#if you think this was inspired by the secret garden

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[imaginedisish]

Unchained Melody (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry again. Here is the *what if you and Logan went to a wedding together* request. Heavily inspired by "Unchained Melody." That is such a Logan song and you cannot tell me otherwise. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan decide to go to Rogue and Remy's wedding together, but you don't know what together means. Logan helps to clarify...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT, thigh riding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), softdom!Logan, praise kink, cocky!Logan (literally), multiple orgasms, aftercare, Logan will do anything for you, afab!reader/f!reader, reader wears a dress, reader has hair (length/color/texture not described), feelings, so fluffy and cheesy, cursing, Scott is a little shit, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,452 I wanna dance with Logan

Maybe this was a mistake. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning around and around. You scan your face, check your hair, and smooth out your dress. Everything is in its right place. But, maybe, just maybe, this is all a mistake. 

You and Logan—somehow—came to the decision that you would go to Rogue and Remy’s wedding together. As in…

Together. 

And yet, you weren’t entirely sure what together truly entailed. Was this going to be a date? Or were you two simply going as friends? Friends friends friends. That god-awful, misery-inducing word you’re all too familiar with. Its meaning and restrictions haunted you as you got ready, and they’re still plaguing you now. You are so incredibly sick of being just friends with Logan. You want more—want him, all of him. But you can’t tell him how you feel—you can never find the words or the courage. 

So, you’re simply going to the wedding together, unlabeled out of fear of getting an answer you don’t want to hear. 

You slip on your heels, straightening out your gown one last time before heading towards the door. You take a deep breath, nervous beyond belief. You twist the knob, pulling the door open. 

And there he is on the other side, fist clenched like he was about to knock. Logan. He’s wearing a black suit, a bowtie tied perfectly at his neck. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Hi,” he husks, his eyes trailing up and down your body. He smiles softly as he meets your gaze. He shakes his head in awe. “You look beautiful.” 

“Oh, please I—” But he cuts you off, his hand reaching out to rest in the crook of your neck. “Really, you look beautiful. You always do.” Your breath hitches as his hand slides down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours.

You take a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the contact and Logan’s words. “You look really great too,” you choke out, a slight tremble in your voice. “Perfect,” you say, and Logan tugs your hand, guiding you out the door and into the hallway.

Rogue had told you the wedding would be small—just her and Gambit’s closest friends and family on the grounds of the institute.  

Logan leads you down the stairs and out the back door of the mansion. The first thing you see are flowers; an absolute abundance of flowers. There are lilies and irises, asters and chrysanthemums. Daises, tulips, every single flower one can imagine—adorning tables, white tents, and planted in pots and boxes. It’s beautiful—a rainbow of colors and fragrances. The lawn has been transformed into a secret garden. 

Logan guides you down a cobblestone path toward a trellis covered in vines and wisteria. Surrounding the trellis on either side are rows of white, wooden chairs. You and Logan walk to the front row on Rogue’s side of the aisle and sit down next to Storm, Charles, and Jubilee.  You wave as you sit down. “You look amazing!” Jubilee shouts, reaching over Charles and Logan to get a better look at your dress. 

“You look beautiful too, Jubes,” you say, motioning in her direction. Logan sits back, slipping his hand from yours and draping his arm over your shoulder instead. Jubilee notices the movement, her eyes flickering between you and Logan, a small smile playing upon her lips. She winks at you and settles back into her seat. 

Footsteps sweep through the grass as people find their chairs. You struggle to ignore the warmth of Logan’s arm around your shoulder and the way it makes you feel—the soft circles he’s drawing into your bare skin. It’s like he needs the proximity, needs the touch. 

You can feel Logan lean in, his lips at the shell of your ear. “You are the most—”

“Wow,” a familiar voice interrupts Logan. You turn your head, and there’s Scott, with Jean just a few steps behind him. “Didn’t expect that.” He raises his brows and cocks his head to the side. 

“You need something, bub?” Logan asks, annoyance and irritation heavy in his voice. 

Scott swallows nervously as Jean chuckles behind him. He shakes his head and sits down next to you. “Nope, I just…” He trails off, looking towards the trellis. 

Logan leans forward, his arm still around your shoulder. “You just what?”

Scott throws his hands up, feigning innocence. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

Logan leans back, squeezing your shoulder gently as he settles into the seat. You turn towards him, catching his gaze. You need to ask him what this is, even if it’s clear to him. It’s obviously something to everyone else. You part your lips, finding the courage to finally ask Logan what you two are. “Logan,” you whisper so only he can hear. “What is—"  

But the music starts up, a whimsical rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” filling the air as Hank walks down the aisle, stopping underneath the trellis. Next is Remy, in a cream-colored suit. He grins from ear to ear as he trails down the aisle, nodding to Charles as he steps under the arch. And finally, at the end of the aisle is Rogue. Her dress is bright white, lacey, and tight. She walks down, her bouquet of lilies of the valley and baby’s breath in hand. 

She meets Remy’s side, and the music stops. “Friends and family,” Hank starts, smiling widely at the crowd. “We have gathered here today for the marriage of two people who should have been married long ago.” The crowd chuckles as Hank goes on. “But it is always better late than never…”

He continues, talking about their story, their love. Hank—naturally—finds a few Shakespeare quotes to scatter throughout his speech. It’s incredibly cheesy, but it’s beautiful. And, as Remy and Rogue exchange vows, you can’t help but well up. Their admiration and passion for one another is so undeniably clear. They’re committed, a team, partners until the end. 

“I will always love you, chere,” Remy says, slipping the ring onto Rogue’s finger. 

A single tear slides down Rogue’s cheek. “And I will always love you, sugar,” Rogue says, placing the ring in her hand onto Remy’s finger next. 

You look up at Logan, and you notice that he’s looking down at you. There’s something in his eyes, but you can’t quite place it. He tugs you closer, his thumb still stroking your shoulder. 

Hank sniffles. “With the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Hank says, his voice shaky, his eyes glossed over, holding back tears. “You may now kiss the bride!” 

Remy wraps his arms around Rogue’s waist, and he dips her, his lips capturing hers. Everyone stands, clapping and cheering. You and Logan stand too, his arm falling from your shoulder, leaving you feeling cold despite the summer heat.

But as Rogue and Remy walk down the aisle, Logan’s arm wraps around your waist.  Rogue’s smile widens when she spots you, her eyes flitting between you and Logan. She laughs knowingly. Finally, she mouths to you, and blows you a kiss. The couple finishes their walk down the aisle, and they head into a nearby tent.  

Given that this is Rogue and Remy, the party starts right away. Music blares from the tent, and you can see the happy couple hitting the floor. You recognize the song immediately: “Take on Me” by Aha. Jean drags Scott across the grass to join them. Jubilee and some of the other kids trail behind. Charles, Storm, and Hank head over together. 

You look at Logan and smile, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him towards the tent. You can’t remember the last time you saw everyone this happy. It’s rare that you get to let loose, to have a good time. It warms your heart to see all the students dancing, to see them having a normal childhood experience. 

“Come on!” Jubilee calls. “Come dance!” She’s twirling around, dancing with Kurt and Morph, sparking her signature fireworks every now and then.

