle around your clit.

Slipping a hand into his hair, you hold him to you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. Logan groans when you rake your nails along his scalp and you do it again. Your mixed groans and the wet noises from where he’s thrusting into you fill the room and time seems to stop. There is nothing but the thick feel of him between your legs, the fervent press of his fingers against your clit and the tight grasp of his hand across your breast.

A litany of praise falls from his mouth and his words burn through you, setting you aflame from the inside. It’s too early for thoughts of love and forever, but you can feel something real, something undeniable pulling you together, uniting you in a way more than just physical. You’re bound to him.

Logan’s hand slides up your sternum, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, pulling your focus back to him. The pad of his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he husks into your ear. “I wanna hear those pretty sounds you make.”

And you do, two more forceful thrusts sending you teetering over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. Logan doesn’t stop, fucking you through wave after wave, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own release.

“Let me feel you, Logan,” you pant, your breath coming out in short gasps. “Please.”

With a deep groan into your shoulder he comes, his cock spasming deep within you, painting your womb with his seed. His arm around your hips holds you firmly in place as he uses your body to wring out the last of his pleasure, shallowly thrusting as your walls caress him. When he finally stills, breath hot against your skin, you can feel your combined come slick against your thighs.

You don’t know how long he holds you like that, back to chest, keeping you in his arms simply because he can.

Only later, when the sweat begins to cool on your skin and your flesh pebbles, does Logan lay you down, finally slipping from within you. He pulls you close and you rest your head against his chest, the comforting lull of his heartbeat echoing in your ear.

You lightly trace your fingertips over the crest of his hipbone just to feel him beneath you. His breathing evens out, approaching that blissful edge of sleep when you glance up at him. Logan opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours and he smiles.

“Logan?”

His hum vibrates through his chest.

“I think we’re healing each other.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answers, “I think we are.”

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #origins wolverine #origins logan howlett #the wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader

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reasonsforhope · 4 months ago

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"A tiny lizard found only on one tiny Caribbean island has seen a dramatic 1,500% increase in its population, after just a few years of island restoration efforts.

In 2018, researchers estimated there were fewer than 100 individuals of the critically endangered Sombrero ground lizard (Pholidoscelis corvinus) on the small hat-shaped Sombrero Island, part of Anguilla in the Caribbean. Just six years later, there are more than 1,600 of them, a recent survey has found.

“I am beyond thrilled to see the ground lizards on the road to recovery, and this is a fantastic reward for everyone who has worked hard to restore Sombrero,” Jenny Daltry, Caribbean alliance director at conservation NGOs Fauna & Flora and Re:wild, told Mongabay. “Too many island species have been lost already, and we really need to prevent extinctions whenever we can.”

Today, Sombrero Island hosts large seabird colonies and several unique and rare species. But invading mice, likely brought to the island on ships or other means by people, as well as climate change impacts, have wreaked havoc on the island’s inhabitants...

To turn things around, Fauna & Flora, Anguilla National Trust and Re:wild began restoration efforts in 2018. They trapped and removed all the mice by placing bait from June to August 2021. They also developed a “biosecurity plan” in which researchers regularly check the island to ensure it’s still mouse-free.

Given Sombrero’s remote location, the likelihood of reinvasion by mice is considered low, Daltry said. She added that the teams are also developing “remote surveillance cameras with AI capability” to automatically detect and alert them of invasive species.

While the mice may be gone, the threat from hurricanes fueled by climate change still loom close. While the researchers have been working to restore the island’s native vegetation, the island has lost much of its original soil cover, which will take time to rebuild, Daltry said. With no tree cover yet, any severe hurricane or storm surge in the future “could set back the speed of recovery of the soil layer and vegetation,” she added.

However, Daltry said she’s hopeful that even the current sparse vegetation provides the Sombrero ground lizards “with vital food and shelter, giving them a much better chance of survival when the next storm strikes.”

“This could make the difference between survival and extinction,” she said."

-via Mongabay News, December 20, 2024

#lizards #islands #endangered species #conservation #carribean #north america #good news #hope

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justagirlswrld · 3 months ago

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Thousand year old, sexy, space princess seeks companionship! must be hot!

a/n: i told you i was a mark grayson groupie.

warnings: unprotected p in v. humanoid!reader. stuff that happens in sex happens in this. porn w plot.

part two

“….Mark, why is there a purple…guy outside your window?”, Mark doesn’t look up from the Seance dog comic at the sound of Will’s confused voice, choosing to roll his brown eyes instead.

“Yeah, funny.”, Mark replies in an airy tone.

“No, Mark i’m ser-”, Rick cuts his boyfriend off as he walks through the front door of the apartment, “Why is there a purple man outside of the living room window?”, This finally gets Mark’s attention, he looks over at the window in question and his eyes grow triple their size.

Mark is in his suit in less than a second, comic thrown onto the couch he was just relaxing on. He floats over to the window, taking in the short, stocky….lavender man that flies just outside the apartment on deep, amethyst wings.

Mark opens the window roughly and the man scampers back, he didn’t plan on hurting the creature but it seemed like someone always wanted to fight on his days off.

Mark flies out the large window, he dwarfs the…man easily. He has an uneasy smile on his face, Mark notices that his mouth is filled with long canines and he tries not to grimace. “I’m not helping any….fairies today. so, leave.” With that Mark turns his back on him, a strong hand grasps his shoulder. In an instant Mark is zooming into the afternoon sky, holding the lilac haired creature by the collar of his thin shirt.

His purple skin now has a slight gleam from his nervous sweat. “I’m not a fairy, I come from the planet-“, Mark cuts him off, “I don’t care. Now go.”, Mark releases the being and hovers in front of him but he doesn’t budge. Mark rubs a gloved hand down his face in frustration.

”Mark Gray-“, Mark cuts him off instantly, “My name is Invincible when i’m in this suit. What do you want?”

The alien nods, “Invincible, please. I haven’t come to harm you…my planet needs your help.” Mark groans inwardly, why was it always on his day off.

The mysterious man goes on to explain how another evil alien race has come to conquer his kingdom. He paints a picture of his beautiful world being annihilated and his people being slaughtered without Mark’s help. “I’ve left it in ruins, Invincible. I’m scared I may be the only Solorian left.”

Mark points to a near by patch of forest in exasperation, “Wait there.” He flies back inside without waiting to see if the creature followed his instructions.

With major convincing from Will and Rick, Mark ends up not ghosting the…Solorian waiting in the woods. When Mark floats down through the trees to the hard ground, he’s sitting on a log with a happy expression on his face.

“Where’s your planet?”, Mark’s tone is serious, he really wanted to be back in time to watch the newest episode of this show he’d been tuning into.

The thing stands, brushing the dirt from his odd pants. Mark notices that he’s dressed like a jester, save for the pointy hat.

“It’s many galaxies from Earth, it usually takes a year to get there,-“ Mark makes a sound as he begins to protest but the man continues talking as he pulls a small, metal disc from his pocket. “But with our technology it’ll only take a minute.”

He throws the disc on the ground with his knobby fingers and its turns into a circular pad. Mark and his traveling companion step on and become engulfed in a pale yellow light. Mark only has time to blink before he’s whisked away, landing on what he assumes to be cobblestone streets.

Mark surveys his surroundings as the man picks up his transporter. There’s winged humanoids dressed almost…medievally everywhere, no one lounges as the planet’s two suns beat down on their backs.

He watches as children with skin in arrays of colors play in the waterfall and clear, blue stream. He has to crane his neck to look at the behemoth of a castle in front of him.

“This doesn’t look like ruins.”, Mark’s eyes shift as he waits for assailants to pop out from behind the thatched roofed shacks that line the street.

“Because I lied to you invincible. Walk with me and i’ll explain.”

They glide towards the castle slowly, the man, Edolan, explains that their princess refuses to marry one of her arranged suitors after hearing of his exploits on earth. They go up winding stair cases before they stop in front of a room with large, oval doors. “She says she must….meet you, before she marries.”, Edolan explains with his hands held behind his back.

“You know you could’ve said that”, is all Mark can think to say in response. Edolan nods, “Yes, I apologize for deceiving you but I had to make it seem urgent in a way you’d understand.” Edolan waves a hand and the doors creek open, “The princess is waiting for you. When you’re finished she will give you passage home the same way you came.”

And he’s gone.

When Invincible glides into your expansive room you’re draped over your canopied bed, idly playing with some alien device.

Mark wasn’t sure what he’d be dealing with when he came through the doors but he damn sure wasn’t expecting you to be pretty…beautiful even. You’re as humanoid as the rest of your subjects save for the blush pink skin and hot pink hair.

You look up at the young man standing a few feet away from you. You lick your lips and Mark is happy to notice that your mouth isn’t filled with razor sharp teeth but human like ones instead.

“Mark Grayson of Earth!”, You greet him, cheeks stretched into a wide smile. Mark blushes as you rise from a lying position to a sitting one, noticing that your breasts are only covered in a thin, bralette of shiny jewels.

“Uh-Hi, you can just call me Mark.” You rise to stand on your bed now as you mimic someone fighting, “Or Invincible! Defender of Earth and slayer of beasts and villains.”

Mark wants to argue that he doesn’t slay villains but nods his head in agreement instead, trying to end this odd experience as soon as possible.

“Right….and you’re Y/N, Solorian princess who refuses to marry until you met me…,”Mark rips his mask off, exposing his handsome face to your eyes, “Will you marry the guy now?” Your eyebrows scrunch together and your lips form a pout. Mark thinks that it’s probably the sexiest expression he’s ever seen.

“That was not the agreement. I have yet to lay with you.”, You say from your place on the bed. If Mark had been drinking something he would’ve spit it out in astonishment.

“Lay with you?”, Mark asks in a shocked tone. You laugh at the expression on the boys face, if he pushes his eyebrows any higher they’ll be on the cathedral like ceilings of your room.

“Yes, Mark Grayson. The promise was that I would finally marry an arranged suitor, saving our planet from war, if you bedded me first.” You lay back down on your large mattress as you wait for the superhero to collect himself.

Mark swallows, he’s not sure if he’s turned on or scared. Probably both. “Um, don’t princesses have to be virgins when they get married?”, you cock your head to the side like a confused dog, “I’m not familiar with the word- virgins.” The word sounds jumbled when it passes your perfect lips.

“It means you never- laid with anyone. On Earth princesses usually save themselves for their husband or their virtue or something.”

You throw your head back and laugh loudly, it’s closer to a howl really. “What a sad life these Earth princesses live. As a Solorian we live for many, many years. I am 1,000 years old, just a baby I know-,“ Mark doesn’t reply as you continue, “And I would never be asked to be a…virkin. Solorian’s find virtue in other ways than saving yourself.” You almost look disgusted as you finish your rant.

Your mind goes back to the task at hand. You unclasp the jewels from your upper and bottom half, positioning yourself so Mark can see your naked body well. You watch as his strong throat bobs.

“Will you lay with me Mark Grayson?”

Mark feels like he might combust on the spot as he nods, more excited than he hoped. He walks to the edge of the bed and sits nervously, palming himself through his suit. “On Earth we usually go on a date first.” He laughs awkwardly, willing himself to get hard. He just couldn’t get out of his head to do so.

“We are not on Earth, Mark.” You slither up his back, breasts pressing against the hard muscles. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you press soft kisses to his neck. He groans but when he palms himself again there’s nothing. Mark is perplexed on why because you were super hot and he never had this problem before. It must be how weird the situation is.

You notice the mental battle and stop kissing his neck. “Are you well?”, he nods again and you notice him palming himself. You giggle, the sound so close to his ear that it has his heart speeding up again. “You can’t ‘get it up’? As they would say on Earth”, Mark’s torn between defending himself and asking where you learned that from but chooses silence instead when you slink between his legs.

You make yourself comfortable on your pink knees and look up at him through your lashes with big doe eyes. Mark has an instant semi.

He’s rock hard by the time you slip him out of his suit and into your warm mouth. You suck unabashedly on his thick, cock hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around his angry tip.

“Shhhhiiiiiittt”, Mark moans with his hand tangled in your vibrant hair, hanging on for dear life as you bob up and down his member. “St-Stop i’m gonna-.” Mark trails off, his eyes almost roll back when you choke around his length, gobbling the throbbing cock down your throat.

He finally wrestles your mouth off his cock and he takes a moment to collect himself as he breathes heavily. Mark leans down and kisses you sloppily, he tweaks your nipples hoping that it’ll do something to stimulate you sexually. Luckily it works and you moan lowly in his mouth.

Mark picks you up by your arm pits and tosses you on the bed, you laugh, “Yes! Show me your strength, invincible.” His name is sultry as it falls out your lips, causing a shudder to creep down his spine.

He flips you over roughly by your ankle then pulls you to the edge of the large bed. Mark manhandles you until your face is pressed into your thick blankets with your round ass in the air. When Mark’s tongue pushes its way between your folds you’re a moaning mess.

Mark slowly licks from your wet cunt up to your puckered hole, repeating the motion over and over again. You close your eyes tightly as your moans fill the great space of your bedroom. He uses his skilled fingers to search for your clit, praying that Solorian’s have one. When he finally finds the nub he sucks on it harshly, causing you to cry out and fall on your stomach.

Mark lets out a huff behind you, voice raspy from his previous moaning, “If you want to lay with me princess, you have to keep your back arched.” You do as he says and he continues making a mess of you with his tongue, adding two, slender fingers into your pulsating heat.

When you feel Mark’s bulbous head rubbing against your tight entrance you release a sound akin to a purr. He pushes into you slowly, inch by veiny inch until his hips are flush against your backside.

You call out for him when he pulls out of you and he answers with a moan of his own when he pushes his length back into your tight walls. Mark starts at a slow rhythm that has you moaning with each pointed thrust, still you throw your ass back to meet each one.

Mark’s pace becomes brutal and you struggle to keep up with his pounding hips. One of his large hands slides up your back and wraps securely around your neck. His full lips leaving kisses in its wake. His other hand goes between your bodies to your engorged nub, rubbing slick circles as he continues to pound in and out of you.

Your toes curl so hard that you feel like they may break when Mark hits a deep, spongy spot in your cunt. You call out his name as you come, body going completely still then slumping to your stomach. Mark continues to fuck into your spent cunt, groans turning to moans. Mark pulls out and releases warm come on your lower back and ass cheek.

He lays on his back beside you, both of you two breathing too hard to say anything to one another.

When Mark walks through his apartment door Will is waiting for him, coffee cup in hand as the early morning light peaks through the bay window. Will’s eyes go wide when he takes in his best friend, “Mark! Where have you been? Do you realize you’ve been gone for three months?!”

Mark sits down at the granite island, smiling to himself as he begins to tell his best friend about the alien pussy he had to force himself to leave.

#invincible/reader #invincible x reader #invincible smut #smut #mark grayson smut #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson/reader

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deception-united · 1 year ago

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Online Writing Resources #2

Vocabulary:

Tip of My Tongue: I find this very helpful when I can't think of a specific word I'm looking for. Which is often.

WordHippo: As well as a thesaurus, this website also provides antonyms, definitions, rhymes, sentences that use a particular word, translations, pronunciations, and word forms.

OneLook: Find definitions, synonyms, antonyms, and related words. Allows you to search in specific categories.

YourDictionary: This website is a dictionary and thesaurus, and helps with grammar, vocabulary, and usage.

Information/Research:

Crime Reads: Covers crime and thriller movies, books, and TV shows. Great inspiration before writing a crime scene or story in this genre.

Havocscope: Black market information, including pricing, market value, and sources.

Climate Comparison: Compares the climates of two countries, or parts of the country, with each other.

Food Timeline: Centuries worth of information about food, and what people ate in different time periods.

Refseek: Information about literally anything. Provides links to other sources relevant to your search.

Perplexity AI: Uses information from the internet to answer any questions you have, summarises the key points, suggests relevant or similar searches, and links the sources used.

Planning/Worldbuilding:

One Stop for Writers: Literally everything a writer could need, all in one place: description thesaurus, character builder, story maps, scene maps, timelines, worldbuilding surveys, idea generators, templates, tutorials... all of it.

World Anvil: Provides worldbuilding templates and lets you create interactive maps, chronicles, timelines, whiteboards, family trees, charts, and interactive tables. May be a bit complicated to navigate at first, but the features are incredibly useful.

Inkarnate: This is a fantasy map maker where you can make maps for your world, regions, cities, interiors, or battles.

Miscellaneous:

750words: Helps build the habit of writing daily (about three pages). Fully private. It also tracks your progress and mindset while writing.

BetaBooks: Allows you to share your manuscript with your beta readers. You can see who is reading, how far they've read, and feedback.

Readable: Helps you to measure and improve the readability of your writing and make readers more engaged.

ZenPen: A minimalist writing page that blocks any distractions and helps improve your focus. You can make it full screen, invert the colours, and set a word count goal.

QueryTracker: Helps you find a literary agent for your book.

Lulu: Self-publish your book!

See my previous post with more:

Drop any other resources you like to use in the comments! Happy writing ❤

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hardlyinteresting · 5 months ago

Text

Stop in the middle

Jake Seresin x reader

Two sides of the same coin; they were joined at the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”.

So much wine by Phoebe Bridgers Somewhere else by Indians Abbey by Mitski

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, (call sign Angel), with no physical description, crash landing, wilderness survival, major injuries (non-graphic description), discussions of death, happy ending though (I promise!), hurt/comfort, idiots in love, possible Navy inaccuracies, (please let me know if you'd like me to add anything else)

Word Count: 4.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

Laying in the snow she watches the sun rise inch by inch over the tree line. The sky bathed in a soft orange glow that warms her skin for what she can only assume will be the last time. He’ll hate her for leaving him without saying goodbye, but her voice has already left her and her arms are too weak to shake him from his slumber.

In the distance the cotton fluff clouds rest on the peaks of the mountains; tremendous contrast so perfectly balanced. She feels each of Hangman's breaths expanding the firm plane of his chest as her breathing grows slower. Two days ago she never would have imagined dying in the arms of Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

---

They had taken off at the barest crack of dawn breaking. 0600 hours. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Take off from the carrier. Fly over. Survey the valley below—report anomalies. Continue the flight path, and land at a nearby ally airbase. Refuel. Return to the carrier. They'd been tasked with flying similar paths for the last two weeks as part of a larger peacekeeping and security effort. As far as deployments go, they were lucky to have been selected to be the joint task force; and more fortunate to not be engaged in active combat.

Though Hangman would loathe to admit it with his two confirmed air combat kills, she knows herself that no pilot wants to be under enemy fire or in a position to take a life; it's an unfortunate consequence and frequent reality of the job.

In the time they’ve known each other, she’s heard Jake speak frequently about his mother and her homemade pie waiting for him in Texas. He tells stories about the boys he used to play football with in high school, and family reunions with little nieces and nephews running about barefoot. She’s heard him making plans to buy a home and settle down. He dreams of a future. Anyone paying attention knows that beneath the outwardly cocky exterior, and adrenaline rushes, he's afraid of dying.

It wasn't enemy fire that took them down two days ago, but rather sudden major malfunctions that left them without any navigation system, defective coms, and an aircraft almost completely unresponsive to pilot commands. Their saving grace had been Hangman's quick thinking to point them towards a clearing in the tree line, and her decision to dump their fuel as they descended rapidly toward the ground. Flying too low to eject safely they braced themselves for impact, an apology for something he could not have stopped on Jake's lips.

The sounds of alarms and rapid beeping tones woke them. The smell of burning jet fuel startled them into action again. Jake's head stayed lulled forward his eyes slipping shut again before his limbs burst into action with a level of urgency that forced her to react with equal fervour. She watched wide-eyed as Hangman pushed open the canopy pulling himself up and out of his seat, rolling sideways out the opening. Only in watching his exit did she notice the awkward angle the jet had landed at. The nose crumpled by the force of the impact, their wings clipped and lost somewhere in the trees or across the clearing; the body had slid half on its side, a couple hundred feet through revealing mud beneath and leaving a wake of burning grass melting through the powder white snow. A sharp pain threatened to make her lose her breakfast as she clambered from her seat and the tangle of buckles and straps that had saved her life. She tumbled with purpose but little grace out into the frozen valley.

“Alright?” Hangman asked standing with his back straight as she doubled over trying hard to catch her breath. She nodded but he didn't make any effort to speak or move giving her a moment to collect herself.

Sucking in the ice-cold air she ignored the searing pain tearing through her rib cage. Her attention drifted from herself back to Jake who swayed on his feet, the soft crunch of snow sounding beneath his feet as he tried to find a place to stand steady. Watching him pale she only grew more convinced Jake was concussed.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Dizzy for sure”.

“Well, we'll thank our lucky stars we crashed in allied territory. Once we find shelter, I'll run a concussion protocol for you.”

Their non-functioning radios had left them no way to communicate their mayday calls. They had tried in vain to transmit their approximate coordinates as their headsets filled with static. Their navigation system ran haywire, the coordinates too impossible to be accurate in any case.

His brows furrowed as he turned to survey their crash sight. His usually bright smile had been pulled into a firm line that confirmed to her they'd be stranded for a while.

A gust of wind reminded them of how exposed they were in the clearing. While enemy scouts wouldn't be an issue, the potential for hypothermia would be.

“Map. Compass. Let's grab the chutes from the seats as well,�� she suggested. Hangman was uncharacteristically quiet in his agreement, giving her a nod of affirmation as they collected what they could from the jet.

The sun was still high in the sky above them providing decent light though filtered through bare branches and evergreen limbs. Somewhat guarded from the biting wind they allowed themselves to settle for a moment hoping to find their bearings and build a solid plan for their survival.