You squeeze Logan’s hand and pull him towards the dance floor. You’re shocked that he doesn’t drag his heels, that he doesn’t protest or tell you no—he lets you tug him onto the floor. You turn to face him, swaying to the synthy pop. Logan lifts his arm, twirling you around, laughing as you spin back to him. He grabs your other hand and bounces with you to the music.

“I didn’t know you liked dancing!” You shout over the song as Logan spins you again. 

He smirks, chuckling softly. “I don’t!” He shouts back, pulling you in and out to the beat. “But I like dancing with you.” He draws you in closer, letting go of your hands as his arms wrap around your waist instead.

You can feel the heat rising to your chest, spreading up your neck. The song fades out, and a much slower one starts up. “Something” by The Beatles echoes across the lawn. Rogue and Remy take the center of the floor, and everyone steps off, watching from the side. Logan guides you off the floor and towards your table, his hand in yours again.

“They’re beautiful,” you murmur. You see the way Remy looks at Rogue, the way they move as one, fluid unit. “Don’t you want something like that?” You ask, your gaze finding Logan’s. He has that look in his eyes again—all soft, relaxed, happy. 

Logan nods, squeezing your hand. “I think I’ve found it already.” 

Your lips part as you rack your brain for the right thing to say, your breath catching in your throat. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted—the words you’ve been waiting to hear. “Logan I—”

But Jubilee is grabbing your hand as the song changes. “If you’re not gonna dance with my girl, then I’m stealing her!” Jubilee calls out to Logan, pulling you onto the floor as “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” by Frankie Valli rings out. 

“Jubes,” you protest. “Logan and I were actually talking about something kind of important and—”

“One song?” She begs, frowning, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. You look over at Logan, and he’s still standing where you left him, smiling widely. Dance with her, he mouths, arching his brows expectantly. 

“Fine,” you say, still looking at Logan. 

Jubilee cheers, taking your hands in hers, spinning you around. You jump with her, screaming the words. Logan watches from his seat. He loves the way you move, the way you shake your hips, the way you throw your head back and laugh. He can see how much fun you’re having, how happy you are. He can’t keep his eyes off you, can’t help but be mesmerized. And he knows—just by watching—that he wants to be with you forever. Longer than that. You’ve changed him, made him different. And all for the better. 

You look over at him, his arms crossed against his chest as his eyes follow your every move. He’s smiling widely, clearly getting a kick out of you. 

“He loves you, you know,” Jubilee says, twirling you. “I mean, just look at how he’s looking at you!” Jubilee smirks, nodding towards Logan. Her eyes widen. “I think he’s coming over here!”

“Jubes…” Logan chides as he steps closer to the two of you. “Think I can cut in?”

“I don’t know Logan,” Jubilee says sarcastically, grinning ear to ear. “We’re having a great time.”

Logan puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’d like my girl back now.” 

My girl. His girl. 

Jubilee lifts her hands, stepping away from you as the song fades out. “Fine,” she says, pretending to be heartbroken. “Guess I’ll just have to give her up.” Logan steps between the two of you, and you lean to the side to peer at Jubilee as she walks away. She catches your glance, thrusting two thumbs up, mouthing a You got this! as she wanders to her seat. 

“Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers starts up, and Logan wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. The sun is setting in the distance, a honeyed glow washing across the lawn, painting the tent and the dance floor in golden light. Logan sways you from side to side, and you let your head fall to his shoulder. 

His lips find the shell of your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers so that only you can hear. 

“Lo, before, when we were watching Remy and Rogue…” you pause, lifting your head to look up at him. 

The corners of his mouth turn up. “I meant what I said,” Logan rasps. “I want you.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Just you.”

“I want you too,” you say, your voice soft and breathy. Logan holds you tighter, his lips just inches away from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your face. 

“Wanted you the whole time,” Logan husks, rocking you gently as the song plays out. “You’re all I ever think about. I can’t get through a day without seeing you, without talking to you.” He pauses as the music grows louder, the strings and piano echoing across the dance floor.

Woah, my love, my darling I've hungered, hungered for your touch A long, lonely time And time goes by so slowly And time can do so much Are you still mine?

“You feel like home,” he says, his eyes glossing over. “I’ve been alive a long time, and for once in my life, I finally understand what that word means. It’s you. This is what love is supposed to feel like.” He pauses again, taking a deep breath, his jaw working. “I love you, so goddamn much.”

“I love you too,” you confess. “More than anything.” 

And then his lips are on yours, and suddenly everything is nothing. The people around you are gone. Your problems have long melted away. Every ounce of pain and every second of suffering you’ve ever felt—that he has ever experienced—are forgotten. It’s all warmth and comfort, languid and slow, but passionate. He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. It’s perfect. Beyond perfect. 

His lips part from yours, and he looks down at you, taking you in, committing the moment to memory. “Pretty girl,” Logan mumbles, tugging you off the floor as the song fades out and a pop song starts up. “What if we slipped away for a few minutes?” 

“O-okay,” you stutter as Logan guides you past your table and out of the tent. The bass of the music echoes across the lawn as you and Logan wander hand in hand toward the mansion.  

He pushes the back door open, leading the two of you inside, and immediately pins you against the wall. “This okay, sweetheart?” Logan asks, holding your hands above your head, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrists. 

“Yes,” you breathe, your chest heaving against his. He closes the gap between you completely, his lips pressing to yours. It’s hurried now, hungry and frantic. His knee nudges between your legs, spreading you open. You can feel the fire burning in your core—the growing ache. 

You squirm underneath him, your arms fidgeting against his hold, longing to reach out and touch him. “Wanna make you feel good first, princess,” Logan soothes, his grip on your wrists tightening. “Let me take care of you.” You can’t help but grind down on his thigh at his words. 

“Lo,” you whine, searching for more friction. “Please, need you.” Logan swallows your moans with a kiss, his lips melting against yours. “I know, darlin’. I need you too,” he coos. “But I like watching you get off on my thigh,” he says cockily. “That feel good?” He pushes his thigh harder between your legs as you slide up and down. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, rolling your hips. “N-need more.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw to your neck, softly biting that sweet spot underneath your ear. “Gonna make this pussy feel good.” He lets go of your wrists as he slides down your body, hiking your dress up above your hips as he kneels in front of you.

Logan yanks your panties down your legs, leaving your core bare in front of him. “Wanna taste you, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning against your heat as he settles between your thighs. 

“Please,” you beg, his face just centimeters from where you need him most. His palms splay across your inner thighs, squeezing and nudging you open. You look down at him, hunger, desire, and desperation darkening his half-lidded eyes. “Lo—”

And then he’s licking a long stripe through your folds, his tongue flicking your clit. You shudder underneath his touch as he does it again, his tongue pressing harder this time. 

“Tastes so fucking good,” Logan mumbles against you. “Knew you’d taste perfect.” He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks, his teeth grazing the bud lightly. Your knees buckle at the sensation. 

Logan pushes your legs further apart, one of his hands sliding up your thigh and toward your center. It’s teasing, achingly slow as his fingers finally reach your folds, toying with your slit and spreading your slick. He laps at your clit, and he’s desperate, ravenous, his mouth swallowing you hungrily.

He teases your entrance with two fingers—gentle compared to the way his teeth graze your clit, to the way he’s sucking every last drop you have to give him. You part your lips, ready to beg for him, but he’s thrusting his long fingers inside you—down to his knuckles—only to pull out and pump back in again. 

You moan his name, your back arching off the wall, your thighs trembling as he fucks into you. Logan smiles against you. “That feel good, pretty girl?” He asks, his fingers pumping in and out of your entrance at a rhythmic pace.

“S-so good, Logan,” you say, your voice shaky and uneven. His tongue flits out, flicking your clit before his lips wrap around the bud. He sucks again, harder this time, longer, his face buried deep inside your cunt, like he needs this. Needs to feel every inch of you. To explore you. To remember you. Your heart thunders in your chest as he thrusts in and out, his fingers hitting that sweet spot deep inside every time. 

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him, taking him deeper. Logan laughs against you, the vibration rolling through your body in waves. “I know you’re getting closer, pretty girl,” Logan whispers, lapping at you between sentences. He looks up at you under those dark, hooded eyes as he plunges into you. “Let me get you there, wanna taste it when you come.”

You flutter around him again, his words threatening to spill the heat building at the bottom of your belly. “Lo,” you whimper as he brings a third finger to your entrance. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, say my name,” he demands, shoving the third finger deep inside on his next pump. 

“F-fuck,” you stutter, your legs shaking as you chant his name. Logan Logan Logan. 

“So fucked out that I’m all you can think about, huh?” Logan teases, edging you closer along. You moan in affirmation as Logan laves at you, stuffing his fingers deep inside. “So fucking beautiful,” he praises. “Doing so good for me.”

“L-Lo,” you choke out, clenching down around him. “I’m so close.”

You can feel yourself coming undone, melting into nothingness as he rams into you, sucking your clit roughly. “I know, princess. Let go for me, wanna feel you come on my fingers.”

Your hips buck and your legs tremble as you fall apart. Your orgasm crashes into you, pleasure coursing through your veins. Logan works you through it, his face still buried between your legs. His tongue laps at you softly, his fingers pumping slowly until they stall inside you. 

His gaze meets yours as he pulls his fingers out of your cunt and brings them to his mouth. His lips wrap around his fingers, and he sucks, savoring your release. He pulls his fingers out with a pop as he stands up. 

Logan presses his forehead to yours. “You know, there’s something else I want,” Logan says, his voice deep and raspy. “I’m not done with you yet.” He cages you in, a hand on either side of your head. 

“W-we need to be careful,” you stammer, nodding towards the door. “Someone could come in and—” Logan cuts you off. “Locked it the second we came inside, sweetheart,” Logan whispers, grabbing your dress and bunching it up around your waist. “No one’s coming in here. It’s just you and me, princess.” Logan pushes his hips into yours, and you can feel his erection straining against the fabric of his slacks. “Need you, darlin’.”

You wrap your arms around Logan’s back. “Need you too,” you pant. Logan’s lips find yours, crashing down needily, starvingly. He swallows your moans, one hand still collecting the fabric of your dress while his other tugs at his belt. He throws it to the floor with a clink and works at his button and zipper, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs. He hoists you up, one hand gripping your ass tightly, pushing your back against the wall for leverage.

“Fuck,” Logan curses, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. Everything is rushed and frantic. He needs to be inside you, needs to feel you, needs to be as close to you as possible. His head slides through your folds, spreading your slick. “Wanted this for so long,” Logan huffs, his tip slipping into your slit. “My girl.”

With one thrust, he sinks himself deep inside you—down to the hilt. You’re suddenly so full, so whole. “Yours,” you answer as he pulls out and thrusts back in, somehow deeper this time. He’s everywhere and he’s everything. “All yours.”

Logan curses under his breath, panting your name as he sets a brutal pace. “Mine,” he growls between placing open-mouthed kisses to the crook of your neck. “All fucking mine.” His free hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit and drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud. 

You dig your nails into his suit jacket as he splits you open. You want to feel him—to feel his skin, his chest pressed against yours. But this will have to do for now. 

“Next time,” he mumbles, knowing exactly what you’re silently asking for. “You can have more of me next time, okay sweetheart?”

Next time. The words replay in your head as he fucks into you, taking everything you have to give. He knows you so well, already knows every curve and inch of your body, knows your dreams and desires. You fit, like two puzzle pieces, like magnets finally drawing together. 

His thumb brushes your clit soothingly before pinching roughly, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. Logan thrusts in and out, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin against skin echoing throughout the foyer. 

“Feels so good, pretty girl,” Logan groans. “So fucking perfect, so tight.” Your walls flutter around him, and he grunts as you squeeze him. “Taking me so well.” 

You’re already close, every thrust bringing you to the edge, every flick of your clit sending you spiraling. It’s all too much. And it’s all because of him. 

“Lo,” you whine, his hips rocking into yours, his cock dragging along your walls. “I’m so…” You trail off, squeezing him again, taking him deeper. 

He moans your name, sinking inside you and pulling back out. “I know, princess, me too,” he murmurs, his pace faltering, his hips sputtering. “Come on my cock, wanna feel it,” he pants. “Wanna feel you. Forever.”

And then the tension snaps, heat spilling out of you as Logan thrusts again. He’s throbbing inside you, close behind. Pleasure pulses through your body, wave after wave. You wrap your legs tighter around Logan’s waist, keeping him close as he spills inside you, filling you up. He chants your name, his forehead pressing to yours, looking deep into your eyes as he comes undone.

Your chests heave together, sharing the same breath. His cock is still inside you. Everything is calm. Quiet. “So perfect,” Logan breathes, his lips finding yours again. “So fucking perfect.” He finally slips out of you and sets you down on the ground, keeping your dress bunched up around your waist. 

He leans over to the side, grabs a paper towel from a conveniently placed nearby roll, and sinks down to his knees. He’s cleaning you up, taking care of you, wiping away the mess spilling down your legs. He pulls your panties back up and kisses each of your thighs before standing and tossing the paper towel into the garbage by the door. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, letting your dress go. He fixes each of your straps, straightening them out, and smooths out your dress. “Beautiful,” he praises, swallowing harshly, as if he’s holding himself back from reaching out and taking you again. Part of you wishes he would.

But he bends over and pulls his pants and boxers up, tucking in his shirt, zippering and buttoning his slacks, and securing his belt back in place. He’s still a little disheveled—sweat on his brow, his hair out of place. But he looks perfect. He looks just like him. 

“You ready to go back out?” He asks, taking your hand in his. You nod and let him lead you outside and towards the tent. 

You find your seats just as dinner is being served. “Where’d you two go?” Scott asks, arching a brow. 

“Got a little too hot,” Logan says, smirking to himself. He finds your thigh under the table, squeezing gently, possessively. “Needed a break from the heat.”

You hum in affirmation, turning your head towards Logan. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “That’s one way to put it,” you whisper so that only he can hear. 

He squeezes your thigh again, harder this time. His lips find the shell of your ear as the rest of the table starts up a conversation. “You’re coming back to my room tonight,” he husks. “Got it?” You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he separates from you. 

You nod, his hand still on your thigh. 

“Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @starfleetteddybear @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie @honeyfewr @cosmiccandydreamer @Movhoney.

[rinhaler]

𝐀𝐌 𝐈 (𝟐𝟓𝐅) 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (𝟐𝟖𝐌)

i know it sounds bad but we got high and he's hot!!