Before they began to plummet they had been about a quarter of an hour's flight from the air base on the other side of the valley. Plotting their estimated crash site on the paper map they found themselves nearly 250 miles away from their destination, walking sun up to sun down would still mean a 2-and-a-half day walk.

“Look alive sunshine,” she teased as Jake's eyes began to droop. He'd let out a laugh his smile surprisingly bright as he tilted his head back to look at her. “You're so bossy,” he complained.

“I'm about to get bossier, I've got to make sure you don't have a concussion”.

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted.

“Don't sass me Seresin,” she warned, though she tried to keep the tone playful.

For years they'd played this game; pushing each other's buttons skirting around the edges of flirtation and toeing the line of verbal bullying. Ribbing him was how she had learned to be affectionate towards him. Giving him a hard time made him flustered, or it made him laugh, and either reaction was a well-welcomed sight that had left a fluttering in her chest. The lighthearted back and forth they'd learned to communicate through made it easier to ignore the sidelong glances, and yearning that had begun to take shape beneath the surface.

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling the tiny flashlight out of her belt, “eyes on me”.

“They usually are,” he smirked.

With the light, she checked his eyes and got promising results: no abnormal dilation. Both pupils were even and responsive to light. “Today's date?” She asked him.

“February twelfth”.

“Your date of birth?”

“October twenty-first. Nineteen ninety”.

“Any headache, nausea, persistent dizziness?”

He responded no to all the symptoms and she allowed some relief to fill her knowing the initial symptoms had dissipated and not worsened. Finally, she held one finger up waiting for his eyes to focus. “Follow me,” she said her hand moving to the left, his eyes followed.

“I'll follow you anywhere,” he said as her hand moved to the right.

“Don't flirt with me, Hangman”.

“Wouldn't it be stranger if I didn't? I’m just proving I’m not concussed”. His point was somewhat valid but she didn't let him know she thought so, continuing her evaluation in silence.

He's like this with everyone. She'd been telling herself the same thing for years. You're not special. He'll flirt with anyone. A painful truth that's helped her ignore his beautiful green eyes and warm countenance.

---

Laying on her back in the snow drawing her last breaths now she wishes she could see those eyes one more time as her vision begins to blur. The blue sky swirls into the emerald pines, the colours lightened by the soft sunlight. The colours like sea glass make her think of him and tears begin to gather behind her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she wants to say but only a pathetic whimper leaves her. She wonders if she would have been kinder to him if she had known she was going to die. Would she have been more honest with her feelings? Or pushed them down deeper in some foolish attempt to protect him? The sun continues to rise and she knows he will wake soon. Selfishly, she hopes she’s drifted off before then, unwilling to see him hurting on her behalf.

---

“Not concussed, but still a pain in my ass,” she had teased him, pushing his hair off his forehead, double-checking for any wounds. He took her words as permission to keep moving. Each of them threw a parachute pack over their shoulders and continued their walk northeast through the woods.

By 1900 hours the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and the sky above turned a deep blue dotted by tiny spangling stars. Breathtaking and brilliant it had been easy to forget, just for a moment, where they were. She slung the chute of her shoulders towards the ground hissing at the movement. She hadn't had the time to check herself over. Best case her ribs were bruised, at worst she'd find out they were broken, and there would be nothing to help her until they had access to a medical bay anyway.

“Are you sure you're okay, Angel?” Hangman asked, using her call sign letting her know he meant business. He was not asking as a friend, he was asking as her teammate.

“Yes,” she lied. The pain was tolerable, only worsening with sharp or sudden movement. Nothing she couldn't handle, and nothing she would force Jake to worry about.

“Are you sure? I wouldn't be opposed to stripping you down to check for injuries,” his flirtations softened the conversation in an attempt to get her to tell him the truth.

“In your dreams,” she responded instead, moving along the base of a nearby tree in hopes of gathering some firewood and kindling.

“Quite frequently, actually,” the wink he shot her way repeats in her head even now piercing through the fourth wall of the masquerade they had built, an honest and boyish confirmation that their feelings for each other were something beyond friendship.

The plethora of fresh fallen snow meant finding water wasn't an issue of concern. Finding food would be more difficult and that first night under the stars they sat watching the flickering flames of the fire they had built, their empty stomachs rumbling with nothing to fill them.

Stretched between two trees, one of the parachutes they liberated from their wreck was used as a windscreen, protecting them from the cold. The second one lay draped around their shoulders as an extra layer.

Proximity wasn't an issue for them. They had spent enough time in cramped cockpits together to be familiar with the sounds of each other breathing. They had sat shoulder to shoulder in briefings enough time that she had memorized the smell of his cologne. And yet, when he put his arm around her to pull her closer in their makeshift cocoon her heart stuttered. How could his hands be so strong when her own wouldn't stop shaking? How could a simple touch warm her from the inside out? His fingers brushed along her side with no real pressure, but still prompted a gasp to escape her. Tears left glass trails on her cheeks in the firelight.

She tried to turn away from him, to feign sleep but he wouldn't have it. “Hey,” Jake caught her attention, waiting for her to look at him before he continued, “We're going to be okay”.

She believed him.

---

Everything about their uniforms has been painstakingly designed to keep them safe. 100% cotton undershirts and pants because the material won't melt to their skin in the event of a cockpit fire. But the surprisingly soft base layers have never stopped the blaze burning inside her. From the moment she laid eyes on Jake Seresin she knew he'd be the beginning and the end of everything. He pushed people away with his cocky attitude, somehow convinced that his refusal to be vulnerable would keep him safe from forming meaningful bonds; that he might get further ahead if he had fewer people to let down. But, he'd let her in. He'd let her break down his walls and climb over the fences he'd tried to put up. She'd held him when he got the news his father had died. On a ship thousands of miles from his home he'd told her about his brother dying when he was a child, and growing up in his shadow. He told her how badly he wanted to make his parents proud and how lonely he had made himself in the process. He'd kissed her forehead as they parted that night, and her world changed forever.

What had been an embarrassing schoolgirl crush she couldn’t shake had become a push-and-pull relationship neither of them could do without. She knew how to put him in his place when he took a joke too far. He knew how to goad her into showing everyone what she was capable of, refusing to let her slip into the background when he knew she deserved more.

Two sides of the same coin, they were joined a the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”. She wishes she would have said it. Lying at death’s door she remembers being told that you often regret the things you haven’t done more than you regret the things you did. “I’m in love with you, Jake Seresin,” she whispers to the wind.

---

Their second day of walking was far more painful than the first. Jake had startled himself awake, his eyes wild as he fought to remember where it was they had ended up. The acceptance of their reality hadn't seemed to comfort him and he grew uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up their makeshift camp. The pine trees towering above them had been kind enough to shed some of their cones while they had lay sleeping in shifts. Though they hadn't offered many, they were able to harvest a handful of pine nuts between the two of them for breakfast. It was nowhere near a meal, but the snack had managed to quiet their angry stomachs for a few minutes.

The ache in her side had grown to become a constant agony. What had started as a negligible strain was now a torment that threatened to collapse her with each footfall. Despite the subzero temperatures, a sweat had broken out across her brow, and the heat spreading up the back of her neck left her wanting to strip off her cold weather jacket and flight suit.

“Have you ever had rabbit?” Jake asked around noon. His footsteps had slowed enough for her to catch up with him. His voice had startled her after all the silence.

“I can't say that I have,” she answered. A gunshot pulled her from her thoughts and she realized she hadn't ever answered out loud. Jake stood a few feet ahead of her, his service pistol in his hand. The world around her was spinning. The trees blurring together as a sudden wave of nausea filled her. She could hear her name being called; muffled and distorted. Jake. His face soon filled her line of vision.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he told her, but her mind still struggled to put the pieces together. For a moment it felt like she was underwater, all her breath gone from her lungs and all she could feel was the scalding pain burning from the inside out. Momentarily she entertained the idea that it was her who had been shot until she spotted the rabbit lying lifeless in the snow.

“We need to eat,” Jake spoke again, “you're going quiet on me and I don't like that-- we’ll get some energy in you again before we keep moving”.

The very idea of eating anything threatened to leave her dry-heaving, but she took advantage of the moment to rest. He didn't mention her lack of assistance building a fire or preparing the rabbit, but she watched with incredible focus his hands moving with precision and surprising gentleness for the task at hand.

She can recall him telling her stories about his childhood, standing on step stools to reach the countertop in his mother's kitchen rolling out pie crusts and later on slicing apples. He once told her that it was his mother who had taught him patience and gratitude while they baked together; two traits he had neglected to exhibit far too often in his adult life.

She listened to him thank the rabbit for its life as he cut away pieces to feed to her. There was an unmistakable love in the way he moved, his eyes cast over his shoulder to check on her. Slowly, she realized that she was not doing a good job hiding her suffering. In a fleeting thought, she imagined Jake having to carry her lifeless body for the rest of their journey. In their line of work, it had never been considered morbid to have funeral plans from a young age. Flying with him for years she had learned to trust him implicitly, despite the call sign he'd earned and worked tirelessly to recover from she knew early on that he'd do right by her. Challenging authority, but always following the rules; complete and unwavering dedication to whatever task he had at hand; precision and perfection in the execution of his duties be it laundry or taking down a fighter jet midair. As her energy continued to leave her she took comfort in knowing her life would be in Hangman's hands.

“I'm not hungry,” she said to him.

“You need to eat,” he insisted again but didn't push any farther. With a longanimity he forgot he possessed, and a magnanimity he couldn't credit himself for carrying he cared for her; making the executive decision to make camp early as her seemingly catatonic state worsened. She managed to chew and swallow bites of the gamey meat, her body grateful for the nutrition.

Night fell too soon after and the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustle of creatures that may have been lurking left both of them far more on edge than they had been the night before.

“Scoot closer,” she whispered to him, and he complied without complaint. Neither of them was warm, but their proximity to the fire helped them imagine they could be. His shoulder bumped hers and she leaned her head against him. “Put your arm around me?” She asked. He complied again this time with more hesitation.

“You know if you wanted to snuggle with me you could've just said so,” he teased though she could tell his heart wasn't in it.

“I'm scared,” she confessed, a half-truth. She was terrified, feeling her heart rate starting to slow by the minute, her vision slipping in and out of focus.

“We're going to make it home,” he whispered, both arms wrapped around her now, his lips pressed to her hairline. Tears blurred in her eyes and she gave up fighting back a sob, body shaking and heartbreaking. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he said so sincerely. She cried harder knowing she had already broken that promise for him.

She had realized she'd lost feeling in her fingers and toes when he'd begun to trace shapes on her back. Her digits buzzed with needles and pins and her limbs had began to feel heavy. Bile rose in her throat choking her as she scrambled to get her distance before dinner made a reappearance. Jake didn't make a fuss, or make his worry known, but she could tell that her perturbation had begun to seep beneath his calm, cool, mien. His hand shook as he rubbed her back hoping her coughing fit might free her off the anxiety and discomfort that had overtaken her.

She can remember almost every time Jake Seresin has touched her. The memories float suspended in golden warmth, kept safe from the things theyve done, and the things they’ve seen. She holds those moments of fleeting, passing goodness, near to her heart. The smallest reminders that Hangman has a heart; and it’s full of love to give, and on some occasions, she has allowed herself to believe she could be worthy of that love.

He used to sit beside her in the mess hall no matter how many seats were available; his broad shoulders bumping her own, his elbow knocking at her ribs, their hands brushing as he slid his mashed potatoes onto her plate and she slid her green beans onto his. Silent and symbiotic in their bond, determined to look out for one another.

The first New Year's Eve they were able to spend together off base was spent with as many friends as possible and too much liquor to handle. Neither of them got a midnight kiss because she was spilling her guts in the alleyway behind the bar, Jake by her side saying “I told you not to do shots after drinking a glass of wine”. But his satisfied smirk was overshadowed by the genuine concern in his eyes and the steady warm hand he'd placed on her back. “There you go, you'll feel better once you get it all out”. He was drunk himself, his words half slurred but no less encouraging. She had thought then that he was seeing her at her worst. She knows now that she was wrong.

By some miracle they had been deployed together more often than not. At first it was pure coincidence, but over time it became clear that together they were a dynamic duo with a combined force and efficiency they're commanding officers could not deny, and were often interested in capitalizing on. They had become two halves of a whole, a packaged pair anyone would be disinclined to separate. Still, they had not been permitted to bunk together, and neither of them had ever been interested in breaking the rules of the institution so they never pushed it. But on nights when the creaks and groans of the 900,000 pound ship kept her awake, and the rocking of the waves around them was too much to ignore she knew she'd be able to find him lurking around the corridors as well.

“I couldn't sleep,” she'd say. “Me neither,” he'd respond. Sometimes, when the world felt too heavy on his shoulders and they'd been away from home for too long they'd find their way to the floor together, his back pressed to hers, their arms circling their knees, and he'd sync his breathing to hers convincing himself that so long as she was their he had some piece of his real life with him. A part of Jake Seresin that wasn't just a pawn in battles bigger than him, he was a man with thoughts and feelings, and dreams outside of his role worth achieving.

---

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

The parachute that isn't being used to block the wind is still draped over the two of them and she hopes it keeps Jake warm until he wakes. His walk to the base will take him longer now dragging her weight behind him, he'll need his sleep.

She lets the sound of the wind lull her and she finds that she's not afraid anymore. Just sad; angry even; but not afraid. Her pain is excruciating, and she’s honestly welcoming the relief of a permanent slumber. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wind gusts come steadily, growing louder and ever closer.

Jake stirs beneath her, sitting up her head falling to his lap. “Well would you look at that! No more walking for us,” he grins. Her eyes have shut but she can hear it in his voice, the boy like wonder bursting the surface. “Angel, wake up,” he shakes her shoulder. The joy that had filled him moments ago has been replaced with a more serious tone, “they sent a chopper for us, honey,” he says, shaking her again, “you've gotta get up,” he pleads with her, but she cannot answer him. His hand is surprisingly warm on the side of her face, and the world goes dark and silent.

Death is softer than she expected. It's dark still, but her head is resting on something plush, and there's a feel of woven fabric at her fingertips, it reminds her of the blanket Jake's mom had sent to her last Christmas. Her back and her legs feel stiff and she makes no attempt to move them uninterested in exploring this darken world she's found herself in. Her ribs ache but far less than they did back in the snow, the pinch she feels with each breath is like an echoed sound, a pallid reminder of her last moments.

There's a humming; a mellifluous tune. It drifts in and out, bookended by murmuring she cannot decipher. Come back to me. The words become clear. Angel. Guilt fills her, petulant and helpless as emotion overwhelms her. She wants to move towards the voice, to apologize for leaving but she's not sure she can. I need you honey.

Jake. Oh, it's so clear now. Jake.

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Jake's hands brace her shoulder, and just above her knee willing her to stop flailing her panicked limbs. Her eyes shoot open to meet his; golden green and brimming with tears she wishes she had the strength to stop. The insistent beeping that had filled the room quiets as she relaxes back into the pillows.

The Navy infirmary isn't anything fancy, but it's far more comfortable than the nights she spent with her back up against the bark of a tree. She has so many questions but they fade out of her mind as quickly as they spark in. Blips of clarity overriden by the need to speak to Jake who is looking at her with more wonder than she's even seen. The man has seen the world from 40,000 feet but he's looking at her like she hung his stars in the sky.

“Jake,” she manages.

“Yeah, Angel”.

Her throat feels like sandpaper, her voice scratchy and raw with disuse, but she fights through it,

“I'm in love with you,” she says, sucking in a breath that makes her cough. Her lungs feel like they're on fire and she works desperately to inhale and exhale as the ache in her side is reawaken.

Jake offers her water that manages to swallow down, and when she takes a few shaky breaths without wincing, he sets the paper cup aside.

She gives him a gentle nod, refusing to meet his gaze. He doesn't let it slide, his forefinger tilting her chin up so she can't hide from him. She envies his confidence, his ability to simplify a scenario.

“I'm in love with you,” he tells her too.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun hangman #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #jake seresin fic

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devsblurbs · 6 months ago

Text

Sex Pollen — B . Blake

Summary – Reader and Bellamy have always hated each other, from the moment the ship landed they were constantly at each others throats. Clarke having had enough of it for the evening, sends them away to go cover some more ground outside of the camp. They come across a clearing of some flowers, but they aren’t normal flowers, and the pollen does something to them.

Warnings - 18+ MDNI , smut , unprotected sex , oral ( f received ) , degrading , use of praise , strong language , some angst , choking , biting

Word count - 5.6k

The chilled air of the evening hummed with tension, it hung in the air heavily, like a weight crushing everyone around down into the soil. Y/n and Bellamy stood in the center of their little camp, the campfire’s embers crackling in the background, a soft contrast to their raised voices

Everyone around knew not to get involved or get into the middle of it when they were fighting, it was futile. From the moment they had landed, those two had been at eachothers throats. They couldn’t be around one another for more than a few seconds without some kind of argument following.

She hated the way Bellamy thought he was better than everyone else, and even more so she hated that he was rash and always thought he was right. No one ever really questioned him, except for her. He hated how stubborn she was, how she could never just listen to what he had to say. She always had some sort of snarky remake to fire back, she simply could never leave anything he said alone.

Most of the time Y/n had a fair point, she was more strategic with her plans. She took the little details into consideration, while Bellamy didn’t, but god forbid she try to tell him he’s wrong.

“You think your way is always the right one, don’t you?” Y/n said to him, her fists clenched tightly to her sides.

They had been going for the past half an hour, back and forth about some plan Bellamy had thrown together, and when Y/n caught wind of it, and its recklessness she couldn’t stop herself from saying something to him.

“And you think your plans are any better?” He practically spat out her, his tone laced with annoyance.

She simply laughed, causing a confused expression to quickly flash across his features. probably wondering in his head what the hell she found so funny, as if reading his mind she was quick to answer that question.

“Not that you’d ever admit it, but do you realize how many times me interjecting has saved your ass, or saved the whole camp the trouble of your half assed plan going backwards. You never take the whole picture into consideration!”

God she sure knew how to push his buttons, how dare she stand her and yell at him like that. Right before he could fire back, Clarke, who had been watching silently with crossed arms, finally stepped forward clearly having enough of the two’s screaming match.

“Enough!” Clarke snapped, the two of them turned towards her slightly startled but both still blistering with rage.

“I’m sick and tired of listening to you two screaming at eachother,” She huffed out, “Go out there.” She gestured toward the dense forest beyond the camp, leaving the two to look at her like she was insane.

Y/n scoffed, glaring at Bellamy before returning her gaze to Clarke. “You’ve got to be out of your mind-” Before Y/n could continue, Clarke shut it down, interjecting, “Frankly, I don’t give a shit right now. Just go survey the area, or kill each other, I don’t care which. I’m done listening to your guys bickering for tonight.”

They both weren’t amused by this, but they also knew it wasn’t worth arguing. The faster they left, the faster they could come back and go their separate ways.

Both still simmering with frustration and anger, they grabbed guns and headed for the gates of their little camp, heading out. The silence was tense and eerie as the trees swallowed them whole, not bothering to spare each other a glance, let alone waste air talking.

Bellamy and Y/n trudged through the dense forest, their footsteps crunching against the fallen leaves and snapping twigs, guns slung over both of their shoulders, scowls resting on their faces clearly not amused with the task at hand.The tension between them lingered in the air like a storm cloud though neither had spoken since leaving the camp.

Branches reached out like skeletal fingers, brushing against their arms as the canopy above darkened, and the temperature steadily dropped. They swayed in the light breeze, moving back and forth as to come out and grab onto them. The forest grew quieter, save for the occasional rustle of unseen creatures.

Looking around cautiously, her foot tripped over a tree stump, she was quick to catch herself, mumbling under her breath about how this whole thing was stupid. As if she wasn’t already annoyed enough, he just had to speak up.

“Watch your step.” He muttered, much to her dismay breaking the silence that settled over them.

She scoffed but didn’t respond, she wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit, and now too focused on the uneven terrain, now determined not to trip again, she refused to give him another reason to criticize her.

After more trudging through the thick woods, they emerged from the dense eerie trees into a clearing, the sight causing both of them to freeze right in their tracks.

Under the pale glow of the moonlight, the clearing unfolded like something out of a dream– or a nightmare. Hundreds of flowers blanketed the ground, the petals shimmering faintly, glowing almost as the moonlight hit them. They ranged from light blues, to violets, and pinks, their colors shifting with each movement of air hitting them.

The silence was heavier, almost sacred. Even the crickets and birds seemed to have fallen silent, leaving only the soft whisper of the breeze.

“Y/n..” He finally spoke, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “What the hell is this place?”

It was clear he was feeling uneasy, nervous almost. A feeling settled into his gut, something telling him that they shouldn’t be there.

She stepped forward more towards the flowers, her boots brushing against the edge of them, “I don’t know.. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

He followed closely behind her, as they moved deeper into the clearing the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, a gut wrenching feeling creeping up his spine. Something wasn’t right, this wasn’t natural.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he muttered, the heavy air weighing down his chest.

She crouched down to touch one of the flowers, the petals silky and cold against her slender fingers, but there was something strange about them.

“They look like they’re glowing.” She whispered, staring deeply at them, she was almost mesmerized. She knew they weren't normal, but she wasn’t as skeptical of them as Bellamy was.

His Gaze darted around the clearing, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his knife, “We shouldn’t be here, this place.. It’s not natural.”

She straightened up, her eyes narrowing at him, of course he’d find a way to try to ruin something beautiful.

“You’re paranoid, they’re just flowers. Not everything is out to kill us, Bellamy.”

He simply scoffed, “Really? Because from the moment we’ve landed, a lot of strange shit has happened.”