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ plug!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: thank u 2 @chososdoll for beta reading for me!! this is part of @ohkento's reddit-inspired collab! (ps this isnt a true form fic i just think he looks SEXY IN THAT PIC HNNNNGN) Warnings: 18+, dubcon, mean dom!sukuna, sub!reader, cheating, hate sex ♡, drug taking, weed smoking, blowbacks/shotgunning, heavy degradation, slight praise, fingering ♡, vaginal sex, sixty-nineing ♡, face sitting, squirting ♡, pussy spanking, noncon filming, coercion, manipulation, daddy!kink, creampie, cervix fucking. Words: 10.6k

“I’ve heard about you.” Yuuji starts, turning his head from looking up at the stars to facing you. Your mind feels cloudy, but you return his stare. He thinks your pearly smile belongs in the sky; a permanent constellation to remind him of this moment. “How come this is my first time meeting you?”

You sigh, reaching over as he hands a lit spliff to you. The bonfire rages in front of you both, the smoke burning your eyes until they fill with water.

At least you have the perfect cover if you burst into tears.

“Things got… hard.” you tell him, not really wanting to elaborate. But golden-brown puppy dog eyes will you to continue. It’s stupid, really, how cliché people become when they smoke. You’re no exception. The intoxication and the setting make you feel as though you’re in an indie movie, longing to share your scars and become closer to the one attractive boy giving you his attention. “My ex, he cheated on me. I was with him for two years so it hurt.” you confess, taking a thick drag before passing it back to him, he tuts as he takes it from you.

“I’m really sorry,” he expresses, holding eye contact while he smokes. The feeling rushes straight to his head and through his blood. He laughs a little as he gets comfortable in his seat. “Sorry… I’m not laughing at you.” he clarifies, laughing again.

You start to laugh too, leaning over to grab the spliff from his hand before he sets the back garden on fire with it. Both of your attention is pulled from each other as you hear a scream from inside. The party is still going on indoors, and the scream soon turns into a girly laugh.

No doubt one of your friends flirting with one of the other guys.

“It’s okay.” you assure him, getting just as comfortable in your own seat as you smoke the remainder of the joint. You wrap yourself in the blanket you brought outside and turn your body slightly to face him. “It was with my best friend, too.” you continue, your deepest wound not seeming so scarring as you allow the high to expose your secrets on your behalf.

“Shit.” he shakes his head.

“I’ve been doing therapy and stuff so I’m better. I just wasn’t in the mood to see people…” you explain, jolting upright a little as you realise you’re oversharing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so deep and make you feel uncomfortable.” you tell him.

“I’m fine, I’m the one who asked.” he chuckles, getting comfier under his own blanket as he turns to look at you.

His warm eyes make you feel relaxed, safe. And you hate it. You hate how much of a cliché you really are becoming and you hate that you can’t help it. This moment feels so much bigger than anything, but deep down, you’re paranoid, because you’re sure it’s the drugs talking.

You’ve heard about Yuuji, too.

You’ve heard about how sweet he is and how he doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. He has a sports scholarship of some kind, and after a quick stalk of his socials you noted how reflected this is in the form of his chiseled body. Could he really be so nice? He seems, perfect.

And apparently he, gives the best head.

“I have a secret.” he tells you, quietly. His voice almost drowned out by the crackling bonfire beside you. You aren’t sure what makes you heat up so quickly. The implication of his words or the way he said them. A lustful look in his eyes as the fire dances wildly beside you both.

“Yeah?” you tell him, cheeks fill with warmth as you try to ignore how fucking hot it is in pursuit of looking cool. And that makes you giggle, for some reason. Yuuji isn’t the one making you flush with heat, it’s the fire, idiot. “T-Tell me.” you encourage him, throwing off your blanket and fanning yourself dramatically.

So much for looking cool.

He grins, almost coyly, as he leans across the arm of his chair. And for some reason, you instinctively mirror him. Is it so secret that you need to be close? He might whisper it to you.

He tilts his head, smirking. His eyes flit from your eyes to your lips a few times. Enough times that you make a note of it. And your heart is fucking racing with each flicker of his gaze. You think you know what’s coming. But you stay still, watching him, waiting for him to make the first move.

“… I really wanna kiss you.” he admits. And if you weren’t hot before, you certainly are now. You try, and likely fail, to keep it cool. A wide grin spreads across your face and you burst into giggles. But your eyes meet his again, and you see a smile just as wide as yours on his face as he observes you.

“Yeah?” you ask, dumbly.

“Yeah.” he nods.

You gulp, shallowly, leaning in closer to him and letting your eyes fall closed. He smirks, again, leaning in until your lips meet. It’s sweet and passionate, until he pulls away. It surprises you a little. Worries you, even. Are you a bad kisser? Maybe you are when you’re high. But worry turns to astonishment as he pulls your chair closer to until the arms of both of your seats touch. He smirks, again, wrapping his arm around your neck as he leans in to kiss you.

And now, you really do hate yourself.

You moan into it.

You aren’t even sure where it came from. Was that really you? He grins, nonetheless, a feeling of pride swelling in his chest as his tongue meets yours in a more than welcome manner. You pull away, a string of spit connecting you both. A kiss infused daze covers your features as you look at him under heavy eyelids, and you pant, deeply.

“I have another secret.” he whispers, stealing another sweet kiss from your raw lips. Gloss smeared over your lip line and a dewiness transferred to his.

“Is it as good as the first?” you tease, giggling as his hand cups your face. You mewl, melting into his touch as his thumb strokes your cheek delicately. Your eyes widen. A look of curiosity replaces the majority of the lust, though you both know it’s still lurking.

“Well,” he starts, his eyes begin to wander. You observe him as his vision roams from the sky to the flames beside you. He takes his time, the anticipation of his words runs rampant through your bloodstream. Until, finally, he blesses you with his gaze once more. “I want to stay with you until the sun comes up. I want you to sit on my lap, with my cock inside you, under our blankets. All night.”

You’d hoped once he told you that your anxiety would have diminished. Though you’re sure with the way his eyes are fixated on your lips, your heart is surely surveying an escape route from your slack-jawed mouth as it pumps hard and violently through you. He doesn’t seem worried that you haven’t said a word, and his gaze doesn’t falter.

“Okay.” you nod.

It excites you. You haven’t been with anyone since your ex. And it might be a bad idea, but it doesn’t stop you. It’s not like you’re rushing into being with someone. It’s been months since things ended with your cheating ex-boyfriend. You stand up, bringing your blanket as you stand over Yuuji, and he holds your hips gently.

He feels under your skirt, smiling when he feels how soaked your panties are but he doesn’t comment. He moves them into the crease of your thigh and encourages you to straddle him.

You do.

Hovering slightly as he pulls down his joggers and his semi springs free. It’s big and pretty, like him. You kiss him as he jerks himself until he’s aching. He’s desperate to bury it inside of your gummy walls, his cock catches against your eager hole with every purposeful stroke.

He throws his head back as you sink down on him, and your hips stutter slightly from the stretch. You’re trying to focus on concealing your bodies with the fuzzy blanket wrapped around you, but your lips fly to his in a bid to silence yourself as he sheaths himself fully.

“Fuck, you’re tight… so wet, too.” he mumbles, hips rolling ever so slightly as he enjoys the feeling of being inside of you raw.

You jolt, panicked, as you hear a knock from the kitchen window. Both of your attention is stolen to see the origin, and you spot a group of partygoers hollering from inside. Two of his friends and one of yours, they all cheer and whoop as they can only assume what’s going on under the blanket.

Yuuji smiles, shaking his head before turning back to capture your lips in another soft kiss. You’re too distracted to notice him flip them off until they disappear.

“Do I remember the night the most perfect woman in the world let me hit her raw after a few minutes of talking under the stars? Yes, baby, I remember the best night of my life, why?” Yuuji asks after you recall that first night you met. “Very cool of you, by the way. I didn’t think you were gonna say yes.”

You giggle, punching his arm softly as you curl into his side in bed. And you sigh, dreamily, thinking about it again. It’s been over a year since that night and you feel just as hazy around him as you did then. You were worried about him thinking of you as a one night stand. Worried that you’d just given in to this stranger for no real reason only to get your feelings hurt again.

But as the sun began to rise and wake you both up in that horrendously uncomfortable chair, he kissed your forehead and held you tightly against his chest. He stroked your hair until you managed to blink the blurriness from your eyes and see his in a new light. The crackle of the orange and white flames had gone from them. Instead, they were honeyed and soft. The kindest eyes you’d ever seen.

“The McDonald’s breakfast in the carpark was better than the sex in the garden, by the way.” you tease him, earning a tickle attack into your sides.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you were begging me to fuck you in the backseat afterwards.” he laughs, stopping his assault as you begin to scream. You cuddle into him again, his fingers tracing over the flesh of your upper arm. “It was good though, really good. Should we order hash browns?”

“Yes.” you nod, excitedly.

He sits up and reaches over to his bedside cabinet to grab his phone. He sighs as he checks his notifications. You sigh, too, watching him as he gets out of your warm bed in search of his clothes.

So much for hash browns.

“Yuuji…” you start.

“Don’t start, please, I don’t wanna leave in a bad mood.” he tells you. He smirks when he realises you’re checking out his abs, only focusing on him again as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. “I don’t want to rush moving in just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I’m not rushing you, and I don’t feel sorry for you!” you tell him, shuffling onto your knees and crawling across the bed until you’re kneeling beside the edge of the mattress. “I hate your brother. He’s a creep and he treats you like shit. I have plenty of room here… you can move in here and have your own space and—”

“I know he’s a dick.” he agrees, pulling on his socks and slipping his feet into his sneakers. “But he’s my only family. I’m not just gonna ditch him. Why don’t you move in with me?” he wonders.

“Um… I live in a townhouse instead of an apartment and it’s better, it’s in a better neighbourhood and your brother isn’t here.” you smile, smugly, and it earns a chuckle from him.

“Okay, you’re right about that. Speaking of which though I can’t stay tonight but you can come over if you want. I’ll order those hash browns for you tomorrow when I’m on my to the gym. I’m booked with PT sessions my entire shift.”

“I’m not waking up at 6am to eat hash browns alone, Yuuji.” you roll your eyes.

“You can text me when you wake up and I’ll order them for you. Pleeeeease?” he flutters his eyelashes dramatically before kissing your forehead. “Good girl.”

“I didn’t say yes?” you respond, flabbergasted. “Is Sukuna gonna be there?”

“Well, yeah. He lives there.” Yuuji tells you, earning an eye roll from you. He is in complete agreement on how much his older brother sucks. He understands why you hate him. He’s irritating, he’s crass and seems to have no concept of personal space or privacy. Yuuji doesn’t care for his brother in the least, and he has no doubt the feeling is mutual. There is love there, of course, but only out of necessity. “You don’t seem to mind him when the family discount applies for weed, though. Interesting.” he says with faux suspicion.

“Okay, that is literally the only thing he’s good for.” you remind him. He laughs, agreeing.

He kisses your lips chastely, hurrying to grab his backpack to hurry home to his expectant brother. The only two reasons he ever leaves you in haste are for work, or for Sukuna. Today was meant to be a day you could spend together since you both have the day off.

But of course, Sukuna ruins everything.

YUUJI: FORGOT TO ASK YUUJI: ARE WE SMOKING TONIGHT? YOU: DUH! YUUJI: BETTER BE NICE TO SUKUNA FOR THAT FAMILY DISCOUNT THEN 😉

You stand outside of your boyfriends apartment complex, shivering, waiting for somebody to answer the door. He ordered a taxi for you since he knows you always worry about your car getting broken into when you visit, his own car suffering numerous break-ins in the span of your relationship.

And really, you don’t want somebody to answer the door. You want it to be Yuuji, specifically, the thought of Sukuna answering the door and tormenting you until you get to the safety of Yuuji’s room is entirely too much to handle. Your nerves are already shredded by being here, the thought of having a battle of words with Sukuna will surely tip you over the edge.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t think you’d get here so quickly.” you hear a voice from behind you. You turn around to see Yuuji. Fuck. You see the hallway light flicker on from under the crack of the front door to his apartment and you realise too late that a demon has been summoned. “I went and got cookie ingredients, I thought we could bake some before we smoke later.”

“Sounds fun.” you smile, his sweet idea assuages the tension you feel, albeit briefly, before his elder brother swings open the front door. Yuuji pulls his lips into a thin line when you can barely contain the scoff that scratches through your throat. Sukuna rolls his eyes, moving aside to let you both in. He peaks inside the bag Yuuji is holding before his little brother smacks his hand away. “Do not touch or I will kill you.” Yuuji warns him, carrying the ingredients to the kitchen before putting them away.

You decide to help, hoping it will go quicker if you pitch in and you can escape his brother’s intimidating stare faster. Sukuna approaches, leaning over a counter as he watches you both.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, princess. It’s been a while.” Sukuna taunts, but you ignore him. He clacks his fingernails against the countertop, and the sound is jarring. He smirks when you shoot him a pointedly aggravated stare, giving him reason to do it more. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

You sigh, nostrils flaring as you put two bars of chocolate in the fridge.

“We’re just hanging out, gonna bake these cookies and smoke.” Yuuji answers for you. So you smile, falsely, and rest your back against the wall once you’re done. “Oh, speaking of which… family discount?”

“I’m busy now.” Sukuna looks at you and then back at his brother. “Ask me later.” he expresses, red eyes fixed on you for a moment before he turns to leave.

It’s like you can finally breathe again when you hear him go to his room and close the door. You kick yourself away from the wall and into Yuuji’s open arms. He smooths his heavy hand over your hair, hoping you’ll relax a little. He spends some time figuring out what you can do to pass some time, knowing you’ll need a distraction.

“Let’s just bake the cookies.” you speak, words muffled as you talk into his shirt. You pull away as he looks down at you so that you can speak to him clearly. “I just wanna stay in your room all night…”

“Sure, baby, whatever you want.” he nods. “Okay, lets get all of the ingredients out again.”

He takes his time trying to remember where everything is. You, on the other hand, are rushing to gather them all. Sukuna has a way of making your anxiety spike. He’s too… commandeering. He has a way of forcing everyone’s attention to remain solely on him whether you try to ignore him or not.