She went to argue back, but shut her mouth, she couldn’t really argue with that. They’ve run into so many issues, and dangerous things from the moment their feet planted onto the soil. Silence overtook them again, her eyes scanning over the flowers, all shining in the faint glow of the moon casting down from the opening in the trees above them. Her skin raised with goosebumps as the cold air nipped at her.

“I don’t know, they’re strangely beautiful..” She spoke softly, a side of her Bellamy never got to hear, it was foreign to his ears.

The breeze picked up causing her to shiver a bit, the flowers swaying more and more. She watched them move, they almost danced to a silent melody as they moved, it was almost hypnotic. Her usual rough piercing gaze was replaced by one of awe, as she stared at them.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous though.” He said, his eyes still cautiously looking around. Before he could speak again, a gust of wind swept through the clearing, the flowers swayed violently, a stark contrast to the melodic moving they once did, as they moved a shimmering cloud of pollen filled the air around them. The golden particles sparkled in the moonlight, almost like tiny floating stars as it invaded their lungs.

“What the hell..” He was quick to cover his mouth and nose with his arm, in an attempt to not breathe in any more of the pollen.

She staggered backwards a bit, coughing as the pollen swirled around them, it seemed to cling to the air, invasive and inescapable, its presence unerringly warm in the cold of the night.

“Don’t.. breathe it in,” He said between coughs, though it was already far too late for that. The shimmering pollen seemed to settle over everything–the flowers, their clothes, their skin. It lingered in the air for a moment longer before finally disappearing.

She finally straightened up, running her fingers through her hair, and taking deep, but cautious breaths. “What the fuck was that..” She murmured trying to wrap her head around what the hell just transpired.

He doubled over, his hands on his knees, panting slightly, as he attempted to catch his breath, “I have no idea, but that wasn’t normal.”

His heart beat quickly, irregularly the world swaying a bit as he stayed there. When he finally caught his breath and stood up, his skin was covered with a dull sense of pins and needles, a slight bit of sweat dripping down his forehead despite the cold air, glistening in the dull light cast over by the moon.

She didn’t realize that she had been staring, until she looked away, her own body feeling uneasy. Her legs are almost weak, and her heart erratic.

“I feel weird..” She spoke, her voice slightly hoarse, a lump almost lodged in her throat. Bellamy only nodded, his gaze burning into her as she spoke.

Her voice sounded melodic to him, which was a contrast from the usual annoyance he got from it. But right in this moment, it was alluring and it was pulling him in.

His nerves in his body felt like they were igniting, a match catching them on fire, his breaths staggered, his body warm. Her eyes made their way back to his figure, focusing on the way his chest heaved, the way his skin glowed under the light. As much as she wanted to look away, something was stopping her.

“Bell..” She murmured, her lips parted slightly, wiping some of the sweat away from her forehead.

He almost growled at the sound of his name leaving her lips, it sounded so pretty to him, it made his heart race even more if that was possible. The world around him felt so distant, the glow of the flowers blurring into a soft, otherworldly light. The only thing either of them could focus on was the pull–an invisible force drawing them together, insistent, and undeniable.

He didn’t answer, his dark eyes locked onto hers as his chest moved with each ragged breath he took. The usual frustration and anger he held was replaced with something deeper, something almost primal. His body felt like it was no longer his own, every instinct screaming at him to get closer to her.

He took a step forward, and Y/n didn’t move away. Her body mirrored his, leaning closer even as her mind struggled to catch up. As he stood in front of her, and her eyes stared up into his, he snapped.

The tension between them too strong, his hands gripped her arms, his touch firm and desperate as he pulled her to him, chest to chest, his touch on her arms setting her mind into overdrive, her skin on fire with just the slightest touch. Before she could react any further, his lips crashed onto hers, capturing her into a rough and demanding kiss.

She gasped against his lips, her hands instinctively gripping his shirt as her body betrayed her. The heat in both of their veins intensified with every second, and she found herself desperately pressing into him, her own desperation matching his.

The kiss was fierce and unrelenting, a collision of all the bottled up emotions between them. All the anger, all the frustration being taken out with it. The world faded away, leaving only the two of them.

She finally pulled away, almost regretting it, her lips swollen and aching for his as soon as they left.

“Bellamy..” She whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

His forehead was pressed against hers, his breaths heavy and uneven. “I don’t know what's happening,” he admitted, his voice raw, “But I can’t–”

She silenced him by pulling him back down, her lips finding his again with just as much urgency. It was like the pollen from the flowers was messing with them, igniting all the nerves in their bodies and igniting something animalistic. As their lips battled against one another, his hands roamed up her back, until one settled onto the back of her neck pushing her more into him, deepening the kiss, while her hands roamed up his chest, one landing in his hair tugging at it.

He was the one that pulled away this time panting harshly, something dark behind his brown eyes. His eyes bore into hers, his hair disheveled, he was staring at her like she was his prey.

“Y/n..” He groaned out, his voice breaking almost.

His hand moved slowly from the back of her neck to her neck to her face, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Gotta stop.. I keep going, I won't be able to.” He said breathlessly, though he said that, his mind was silently pleading her to tell him to keep going.

Her own body felt the pull between them, it was a relentless force, everything in her yearned for more, screamed at her to pull him back in. She looked up at him with half lidded eyes, “Please don’t..” It came out meekly, like some sort of plea, differently from her usual firecracker persona.

Those words, the way she said them drove him up the wall. The way her lips were swollen, face flushed, how her voice trembled, her thighs pressed together needily. She made it clear that she didn’t want him to stop, so he wasn’t going too.

Bellamy moved his hand from her face to her neck, squeezing roughly, pulling a whine from her lips. He almost groaned at that, the way it sounded leaving her lips was like heaven. He pulled her back in, kissing her just as fiercely as before, this time with no intent of holding back and stopping. The kiss was needy, hungry, fed by the relentless desire that they both had settled into them.

When he finally pulled away, it was to pull her down onto the soft soil, the earth cool against her overheated skin. Before she could complain, his lips were all over her neck, sloppily kissing, and nipping all over. She panted softly, back arching off the ground, her hips brushing against his, bringing a groan past his lips and sending a vibration through her skin. He used one of his hands to push her hips down into the ground, firmly holding her in place. Everything in him screamed to just take her right then and there, but not yet, he wanted to have his fun with her first.

“Patience, love..” His voice was rough and low as he spoke into her ear, her thighs squeezing together in an attempt to feel something, anything. His touch was driving her up the wall, she was filled with need for him, and him alone.

His lips went back to her neck, brushing against all her sensitive spots, but when they hit a particular spot that caused her to squirm under him, he bit down. It sent a jolt of stinging pleasure through her body, causing her to gasp.

“Bell..” She whispered out, need lacing her voice.

He hummed against her skin as he worked his way down to her collar bone, leaving sloppy kisses and purple bruises as he continued down his path, his hands now messing with the hem of her shirt. It wasn’t long before he was sliding it off her body, tossing it somewhere next to them on the ground. He stared at her bare chest under the light of the moon in awe, taking her in.

“So fuckin’ pretty..” His voice barely above a whisper, his eyes scanning over her, her chest rising and falling harshly.

He leaned back down, kissing down her chest, his hands moving to cup her breasts, kneading them between his fingers softly, in almost a teasing manner.

“Bell, please..” She whined out, her hands running through his hair.

This brought a smirk to his lips, hearing her all desperate for him. His lips moved over, his tongue trailing against her nipple, as his fingers played with the other. He took it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, teeth grazing against the sensitive bud as she whimpered beneath him. He then pulled away rather abruptly, leaving her breathless and almost trembling beneath him. The sudden loss of his touch sent a wave of frustration through her, a soft needy whine escaping her lips, her body arching towards him instinctively.

Her cheeks burned, but the heat pooling in her stomach only grew as he took his time with her. His hands slowly moved down her sides, his calloused fingers grazing over her sensitive skin, sending shivers racing through her body. He looked at her, his eyes darkened with lust, as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants, tugging them down, before throwing them off to the side. He once again stared in awe, looking at her fully exposed beneath him, his jeans tightening around him. Her hands lifted up, sliding under his shirt wanting to touch him too. He took the hint, sliding his shirt off, letting it join the growing pile of clothes. She bit her lip as her fingers traced over her his skin, his toned body glistening with sweat.

“Like what you see?” He grinned softly as she stared up at him like he was some sort of god.

She hummed, lost in a daze as her eyes trailed over him, too lost in taking him in to realize that he was now kneeling in between her thighs. Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned his face in, his lips brushing against the inner part of her thighs, his broad shoulders keeping her legs apart. His gaze swept over her, and the intensity in his eyes made her squirm beneath him. He kissed her thighs softly at first, peppering them all over, but as he went the kisses got sloppy, needy almost.

“Bellamy–” She started, her voice trembling, but whatever she was about to say was lost in a loud gasp as his teeth sunk into the soft flesh.

The bite wasn’t gentle, it was rough, leaving a sharp sting in its wake. Her hips jerked a sharp whimper escaping her lips as her hands moved to his hair tugging at his messy curls.

He chuckled darkly against her skin, his breath hot as he trailed kisses and bites along the inner part of her thighs, alternating between soft and harsh. Each scrape of his teeth sent a jolt of heat straight to her core, leaving her writhing and breathless. She couldn’t stop herself from squirming, her body reacting to every touch, everybite. Her legs trembled, but his hands kept her firmly in place, his grip strong and unyielding as he pushed her hips into the ground beneath them.

“Stay still.” He growled out, his voice thick with warning, and the sound sent another shiver racing through her.

Her head fell back against the ground, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she tried to obey, but it was an impossible feat. The ache inside her was unbearable, her body desperate for him, wanting nothing but his touch.

“Please..” She whispered, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

He paused, his lips hovering just barely above her skin, his hot breath fanning over her. His eyes trailed up, and his gaze met hers through his messy curls. The smirk that spread across his lips was both infuriating and intoxicating to her.

“So desperate,” He teased, his tone laced with satisfaction, he did this to her, he was making her fall apart with his touch.

She bit her lip again, her cheeks flushing even deeper, sweat coating her forehead. She didn’t have the energy to argue, or to put up a fight, not with the way his touch was driving her up the wall with pleasure.

His lips hovered over her thighs, close enough to where she could feel the heat of his breath, but far enough to drive her crazy. Her body was trembling, every nerve ending screaming for more, her body on fire, craving him more and more with every touch, but he just smirked at her dragging out the moment.

“Bellamy, please,” She whimpered, her voice practically breaking with desperation. Her hips jerked up toward him, but his strong hands held her firmly in place.

“Not good enough,” He murmured, his voice dark and teasing, “Want me to make you feel good hm, Princess? Beg for me then.”

Her eyes were locked onto his, a mixture of frustration and yearning behind them, she clenched her fists, her nails digging into the soil beneath her, her body in overdrive, desperate for any kind of friction. He leaned into her, his lips brushing over the spot where she needed him most, but not quite giving her what she needed. That’s what broke her, her eyes pleading with him.

“Please, Bell,” She begged, her voice breaking with every word she spoke. “I need you, I–” She let out a shuddering breath, her head falling back onto the ground. “Please, just do something, I need you.” Her voice was filled with desperation, as her body ached for more.

His smirk widened, satisfaction glinting in his dark eyes. “That’s more like it,” He muttered,and without another word he gave in.

He lowered his head between her thighs, burying his face in between them, his mouth working against her with skill and intensity that had her crying out. The first touch of his tongue dragging up against her clit sent a jolt of electricity through her body, her back arching off the ground, as her hands tugged at his messy hair. He had barely started, but her body was on fire, her mind clouded over as he finally was giving her what she craved.

“Bell!” She gasped, her voice breaking into a cry as he pressed into her more, his tongue and lips moving in a perfectly deveasting rhythm.

Her nails dug into his scalp, but it only seemed to spur him on further. His grip on her thighs tightened, sure enough that there would be fresh bruises there the next day to accompany the purple marks his lips left everywhere earlier. As he gripped her his tongue swirled and flicked around in ways that made her see stars. The sounds she made were desperate, unrestrained, they only fueled him to push her closer to the edge.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.” He mumbled, as his mouth worked at her, sending the vibrations straight to her core.

Her world narrowed to the feeling of his mouth on her, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming sensation that was pulling her apart piece by piece. Her cries grew louder, her breaths even more erratic than before as her body tightened and trembled against his every touch.

“Bellamy, I–I can’t–” She stammered, but he was relentless, it only drove him to go faster.

His tongue kept working against her, her cries like a melody to his ears. It wasn't until he slipped two fingers in, that she practically yelled out his name. His fingers working with his mouth in harmony, has her eyes rolling back, a wave of pleasure rolling over her. Her body shook, her fingers tugging at his hair roughly as she fell apart beneath him. The way she gasped his name, raw and unfiltered, sent a jolly of satisfaction through him. He didn’t stop, he didn’t let up, his mouth working relentlessly as he let her ride out her high.

Her vision was hazy as the pleasure overwhelmed her, she couldn’t think, couldn't breathe properly, she could only feel.

Finally, as her body calmed down, and her trembling slowed a bit, he slowed his movements. Pulling out his fingers slowly, pressing one last gentle kiss to her thigh. His face covered in her slick, he licked his fingers, cleaning them off, savoring every last bit of her taste.

He had wasted enough time, he was done holding back now. Satisfied with the way he had her falling apart from just his tongue and his fingers, he stood up for a second, making quick work of pulling his jeans off, throwing them to the side. She couldn’t help the way her eyes roamed over him, even as her body trembled from the aftermath of his mouth. His body glistening with sweat, his large cock out for her to see.

He was back on her in an instant, caging her beneath him, as his weight pressed her into the soft earth. His lips found her neck again, nipping and sucking as his hands roamed her body possessively, making sure to leave no inch untouched. The heat radiating between them was unbearable, the pull was impossible to resist.

“You want this?” He growled against her ear, his voice rough and laced with need. His teeth grazed her earlobe, sending another shivering rushing through her, “Hmm, say it.. Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you.”

She could barely form any words, her breath hitching as his body arched into his, “I do yes..” She managed to stammer out, her voice barely audible.

He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “I don’t think I’m very convinced.”

She groaned out, her hips desperately trying to rub against his, “Please, god, Bell.. I want you to fuck me, please I need you.”

The desperation and need in voice was enough for him, he didn’t bother demanding her try to convince him anymore, truth be told he couldn’t wait any longer. The flowers had them both too far gone, their minds clouded, their bodies screaming for more. He positioned himself, his hands gripping her hips tightly, and without warning, his hips snapped into hers with a force that knocked the air from her lungs.

A sharp cry escaped her lips, her nails digging into his shoulder as his hips slammed against hers in a rough, relentless rhythm. He set a punishing pace, every movement filled with raw, and unrestrained need.

“Fuck, princess.. Taking me so well, this pussy was made for me.” He groaned out, his pace never faltering as he rocked his hips into hers.

He cursed under his breath as he kept up his pace, his breath hot against her ear as his hands tightened on her hips pulling her closer with each harsh thrust. The sound of her moans and cries along with the sound of their bodies colliding echoed around them, mixing with the faint rustle of the flowers swaying in the breeze. The pollen still hung thick in the air, amplifying every sensation, every touch, they were both mad with lust.

She felt like she was on fire, her body hypersensitive to every thrust of his hips, every sound that drew from his lips, every glance.

His head fell into the crook of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as he muttered things under his breath, his voice was raw and broken. His rhythm didn't falter, each thrust hitting deeper, harder than the last, as if he couldn’t get enough for her. His body claiming every inch of hers, trapping her beneath him as to say that she was his and his alone.

Her cries only grew louder, her hands grasping and scratching at him as she tried to ground herself. But she couldn’t, it felt too good, he had her screaming out his name in pleasure.

“What is it, pretty girl? Can’t handle me?” He chuckled darkly against her neck,but he didn’t slow his pace, he kept pounding into her like his life depended on it.

The flowers had stripped them of every barrier, every ounce of control, leaving nothing but a primal need. They were lost in eachother, consumed by the heat, the desperation, the overwhelming desire that neither of them could fight.

His soft growls filled her ears, rough and low, as she trembled beneath him, her moans spilling from her lips with no hesitation. Her nails raked along his sweat-slicked back as he drove into her roughly.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” He spoke into her ear softly, his voice thick with desire. His eyes flickered down to meet hers, and the way she looked at him– flushed, dazed, completely drunk off his cock alone only fueled the fire raging inside of him more.

“Such a mess for me.” His words dripping with satisfaction as one of his hands slipped up to her neck giving it a squeeze pulling a soft gasp from her lips.

His other hand snaked down, to rub circles on her clit as he kept his pace drilling into her, the added pleasure causing tears to stream down her cheeks, her hands gripping his shoulder even harder in an attempt to anchor herself.

“Bellamy!” She moaned out his name, her voice cracking as her body writhed under him, the mixture of his cock and fingers driving her insane.

He groaned against her neck, the sound vibrating through her, and his hips snapped against her even harder, his rhythm growing rougher, needier. “You like this huh?” He growled, his breath hot against her neck, “You like when I use you like this? Being a cock drunk slut for me?”

Her head fell back, her lips parted as she let out a strangled cry, the tension inside her building to a breaking point. Her body was on fire, every nerve alight, every sensation heightened. His grip on her neck tightened, his fingers still rubbing circles against her clit. His lips worked against her neck, biting and kissing sloppily, claiming every inch of her.

“You drive me crazy,” He muttered, his voice almost a snarl as he buried himself deeper, his movements becoming more erratic, more sloppy with each thrust, “You always have.”

She could barely process his words, her find too clouded by the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. Her body tightened around him, and she felt herself teetering on the edge, her cries growing louder, more desperate.

“Bell, fuck.. I’m–” She stammered, her hands clutching onto him as the wave built higher, threatening to crash over her at any moment.

“Hm, you wanna cum for me?” He murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice softer now but still filled with just as much urgency, “Go on then, cum on my cock.”

That’s all it took for her to go over the edge, her body convulsing under him as her release ripped through her, leaving her gasping and trembling. He kept going, his fingers still drawing lazy circles, his thrusts getting more and more sloppy as she rode out her high. A few more thrusts and he was burying himself deep inside of her, spilling his seed, and painting her walls, claiming her insides as his. His growls turned into a deep groan as he buried his face in her neck, his body shaking just a bit before collapsing next to her on the ground.

They laid there for a moment, minds still clouded over, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breaths. Their bodies began to cool down, the heat that had consumed them moments ago ebbed away, leaving behind a strange clarity. Slowly, the effects of the pollen wore off, and with it came the crashing weight of reality.

Her eyes darted around, her chest still heaving as she tried to process what had just happened. Her skin felt cooler now, but it didn’t erase the marks of what just happened– the warmth of his hands, the scrape of his teeth, the way he had her coming undone on his cock.

“What the fuck just happend?” She yelped, her voice cracking as she sat up abruptly, clutching all her discarded clothes. She was quick to scramble to put them on, her hands shaking slightly as she tugged her shirt over her head. Her hair was a wild mess, her body covered in purple bruises, her lips swollen, and her face burned with disbelief and embarrassment of what just happened.

Bellamy, still lying beside her, blinked as if coming out of a fog. He propped himself up on his elbows, a mix of shock and confusion fainted his freckled face. His fair was a tangled mess, his chest and shoulders mocked with red scratches left in the wake of her nails. His lips bore the same swollen look, evident of their fevered kisses.

“I–” He started, his voice hoarse. He paused his brow furrowing as he glanced at Y/n who was furiously tying her boots up.

He was quick to follow, grabbing all his clothes and throwing them on, still just as confused.After they were just dressed, they came face to face.

“I don’t know what the fuck just happened, but we’re going to pretend it didn’t.” She spat out, glaring daggers into him. The lust was long gone, replaced by the familiar bitterness she felt for him.

Though he felt the same way, and hated her, he couldn’t shake the fact that he had her stubborn ass falling apart for him.

“I doubt you’ll forget the way I made you feel.” He smirked, slinging his gun over his shoulder.

She flipped him off, “I hate you, Blake.”

He rolled his eyes, “Feelings mutual firecracker.”

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #the 100 #x reader #the 100 x reader #smut #sex pollen #bellamy blake x female reader #bellamy blake x y/n #bellamy blake x you #fanfic #degrading k1nk #clarke griffin #bellamyblakru #blurb

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exhaslo · 2 years ago

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Day 19- Miguel x Reader (Sex Pollen)

*Requested by several readers ;) *

Another day, another mission. You had joined Miguel and Jessica on an anomaly hunt in a new dimension. All sounded simple at first, Jessica was in charge of finding the Spiderman or woman of that world and attempting to recruit them; you were going to hunt the anomaly; and Miguel was going to survey the new world. That was the original plan, but once the three of you actually arrived at said world, everything changed.

Staring at the vast jungle before you, you rubbed your eyes to make sure it was true. There were no buildings in sight. They had already recruited some odd animal Spiders, was this going to be another one. Miguel was getting a diagnosis done by Lyla. In the meantime, you and Jessica observed your surroundings.

"Wow, I don't think I'll be able to leaf this alone for a while," You hummed, poking a large leaf.

"I'll pretend you didn't make such a horrible pun." Jessica crossed her arms as she looked up at the fifty foot trees, "Yeah, I'm calling this one off. Let me know how it goes," With a wave, Jessica returned to the Spider Society.

"Shocking," Miguel hissed, "Humanity went extinct in this world. So let's grab our anomaly before he messes with nature."

"Coolio. I'm sure the wildlife will think of us as giant Spiders." You chuckled.