You’re intimidated by him, he’s more muscular than your boyfriend and he’s a drug dealer for fuck sake.

It brings shame to you when Yuuji has to snap his fingers to get you out of your trance as you think about his brother. You start cutting up the chocolate bars while he puts ingredients in the stand mixer.

And your mind wanders, again. It’s not like you’re scared of Sukuna. Well, you are, terrified would be more apt. But you know he wouldn’t do anything to you. He’d risk losing Yuuji. And as much as they don’t really get along, they’re extremely co-dependent. Especially Sukuna. He likes the presence of his little sibling and has a slight superiority complex due to being older.

The reality is, you think Sukuna would be lost without Yuuji. Lonely, even. And having Yuuji’s steady income is a nice sense of security for him. He makes plenty of money being a dealer, of course, but he knows it’s a fools game. It’s not reliable and it’s risky.

You put the chocolate chunks into the mixer and watch him as he masterfully fills the ingredients into the bowl. Your thoughts calm for a moment as you can do nought but watch the whisk whir.

“You know I wanna move in with you eventually, right?” Yuuji tells you, and it fully breaks you from your train of thought. You look at him, staying silent so that he can feel free to continue speaking. He leans against the counter as the ingredients continue to mix. “I wanna live with you… marry you… all that.”

His talk of marriage makes your cheeks fill with heat, though you’ve gotten better at playing things cool since your first encounter. You just smile, and nod, as you drink in the delicious information.

“I’m just worried about him.” he tilts his head, indicating he is referring to his elder brother. You nod in understanding, though you don’t have much sympathy for your future brother-in-law. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. “We aren’t like you, we don’t have a big family. It’s just us.”

“Well my family isn’t that—” you stop yourself, looking into Yuuji’s disappointed eyes. It’s foolish to pretend you aren’t blessed with an adoring family. You’re your parents only child, though. You can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling. And, of course, you’re spoilt rotten. The reality is that if you didn’t come from privilege, you and Yuuji could have been neighbours. But your parents weren’t about to let you live in a dangerous neighbourhood when they can easily afford to subsidise you. “It must be tough, baby. I know you feel guilty for wanting to leave him.” you rub your hand up and down his arm as a show of comfort.

“Yeah…”

“But…” you start, his eyes locking with yours again. “He’s a grown man, Yuuji. You’ve lived the same life and look at you now… You’re nothing like him.”

You’re right. He knows you are, that’s why you’re standing in silence until the timer goes off and he checks the ingredient bowl. It’s sticky. He scoops a little on his finger and dots it on your nose. The kitchen fills with laughter as you try to retaliate. He’s too fast for you, though.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…” he tells you as the situation calms. He licks the chocolatey dough from your nose and presses a gentle kiss onto the tip. And dammit you can’t help but smile.

You begin rolling the dough into balls on a tray. The silence has dissipated, but your thoughts still run rampant. Should Sukuna really be Yuuji’s responsibility? No, of course not. But Yuuji won’t see it that way. He’s sensitive and caring. God, he cares so much.

It makes you dizzy as you watch him smile and walk with the cookies to the oven. They smell so great already, you could have eaten them raw. But they’ll be even better when they’re baked to perfection.

You’ve made these cookies so many times now. The pair of you have process committed to memory. They’re so good. Especially with a tall glass of milk. You always tease Yuuji when you do this since he’s always left with a milk moustache after devouring his plate of cookies.

The sound of the timer rings through the kitchen again. You clap excitedly as Yuuji covers his hands with some oven mitts. The chocolatey smell hits you both like a train, the pair of you moaning involuntarily as you inhale it. He brings them over to the countertop, setting them down to cool.

Sukuna smells it, too. He loves it when you bake cookies because he knows neither of you will deny him one. He’s been smoking and playing video games since he retreated to his room. He’s thoroughly stoned and would very much enjoy a sweet treat right about now. He pauses his game, and the sound of his door opening and closing brings back all of the tension to your body.

“Here.” Sukuna speaks as he enters the kitchen. He tosses a baggie onto the counter and looks at his brother expectantly. Yuuji nods, reaching into his pocket for his wallet so he can pay him. Sukuna’s eyes are fixed on you in the meantime. And as you go to grab the weed, he places his hand over it and pulls it back towards himself.

“Thanks, man.” Yuuji smiles, handing the cash to his brother who pockets it without even checking it’s right. Though Sukuna’s stare doesn’t waver, you find yourself looking down at his hand covering the weed and then turning away completely. He internally beams with pride at that, thrilled to know it’s still so easy to intimidate you. But on the outside it’s simply portrayed as a slight curve of the corner of his mouth. “Is something wrong?” Yuuji wonders.

“Yeah, actually,” Sukuna speaks, finding your eyes again before he looks into Yuuji’s. “I want a cookie, call it family tax.”

“Take two.” you tell him, sternly, a new ferocity in your eyes he hasn’t seen before. You walk over to them and place two cookies on a little plate for him. You go to hand it to him, but as he reaches out to grab them you place them down on the counter. “Let them cool.” you smile, sarcastically.

“Aren’t you sweet.” Sukuna snarls, teeth bared as he slides the plate towards himself. “Sweet enough for your turn. Pay up, you know what I want.” he chuckles. He turns his head and taps his finger against his cheek.

“C’mon, dude…” Yuuji tries to interject. You know Yuuji is furious, deep down. But he won’t call him out on it. Last time he did he wouldn’t give either of you any weed for two weeks. It wouldn’t be a problem if you knew anyone else you could buy from. And the shit Sukuna gets is good. Yuuji has given up on trying to be a dominating presence when it comes to living with his brother. Sukuna is always one step ahead and Yuuji can’t quite keep up.

You go to him, reluctantly, and plant a soft kiss to his cheek. It makes your skin crawl. He makes your skin crawl. And despite your sense of urgency to flee the scene, you can’t. His hand grabs your wrist, and Yuuji is ready to spring to action. Sukuna’s face is unbearably close to yours. His red eyes piercing your own as he does all he can to make you feel small and pathetic.

“That’s a good girl.” he sneers, placing the baggie on the top of your hand after releasing your wrist. He chuckles, darkly, as he walks away with his plate of cookies, taking a bite out of one before he disappears. He kicks his bedroom door shut behind himself, the sound of laughter and guns shooting loudly from his TV are the only thing either of you can hear.

“I’ll bring the cookies and clean up.” Yuuji sighs as he ventures to the sink. “Go and get comfy and pick a movie.”

You don’t say anything, leaving your boyfriend to tidy up in silence. You’re seething with rage. This isn’t right. He does this every single time you’re here and you buy a deal from him. And Yuuji just lets him. You know you neither of you have much choice if you want the access and ability to smoke. But it’s getting to you, badly.

Around fifteen minutes pass after you left the kitchen. You’ve since gotten into your sweatpants and comfortable vest. Shorts would have been preferable, since there’s still an uncomfortable sizzle to the November air, but you’ve learnt your lesson about what you wear when you visit the Itadori household. You’ve had Sukuna leer at your thighs more times than you can count. And it’s never subtle, his eyes lingering for a moment too long to have it potentially be an accident. It’s always so lecherous and purposeful.

You decide to watch Clueless, again. You’re sure Yuuji will be defeated when he sees your choice, he’s lost count of how many times you’ve watched it recently. It’s been a comfort movie to you, for some reason, since Halloween.

“Hey.” Yuuji smiles as he enters the room, somehow managing to carry two glasses of milk and two plates of cookies. “What are we watching?” he asks, looking at the TV. You rush to grab a plate and a glass from his hands to ease his load, putting them on your bedside cabinet as he does the same with his own.

“Clueless.” you smile, happily. “Her step-brother has been hitting really different for me, lately.”

He closes his eyes and stifles a sigh. You can see a laugh desperate to break free as his mouth shakes through a smile. But to his credit, he manages to compose himself, eyes opening again once the reality has set in. Clueless. Again!

“Sounds great baby.”

It’s been a week since you last got to spent time with Yuuji. Your work schedules have been clashing, it feels like a lifetime since you got to spend any time together.

You enjoyed your hash browns in bed after he ordered them for you when you stayed over at his place. Though he ended up ordering Sukuna breakfast, too, leading to uncomfortable extended time with him that you prefer to avoid at all costs. He tried to make conversation with you, he often does, but you took it upon yourself to go back to bed with your hash browns. You tried to enjoy them. You tried to relax. But it’s near impossible when you’re under the same roof as someone you loathe. You watched a Youtube video on your phone while you ate, and then quickly got ready and booked a taxi home.

You’d hoped next time you got to see your boyfriend it would be at your house and away from Sukuna. But, alas, that was not the case. You received a text from him at 10am asking you to come over ASAP.

YOU: is something wrong??

YUUJI: no

YUUJI: just stressed

YUUJI: pls can u come? I’m working tomorrow so I cant stay over ☹️

YOU: okay ☹️ omw 💖

You’ve never had a text like this from him before, and it scared you. Something was telling you that he was downplaying how he was feeling. It took you barely any time to get ready. Forgoing makeup and making an effort in favour of rushing to your boyfriend’s side. Maybe something had happened at work.

Maybe he cheated on you.

He could be dying!

“Shut up…” you whisper to yourself as you pack your toothbrush into its travel case and throw it into your overnight bag. You pick up your car keys, not wanting to waste time waiting for a taxi.

You throw your bag on the passenger seat and speedily drive off. Your anxiety and the adrenaline was getting to you, you knew you’d have to calm down or you’d end up getting into an accident. As you focused on getting to your destination in one piece, you took several deep, slow breaths.

You’re safe.

You park up your car and lock it up. With your bag in tow, you rush to your boyfriend’s apartment. Your left foot taps impatiently after you knock on the door.

No answer.

You knock a little louder.

No answer.

And then you find yourself knocking louder, repeatedly, while you wait for your boyfriend to answer the door. He knew you were coming. He said it was urgent. So why are you waiting here, freezing, for him to answer the door? You’re filled with relief when you see his figure obscuring the light trickling through the cracks of the door. Your teeth chatter, and you begin stepping from foot to foot in a bid to warm through.

But your blood runs cold as the wrong Itadori opens the door.

“Heh. What do you want?” he asks, a cocky grin permeating his features.

“Move.” you demand, barging past him with your bag so that you can hurry to Yuuji’s side. Maybe something is wrong. He could be sick and resting in bed.

“He’s not here.” Sukuna informs you, halting you in your tracks. You turn to face him, a scowl that could kill adorning your face. Did he do something to him? All fear you’ve ever felt from him dies as you approach him, setting down your bag so that you can hit or punch or scratch him if needs be. “Relax.” he tells you.

“Where is he?”

“At work. I thought you had your entire relationship on a Google calendar, you didn’t know?” he laughs, angling his body so that he can bypass you in the skinny hallway. You huff a little, picking up your bag again so that you can follow him.

“But he asked me to come over, he said it was urgent.” you explain, though he doesn’t stop walking. You hurry after him, grabbing his arm until he stops. And he does, his eyes slowly dart down to where your hand holds onto his bicep until you awkwardly let go. “S-Sorry. I’m just confused. Why would he text me if he’s not even here?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not his PA. I don’t fucking know.” he turns away from you again, opening his bedroom door. You huff, again, utterly defeated as you try and decide what to do. You look towards his bedroom door and then to the entrance. You suppose you could go home until he finishes work. Or you could go to the gym he works at and find out what’s happening. You head towards the front door, thinking you’ll decide once you start driving. Sukuna hasn’t fully retreated into his room yet, leaning against his door frame as he calls out to you. “I’m making a bucket, want one?”

Your eyebrows knot as you turn to face him, another involuntary scoff turning to laughter as you look at him in disbelief. He’s got some nerve. You don’t even want to respond, opting to carry on your journey towards the entrance before you look at him again.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I don’t want to smoke with you.” you roll your eyes.

“Awe, why not, princess? I won’t even add any tax.” he smirks, already heading towards the kitchen as if you’ve given him the answer he clearly wants to hear. And you hate him with your whole heart, because fuck, if you aren’t intrigued. It’s been a while since you’ve had a gravity bong. “Excellent choice, good girl.” he winks as he sees you out of the corner of his eye, as he grabs an empty one litre water bottle from beneath the sink.

You don’t say anything, leaning over the island counter as he prepares the bong for you both. It’s embarrassing, after some time, that you find yourself having to avert your gaze as realise you’ve been staring at his defined back muscles. He’d decided to forgo any form of clothing to cover his torso, only wearing a low riding pair of grey sweatpants, though they’re a darker grey than yours.

It isn’t much better as he whistles, tilting his head for you to join him by the sink. You’d close your eyes if it didn’t make you look like a complete freak, only to hide them from his flexing abs and his juicy pecs. The tattoos aren’t helping, either. It only serves as a reminder that you’re hopelessly trying not to ogle your boyfriends, older, larger, and scarier brother. He’s behaving interestingly, though. He’s never been like this before. He’s dismissive and almost uninterested in you.

“C’mere.” he orders you, dragging you closer to him as he lights the weed in the bowl. You gulp, a little intimidated. Gravity bongs are something you don’t partake in often, you can’t even remember the last time you did one. He moves his finger from the hole he’d poked into the bottle and the water begins to drain from it. Smoke fills the bottle in it’s wake, and when empty, he screws the lid off for you. “Quickly.”

You begin to inhale everything. Not caring how fucked up you feel in the least. You show no signs of stopping, and it impresses him. Your fingers hook around the kitchen counter as you finish, knowing when your bones feel like jelly that you’ve had too much.

“Atta girl,” he comments before repeating the process for himself. He pays you no mind as you wander towards the corner counter space, lifting yourself up like you’re the queen of the kitchen taking her throne.

He continues to ignore your presence as he smokes, inhaling and entirely draining the smoke that had filled the bottle. He tosses it into the sink, walking by you to grab a bag of ice from the freezer, filling two glasses to the brim with the frozen cubes. He fills them with water, sliding one to you.

“Drink.” he commands, and you do, not realising how thirsty you’d become. Your throat burning and eyes flooded with red veins. You drink the water and immediately need to refill. He shows you a kindness, though, handing you his glass to drink before filling your own again. “You’re a real lightweight, huh?”

“Oh shut up. I’m just gonna go.” you tell him, jumping down from the counter and going to collect your bag again.