Miguel did not find it amusing as he led the way. You complained to him, wanting Miguel to cheer up. The man was the pinnacle of stressed out. You could feel his tension whenever you entered a room with him. Hell, his muscles showed it too. Speaking of muscles, you were staring at his for far too long now. Looking away, you huffed as you now stared at his ass. How was there a Spiderman this fucking fine? You couldn't help but want the man!

"There," Miguel pointed towards the anomaly.

You stood behind Miguel, staring at a very confused Shocker. Miguel was whispering a plan to you, but you were not focusing. His cologne smelled so nice. Flinching as Miguel dashed forward, you panicked and followed him. It wasn't your fault you were head over heels with him!

"(Y/N)!"

"Oof!" You felt your spider senses tingle as you dodged an attack from Shocker, "Ah! The hell!?" You gasped as you fell into a cluster of veins.

"Ay dios mío. (Oh my god.)" Miguel spat as he went after Shocker. You hurried after the two,

"Sorry! I dozed off for the second!"

Miguel ignored you as he easily caught the rouge Shocker. He tied Shocker up and threw him into the dimensional portal. You were about to join Miguel, but felt your spider senses warn you again. You webbed Miguel, bringing him towards you as a large bird attacked. The two of you fell towards the ground. For a brief second, Miguel wrapped his arms around you, protecting you from the fall. Luckily, you both landed on a large flower bud. Yellow pollen floating in the air.

You sighed in relief and tried asking Miguel if he was okay, but felt him hold your head. His grip was tight as he kept your head pressed against his chest. It was almost hard to breathe.

"Miguel, I can't breathe." You muttered. Not that this was a bad thing.

"Fuck, just wait..." He groaned, "Something isn't....right."

That was odd. Miguel sounded like he was in pain. You touched his chest to try and move but noticed him flinch. Suddenly, you felt something hard press against your stomach. Your eyes widen as your senses went off. Miguel was protecting you from this strange pollen. Trying to get his attention again, Miguel let out a low cry. This was defiantly bad! Forcing yourself away, you grabbed Miguel's face and pressed it against your chest while you held your breathe.

The pollen was almost gone. You just had to hold on. You glanced down at Miguel and noticed that he removed his mask. Your fingers were now coiling with his soft hair. Miguel groaned again then moved his hands up your back. You shivered as his groans sent a vibration between your breasts.

"(Y/N), fuck...I need you," His tone was so needy.

"What?!" You gasped in shock.

Your eyes widen as you inhaled some of the pollen. Suddenly, your body started to burn. You whimpered as you leaned back, rubbing your legs together as your pussy started to drip. Miguel hovered over you, his hands gently touching your sensitive bud. Your eyes widen as you let out a loud moan from just a simple touch. Miguel's suit disappeared and he used his talons to rip yours.

"M-Miguel, we...we shouldn't." You tried to tell him, but your body was burning up. Miguel kissed you feverishly,

"No, we shouldn't."

His fingers started to pump inside your pussy as he kept kissing you. Your moans were being swallowed by him as you felt him satisfy the burning sensation. His fingers getting coated by a waterfall of your juices, desperate for more. Miguel broke the kiss, a small trail of saliva connecting the two of you. Unable to wait much longer, you reached for him, grinding yourself against his hand.

Miguel hissed lowly and removed his fingers, needing his own burning pain to go away. He used your juices to stroke his dick as a lube. Without much warning, he easily slid his dick inside of you, thrusting away his lust. Your mind went hazy as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Miguel's dick pounding your every so hungry pussy. Whatever this pollen was made you both so horny that you weren't thinking straight. All you wanted was his dick.

Miguel held your waist, slapping himself into you like a madman. The lewd sounds of your bodies hitting each other echoed throughout the forest. Your moans growing louder with each thrust. A mixture of his cum and your juices pooling onto the forest floor. Miguel didn't even realize he had cummed inside of you. The immense pleasure you both were feeling was overpowering your own orgasms. All the two of wanted was to keep feeling each other.

You weren't sure how long the two of you were fucking each other dumb for. One moment you were on your back, the next you were riding him, and so on. Your body kept moving on its own as your pussy kept sucking Miguel's dick. Each thrust of his tip against your cervix sent shivers down your spine. Miguel had you back against your back, needing to go deeper. Needing to have you scream his name out.

"M-Mig-" Your words were caught off as you arched your back in pleasure.

"Fuck, look at you. Always wanted to taste this pussy," Miguel started to babble, watching his dick form a white ring from your juices, "Make you mine. What a good girl you are, taking my dick so well,"

"Ah~ M-Mig...hah...R-Right....t-there."

Your eyes rolled back as the burning sensation started to fade away. Now you were starting to feel your orgasm. You felt your body grow weak as you cam once more. Your vision blurred slightly as you tried to call out to Miguel. His grip was on your waist was so tight. The daze you were in went away, but was now being washed over by his dick bullying your pussy. You felt so full. His dick was pushing all of his cum deeper inside you. You brain was starting to get cock drunk as you moved your hips again,

"M-Miggy~"

"That's right, say my name." Miguel panted lowly. He thumb trailing over your clit to steal another orgasm from you, "Dime que tu estrecho coño me pertenece. Que te voy a joder tonto. (Tell me that your tight pussy belongs to me. That I'm going to fuck you dumb.)" He groaned.

Miguel started to come back to his senses as he filled you once more. He took a moment to catch his breathe, hovering over you. He slowly pulled out, watching a river of his cum spill out of your bullied cunt. Another groan escaped his lips as his suit reappeared. You were still a panting mess, trembling from the overstimulation. Miguel reached out to you, pulling you into his chest,

"Are you alright?" He asked softly. You buried your head into his shoulder,

"Fucked out." You barely whispered.

"Yeah," He agreed and looked at his watch, "¡¿Qué carajo, llevamos más de una hora follando?! (What the fuck, we've been fucking for over an hour?!)" He nearly yelled out. Your eyes widen,

"W-What?! I only came to my senses in those last few minutes!" You coughed. Miguel held your head, glancing at the nearby pollen,

"Let's get out of here."

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

Miguel took you straight to his place afterwards. He gave you some water and helped give you a proper bath. The two of you were embarrassed to say the least. Once you were washed and rested, Miguel sat against the edge of his bed.

"Ahem," He cleared his throat, "I suppose it's too late to say that I have feelings for you." He muttered lowly. You chuckled, scooting closer to him,

"I don't think that sex pollen would have worked if you didn't," You teased him. Miguel flinched,

"Is that what you're calling it?"

"That what Lyla explained it as. Pollen that acts out of the desire to mate with one's chosen interest." You continued to tease Miguel. Miguel's ears turned red as he cussed quietly about his AI, "I like you too. Also, you owe me a new suit."

"Ya estoy trabajando en ello. Asegurándome de que desapareciera como el mío. (I'm already working on it. Making sure it came disappear like mine.)" He said, hiding his smirk.

You grew flustered and quickly asked him about where your old suit was. Miguel brought it out, keeping it in a sealed bag. You huffed your cheeks out, telling him that it has been hours and should be fine. Opening the bag, you flatted your suit out to see the damage. As you did, yellow pollen came out of the suit, causing Miguel to give you a slight glare.

"I'm sorry!" You coughed, inhaling the pollen. Miguel threw your suit to the side, the pollen already affecting him,

"No puedo explicar lo tonto que te voy a follar ahora. Especialmente porque no recordaremos la primera puta hora. (Can't explain how much dumber I'm going to fuck you now. Especially since we won't remember the first fucking hour of it.)" He spat, his body shaking as his dick started to harden. You had your legs spread out already,

"I promise it won't happen again!"

You fucking liar

#kinktober #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel

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fairymusings · 1 year ago

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Rain and Redemption

Tamlin x Reader

Synopsis : After fleeing your home in the Court of Nightmares you seek refuge in the wild and unattended lands of the Spring Court. You are certain that you will remain unnoticed and can finally begin living a free life. After a year alone in the feral woods of Spring you stumble upon a most surprising beast, one who had been rumored lost forever.

Pairings : TamlinxReader

a/n : this one is for my tamlin girlies! i’m so excited to write this piece and i hope you guys enjoy. don’t get me wrong i love all my other acotar men but he’s been lingering in my mind lately. slight rhys slander but nothing that isn’t true <3 (pls do not demolish me in the comments)

Warnings : mentions of cruelty and torture, suggestiveness, tamlin being possessive (but in a good way)

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The forest crawled with many creatures. Some were benevolent while others sought flesh and blood. A year in the Spring woodlands had taught you much; survival chiefly, but it had also shown you strength from within that you had not known was there. The wherewithal to remain largely unscathed in such a dangerous environment was not cheap. Yet the perils of the forest did not compare to the cruelty of your home. You’d fled from the Court of Nightmares just over a year ago and headed straight for the Spring Court. Your plan to escape had been neatly designed. After the war with Hybern you knew that the southern territory was largely abandoned by its High Lord and sneaking into its territories would be your best bet at remaining hidden from your family and from the High Lord that ruled over them.

Over the years you had grown to detest the High Lord of the Night Court. His backwards notions of ruling fairly would have been laughable if they had not cost you so much. His love for the City of Starlight had left you and your people completely disregarded. Mostly left to manage yourselves, cruelty and violence soaked into the hearts of those who resided within the mountain. The reputation of your court was enough for Rhysand to deem all of you little more than the dirt under his finely crafted boots. After 50 years of growing up in such circumstances you’d had enough. Perhaps one day you’d return to uplift your people, to tell the pompous Lord exactly what his arrogance and misplaced judgment had cost you all. For now, you sat upon a moss covered log and removed your leather pack.

It had been a long day of traveling. Recent naga attacks had driven you from your previous shelter and further into the dense woods. The afternoon sun was quickly setting and you’d need to find new lodging before it slipped beneath the horizon. Taking account of your provisions, you deemed it safe enough to take a large swig from the water canteen stored in your pouch. After twisting the cap back on tightly, you shrugged on your pack and set off again to find a place to sleep.

It did not take long until you found a cave hidden amongst the brush and trees. Pulling back a branch you entered and surveyed the dimly lit cavern. Aside from a few discarded animal bones it seemed largely unoccupied. Whomever had been here before was long gone by your observation. Deeming it fit for the night you began preparing to settle and sleep. The latter caught up to you before you knew it, the fatigue of traveling getting the better of you. You slept hard and heavy until a crunch from just outside the cave jolted you awake. Flinging your eyes open you scanned the entrance to find a hulking shadow of a creature peering in. There was not enough light to reveal the nature of this being, as you had not started a fire in an effort to remain unseen. The giant figure took a step forward and you slammed your eyes shut, heart racing. Slowly and silently you reached for the dagger strapped to your hip but did not unsheathe it yet. Taking slow steadying breaths you monitored the creatures movements with only your sense of hearing. It seemed to take two tight circles and flop onto the ground, as if it too were exhausted. Daring to peek one eye open you confirmed your suspicions and saw the shadow of the massive thing taking deep, slumberous breaths as if it had paid you no mind whatsoever. Loosing out a silent sigh you thanked the mother for whatever amnesty she had granted until your lids grew heavy once more and sleep reclaimed you wholly.

Your eyes did not reopen until dawn cracked through the leaves and streamed into the cave. You moved a hand to shade your eyes from the light and slowly blinked them open. It was then you remembered you had not slept alone last night. Your gaze landed onto what seemed to be an oversized wolf curled up on the rock floor not three feet away from you. Your heart began its quickened pace once more as you silently turned away from it to sling your pack across your head and shoulder. Standing as quietly as you could you braced yourself to turn back around and make your escape. Yet when you faced the creature once more it was already on four giant paws, its eyes locked onto you. You sucked in a silent scream and took a step backwards against the wall of the cave, flattening your palms along the cool rock. Your eyes had locked onto a fierce pair of green ones that seemed to bore into your very soul. Quickly remembering what you had learned you averted your eyes and looked down at the ground. Ever so slowly you shrank down the wall until you had come into a full crouch. You had long since figured out that if you could not best something it was better to make yourself small and hope it would deem you unworthy of its time.

Yet the wolf took a step forward, and then another. Out of your peripheral vision you could tell it was lowering its massive head towards you. It took two long inhales then nudged forward once more. You knew it was foolish but you couldn’t help your curiosity as you lifted your head to gaze at the beast once more. Its emerald eyes were locked onto yours, almost as if it were a conscious being. You didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. It shifted once more, this time onto its hind legs to sit and then again to lay its enormous body down in front of you. Then as if trying to convey its docile nature the wolf let out a quiet whine. You weren’t entirely sure this was all real. It must have devoured you whole and you were now in the midst of some delusion brought on by death. Yet your heart continued to beat rapidly and your lungs still drew in panicked breaths. The wolf had not broken its eye contact and now looked up at you from its lying position.

Deeming your situation already lethal you cast your better judgment to the wind and let out a whisper. “Hello,” you said to the beast. It cocked its head slightly as if in greeting and curiosity. “I’m sorry I invaded your cave,” you said trying to tame the shaking in your voice, “I didn’t know it was occupied.” The wolf lifted its head ever so slightly and parted its giant mouth to reveal dagger like canines. “You invaded more than my cave, little nightingale,” it rumbled in a voice so deep it rattled your bones.

You were sure now that you were hallucinating. Your face was the picture of pure shock as you beheld the speaking creature. You sputtered and stammered, reaching for something to say. “You speak?” was all you could squeak out. The wolf remained lying down but lifted its head an inch further. “Yes,” it replied in that thick tenor. You managed the courage to straighten slightly and surveyed its lethal figure. The matted coat, the pronged horns that crowned its head, the striking green eyes that observed you in turn. It clicked just then. “You’re Tamlin,” you said, not exactly a question. The wolf blinked once, twice. “Yes,” he replied once more. You couldn’t believe it. You had heard the tales of a fallen High Lord who had bound himself to his beast form and hidden away in the woods. You’d just never expected to behold him, let alone engage in conversation with him.

You stumbled for your words again but managed to get out, “I- I’m sorry for intruding. On your cave and your lands. I needed…” Your ability to articulate a sentence evaded you entirely as you beheld him. “It is no matter to me,” he spoke, “not anymore.” There was a deep sadness that dripped off his words and you felt a tear in your chest. Without your permission, your body moved your hand up and onto Tamlin’s fur coated head. Your fingers threaded into the soft fleece and rested there for a moment. He stayed completely still. It took a few heartbeats to realize what you had done, what you were still doing. You retracted your hand, choking out an apology. Tamlin did not deign to respond. Instead he lowered his head back down and this time laid it right into your lap.

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He must be out of his mind, he thought. Yet he could not tear himself away from your gentle touch as you once again began your exploration of his fur. How long had it been since he had been touched? How long had it been since he had even seen another conscious life form? He breathed in your scent, that of lilies and hyacinths. It was polluted with the smell of the forest and survival. He had noted your thin figure before closing his eyes and relishing your touch. He noticed the dirty clothes, the grime under your nails, and the tangles in your hair that made you look wild and untamed. He pondered your presence in the Spring Court as you moved your hand to caress the other side of his head. He knew he should kill you. What other reason would a Night Court citizen be doing in his lands other than to spy and destroy him further. The thought had him opening his eyes once more, but he did not move from under your touch. “Why, little nightingale, have you come to my lands?” he grumbled softly. The sigh that escaped your lips was a heavenly sound. “I could not stand another minute in that court,” you responded to him continuing your exploration across his fur. He contemplated your words before prodding again, “But why come here of all places?” He watched you consider his question from his position on your lap until you let out a small laugh and said, “It’s the only place where I felt I would be safe.”

Something that had been long asleep in him awoke at your response. Here? Safe? With him? After everything that had happened in the last 53 years under Amarantha’s reign, the war with Hybern, and destruction of his court he could not fathom that anyone in all of Prythian could possibly feel safe here. “These woodlands are not safe, nightingale,” he said. You snorted in response to his implication. “I don’t know, my Lord, I’ve faired quite well this past year. Still all in one piece, see?” You removed your hand from his fur to gesture to your own figure. He immediately missed the feeling of your touch. It took a great deal of restraint not to nuzzle your hand back to its original place on him.

Instead he rose from your lap and stood to his full height, his head barely grazing the top of the cavern ceiling. You rose with him wringing your hands at his size. “You’re not safe here,” he repeated, “come.”

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A command. One that reverberated through you to your very core. You did not hesitate to follow him out of the cave and into a clearing beyond the brush. “Climb up,” he instructed. You paused only a moment until you realized he meant for you to ride atop his back. He lowered himself ever so slightly as you hiked yourself into his massive wolf form. “Hold on, little nightingale,” he commanded once more before beginning a slow trot away from your shared cave.

The trek had been mostly contended silence. The two of you only spoke in question and response when the curiosity became too much.

“Why did you leave home?” he asked.

“I grew wary of the cruelty of home and the misjudgments of my High Lord,” you answered.

“Why have you disappeared for so long?” you asked.

“I am not fit to be a ruler at present,” he responded.

The hike had been a few hours long until you broke from the cover of the forest into an expansive clearing with endless rolling hills. The grasses had overgrown and if you hadn’t been astride on his back your figure would surely disappear into the thickets. He continued his pace as he came upon a behemoth of a building. Its size was dazzling but its condition was ruinous. Vines had almost completely overtaken the walls, creeping into shattered windows. The gardens surrounding the manor were in complete disarray, growing this way and that. He stepped over the overgrowth with his giant paws and took you up a grand staircase leading to two massive wooden doors. Gently he nudged them open with his snout and stepped foot in the place he once called home.

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He didn’t know exactly how long it had been since he had been to the manor. Before this morning he’d had no intentions of returning any time soon. He was not worthy to reside here, not worthy to call himself High Lord. The ruin he had left it in had his ego twisting from embarrassment, but he had to get her to safety. He did not know where the urge had come from, did not understand his draw to this intruder. It had been a long time since he’d had a task, a purpose. While the feeling was still foreign it was anything but unwelcome. He lowered himself once more once the two of you were safely inside and relished once more the feeling of your touch before you slid off his back and onto the marble entryway flooring. Tamlin observed as you marveled at the interior. Your eyes ravenous, soaking up every inch of this new environment. “It’s horrendous, I know,” he spoke lowly, “but you will be safe here. Safer than in those woods by yourself.” You turned your too thin figure toward him and spoke, “It’s marvelous.” He pushed down the small hint of excitement at your words and simply said “You can wash up and change clothes in the third room to the left past the dining room. I will find something to eat for the night.” With that, he turned and stepped outside the manor once more with a new task in his mind.

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You followed his instruction, finding a room that was mostly untouched by claw marks and destruction. Although dust had settled upon almost every surface, it was nice to be sheltered by four walls again. The room you entered was clearly meant for visiting courtiers, with a four poster bed, a generous armoire, a tall looking glass, and connected was a spacious bathing room. The stale air in the room was unfamiliar as you had grown accustomed to fresh air and gentle spring breezes. Your first order of business was to pry open the ornate window across the room. Your second order of business was to strip completely nude and fill the giant tub with enough water to wash a bear. The spout shot out a few violent buckets of water before finally clearing the air from its pipes and finding a steady stream. As the tub filled you nosed into the cabinets to find a few bottles of soap and oils. Sure they were a few years old, but it was better than lakes and creek water. You savored the warmth of your bath as it relaxed tense muscles and lulled you into bliss. It was only when the water grew chilled that you pulled yourself out and searched for any clothing to don before the High Lord returned from his hunt. You’d found little in terms of prudence but the silk nightdress would work for the evening. It had been a long time since you’d thought about such courtly things as how much skin was showing. Growing bored in the chamber waiting for Tamlin you walked into the main hall and began exploring.

... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..

He strode into the manor as silently as he could. Tamlin held the dead deer in his lethal jaws and gently set it on the black and white marble before shifting into his fae form. It felt unfamiliar to stand on two legs instead of four. His shrugged off his discomfort and headed straight for his abandoned quarters to find something to dress in. The last thing he needed was you stumbling upon his naked, dirt covered figure. Tamlin made quick work of putting on bland pants and a light tunic. He didn’t even bother buttoning it completely before making his way to the room he’d directed you towards. He knocked once at your door and heard nothing. He started to call out your name then quickly realized you had not yet given it to him. Knocking once more he paused, listening for a sign of you behind the door. More silence. He pushed open the door and saw that you were not there. After looking in the bathing room to find it empty as well his heart began to quicken. It was happening again. How could he have been such a fool? Of course you wouldn’t want to stay here. Who would? His estate was in complete shambles and he himself was no better. His breathing was erratic, his chest pumping up and down as he began his downward spiral. Then he heard a sound. His head snapped toward the door as he heard a melancholy music coming from elsewhere in the manor. He followed the melody to where he found you sitting in front of the grand pianoforte. The keys were out of tune, but the quiet song was still lovely. He could do nothing but stand and stare in utter shock that not only had you stayed, but you were freshly dressed in Spring Court attire and playing music in his home. He watched as your hands traveled gracefully upon the ivories. The sound of your song was like a breath of life into the tomb of the manor. His state of silent admiration was only interrupted by the end of your song. You let out a content sigh and rose from the bench, turning and meeting his eyes.

... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..

The sight of him. You had not yet known the High Lord of Spring in his fae form. He was utterly gorgeous. Your eyes devoured him as if they were starved. His tunic was unbuttoned and revealed a generous portion of his muscled chest. It was then you remembered the thin nightgown you had thoughtlessly wrapped yourself in. You knew he was fae, but his wolf form had almost made you forget that he was also a male. A beautiful, stunning male. You quickly tore your eyes from him and found a spot on the ground to study as you greeted him, “My Lord.” He let out a breath as if he’d been holding it, “My Lady.” Your eyes flicked up to his at that. A faint smile ghosted his lips and his face was the picture of relief. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, I got bored waiting for your return.” He let out a quiet laugh and took a few steps to approach you. “That’s quite alright, little nightingale, I’m just happy to see that you’re still here.” It was your turn to laugh. What a ridiculous comment! Through a snort you said, “Where else would I go?” His smile grew and he offered you his hand. “Good point. I found us something to eat. Care to join me?” You stepped forward to meet him, his towering figure and scent overwhelming your senses. Yet you took his hand and returned the smile, gazing up at him. “I would love nothing more.”

#tamlin x reader #tamlin acotar #tamlin #acotar #acotar imagine #tamlin imagine #acomaf #acowar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #tamlin redemption arc

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wanderlettesz · 17 days ago

Text

The Price of Loving - Epilogue

yandere cheater x reader

An unexpected presence brings a proposal that could change everything. The past remains, but the future is shaped by the choices that lie ahead.

Authors's note: I don’t think there are any triggers or warnings needed here. I decided to leave this epilogue as a separate chapter so that those who prefer darker endings can stop at the main story, and those who want a different conclusion can keep reading. This was the first story I ever truly wrote, so if you made it this far, thank you very much for reading.

The Price of Loving Word Count: 1506 Art credits: mkr_aknk714 on Twitter

Quick steps cut through the forest just after the helicopter drop, the steady rain muffling some of the sound. A muffled shot hits the first target, who falls unconscious, and the run continues. With each encounter, more shots are fired with precision, and the guards keep falling, one after another, with no time to react.

In a brief pause behind a tree, the figure surveys the surroundings before moving on. Another shot rings out, and another body drops. Along the way, valuable items like electronic devices, keys, and IDs are picked up and stuffed into pockets already soaked by rain.

Soon after, the sound of heavy bodies hitting the ground interrupts the rhythm of the footsteps. Looking around, several guards lie scattered with fatal neck wounds, some hadn’t even been hit before. The pace becomes more cautious, eyes following the trail left behind as the path continues.

A sea of blood covers the ground where most bodies lie. The steps advance carefully, avoiding stepping in the blood to keep expensive shoes clean. At the altar, flowers are taken from a bouquet and examined, stained by the dark liquid. The gaze soon shifts to something more striking.

Ahead, a couple moves in a rhythm that seems intimate, almost like a silent performance, standing out in the desolate scene. The figure sits at the edge of the altar, watching.

When the dance ends, what once seemed interesting has become tedious. The gun is raised, aimed at the man, and a precise shot brings him down.

The true target sighs in surprise and falls, unprepared to hold the man they were dancing with.

“James...?” you murmur, confused, noticing a tranquilizer dart lodged in his back.

“Boring, boring!” a hooded figure appears, tossing the gun up and catching it again. “Were you even trying? The whole performance was completely deplorable! Oh, how dreadful…!” The voice adopts a dramatic, exaggerated tone.

When you try to stand, the figure quickens the pace, holsters the tranquilizer gun, and draws another weapon.

Now, it’s a real gun.

“My target shouldn’t move. Come on, back where you were, come on, come on!” the figure insists, pushing the gun to your forehead and forcing you down.

You obey and return to your previous position, then bow your head. Silence dominates for a moment until broken by an annoyed huff.

“You’re not going to say anything? Seriously?”

“What should I say? You’re here to kill us, right?”

“Not him.” They spins the pistol’s cylinder. “Only you.”

Your eyes widen. You raise your head slightly, trying to see the face hidden by the hood. Only you?

“I... I get it...” The surprise fades quickly, and your head lowers again. “You must be someone I wronged in the past, then.”

“So how do you plan to make up for that?”

“...You’re not here to...”

“You think your death is enough?” You stare at the figure again, now with irritation. “Stop playing games with me.” Gradually, your mind starts clearing.

For some reason, you sense your words make the figure smile. “A punishment isn’t really a punishment if you’re okay with it.”

“I disagree. It’s still a punishment if the one receiving it isn’t okay with it, even if they accept it.” your patience is running thin. “Who are you?”

“Heh.” The figure slowly pulls back the hood. “Miss me?” She tosses her hair back and rests one hand on her hip.

Sasha?!

“You!” Your tone is heavy with accusation. “What are you doing here?!”

“Forgot you had a gun pointed at your head?” Sasha lightly presses the pistol’s tip against your forehead, a teasing gesture. “Well, I don't like to let my targets die without knowing anything."

With the other hand, she pulls something from her pocket and hands it to you. A badge.

Looking at it, the symbol is unmistakable. So this was what she’d been trying to hide.

“Contract killer... So that’s your job? Killing for dirty money?” You throw the badge away with disdain. When you look back, the smile has vanished from her face, now serious.

“...You hate injustice, don’t you?”

You hesitate for a moment before answering. Your voice softens, matching her tone. “...Yeah, that’s why I want to join the police, to prevent as much as I can.”

“Tell me” she lowers the gun from your face “Do you really think you can be a police officer?”

Those words... are almost identical to what James said to you so long ago.

“You murdered someone just a few months ago… Do you really think you’re going to become a police officer after that? Do you think anyone’s going to forgive you?"

But unlike him, she seems more... genuine, sad even.

“I know I can’t...” your voice comes out in a whisper, your eyes fixed on no particular point. You want to deny the truth, but after so long, all that’s left is acceptance.

Suddenly, Sasha raises the gun. You instinctively close your eyes. But the shot doesn’t come at you, she fires beside your body and drops the gun from her hands.

“Then join me.”

Her words catch your attention. She crouches in front of you, resting her arms on her thighs and locking eyes with you.

“You agree the police don’t bring real justice, right? That woman you killed... Justice says she didn’t deserve that, but what about you?”

Even trying to avoid it, you can’t help but think she deserved it…

Sasha watches your expression closely, then reaches out and gently strokes your head. “Yeah, I agree.” She smiles with a tender air. “Traitors deserve to die. You’re just like me.”

You frown and pull your head away from her hand. That makes her laugh, and she stands, stepping back.

“So, what do you think?” She extends her hand toward you. “You’re more useful alive than dead.”

At that moment, flashes of memory rush through your mind. The first time she did this... a long time ago.

“But... how am I supposed to make up for what I did?”

“It’s simple. You can’t. You can’t run from your past, and that’s why I’m here.” This shouldn’t be a surprise to you. Deep down, you always knew someone you hurt back in school would come after you.

You just didn’t expect it to be like this. Whoever it was, they must still be too pathetic to have the courage to try killing you with their own hands. You take her hand. “Alright, I accept. Let’s bring justice with our own hands, Sasha.” She pulls you up, her smile widening and eyes sparkling with excitement. “An excellent choice, I must say! So, shall we?”

“Just a moment.” You pick up the gun you had taken from the ground and aim it at James. When you pull the trigger, all you hear is a click. “What? You only had one bullet left?”

When you look back, you see Sasha picking up the badge you had thrown earlier. “Duh, of course! I only had one target, one bullet was enough.” She winks at you, and you roll your eyes. “How arrogant. And how are you so sure that one bullet would be enough?” You hand the gun back to her.

“I have my own principles.” She tucks the gun into her waistband. “I can't kill anyone other than my target. One target, one bullet.”

You sigh, and she grabs your wrist, pulling you away from James’ body. “Oh, come on! I need someone to take the blame for what I did too.”

“I guess...” you walk beside Sasha in silence for a moment, the only sound being the rain and her cheerful humming.

“You told me I was like you...” you wait for her to look at you, but her gaze stays fixed ahead. “But I don’t hurt or kill innocent people. Well, not anymore, at least...”

“I never said my targets were good people. I make sure they truly deserve to die... just like you.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye, her tone clearly playful. “But I know that for you, dying might even be a favorable fate.” “Even after accepting your proposal, I don’t know if it’ll be easy to forget what I’ve done in the past.” You both approach her helicopter. “I’ll make sure you forget.” She opens the door and you step inside. “We’ll make so many good memories together you won’t even have time to think about it.”

Her words bring a smile to your face, even if you hate to admit it. Sasha climbs into the pilot’s seat and turns to you.

“You look tired. You can sleep while I fly.”

“I don't know if I trust you piloting anything. It doesn't suit you at all.”

She sticks out her tongue at you and turns back to the front. You stifle a laugh and look away, gazing out the window. Your eyes drift toward where James’s body should be. It’s finally over, but...

You have a feeling this won’t be the last time you see him.

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charile0 · 6 months ago

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chezzywezzy · 1 month ago

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Yandere Edward Cullen (4/8)

WC: 3k

R was doing her late-night job of chatting up some rich and married man in his fifties while studying the following Sunday. The money flow kept coming as he begged to “see more,” but R was typically advised by coworkers to just keep a stash of lingerie, bikini, and blanket pictures that told a story and if they actually paid a lot of money, maybe reveal a bit more. In a way, Playboy was a scam to the typical middle class income males. It was always the millionaires and billionaires that got the full experience, seeing as they didn’t need to waste time in donating only a couple hundred dollars at first.

Another thousand rolled in, displayed on her second computer screen. She eyeballed it for a moment before clicking to attach an image. The computer suddenly froze before both screens went black. Not even a second later, the entire house was shrouded in darkness.

“Shit…” R muttered. Without the sound of her typing and clicking, she could firmly zone in on the howling wind and rain outside. She hadn’t heard any thunder, but the wind itself was strong enough to send a tree billowing over a nearby power line.

R wandered downstairs with her emergency flashlight she had in her desk for occurrences such as this. She internally praised herself for how adult and mature it felt to prepare for what-if circumstances.

She opened a blind and surveyed it around outside. Although it was foggy, R noticed that the dim lamppost down the street was still functioning. She assumed nothing of it, considering it probably had a totally different operating system, but it made her curious none the less.

R decided to brave through it and put on her best raincoat. She wanted to see what exactly had happened.

R almost immediately whelmed with regret and she could barely get the back door open. Rain spat at her, almost painfully so, and she covered herself with her arm blocking the way. She meandered, fighting against the tempest weather, until reaching the power box.

It would hardly open with her strength, but she managed. Her flashlight ran over the box. Nothing had been tampered with, except for very clear rips of the three wires that sprung from them. The tear hardly seemed from scissors, but wires were strong. Bare human hands could hardly do something like that.

Shivers rolled down her spine and she was quick to pack up her things and stay in a brightly lit motel that evening, despite the horrible weather.

~~~

The next morning, R arrived to school with dark under eyes. Things were becoming weird in the little town of Forks. Too many coincidences. The open windows, the power box, the feeling of an intense gaze no matter where she was. R was certain it was a stalking situation. Even if it hardly was directly harmful, last night’s incident felt threatening, as though a possessive man had put a stop to her work in the midst of it.

She chatted with Jessica briefly, explaining that she had a rough night and was a little scared for her safety because of strange things happening around her house. Fully expected, Jessica offered her place to stay the night, and said they can make a girl’s day out of it. Of course, she agreed, but made sure Jessica promised to keep them both on task as they planned to campaign for student council together. Angela was invited, but she said she would rather keep her stake in the treasury.

She slouched in her seat in O-chem, avoiding eye contact with a clearly concerned Edward. He kept gulping down his words, but class came and went. Afterwards was when he finally spoke up.

“I… I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself,” Edward stated carefully, trailing after R as she maneuvered to her next class. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Due to last night’s spook, R hardly had a chance to think about Edward, but something stirred suspicion but also an internal voice that rejected such suspicion. She halted in the hallway and turned to face him. Fellow students blurred past as R reluctantly made eye contact.

“I… guess not,” R mumbled so quietly that she was certain he couldn’t hear, but he nodded anyways. R did not reject his carefully placed shoulder rub. “I think I’m being stalked. It’s been going on for a while, and…”

Her mind scampered around to all the evidence. The tampering in her home when she was away. The window opening at night. The power box. A part of her tried to make sense of blaming it on Edward, but it felt too peculiar - they had hardly known each other and he never knew where she lived when these occurrences had begun, but all hallucinogenic and coincidental evidence, as bizarre as it was, pointed to him.

Edward’s eyes squinted in empathy and he gave R’s shoulder a squeeze. “Have you reported it to the police yet?”

“I reported the most obvious event last night, but without fingerprints or cameras or anything else, they can’t do much,” R admitted , sinking toward the man.

“That’s… unhelpful.” The man chose his words cautiously, enveloping her in a tight hug. The hall was rather empty. “You… you do not think it’s me, do you? I hardly meant to startle you Saturday —“

R tore away glaring at Edward defeatedly. “I do, Edward, and that’s what scares me. Because I have no idea how.”

Edward almost seemed embarrassed, yet his expression hardly gave away the correct answer. “But why…? I understand Saturday, but I was genuinely just in the area —“

“That just seems too impossible,” R exclaimed. Edward immediately shushed her, and despite her mind screaming to retaliate, he pulled her into the empty O-chem classroom. “I mean, I see you in my sleep, my house is acting like it’s haunted, and somehow you’re so fast and so strong, but it isn’t even humanly possible —“

Edward shushed her suddenly, pressing her carefully against the lab table, so gently that it was as though not to mess with a hair on her body. R’s mind was so extremely confused because Edward was so caring and so polite - if he was the stalker, surely he could have just asked her out from the beginning, knowing how irresistible he is. But none of this started until after they made eye contact and became closer. And she saw Edward several times, as though he was a phantom, but ghosts were not real.

“You see me in your sleep?”

Under other circumstances, she would have blushed and felt embarrassed. But she sensed a shift in the mood, as though Edward was suddenly melting into her. R was not sure why she talked to him about it in the first place. However, she rationalized that if Edward was the stalker, he was too careful to get caught in the first place, or would bend to her pleas and misery.

“Not like - that…” R almost felt out of control as her heart swelled with a sense of adoration and trust in the man. It did not feel like her own emotions, but could not fathom where else they would come from. Edward made intense eye contact before sending a glance to the doorway and back. R noticed someone there, but only for a brief moment.

Edward traced the outline other jaw passionately. “May I… try something?”

R gulped, heart beating disproportionately. She felt sick in the stomach - from fear or from attraction, she could not distinguish. She nodded ever so slightly. It was easy to anticipate as Edward slowly pulled forward, cupping her cheeks. His skin was so, so cold, almost burning. She clamped her eyes shut.

His lips were just as cold but with a bit more softness to it. He pressed so gently into the kiss that it felt more like a skim or a brush, and she would have never guessed this was a kiss without context clues. R stayed stationary before Edward suddenly increased intensity - his lips pressed harshly and moved, and with a sudden heave, he effortlessly placed her on the lab table. R felt an immediate reciprocation to the heated make-out, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him by his hair to decrease distance. Their bodies pressed together flush, and R experienced the trembling sensation of his entire frozen body.

Edward painted a fluid tenseness, as though he was cautiously climbing a cliffside - following so many procedures, but still being aware of the uncertain doom that lay beneath. His hands tangled into R’s hair, scrunching it gently between his fingers, as his other clung to her hip to keep the woman steady.

Despite her body rejecting such a chill, she grasped at his bicep and ran her fingers firmly through his well-maintained hair.

R suddenly opened her eyes and came to a realization of what she was doing. She attempted to push the man right off of her, but Edward hardly seemed to notice as he kept weaving their lips together. It took her punching his chest that he suddenly pulled away, panting, while a glaze of adoration washed over his bright red eyes.

“You - your eyes,” R gasped, wiped her mouth. “How are they red? They were just…”

“Fluorescents,” Edward rasped, looking away.

“Your strength and speed —“

“The gym.”

“Do not bullshit me, Edward! I… I have to go —“

He caught her arm on the way out, eyes pleading. She twisted and turned to escape while he hardly budged, but relinquished hold and watched as she went. She went straight home after that, feeling unsafe near his location. An electrician was coming by in the afternoon, and that felt quite safe. Instead of delving into her studies like one would hope when taking difficult stem classes, she sat there staring at her blank computer screen. When the electricity is fixed, she immediately took to google.

Nothing human came up. The results of vampirism were the first, and Edward fit the bill in so many ways: the speed, the strength, his voice, his missed days when sunny, his eyes, his diet or health disorder, his consistently untouched lunches, his alluring demeanor…

Except who could she even tell to begin with?

Her phone suddenly rang from downstairs and she ran to grab it. She leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling as though her world had turned upside down. Everything no longer felt like a coincidence, but a damnation to hell.

“Angela,” R gasped. “How are you?”

“Hey, where are you? You weren’t in class or at lunch - Jess and the boys are all worried, especially all the creepy shit that’s been happening to you.”

“I went home for the day to take care of the electricity,” R sighed. “I think I know —“

A freezing hand suddenly clasped down on her shoulder. A silent scream tore through her lungs, and she knew who it was. Who it had always been. She gulped and could feel his frosty breath on the nape of her neck. She backtracked.

“I think I know what happened last night, so it isn’t a big deal - um, electrician said that an animal got into the… power box.”

“What? That’s crazy! Do you still want a girl’s night?”

R could feel the brooding answer from behind her. “Um, well, Can we do it over the weekend? I feel rude, but I have a lab report I need to get done tonight all of a sudden and also working on the stu-co campaign more… I’m just swamped.”

“I totally understand.” Angela relayed the information to Jessica, who was sat beside her. Jessica exclaimed quickly. “It makes sense. God, stem is the worst, huh?”

They made some more small talk, but R made it short, feeling Edward’s gentle hands roam across her back and arms. She felt defeated as she hung up the phone. Her body began trembling from fear and cold. She did not turn around. She did not need to, worried her heart would become conflicted again, despite the sudden knowledge that Edward could not be human.

“I want you to look at me,” Edward whispered. “Please.”

R slowly turned and pressed herself against the island, casting her gaze to the ground and shriveling up as much as possible. Edward’s finger delicately pressured her chin toward him, and he almost seemed wounded at her reluctant glances.

“It is not what you think,” he insisted. “I feel… protective of you.”

“You’re some sort of… monster, though!” R exclaimed, trying to maintain her sanity in that moment. “You’re not human. What the hell are you?”

Edward seemed to take offense, but was quick to answer. “A vampire.”

“Is this the part where… where you kill me?”

Edward seemed appalled at the suggestion, taking a couple stumbling steps back. R could even go as far to say that he was having some sort of identity crisis as the man felt the sudden sting of naivety and rejection.

“I would never hurt you,” he insisted, his voice cracking. R had never seen the man with such a shattered expression. It made a feeling of sudden guilt and remorse well, but R swore he had been manipulative from the start. “I would never… I love you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me!” R shouted angrily, overwhelmed from the amount of information hidden that was suddenly being revealed. “You know nothing about me! You’ve been stalking for god knows how long and you think that means you know me?”

“You think I haven’t tried to tune out your thoughts, or stop my nose from smelling your scent, or my eyes for seeking you out the moment you enter a room?”

“My… my thoughts…?” R felt a sudden rush of nausea. All she could think about was how trapped she felt. In every biological twist, he had her overpowered. Perhaps he did know her better than she knew herself, and the thought terrified her.

“I - all vampires have a special ability when turned. Mine was, unluckily, a power one,” Edward explained exasperatedly. “I… I didn’t choose this lifestyle nor this power.”

“You have a twisted notion of love then. Love someone of your own… caliber.”

Edward furrowed his brows and clamped his hands on her shoulder. His hands were firm yet not painful, and even as R squirmed, his hold did not change. “You think I chose this? Why would I ever wish this lifestyle on a woman I loved, a human, and a famous one at that?”

R fell silent as a few tears escape from fright. Was he —

“I do not want you to be like me… But even so, I hope you can understand that me - my family - we’re not like the others. We’re… vegetarians. We only drink the blood of animals, not humans. There are many that are not that way, but…”

“You don’t understand,” R cried. “You may be nice for your species, but you are still a creep. You’ve been watching me sleep, you’ve been stealing my things, you’ve been following me - god knows what else —“

“I wanted to protect you - you live such a vulnerable lifestyle —“

“And it’s mine to live, Edward,” R insisted in panic, wrenching away from his grasp. “The funny thing is, you could have just been a normal guy. I had a crush on you, as I’m sure you knew, until you started being all weird and manipulative. Instead you had to make my mental health turn to shit and make me paranoid of everything! A creature like you… Don’t pretend you weren’t leaving me hints of you - making eye contact, leaving windows open, tampering with my stuff and coincidentally showing up places you shouldn’t have been. You’re probably some fucking freak that gets off of terrorizing girls like me!”

Silence fell over the household. Edward seemed appalled by R’s deduction. He was stunned, clasping at his heart. His eyes watered, letting R’s cruel words sink in. His eyes suddenly furrowed in anger. Absolutely nothing was going according to plan. He was sure that if he pleaded innocence and made himself look like the anti-hero, she might’ve understood, but… she was right. He had done all that, and even out of his twisted notion of love, no other reasonable suggestion would have been inferred.

He was struck back into reality by the slamming of the front door. He knew if he could not silence her with his love and adoration and truth, not only to protect his family’s identity but to keep the girl he loved so much, he had to silence her with fear.

#yandere #x reader #x y/n #yandere x reader #horror #twilight #twilight saga #twilight x reader #edward cullen #yandere twilight #yandere edward cullen #edward cullen x reader

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writingfics-passingtime · 7 months ago

Note

Bucky and queen song

Waving Your Banner

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: We Will Rock You - Queen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (flirtatious, no pronouns used)

Word Count: ~1300

CW: swearing, some flirting, suggestive jokes, a bit of tickling

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a flirtatious/suggestive interaction between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, anon! My initial note-to-self from when you first sent this was, verbatim, "okay but dodgeball would be fucken hilarious with we will rock you" - so we've gone with an Avengers training game vibe with this one

The woods hummed with tension, broken by the occasional crack of a branch or the muffled thud of boots. The Avengers had turned what should’ve been a simple training game into an all-out war, and your team was desperate to gain the upper hand. Somewhere ahead, in the shadow of the tree-line, stood the final obstacle: Bucky Barnes, silent, brooding, and lethal, guarding his team’s flag, the White Wolf circling his den.

You crouched beside Sam behind a cluster of bushes, your pulse steady but sharp as you surveyed the terrain. Bucky was right where you expected him, leaning casually against a tree just outside the flag's perimeter. He looked calm, detached even, but you knew better. The slightest flicker of movement would set him in motion, and if he was after you, there’d be no escaping. Flag perimeters were a no-fly-zone, so you and Sam would have to take it on foot.

“Alright,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “We need a plan. And by we, I mean you, because I’m not getting anywhere near the Winter Soldier.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “You’re faster than me.”

“He’s a wall. A brick wall with trust issues and superhuman reflexes.”

You sighed, pressing your back against the thick trunk of a tree. “Then we need a distraction. Something that’ll actually make him move.”

Sam raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s your genius plan?”

“You,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “You could bait him. Taunt him. Goad him into leaving his post.”

“And get steamrolled by the murder machine? Hard pass.” He scoffed. "Besides, you’re obviously better bait.”

The heat rushed to your face immediately. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, his grin widening. “You’ve got that whole… thing going on.”

“What thing?”

He waved a hand vaguely at you. “You know. The whole ‘badass with a secret soft side’ thing. He’ll eat it up. Hell, I think the whole team’s noticed the way he looks at you.”

You glared at him. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“He does,” Sam interrupted, revelling in your reaction. “Come on, you could probably get him to do whatever you wanted. Just say something like, ‘Oh, Bucky, is that a vibranium arm or are you just happy to see m-”

You shoved him into the bush.

Sam tried to silence his little grunts as he pulled himself out, yanking the twigs from his armour plates. “Fine. You wanna argue about this all day, or should we win?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just send in Redwing.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

The plan was simple enough: Redwing would create a distraction in a bush behind Bucky, luring him away from the flag, giving you and Sam time to move in and grab it. You moved carefully, keeping low as you crept through the underbrush. The tension in the air was electric, every rustle of leaves amplified by your own awareness of how close Bucky was.

But, true to form, Sam couldn’t resist screwing with you.

As you crept closer to the clearing, Redwing darted toward you and made a ruckus in the bush partially shielding you from view. It was more than enough to give you away, and before you could even curse Sam’s name, you heard it - the unmistakable sound of boots crunching leaves, closing in fast.

Your head whipped around just in time to see Bucky moving toward you with the kind of speed that made your heart stutter. His expression was sharp, predatory, and - gods help you - just a little amused.

“Shit,” you muttered, bolting from your hiding spot.

“Running won’t help you,” Bucky called after you, his voice dark and smooth, laced with amusement.

You didn’t bother responding, too focused on dodging tree trunks and low-hanging branches. But it didn’t matter how fast you ran; he was faster. In seconds, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you clean off your feet.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice low in your ear.

“Not yet, you don’t,” you growled, twisting sharply in his grip.

You elbowed him in the side, breaking free for a split second, but he was faster. He blocked your next move, his vibranium hand catching your wrist and spinning you around. You didn’t go down without a fight, aiming a kick at his shin and struggling against his hold, refusing to make it easy for him.

“Feisty,” he muttered, almost admiringly, his grip tightening as you wrestled.

You managed to get one arm free, landing a half-decent shove against his chest. He staggered back slightly but recovered in less than an instant, his smirk returning, sharper than before.

“Alright,” he said, his voice edged with amusement, “you wanna play rough? Let’s play rough.”

Before you could react, he was on you, trapping you between his body and the wide trunk of a tree. His fingers darted to your ribs, pressing against your sides with infuriating precision.

You jolted, a startled laugh bursting out before you could stop it. “What the fu- hey! No, that’s cheating!”

“Cheating?” he echoed, his grin widening as he tickled you again, this time catching your waist. “You’re the one trying to fight dirty.”

You squirmed, trying to slap his hands away, but the tickling was relentless, and your traitorous laughter left you weak, your arms useless.

“No! I- dammit, Barnes!”

Seizing the moment, he stepped back, grabbed both your wrists and yanked you against him, hauling you effortlessly over his shoulder. You kicked your legs in protest, but his grip was unyielding, his hand steady against the backs of your thighs.

“Put me down!” you demanded, pounding your fists against his unfairly muscled back.

“Not until you’re in jail,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” you grumbled, your cheeks burning as you felt his arm tighten around your thighs.

He chuckled, the sound warm and agonising. “Unusual, maybe. But I’d say you’re enjoying it.”

“Barnes!” you snapped, squirming harder.

His laughter deepened, and he carried you with an ease that was both infuriating and maddeningly attractive. When he finally stopped, he set you down just outside the jail, his hands lingering at your waist.

“Let me go,” you said, though the bite in your tone had softened.

He stepped closer, his body a looming presence as his eyes bore into yours. “Say please.”

You scowled, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, his smirk widening as he stepped forward, forcing you to step back - straight into the jail’s boundary.

You glared at him, your chest heaving as he stood just inches away, his gaze dark and intent. “Happy now?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, “but close.”

Before you could fire back, Sam’s triumphant whoop echoed through the trees. You turned just in time to see him flying above your team's base with Bucky's team's flag, waving it over his head like a trophy.

Bucky groaned, his head falling back briefly before he levelled a sharp glare at you. “Distraction,” he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, the word practically dripping with accusation.

Your lips curved into a coy smile despite yourself.

“You’re too damn good at it,” he said, his tone darker now, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and stalked off.

Flushed, you called after him. "This isn't over, Barnes!"

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, turning to face you as he walked backwards towards his next mission. "Not by a long shot."

#thanks anon!#ticklish!reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel tickle fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky drabble #bucky x gender neutral reader

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maraudersilver · 4 months ago

Text

despise you (Sirius Black x Potter!Reader)

Sirius Black x Fem!Potter!Reader - Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

wc: + 3,5K

cw: angst, broken moral compass. I'm really sorry.

It started slow. Disappearance of quills, shredded clothes, shut curtains that hid the first rays of sun during the week… Nothing too obnoxious, yet stressing enough to have the four Marauders trundling around the castle in less than a week. Oh, how delightful it was when you heard from Dorcas that the four of them had been assigned detention after two undelivered essays to McGonagall.

You had seen Remus roaming the library more often than not, his hair matching James’ disheveled level of messy. In other circumstances, you could have sympathized with him, being the only tolerable one of the toll. However, if one knew, the others too, so in your page Remus Lupin was as guilty as the other three twats.

Nothing would have made you happier than priding yourself in their misery produced by you and you alone, though Barty had been a participant in a handful of the pranks; the stink-bombs in the Gryffindor common room had been his own piece of art.

Pandora had pointed out a few times the glares you were receiving from the core of the Gryffindor table in every meal, and had been concerned when you laughed maniacally. Of course they suspected you, they thought you did it, but they just couldn’t prove it.

“Still tormenting them?” Regulus asked about a week after your revenge started, both of you perched on the branches of a billowing chestnut tree near the Black Lake.

“Until I have what I want? Yes.” You shrugged your shoulders absentmindedly, and your friend just snorted.

It was chilly, the wind nippy against your covered skin. If the obscure clouds surveying the castle were any indication, snow would be blanketing the lands soon. You shuddered when the breeze mixed with that of the lake caressed your face in a sharpened tune.

“Have you considered that —and I can’t believe I’m defending my tosser of a brother— they have nothing to give you because they haven’t poisoned you?” Regulus tackled, as if he had been meaning to say it for long, and a peeved sneer made its way to his mouth, nose scrunched up, at the mention of Sirius.

You pinched your brows, narrowing your eyes towards Regulus, who had kept his eyes fixed on his book. “You think I’m making shit up?”

The boy sighed tiredly, putting the book down in his lap. “No,” he drawled. “But I do think you might be confusing those… symptoms.”

Bemused, you tilted your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Look—” Regulus started before voices raucously cut through the wind beside you. Looking down, you saw the four Marauders paddling to the shore, clothes disheveled and ties forgotten who-knows-where.

And there he was. Sirius was strutting down the path as if he owned the place, confident steps paving the wave of his dark hair, which was dancing to the beat of the breeze beautifully. Your heart fluttered against your chest, belly churning with a feeling you couldn’t quite place. The air around you turned warm, caressing your skin ablaze. It had to be poison. Regulus, who you had forgotten for a moment was on the same bough as you, gave you a pointed look.

Disregarding him, you took out your wand, fiddling it between your fingers. You considered hexing them. They were near the sloshing water, which rippled due to the awful weather. It would be easy to stagger them to the awaiting mouth of the Giant Squid, yet the looming threat of being expelled thwarted your efforts. And in death they would never be able to provide you the awaiting antidote.

“Merlin’s saggy balls,” cursed Regulus, craning his head toward the trunk of the tree in vexation, voice sharp and tight.

You threw him a knitted glare, afraid the four Gryffindor boys had heard his not-as-quiet-as-required tone. For your relief, they were too engrossed in whatever terrorist mission they were planning by then.

Suddenly, more footsteps crunched the remaining leaves scattered on the floor. By the sound of it, just one person was approaching your hidden fort. It didn’t take long for a Ravenclaw girl to jag down the path towards the Marauders, who, for the most part, looked as annoyed as ever at her presence.

And then, the girl -who you had recognised as a fifth year- made her way towards Sirius. From where you stood, you could see his characteristic charming smirk that he used whenever he had a new conquest, the one that until very recently made your skin crawl. He leisurely placed one arm around her shoulder, perching her against his chest. She giggled, strutting along with him towards the water. Her screeching voice ringed across the forest, birds flying away at the sound.

Something in you shifted at the sight, your stomach dropping into a void you had never been aware of in your own body. It was morose, the way claws were scratching the inside of your chest as if your heart needed medical attention, bleeding out at the very branch you had plopped yourself on with Regulus an hour before.

When Sirius pressed a quick peck on the girl’s lips, your mind snapped. A daunting fear settled on the pit of your stomach, and the blood rushed into your ears. You could hear your heart’s frantic pulsing. With sweaty hands, you grabbed your wand tightly and pointed it towards the target, all previous wishful thinking retired to the back of your frenzied mind.

“Y/N?” Regulus' voice came in as if he was underwater, muddled by the white noise fuzzing your eardrums.

With a flicker of your wand, you murmured, “Sacrificiaque pellis”. Your voice was laced with seeth, and a blue light left your wand and hit the focus of your wrath.

Regulus’ lips pressed into a line as he saw the Ravenclaw’s skin covered in a disgusting, cornflake texture. When Sirius noticed, he grimaced and pulled himself away from her, a chagrin countenance stretching on his lips.

It didn’t take much time for the girl to see her measly state, gasping in horror at the sight of her own hands. Antsy and with tearful eyes, she scampered up the path from where she came from, the snickering from the other three Marauders following her up until she disappeared. You still saw red, but the pride looming on your chest was greater than the fury that had taken over you.

“The hell was that!?” Sirius gagged, and James howled in laughter.

“I promise it wasn’t our doing,” Peter added, still chuckling and face pink from the effort of restraining himself. “Although it would have been hilarious.”

Sirius groaned in annoyance. “There goes my date.”

James patted his shoulder sympathetically, Remus smirking widely next to him. “There are more mermaids in the lake, dude.”

The three of them laughed again at Sirius’ wry face, sulking on the shore while the others went back to their previous task, not at all worried about the jinxing of the girl. A very tiny part of you wondered what kind of person could be so indifferent to the attack of someone nearby, yet it flitted away from your mind as soon as the thought had appeared.

Regulus shook his head with a lazy smirk. “Jinxing muggle-borns now? Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter.”

Those words pulled you out of your tantrum vendetta. Your stomach was still churning. However, the void had disappeared and your heart just fluttered as it usually did whenever Sirius was nearby. You didn’t know what had come over you, why you had that impending need to hurt a stranger girl. And the most sickening part of it all, was that you didn’t regret it.

It wasn’t because she was a muggle-born, though you didn’t feel like bringing it up to Regulus. After years of being friends, you had come to the conclusion that to maintain said friendship it was best to leave the purity of blood out of any conversation. The same happened with half of your group of friends. So you just nodded, tackling your wand back in its place before anyone saw you.

A few minutes later, when the Marauders were too distracted to notice any of you, both Regulus and you bounded down the tree and silently hiked towards the castle. And there, loitering in the roots of the chesnut, was a white cat, blue eyes surveying you with uncanny curiosity.

Back at the Common Room, you fell into easy conversation with Pandora and Dorcas, your mind dribbling back to that afternoon, to the impending doom of seeing Sirius with another girl. Maybe what Evan had suggested a week prior was the right thing to do: brewing your own antidote would be the only way to escape the torment.

From the entrance of the Common Room, a jaunty roar called your name. “You really did it!” Barty sauntered towards you with open arms, a grin as wide as the entrance of the school. “I’m so proud of you, Potter.” He launched to your lap, and you squealed in annoyance.

“What are you talking about?” you snarled, both girls now looking at you two in bemusement.

“You jinxed a muggle-born! Regulus recounted everything, I wish I had been there to see it.” He sighed in delight, while you bent down, asking for the couch to swallow you. More eyes than you had expected had fallen over you. “At last you turn to the good side, Potter. Oh, we should definitely celebrate! Meadowes, do we have any booze left?”

Dorcas, who had remained quiet for the whole interaction, just swindled her eyes from you to Barty once and time again, scrutinizing you. You flinched at her hard stare, and she opened her mouth to reply sharply, “No.”

“Fuck,” Barty cursed, standing up rapidly from your lap and running towards Evan, who had been quietly reading in the loveseat by the fire.

You could feel the girls’ eyes burning on you, as if trying to pierce your skin with their stare. You turned around slowly, almost unnerved.

“Care to explain?” Dorcas asked, her voice laced with judgement.

You knew you were on a winding path and had to be careful with your words. However, at that time, it was risky enough to speak about purity matters, especially in a Common Room where you knew of the existence of You-Know-Who supporters. Pressing your lips tight, you sighed through your nose, swamped by the possibility of a scuffle coming from both sides of your group of friends.

“I’ll tell you in our dorm,” was all you said, fiddling with the loose threats of your sweater. At least most people had turned back to their own affairs. However, the silent prejudice of your friends was enough to make the hairs of your nape stand.

Out of the corner of your eye, a brown cat was stretching lazily on the carpet underneath you.

“So you didn’t do it out of hatred to muggle-borns,” Dorcas stated with narrowed eyes, glaring at you with an unnerving incredulity.

After an hour or so of loitering in the Common Room, you had deemed it appropriate to leave to your dorm without raising any suspicion on the others. You had tried to narrate the blip with as much clarity about your reasons as you could, leaving out the crestfallen ache that had wrapped around your heart at the sight of Sirius with another girl.

“The doubt offends me,” you scoffed, keeling down on your bed with an arm draped over your eyes. “Of course not!”

Pandora hummed, and even if you couldn’t see her, you knew she was tilting her head the way she always did whenever confusion settled on her mind. “Then why?”

You shrugged your shoulders uncomfortably. “Why not?”

“But did she do something to you or what?”

“More or less.” Dorcas huffed at your answer, and you pulled your arm away from your eyes in time to see her shake her head. “What?”

“I think you’re spending too much time with Junior, that’s all,” Dorcas said with worry laced in her voice.

“I don’t enjoy torturing muggle-borns,” you drawled your words tiredly.

“Just- be careful, okay? Some people here can be… influential.”

You knew it very well, one of them being your best friend. You never enjoyed their hatred towards muggle-borns, but you had yet to see them torturing one. There were rumours around the castle, about your friends and some older students' love for dark arts and their effect on those they considered impure. However, it was all speculation, you had never witnessed any attack from them. So, if you didn’t see it, certainly it didn’t happen, right?

“Everything’s under control.” Your tone didn’t leave space for any counterargument, deeming the conversation finished. Why you had hidden the effects of the poison from your friends, you didn’t know.

For some reason, now it was Umbridge who looked in your direction rather than the other way around. You hadn’t asked again about the army of cats Regulus was so sure about, but the wind-up gleam on Miss Pinky Winky’s eyes whenever she laid her eyes on you was starting to get on your nerves. During classes that day, you had caught her staring at you with a haughty look more often than not.

“The hell is wrong with Strawberry Cupcake?” you grumbled while walking down the corridor towards DADA with Regulus.

He just shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno. Only Merlin knows what crosses her mind.”

“Strawberry syrup. I thought we had agreed on that.”

Regulus just chuckled silently, his shoulders shagging with restraint.

There weren’t many students in the hallways, most of them making the most of the very few rays of sun that pierced through the clouds that seemed to never leave.

One moment, you were laughing with Regulus, and on the other, you were grabbed by someone by the wrist and pulled into the closest broom closet. You were about to scream, but a hand placed itself on your mouth, thwarting your efforts.

“I’m going to drop my hand. If you scream, I’ll jinx you like you did with Pen.” Sirius' voice was warning, almost leaning on a threat.

You didn’t nod your head nor did you make a sound. He may think he knew things, yet as a Slytherin, you knew exactly how to proceed to blackmail. Especially because blackmailing was your thing. You also hoped the erratic drumming of your heart ceased and that he couldn’t feel the warmth of your cheeks underneath his palm. Thankfully, it was so dark inside you could barely make out the shape of his body, so hopefully it would be the same with you.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Sirius dropped his hand and waited for you to make any frenzied movement. Amateur. When he was sure you would stay quiet, he proceeded to yell-whisper.

“Why on Godric’s saggy balls did you jinx my date!?” he snarled, grey eyes lost to the darkness glaring at you frantically.

You kept yourself steady, face neutral and breathing as calm as Sirius’ presence would let you, not wanting to give any clues. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Don’t play coy, Potter,” he hissed, and by the shuffling of clothing, you could only assume he had crossed his arms over his chest.

“I really have no idea what you’re on about. So, if you excuse me, I have classes to attend.” You were about to grab the handle, but Sirius gripped your wrist with more force than before. “Hey!” You tried to pull away from his hold to no avail. “I know you don’t give a fuck about your grades, but I do. So drop my hand or I-”

“You what? You’ll hex me?” he mockingly cooed. “Poor Pen is still at the Infirmary, you know? Poppy’s having a stroke trying to heal her.”

You wanted to laugh at his hypocrisy. Acting all worried when he had sulked by the shore at the potential loss of a snog. “Who’s Pen?”

“My date.”

“What date?” You knew you were getting under his skin, but with Sirius the best way to proceed was setting him ablaze until he lost control of his own body. Then, you would escape.

“The girl you jinxed at the Black Lake yesterday afternoon. Recalling now?” he spat with obviousness lacing his voice.

You rolled your eyes, still trying to pull your wrist away from his scorching touch. “You should quit drugs, Black. You’re starting to trip.”

“Careful, sweetheart,” he snarled again, although it sounded more like a purr of a cat. “You’re not as good of a liar as you think,” he whispered against your ear, goosebumps arising in your skin.

You stepped back as much as you could on that tiny space, wanting to be as far away from him as possible. You hated what their prank was doing to your body whenever Sirius was present. “I’m not lying, you’re just nuts.” Sirius breathed in, as if preparing to argue his defence, yet you beat him. “And sincerely, since when do you care about the girls you date? Acting as if you were ‘boyfriend of the year’ when you’re actually a manwhore.”

Your breath was taken away from your lungs brutally when Sirius shoved you against the wall. You could feel his breath fanning over your face, and in such a short distance you distinguished his snarling fangs and infuriated grey eyes, darkened by his own wrath and the lack of light of the closet. Your heat betrayed you when it pulsed in pleasure.

“That you don’t get any bitches doesn’t mean the rest of us have to live as hermits.” A black curl teased your cheek, gentle in contrast to the man before you. “Blood purist and fucking muggle nun behavior. You’re disgusting.” Your stomach dropped against your will, a pang punching your chest. “You really have nothing to do with the Potters. It wouldn’t surprise me if they disowned you once I tell them how you love torturing muggle-borns.”

His words were as sharp as a knife, and you tried to keep your tears at bay for the sake of the little dignity you had left. Sirius had never been on your good side. However, cruelty wasn’t something he tended to lay on you. Your hands were shaking, even the one still clasped with his, and your mind was starting to get foggy. “You have no proof,” was all you could whisper, voice clipped and heart bleeding by his hands.

“I don’t need any. Since the moment you were placed in Slytherin, your brother already knew what you would become.”

It hurt. And it hurt more that they didn’t know you enough to have their brain ingrained with the knowledge of your stand on the oncoming war. How could a house determine your whole moral compass? It was just a schoolhouse.

“Always hanging around blood purists that take pleasure in torturing others. Pen has only been the first one, hasn't she?” Sirius continued, unaware -or uncaring- of the trembling of your body in distress. “Don’t get near me. Stay away from your brother. And if you ever harm anyone close to me again, I’ll make sure your body’s never found. Surely your parents will be glad the disappointment of the family disappears for good.”

You didn’t have time to assimilate his words before he stormed off the closet, leaving you alone with an aching heart. Dropping to the floor, you sobbed. You had never felt any rejection on your parents side. Yes, having been placed on Slytherin hadn’t been the jauntiest surprise, but you had yet to hear a degrading comment towards you.

How could a person who had been abandoned and tortured by his own family had such cruel words for someone in his same situation? His house of Hogwarts had been his downfall on the Black household. So, why did he take it all on you? Was that Ravenclaw girl so important to him that he felt the need to threaten you so wickedly? Especially because you had been positive no one had seen you. His opinion on you had to be worse than you thought for him to reach the conclusion that it was you who performed the jinx.

You could just cry ghastly on the floor of a broom closet, more than probably late for DADA and with trouble to get an ooze of oxygen in your lungs. They had poisoned you, and now Sirius had stabbed you straight to your heart with sharpened words. The theory of the slow murder was making more and more sense in your hazy, upset mind.

The irony of your situation almost made you laugh mirthlessly. They could prank half the school and expect no consequences, yet the moment you took vengeance you were deemed a Death Eater in process. Maybe Snape was right, and the Marauders were the worst people to meander the school, even worse than those who had already taken the mark. At least, the latters were open on their position.

Drunk in your misery, you almost didn’t notice the black cat strutting out of the broom closet.

Tag list: @moonlightremblack @mysteriouslyperfecttiger @siriusement @azure-drag0ness @theravenphoenix26 @hisparentsgallerryy @yourmom1092 @canthavetoomuchchaos @xluansstuff

#sirius black x reader #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #james potter #remus lupin #regulus black #peter pettigrew #dorcas meadowes #pandora rosier #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #evan rosier

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vampsywrites · 2 years ago

Text

just a scratch

synopsis: while out on in the forest, you were busy foraging for healing herbs. everything was going well until you ended up getting hurt. and despite your best efforts to conceal and downplay your wounds, you end up failing miserably once you faint right in front of the entire clan.

characters: tarsem, tsu'tey + son! spider, aged up! neteyam, aged up! ao'nung x reader (all seperate)

tags: tsahik! na'vi! reader, hurt/comfort, warnings for blood, injuries, cuts, fainting, self-indulgent prompt, arguments, brief mentions of past trauma (tsu'tey), really overprotective mates, possibly ooc

son spider best spider, neteyam is about to have a stroke bc of his stubborn ass mate, ao'nung is an annoying shit but he's your annoying shit.

It was just a scratch.

A faint trail of blood marked a delicate line across the expanse of your torso, a disquieting contrast against your azure skin. A burning sensation flared up on your sides and yet, in spite of it, you pushed yourself off of the tree's trunk, grabbed your basket of herbs and trudged back towards your village.

At your sudden movement, the scratch stung harder, sending a searing hot, white pain up your torso. Gritting your teeth, you bit back a hiss of pain.

You were fine. It was fine. You had probably just pulled it when you stood up.

As you approach the village, you notice how a few of your people turn and gasp at your state. A cool shiver ran up your spine as you drop your gaze—Was it that bad?

Then comes a startling onslaught of dizziness that engulfs your consciousness. Before you could comprehend what was happening, your cheek meets the coarse texture of the earth beneath you, a jarring impact that sends your basket tumbling from your grasp. With a grunt, you strain your head up to see the herbal leaves scatter about.

As you fall, a wave of panic ripples through the crowd. Faintly, you register multiple pairs of hands coming to your aid, hoisting your limp body onto a woven mat.

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

TARSEM

"If we strike from here, the trees will provide us with ample cover," Tarsem remarked, his fingers gliding across the aged parchment of the map, tracing the landscapes with a keen eye.

Warriors and spotters encircled the table, their gazes fixed on his every move, minds soaking in every detail of the strategy unfolding before them. It was due time they began planning for their next attack on the RDA bases, it had been months since then.

Before the next words could be uttered, the room was thrust into chaos as a young girl burst through the door, her arrival punctuated by ragged breaths and a wild panic etched across her face. The warriors instinctively parted, creating a path through the sea of bodies, granting her passage toward Tarsem.

"Ma Olo'eyktan!" she panted, her voice trembling as she clutched his forearms tightly. "The Tsahìk was discovered unconscious deep in the forest. The healers are calling for you!"

"What?" Tarsem's expression tightened, a flicker of worry crossing his eyes. He swiftly surveyed the assembled warriors and spotters, his tone strung but composed as he addressed them.

"Continue the preparations," he commanded. "But be ready to adapt the plan if necessary. I will go and check on my mate. Until I return, Osek, you will be in charge."

Osek, a respected warrior renowned for his leadership abilities, nodded with a solemn expression. The rest of the group echoed their understanding, their voices hushed with concern. With the meeting taken care of, Tarsem turned his attention back to the young girl.

"Take me to her," he murmured, ears flat against his head as his posture turned rigid.

The young healer, with her face flushed and brows furrowed, nodded. Taking his hand, she began to lead Tarsem out of the tent, her steps matching his swift pace as they traversed the winding paths of the settlement.

As they ventured closer to the outskirts of the settlement, the ambient noises of the bustling camp faded away, replaced by the serene symphony of nature. Approaching the clearing where you had been laid to rest, Tarsem's steps grew cautious as he gently parted through the small crowd of healers, making his way towards your side.

"Ma'yawne," he whispered, his voice affectionate yet worried at the same time. The Na'vi knelt down beside you, brushing your damp hair away from your face. His gaze, a pool of tenderness, drank in the sight of you lying on the woven mat.

"What has happened?" Tarsem questioned those around you, only for them to shrug. They were just as clueless as he was.

Tarsem sighed, his frown deepening as he took in your appearance once more, noting the dizziness in your eyes and the pallor on your cheeks. However, it was the deep, crimson gash marring your side that captured his attention the most—a wound he guessed was inflicted by either a sharp branch or an encounter with Pandora's many wild animals.

"I…I am alright," you murmured, your voice a fragile reassurance, as you ran a hand over the wound, hissing at the touch. "It is not as deep as it seems. A few bandages will suffice. Return to your duties. The warriors need you."

"Nonsense," Tarsem shook his head, moving to tuck his arms beneath your back and knees. "I cannot leave you like this," he insisted, his voice firm yet gentle. "Your well-being is of utmost importance. The meeting can wait. Right now, you need proper care."

The look in Tarsem's eyes left no room for argument, reaffirming that his mind was made up.

Heaving a sigh, you gave in and nestled into his embrace, placing your weary head atop his chest, finding solace in the rhythmic beat of his heart. With ease, Tarsem carefully stood up with you in his arms, cradling you against his chest. Your mate began carrying you back towards the settlement, calling out for a few of the more experienced healers to follow along.

Once you had arrived in your shared kelku, he set you atop a hammock, staying close to your side but making sure to clear the way for the healers who would attend to you.

Turning your head back, you smiled up at him. "Thank you, Tarsem."

Tarsem simply hummed and lowered his head, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of your temple, lips a feather-light caress against your skin.

"Of course, yawne," he murmured, his voice a hushed vow. "I will always be here for you."

NETEYAM

"Kiri, it's nothing," you sighed, pushing yourself off the hammock, arms trembling. "I swear to you, I feel much better now."

Kiri clicked her tongue disapprovingly, shaking her head as she pushed you back down. "I am not even finished with your bandages, and the healing paste hasn't taken effect yet. You must rest, tsmuke."

You wrenched a hand into your disheveled hair as you let out a frustrated sigh.

"The herbs I gathered earlier—moonflower, healing rose—they're all gone, they lay wasted on the ground," you lamented. "We need to restock our supplies before the ambush in two days. It's absolutely crucial. Without fresh provisions, we'll be ill-equipp—"

"I will have the trainees gather the herbs, and I will inform Neteyam about your injury so you can rest easy. I am very sure he will understand," Kiri interrupted your rambling, her tone firm as she began wrapping bandages over your torso. At the mention of your mate's name, a pang of apprehension shot through you.

Oh Eywa, how would Neteyam react? He was already so protective of you, and this injury would no doubt only amplify his vigilance. You won't be able to leave the house for a month without him tailing after you like a second shadow.

"There's no need to involve Neteyam," you hurriedly interjected, forcefully pushing Kiri aside as you mustered the strength to stand on your feet, despite the pain. "I'm fine."

Before you could take another step, the tent curtains were abruptly thrown open, and a figure rushed in. A pair of amber eyes widened with concern as they locked onto your limping form.

Neteyam.

As he approached, his typically composed and reserved expression cracked, revealing the deep worry etched on his face.

It seemed like he ran all the way here. The Na'vi was in a frantic haste, sweat cascading down his furrowed brows while beads of perspiration clung to his jawline.

"By Eywa, what happened?" Neteyam's voice quivered with panic as he reached out, hands trembling slightly while he steadied you.

You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but the pain coursing through your body made it difficult. "Neteyam, I… I'm fine," you managed to say, your voice strained.

"No, you are not fine." Neteyam's distress was palpable, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "Look at you!"

Now he could properly see the swelling and gash on your torso, haphazardly covered by the unfinished leaf bandages clinging to your skin. A surge of horror washed over his face as he beheld the sight, eyes blowing wide open. Quickly, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to conceal the extent of your injury.

"'Teyam," you attempted to calm him, shaking off his iron grip. "It's not as bad as it looks. It's just a scratch."

"A scratch?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "What are you talking about, syulang? That is no a scratch. Why are you even up? You need to rest."

"I have responsibilities to fulfill, Neteyam," you huffed, stomping your feet in frustration, your actions mirroring those of a stubborn child. "You, of all people, should understand that."

Neteyam's tail lashed by his feet, a clear warning tinged with a touch of anger. Protective instincts, ingrained deep within, surged forth like a tempestuous storm.

"Do not argue with me," Neteyam's voice turned firm, his tone low. "I understand your position as Tsahìk is demanding, but this stubbornness will not aid your recovery. Do you really think you can heal in such a state?"

His stern words struck you hard, causing you to flinch involuntarily. The weight of his concerns settled heavily upon your heart, and yet your unwavering determination refused to give in to his protectiveness.

"I know why you're worried," you sighed, gently placing a hand over his chest, hoping to soothe him. "But I cannot remain here while important tasks await me. There is work to be done!"

Neteyam heaved a sigh, pushing you back down. His hands, roughened by countless battles, reached out to tenderly cradle your face. With a gentle motion, his thumb traced delicate circles onto your cheeks, the soothing caress speaking volumes of his love. His intense gaze then softened, those golden eyes losing their fiery edge as he allowed his anger to dissipate.

"I know you have an unwavering sense of duty, sevin," Neteyam murmured, the endearment rolling off his tongue like silk, a term reserved only for you. "And I love that about you. But sometimes, the best course of action is to prioritize your own well-being," he continued, peering deep into your eyes.

His warm, tender affections began to gradually chip away at the walls of your stubborn resolve. Though you initially resisted, deep down, you couldn't deny the truth in his words. Neteyam always knew how to get you to back down.

A bitter sigh slipped from your lips, laced with a hint of snark that thinly veiled the vulnerability simmering beneath.

"I hate admitting defeat," you grumbled, your tone tinged with reluctance, "But fine, you win. I'll rest."

As your words reached his ears, the corners of Neteyam's mouth curved into a grin, a blend of relief and amusement dancing in his eyes. In that moment, he couldn't resist the urge to draw closer, resting his large hands on your waist as he leaned in to press a tender kiss against your lips.

"Thank you, yawne," he chuckled softly.

TSU'TEY

(context: spider is your adopted son; although i decided to hint at him being an avatar in this scenario, you may also choose to perceive him as human instead.)

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

As you lay upon the bark floors of the Hometree, your mind spun, dots of black tainting your vision. With a low whimper, you attempted to raise yourself from the ground, only for a pair of hands to push down on your shoulder. You watched as your son's face came into view, twisted into a panicked expression as he took in your injury.

"Ma? Hey, hey, stay with me," Spider rasped, tenderly running his hand over your damp forehead. Eyes narrowing, you found yourself struggling to focus on his face, barely catching the look of worry in his eyes, and the lines of fear etched on his brow.

"Spider…" you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible. "I-It's okay. I can get up."

He shook his head, his grip on your shoulder tightening. "No, Ma, you need help. You can't push through this on your own."

You wanted to protest, to insist that you should be able to endure such trivial injuries, but your body betrayed you, the pain overwhelming and disorienting. As a healer, unlike your son and mate who were seasoned warriors, you weren't used to such levels of pain.

The stinging on your torso intensified with each shallow breath, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts or speak. Noticing your distress, Spider hurriedly reached a hand up to his communication device, paging for his father.

"Dad? You there?" Spider's voice cracked, laden with worry. "It's an emergency."

A familiar voice crackled through the communication device, filled with concern. Tsu'tey spoke, the rush of wind howling in the background. He must have been out on a ride with his ikran. "Ma'Itan, what has happened? Is everything alright?"

Spider's voice trembled as he responded, his distress palpable. "No, Dad, it's not alright. Mom is hurt. She fainted while gathering herbs, and she's in pain. There's a gash on her side. I…I don't know what to do."

Tsu'tey's heart plummeted, his entire being consumed by an overwhelming fear that gripped him to the core, seeping into the depths of his being. Reacting swiftly, his grip tightened on the reins of his Ikran, abruptly pivoting its course back toward Hometree. In the midst of his panic, he nearly forgot to respond.

After a momentary silence, his voice broke through, steady but laced with urgency. "I am on my way. Just keep her stable."

Spider nodded, ending connection before he moved to cradle your head in his hands. "Hang in there, Ma. Dad is coming. Just hold on a little longer."

As your consciousness wavered, the world around you seemed blurred and distant. Tremors of pain pulsed through your body, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on your son's voice. Soon enough, your strength fails you, and your eyelids grow heavy. Everything around you fades away, and your consciousness slips into oblivion.

As you gradually regain consciousness, the world before you seemed shrouded in a haze, the remnants of your unconscious state still clinging to your senses. Blinking away the drowsiness, you found yourself within the confines of a dimly lit tent, its earthy aroma intermingling with the soft flickering glow of a nearby fire.

"Tsmuke," Neytiri says softly, her voice filled with both relief and worry. The tenderness in her voice offering you solace, like a soothing melody in your ears.

"Thank Eywa," she grins, running her hand up your cheek. "Do not worry; you are safe now."

Before you could respond, a firm arm wraps around your center, tugging you into a sitting position. Spider frantically pulls you up and into his tight embrace, face twisted in relief as he sighed deeply. "Hey, Ma. I'm so glad you're awake."

"My brave boy," you hummed, a bittersweet warmth erupting in your chest as you pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. The familiar scent of the forest clung to him—a reminder of his untamed spirit as a warrior who roamed the jungles with no fear.

At that moment, your gaze shifted to Tsu'tey, who anxiously hovered by the entrance, tail whipping by his feet. Sensing the tension in the air, Neytiri quietly left the healing tent, granting you a moment of privacy. With her departure, Tsu'tey finally lifts his head and catches your gaze, taking it as a sign to approach you.

"Yawne," He calls out for you, his voice trembling like the leaves of a quivering tree. It's a plea and a rebuke, all at once, his tone a blend of protectiveness and affection.

Spider then releases you from his hug, allowing his father to take his place. Tsu'tey kneels down and moves to hold you, embracing you so tight that it was as if he was trying to merge your souls together, desperate to ensure your safety.

"What were you thinking?" Tsu'tey grumbles into your hair, "I have told you many times to never venture out into the forests alone. You know better than to endanger yourself."

Sighing, you leaned into the embrace of your mate, finding comfort in his presence. Your cheek finds rest against Tsu'tey's collarbones, the rough texture of his beaded necklace grounding you in the familiarity of his touch.

"I did not know the cut was that bad. I had a lot of work to attend to, so I thought I could handle it," you admitted, your voice weary.

As you nestled against him, Tsu'tey found his anger melting into something warmer, something softer. He draws you back slightly, hands cupping the sides of your face as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice now a caress against your skin.

"I know your work is important to you," he grunts. "But you must prioritize your safety."

"Tsu'tey—" you started, only to be interrupted.

"I cannot bear the thought of losing you. I have lost too much over the years," Tsu'tey took a moment to pause, his gaze searching the depths of your eyes for understanding. He needed you to understand. "This cannot go on like this. You must promise me that you will be more careful."

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heartstrings. A wave of guilt washed over you as you realized the fear you had awakened within him, causing old scars of his to resurface. With a sigh, you closed your eyes.

"I did not mean to frighten you. I will stay safer. I promise," you muttered, moving away from his embrace. "But things like this are inevitable. There will be times when you and Spider won't be by my side to protect me."

Tsu'tey and Spider exchanged glances, their expressions filled with concern. Without uttering a word, Tsu'tey enveloped both you and Spider in an embrace.

"We will come for you," he declared firmly. "No matter what. When you need us, we will be there."

AO'NUNG

As your consciousness flickered in and out, you became vaguely aware of the commotion around you. The panicked voices of your clan members and the urgent footsteps only added to your disorientation. And yet, amidst the chaos, a singular phrase pierced through the fog of your mind with an undeniable clarity.

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

That sent a chill down your spine, and you knew that the situation had escalated beyond your control. With great effort, you managed to open your eyes, the vibrant blue hues of the sky and the crashing waves on the shore seeping into your vision in strained fragments.

It did not take long for, Ao'nung to arrive. He emerged from beneath the waves, propelled by his skimwing beneath him. A frown was etched onto his face as he waded through the shallow waters, gliding across the waves with unmistakable urgency.

Upon reaching the shores, he swiftly dismounted from his skimwing, leaping onto the sand with ease. Pushing through the growing crowd that had gathered around you, he cleared a path to reach your side.

Lifting you off of the mat, he cradled you against his chest. "Yawntu?" Ao'nung's voice cut through the haze of your mind, "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

With utmost care, your mate then shifted your body to the side, his gaze fixated on the deep cut marring your torso. The gash, painted in a vivid crimson, created a sharp contrast against the mesmerizing azure of your skin. The sight of it made his jaw tense, frustration evident.

"I-It is just a minor wound," you managed to utter through gritted teeth, your mind clearing as pain began to pulse through your body.

"Tsireya has already been called...She will help, but for now, I need your help in cleansing this," you murmur, gesturing to your bloodied side.

With a disgruntled nod, Ao'nung hoisted you into his arms and ordered the crowd to disperse. Once the people had departed, he began to take steady strides towards the water.

As the water levels reached the height of his chest, he shifted his position to support your head in the dip of his arm, allowing most of your body to be submerged beneath the rocking waves.

"I knew I should have come with you," he sighed, his voice barely heard above the salty swirling winds.

After a few seconds of struggling to find your voice, you managed to respond, though the words emerged with a subtle undertone of discomfort. "'Nung, it's only a cut…I think I just scraped myself along against a tree."

"Ah, yes, just a scrape against a tree," Ao'nung scoffed wryly, his mouth curling into a mocking sneer as his fangs peeked out from his lips. "I didn't know trees had razor sharp branches."

Cupping water in his hand, Ao'nung began to wash the upper parts of your cut that wasn't submerged. As the sting of saltwater made contact with the rest of your open wound, a sharp hiss of pain escaped your lips. This caused him to furrow his brow, concern swimming in those looming teal eyes.

"The pain seems to suggest otherwise," he noted, a heavy dose of sarcasm dripping from his lips.

"Funny," you replied, rolling your eyes in response.

Despite his biting remarks, his actions betrayed him, revealing a tenderness beneath that arrogant façade. His fingers moved with an uncharacteristic grace, tracing the contours of your cut as he delicately cleansed it, each touch a testament to his natural instincts as a mate to alleviate your discomfort.

It was a softness that you had grown accustomed to, but you knew that if any of the warriors caught a glimpse of their rugged chief in such a nurturing and affectionate state, their jaws would hit the ground so hard, you'd think Eywa herself had caused an earthquake.

As Ao'nung tended to your wound, he used his other hand to gently turn your head, guiding your gaze to meet his. Confused, you raised your brow. "Yes? What is it?"

"I will accompany you to your forages from now on. And I will not take no for an answer," he declared, his voice flat and void of any mirth.

And there it was.

"Ma Ao'nung," you cooed, your voice a velvety caress that was laden with both affection and understanding. "You worry too much about me. I am not as fragile as sea glass, you know."

A flicker of raw emotion danced across his irises, momentarily unraveling his stoic guise before he swiftly masked it with a dismissive scoff. "You should know by now that I won't let anything happen to you," he grumbled, ears tucked back as he meets your eyes.

"You may not be as fragile as sea glass, but you are precious to me," he says, voice a gravelly murmur. "I know you're strong, but that doesn't mean I will stop worrying."

With an amused click of your tongue, you leaned back against him, enveloped in the comforting warmth of his embrace. The gentle lapping of the ocean against your skin provided a soothing respite, easing your troubles away as you allowed him to dote on you.

yawne - beloved

syulang - flower

tsmuke - sister

yawntu - beloved one/loved one

sevin - pretty

kelku - house

3K notes · View notes

hischierhoney · 4 months ago

Text

Snowglobe // pt. i

ski patrol!nico hischier x reader

summary: an unfortunate turn in the weather leaves you trapped on the ski hill, and your vacation plans a bit in disarray, but there are worse people to be stuck with than Nico. 4.7k words

warnings: winter storm, mentions of danger (but everyone is fine!), suggestive content and mild (very mild!!) angst upcoming in part ii.

You’ve heard before that the weather on the mountain can change quickly, but you never really understood what they meant until this very moment. You’re standing, facing down the run, staring out at the dark clouds rolling in, thick and churning like the ocean. Dread settles in your stomach as the flakes begin to thicken around you

It’s probably fine, you think, bracing yourself. It’s just- you’re pretty high up on the hill, all things considered. It would take you a while to ski down under normal conditions. But the world is turning into a snowglobe, and the visibility is going to be awful, and-

“Hey!”

You turn toward the noise. You spot the person easily, clad in that signature bright red ski patrol jacket. He’s skiing towards you, waving an arm frantically.

“Hey,” he says again as he skis up next to you. “They’re closing the mountain.”

“Oh, yeah, I figured,” you nod, gesturing down the hill. “Was trying to work up the courage to ski down. Any suggestions on the route? Or should I try and take the lift-“

He shakes his head. “We’ve been told to shelter in place. They closed the lifts. I’m surprised you got all the way up here, you must’ve been the last one up.”

“Shelter in place?” You say, nose wrinkled. “Where?”

“There’s a ski patrol hut nearby,” he says. His face is pinched, at least what you can see of it beneath the helmet and goggles. “Look. I know you don’t know me, but I really can’t recommend skiing down. If something happens, we may not be able to get to you.”

You hesitate. He’s standing in front of you- you can barely make out any features on his face, but he sounds trustworthy enough. Besides, they wouldn’t hire him if he wasn’t. You look down the mountain again and swallow, hard. The visibility is fading fast- the tree you’d been looking at before has disappeared.

“Hut it is,” you reply. “As long as you promise you’re not crazy.”

The man laughs, and it makes your own smile grow. His laughter is contagious. It keeps you level headed all the way to the little hut on the side of the slope.

“I promise,” he says, in a firm, kind voice.

There’s a tiny space heater inside that’s already going on full blast. The man helps prop your skis up next to the door, and you stand there, shivering, a little unsure what to do. You survey the tiny room. There’s a couch, a microwave, a little sink. An electric kettle, a little desk, a portable radio that’s seen better days. And, thankfully, a bathroom.

You turn to the man to ask how long it’s going to be, but he’s staring out of the window, radio held to his ear, so you wait. There’s chatter he seems to be waiting for a break in, something about the Bluebird lift. Finally, there’s a break in the noise.

“Base, Nico, checking in,” the man says.

“Go ahead, Nico,” a voice crackles through.

“Safely to the Daisy Chain hut,” he says. So, he must be Nico. You test out the name on your lips, silently. “I’ve got one guest with me.”

“Okay, Nico. Hold tight. We’re predicting a break in the weather in the next fifteen, we may be able to get you to the gondola and down or at least to the Bluebird lift building with everyone else. But hold tight for now.”

You eye the swirling gusts outside skeptically. Even with a break in the weather, an escape seems doubtful. The Bluebird lift is far enough away, and down the hill from here, which is a risky maneuver when the weather could pick back up. The gondola is even farther. Anxiety flutters in your chest. You shuffle slightly towards the couch, closer to the little heater. You take a seat but stay dressed, figuring you’ll need to be ready to go pretty quickly.

15 minutes later, Nico’s still staring out the window. His shoulders are hunched. You hear his name crackle over the radio.

“Now’s your gap,” the other person says. “Should stay at this rate for the next ten minutes. Your call, Hisch.”

The wind is still blowing, strong. There’s a tree just outside the window, you saw it coming in, but from here, you’d never be able to tell. Nico sighs, heavily, shoulders sagging. He shakes his head.

“No way, Shel. Visibilty is shit.” he says, wincing at his own use of profanity. “Not when we’re safe here. We’ll make do.”

“Affirm. What’s your guest’s name? We’d like to let their friends know they’re safe.”

Nico turns over his shoulder towards you for the first time since you entered the hut. You try and look brave, but from the way his hard set expression softens, you think you’ve failed pretty spectacularly. He tilts his head towards you, and you tell him your name without a second thought. He repeats it back over the radio, listens to a couple instructions, and then sets it down on the desk. He turns fully towards you with a sigh. You feel incredibly small, suddenly, like a kid in a bad thunderstorm. So unsure about everything.

…..

Nico’s kicking himself, hard. Directly to where it hurts the most, probably. He walked into the hut and proceeded to ignore you for the next near half hour. No regards for your worries or your comfort or anything. He feels like an asshole. Sure, he was worried, but he could’ve taken a few seconds to get you comfortable- you’re still in your ski boots, for god’s sake.

He clears his throat. “Hi. Sorry. I’m Nico.’

“I heard,” you say, blinking up at him from the couch. “What’s the verdict, Nico?”

He sighs, again. “Not gonna lie, we’re gonna be here a while. Probably overnight. The snow and the wind is a bad combo.”

You nod solemnly, and then sit there, waiting, quietly. You look scared. It makes his chest ache.

“Hey. I promise you, I’m getting you off this mountain safely, okay? Just gotta wait it out. For now we can get comfortable. I’d give you a tour but I think you’ve seen it all, honestly.”

You laugh slightly- that feels like a win- and start unzipping your jacket. “What, no hidden rooms?”

He laughs at that, too. “Unfortunately not.”

A few minutes later, your outer layers of clothing are hung up next to his, near the door, and your boots are there, too. The hut is a bit drafty, and he winces again when you shiver slightly. There are emergency blankets in the kit under the sink, but he doesn’t want to pull those out if he doesn’t have to- would probably send the wrong message. Instead, he unzips his black puffer coat, leaving him in the hoodie he’s wearing underneath. You need it more than him.

He holds it out with a low “here.”

When you look up at him through your lashes, he feels his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, Nico,” you say, softly, a smile slipping across your face.

That’s better.

…..

Nico’s puffer jacket is warm. Cozy. Comfy. And honestly, it’s a sweet gesture. It’s amazing how something like that can make you feel just a little safer. Suddenly, the storm outside doesn’t seem quite as scary. You watch as Nico putters around the hut, digging through drawers and starting up the electric kettle. He’s tall, and broad, the ends of his dark hair poking out from beneath his beanie to match the slight dusting of stubble on his face, paired with a well kept mustache. You check your phone, but it’s just as you expected- no cell service.

“Aha!” He exclaims, making you flinch slightly. “I knew this was in here.”

He stands up with a deck of cards in his hand, smiling triumphantly, and you start to melt even more. Outside, the snow is piling up, but in here, you’re warm.

Nico sinks down onto the couch next to you, sitting at the other end. He opens the pack of cards, shuffling them back and forth in his hands. You try not to watch too closely, but you’re unsure where else to look. His face, maybe? But god, he’s-

He’s cute.

You noticed it in the smile he gave you out on the mountain, even. But here, in the yellow light of the hut, undone and face on full display, he’s almost overwhelmingly handsome. Strong jaw, big dark eyes, the sweetest smile when he catches you looking.

“Have you ever played Jass?” He asks. You shake your head, and he grins. “That’s okay. I can teach you.”

Nico’s a good teacher, and you’re a fast learner. It takes you a couple rounds to beat him, and he smiles happily when you do. Next, you teach him a different game, one of your favorites. He bears his confusion with a smile, but he’s quick, too, catching on far too fast for your liking.

Eventually, you lean back on the couch, your stomach rumbling slightly. You laugh at the sound, but Nico frowns.

“You’re hungry,” he says. You shrug. “We have ramen packets? Microwave popcorn?”

You groan, softly. “I could fuck up some ramen right now. We can save the popcorn for a midnight snack.”

He laughs, a full laugh, unmuted, from somewhere deep in his chest. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he does. You laugh, too, and bite your lip when he’s not looking. His laugh is pretty, too. It’s almost unfair.

This is going to be a long night.

…..

Nico’s never been more proud of his ramen doctoring skills than when you have your first bite. You sigh happily, eyes squeezing shut, and he grins in response. Maybe it’s just the feeling of a good meal at the end of a long day, but either way, it makes him happy.

He promised he’d keep you safe. This is part of it, that’s all.

He sits down next to you with his own bowl. It’s dark outside now. He sees your gaze flicker to the window every so often, brows pinching together, the same way he does when you’re not looking. He doesn’t like it either, honestly, but he hopes you know he’s going to keep his promise.

“Okay,” you say, quietly. “Tell me a fun fact about yourself.”

It’s so unexpected he nearly laughs around a mouthful of noodles. From the smirk on your face, the timing was deliberate. He bites back another laugh and swallows, wincing at the hot food. It’s fine. Worth it, to see you laugh again.

“Huh,” he hums. “Are we doing ice breakers now? We’ve been here for four hours.”

You nod enthusiastically. “No time like the present, Nico.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately. He likes the way you say his name. The way your lips form around the word. He should probably stop watching you say it. Bad for his health, he thinks, the way it makes his heart rate kick up.

“Um. Okay. When I was 16, I moved to Canada by myself to play hockey,” he says.

You blink at him. “Like. The NHL?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Nah. I was trying, but it wasn’t for me. The whole time, I just missed skiing.”

You nod slowly. He can see the gears in your brain turning. “And now it’s your job to rescue poor saps like me.”

He shakes his head, nudging his elbow against yours. “Now it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good day on the mountain. I take it very seriously. Can’t you tell?” He asks, gesturing at the haphazard pile of cards on the table and the bowl of ramen in your hands.

You break into giggles again. “Mhm. You’re doing great, all things considered, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “10 out of 10 hospitality. Would recommend. The host even gave me his jacket.“

He grins, and shifts on the couch. Leans a little closer, his knee knocking into yours.

“Your turn for a fun fact,” he directs.

You groan. “What if I don’t have one?”

“You started this!”

…..

Nico’s kind. Warm, really, feels like the best word to describe him. He makes your chest feel a little fizzy. His laughter is contagious, his smile even more so.

But he’s just doing his job.

You keep reminding yourself of that, because if you don’t, this would all feel a whole lot like flirting. The two of you are huddled on the couch, now, leaning close to peer at the screen of his phone. He’d remembered he had a couple episodes of Scrubs downloaded, said something about watching them with someone named Jack during lunch breaks. You selfishly hope that Jack isn’t more than a friend to him. And then, you remind yourself, again, for the millionth time, that he’s just doing his job.

His shoulder bumps yours when he laughs at something, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his thigh next to yours. The thing is, he’s not pulling away. That’s a good sign, at least, right?

The hut is chilly, even with the space heater. A little shared body heat never hurt anyone. When he slips an arm onto the couch behind you, not touching but hovering near your shoulders, you lean into him, just slightly.

He doesn’t pull away.

A while later- you’re not sure how long- you wake up with a start. Your head has fallen against his chest, curling into the warmth of him. You grimace, feeling a little embarrassed, until you feel the weight atop your head. He’s fallen asleep against you, too.

“Nico,” you say, in a hushed tone.

He hums in response.

“Hey, Nico,” you repeat. He lifts his head slightly. “Wanna figure out a sleeping arrangement?”

He swallows, lifting his hand to scrub at his jaw. His other arm stays around your shoulders, his hand resting against you, you notice. You try not to think about it too much. Try not to lean into the touch. Try not to let your mind run wild with the idea of falling asleep against him, again. You regret waking him.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “You take the couch. I’ll…”

You look around the room. There’s an office chair that seems to be on its last leg. No shot. The only other option is-

“”I’ll take the floor,” he says.

“Like hell you will,” you protest, elbowing his side lightly. “Don’t be silly, you worked all day today.”

“And it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good day-“

“Yeah, well, you sleeping on the floor will ruin my day,” you snark back.

You turn to look up at him. In the low light, you can see his one brow raised, the smirk on his lips. He’s so close, now. It hits you, then, that it wouldn’t take much to close the gap. You could lean in, press your lips to his. He could wrap that arm around you, all the way, hold you close. Kiss you back. Pull you into his lap. Hell of a way to stay entertained in this tiny hut. It would keep you warm, too.

You blink, hard. Fight the urge to shake your head.

“We can share the couch,” you say, before you can even really think it through. “It’s wide enough, we can each take one end. We’re gonna need our beauty sleep.”

Nico sighs, then pats your shoulder. “You drive a hard bargain. I accept.”

He sticks his hand out to shake yours, like it’s a business deal and not a sleeping arrangement. You laugh, again, and feel the warmth of his hand in yours all the way through your body.

…..

Nico lays there in the dark, listening to your breathing evening out, one emergency blanket laid out over the two of you. He’s trying not to move, knowing the tinfoil like material with crinkle, not wanting to wake you. From the angle he’s at, he can just peek over at you, your face barely visible in the low light.

You’re beautiful, he thinks.

Outside, the wind howls. A constant reminder of why he’s here, that he’s not laying next to you for the fun of it.

It’s his job to keep you safe. As soon as he fulfills that promise, he’ll probably never see you again.

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the anxiety that makes him feel.

…..

You wake up to blinding sunlight, an empty couch, and the strangest scraping noise you’ve ever heard. It takes you a solid minute to get your bearings, even longer than that to realize that Nico’s not in the bathroom and that he also hasn’t left you to fend for yourself. The scraping noise is a shovel. The sunlight means the storm has cleared.

You shove the thin emergency blanket off of you, shuffling towards the door. When you open it, you squint, nearly blinded by the sun reflecting off the fresh snow. You hear Nico before you see him, just by the sound of his laughter.

“Morning, sunshine,” he calls out, leaning on the snow shovel. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

You squint at him. He’s not even wearing his jacket- you still have his puffer coat on. It’s just him in his snow bibs and his long sleeve shirt. He sticks the shovel into the snow again, and you watch his muscles flex, his undershirt leaving little to the imagination.

“You should’ve woken me,” you manage to get out, your brain barely working. “I could’ve helped shovel.”

He shakes his head. “There’s only one shovel.”

“We could’ve shared.”

He laughs at that, taking a couple steps through the snow towards you. “Okay, let’s get you some coffee, sleepyhead. Maybe a poptart. We’ve got a date with Jack.”

Jack, as it turns out, is Nico’s coworker. Which, in reality, probably doesn’t rule him out as someone who could be more than a friend. The way Nico grimaces at Jack’s loud voice over the radio does, though. That, plus the affectionate eye roll and the hand motion he does, as if he’s telling Jack to hurry it along.

“-so they’re gonna get Bluebird spinning here, soonish. We’ve got twenty to go down, plus me, Lukey, Siegs, and Timo. You’ve just got a plus one, right? We shoveled out earlier and your route looks pretty clear from our point, I’d just take Lark down to the Stork cutoff, or- Siegs says maybe-“

“I can’t cut in,” Nico says, mildly exasperated, mildly affectionate. “He won’t hear it.”

“-and just avoid the area under the lift, in case there’s any ice stuck to it-“

When Jack finally stops talking, Nico responds with a short and sweet 10-4 and a relay of the plan. You start cleaning up before you go, while he puts on a kettle and makes some instant coffee. It’s bitter and a little grainy, but it wakes you up, even if you’re both grimacing at each other over your paper cups.

Then you get suited up. You give Nico his jacket back, albeit reluctantly- it wouldn’t fit under your layers, anyways. He’d folded your dry clothes before he went out to shovel, and set them near the space heater, which means they’re nice and toasty when you slip into them. Then you follow him back out into the sun, fidgeting with the straps of your helmet.

He turns, frowning slightly, and comes closer.

“Here,” he mumbles, his fingers brushing against your chin. “You’re a little twisted, that’s all. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you say, blinking up at him.

He has long eyelashes. Thick, dark eyebrows. Wrinkles near his eyes- smile lines, so happy all the time that it shows on his face. It makes your heart skip a beat. His fingers are warm against your skin, despite the cold.

He shrugs. “No problem.”

Right. Things like this are just a part of his job.

You strap into your skis and take off behind him. The snow is powdery and light, the mountain peaceful and empty. You think, for a second, that you should’ve take a photo of the hut, to remember it by, but it’s too late now, and he’d probably think it was weird. You turn over your shoulder for one last look, the tiny building disappearing into the distance.

It’s not a long trek over to the top of the Bluebird lift. You sort of wish it was longer. Nico stays by your side the whole time, pointing out birds in the trees or a particularly interesting bit of wind drifted snow. He’s smiley, again. He loves this, you can tell. You get why he chose this life.

The lift comes into view not long after that. There’s a few people milling about, a couple in red jackets. One of them, the tallest one, lifts an arm and waves. Nico waves back.

“That’s Luke,” he says.

Like he wants you to know. Like these people, who are important to him, are ones you should know, too. Something about that makes your heart twist, makes butterflies swirl in your stomach.

When you ski up to the lift, the shorter of the two red jacket clad men greets Nico with a hug. There are others coming out of the building now, more skiers, followed by two more Ski Patrol guys. They greet Nico, too. You hesitate, wondering if you should just go. If you should mingle with the other “guests”, or maybe just wait it out on your own. You were silly to think Nico cared about anything other than getting you there safely- his job is done, isn’t it?

As if on cue, he turns around, dark eyes sparkling, and waves you over. He introduces you, and then the rest of the guys- Jack, Jonas, and Timo. Luke, too, though you already knew his name.

“I taught her Jass,” he says, and Jonas and Timo both hum and nod approvingly. “She beat me. Or, at least she says she did. I think maybe she cheated-“

You scoff, elbowing him, feeling indignant. “I wouldn’t even know how to cheat.”

Nico’s smirking next to you. He nudges his shoulder against yours. You bite back a matching smile of your own.

“Impressive,” Luke says. “Jack’s been trying to beat Nico for years.”

Jack glares at Luke- similar faces, similar mannerisms, you’d bet they’re brothers. “Yeah, well, I think Nico does cheat when he’s playing me.”

There’s a loud noise, and then the lift lurches into motion. You swallow down a little bit of resentment. It’ll be good to get off the mountain, to meet back up with your friends. They’re probably worried, despite the check in Nico gave to let them know you were safe. It’s just…

Nico’s arm is pressed against yours. You swear you feel the warmth, even through all the layers. You don’t want it to end. You want to stay right next to him.

Jonas starts directing people towards the lifts. “Guests first,” he calls out.

You find yourself a little frozen. You realize, suddenly, that you’re probably going to end up riding down alone, or with a total stranger. And it’s fine. The lift is safe. It’s just- you’ve heard horror stories about storms, about lifts having damage, about people getting stuck. You don’t want to get stuck alone.

“Hey,” Nico says, nudging your shoulder again. “I’ll ride down with you, if you want. We’ll just have to go last.”

You blink up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “Told you I’d get you off this mountain safely, right?”

You feel the smile creep across your face. “Right.”

When you look away, Jack is smiling knowingly at the both of you. You smile right back.

…..

Nico wraps his arm around your shoulder on the lift.

He does it without caring about what anyone else thinks. He knows he’ll get shit from all his friends on the seats behind the two of you, who can see it so clearly, and probably see right through him, too. All he cares about, though, is the way you lean into it, the way you nestle so perfectly into his side. The weight of your head against his shoulder, his chest, just feels right. The world around you is peaceful. Slow. The lift is at half speed for safety reasons, and he’s not complaining.

He points at a forested area. “There’s a secret run in there. It’s one of my favorites. Take a left at the top of Gray Jay and you’ll see it.”

You grin. “Already found that with one of my friends yesterday.”

He laughs. “Here I am trying to tell you all the mountain’s secrets, but you’re an expert, huh?”

You shrug and look up at him, eyes wide and soft. “Tell me another secret.”

You’re gorgeous.

That’s no secret. And it’s also not something he can say to you. Not now, not while he’s working. You’ve trusted him to keep you safe. He might ruin it all by saying something like that.

So he smiles, points towards another run. “If you take that and veer right, you’ll get to this open powder area that almost nobody touches. It’s perfect.” Then he frowns. “But maybe wait a day or two. After all that snow… could be a little sketchy.”

You nod. “Got it. But hey, I know who to ask for if I get into trouble, right?”

Nico’s heart flutters. “Yeah. You call, I’ll be there. Promise.”

He holds his pinky out towards you. It’s hard to tell, because he’s wearing mittens, but you laugh and do the same, wrapping your finger around his as best as you can. It makes his chest ache.

…..

There are people milling around at the bottom of the lift. Friends and family, waiting for their loved ones. You think you spot one of your friends, in her signature bright pink jacket. You sigh as you inch closer to the ground, both you and Nico sliding off the lift easily.

You come to a stop just outside the landing zone. Nico follows suit. When you turn to look up at him, he’s smiling, cheeks rosy pink along with the tip of his nose. You want to kiss him. You want him to kiss you.

He doesn’t.

One of your friends calls your name. At the same time, someone calls his. You try not to look disappointed.

“Sorry,” he says. “That’s my boss. You’re good now, yeah?”

You nod. “Off the mountain, safe and sound.”

He smiles and nods. “Then my job here is done.”

You swallow and nod again. “Thanks, Nico. For everything.”

Just doing his job, you think.

He smiles softly. At the last second, he reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “For you, anytime. I mean it.”

Then he skis away, leaving you wishing for just one more moment with him.

…..

Nico doesn’t always let them drag him out to the bar, especially after a long day like today. Honestly, he’s a little exhausted, and he probably won’t last long before he decides to try and get an uber home. Normally, he’d walk, because it’s damn expensive to catch a ride, but his legs are like jello.

He’d spent the day hard at work, getting things back up and running again, filling in where he could. He’s ski patrol, but he’s handy with a hammer, able to help with basic maintenance when lifts go down. He’d also spent the day with Jack yapping his ear off about all the Karens they’d spent the night with at the Bluebird lift station.

“Can’t believe we had to deal with that and you got to spend the night with-“ Jack had started, and then paused.

Nico filled in your name, helpfully, whacking at a stuck lift bar and grinning when it fell into place.

“Yeah. She seemed like much better company. Like. Did you guys kiss?”

Nico had sighed. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask me that. I was working.”

Now, Jack’s sitting at the bar next to him, yapping his ear off, again. Nico takes a sip of his beer- he loves Jack, he really does. He’s just re-running all the things he’s done and said in the past 24 hours, questioning if he missed his chance with you. He could go home, wallow about it, but that would mean giving up on the real reason he came out in the first place. The one he won’t admit out loud. The reason he keeps scanning the room over Jack’s shoulder.

When he hears the unmistakable sound of your laughter, the sound that’s been etched into his brain since he first heard it, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his suddenly racing heart. Then he flags down the bartender and orders another drink.

find part ii here!!

…..

thanks for reading! part ii coming soon!

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