“You can’t, you’re high.” he reminds you, and in your stoned state the sentence makes you burst into laughter. “You’ll end up crashing your car. Fool.” he gives you another glass of water, refilling his own for a second time before turning to leave the kitchen.

“Great, so I’m stuck here with you and nothing to do?” you pout, opening the fridge to see if there’s anything to eat. “Why did we not make cookies?” you mumble to yourself.

“I have snacks in my room.” Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, like a snake offering an apple in the garden of Eden. You’re tempted. God, you’re tempted. What else are you going to do until Yuuji gets home? He grins, widely, as he hears your feet follow after him as he walks into his bedroom.

You’ve never been in here before. It’s quite tidy, all things considered. It’s very tidy, actually. You’d expected it to be some dimly lit shit hole. It smells nice, save for the weed, the windows are open wide and the sheets smell fresh as you sit on his bed.

He throws a sleeve of Oreos at you and you turn into a giddy child. The two of you kick off your shoes, not caring for where they land as you both get comfortable on his bed. You’re above the duvet, sitting adjacent to him but angled away with your legs crossed. He gets under the covers, though, picking up his Xbox controller as he mindlessly plays GTA V.

You spend far too much time licking the cream of your first Oreo, utterly entranced by the characters, the plot and the violence of the game he’s playing. He doesn’t seem to mind when you ask him a million questions about it, either. He’s more amused that you’re so clueless.

“Here,” he tosses the controller at you. “Go for a drive, it’s fun when you’re stoned.” he tells you.

You’ve played video games before, you aren’t a total idiot. Though he had expected you to ask for more help when he gave you the controller. He thinks it’s cute that you try to obey the speed limits and stop at every red light.

He reaches into his bedside cabinet, pulling out a joint. It’s ignited quickly, his eyes squinting as he inhales and watches the screen to make sure you’re not getting him into trouble on his game.

“You’re not bad when you’re high.” you tell him, passing the controller back to him. He takes it from you, saving his progress before reaching out to smoke again. He sits upright, and you barely react when he pulls you away from where you were sitting until you're facing him. “U-Um…”

He’s giving you a look. That look. The look Yuuji gave you when he told you he had a secret. God, they could be fucking twins if Sukuna wasn’t covered in tattoos, it’s scary. But he doesn’t say he has a secret; he doesn’t say a word. He simply watches you with a pondering stare, but an aim behind his eyes nonetheless.

Your own eyes shift when you see him bring the spliff from his ashtray to his lips. The cherry end of it igniting holds your focus before your eyes are on his again, enraptured by the moment and what he’s thinking. He sucks the smoke deep down into his lungs, and you can’t help but watch the way his chest moves from his heavy breath.

You gasp, softly, as he snatches your stare once again. His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and tug downwards until your jaw is lowered. His face is barely a centimetre from yours, you know he’s going to kiss you. But why are you about to let him? His lips ghost yours, and you’re taken aback as you feel a plume of smoke invade your mouth. He’s impressed when you breathe it in, though, but smirks wildly as you begin to cough it up.

“You taste like cookies and cream.” he whispers into your ear, the sensation of his words rushes straight to your heat. But your sense comes back, pushing him away from you as you look sternly into his eyes.

“I didn’t say you could do that.” you remind him, preparing to move back to where you were sitting prior. But he stops you, easily, pushing your body down until your head is in his lap but over the duvet cover. “Sukuna…” you sigh, your head and your limbs feel too heavy to move on their own anymore.

“Mm?”

“I’m wi- I’m with Yuuji… I’m with your brother.” you remind him, you move your head a little so that you can look up at him. He doesn’t look at you, though, still focused on his game. You can hear dialogue again, and guns, you’re not as exciting in comparison to that, you suppose.

“I know.” he speaks, his jawline bulging as he swallows and clenches his teeth slightly. “Don’t tell me you thought I was gonna kiss you. Silly girl.” he speaks, still not bothering to grant you with the eye contact you’re so desperately craving for some reason.

But your body betrays you as a whimper escapes from your throat. And that does get his attention. His game pauses, and he looks down at you. But you hide your face, scrunching your eyes shut so he can’t read your expression. But your shy little display tells him all he needs to know.

“Oh? You minx,” he torments you further, and you want to scream. You can’t hide your face anymore, your cheeks becoming too warm and your entire body sizzling with heat. You’re panting, uncomfortably as you try and cool down. “You wanted me to kiss you. You’re with Yuuji, remember?”

“I didn’t! I- I- would never. I love Yuuji, I’m in love with him! I’d never kiss you. Yuck.” you fib, if you weren’t high, you know you’d never be in this predicament. You know you’d never have agreed to hang out with him. But really, it’s a lie. You weren’t high when he asked if you wanted to do buckets. He intrigued you, and you’re a fool, because you fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.

“Hm…” he hums, his spliff resting between his lips as his eyes linger on your cleavage before roaming down your body to your sweatpants. He places the blunt back in the ashtray, his eyes setting their sights on your hands. He moves one with ease above your head, though you instinctively pull it back. But it’s too late, the other one joins, a singular hand of his pin both of your wrists down above your head. You wriggle against him, but you don’t pose a challenge in the least.

“S-Sukuna?” you question as his fingers breach the waistline of your sweatpants. A sadistic smirk sprawls across his face as he realises in your haste to be here you’d not bothered putting on panties. You mewl, desperately, as his fingers find your petalled flesh. He doesn’t do much, simply feeling your slick and teasing your folds as he examines your facial expressions.

“You didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asks again. He drags two fingers up your slippery slit until he finds your clit, rubbing targeted circles around it slowly. The tension makes your hips buck, but his face is stern as he watches you keen for him. “Then why is this cunt soaked?”

His words almost bring you to tears, and he can tell. The way they fill with water so rapidly and your face becomes sweaty. You’re ashamed. You’re embarrassed. He’s humiliating you, but you’re too turned on to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop.

“I hate you!” you tell him, and there is certainly venom behind it. Because you mean it, you really fucking mean it. He’s the absolute worst. You’re so in love with Yuuji, but he’s ruined everything, now. You should have known this would happen. He’s been flirting and teasing and bothering you throughout your entire relationship with Yuuji. But you never thought it would come to this, ever. Especially after what you’ve been through, you’d never want to inflict that same agonising betrayal onto Yuuji.

“I know. You think I’m so beneath you, yeah?” he grins, and your mouth falls open in surprise, though his circling touch doesn’t stop. “I’m a drug dealer, I’m a bastard, I’m a piece of shit. But, sweetheart, me ‘n Yuuji didn’t grow up with daddy’s bank account like you. But look at you, princess. You hate me and you’re still letting me play with your sloppy cunt.”

“Fuck you.”

“You can, I know you want that. You’re drenched. My fuckin’ fingers are pruning.” he laughs, you want nothing more than to cover your face in shame, but you can’t while Sukuna’s heavy hand trap your wrists. “Awe, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed. Much cuter than when you’re trying to be tough f’me.” his rubbing halts, though the sense of abandonment is short lived as he plunges two thick fingers into you tight hole, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit again.

“O-Oh, fuck, hnng—” you groan, eyes meeting his as he pleasures you. And he drinks in the sight. Your tongue lolled from your mouth as you accommodate his touch, the pads of his fingers batter your g-spot again and again until your back arches. “Sukuna, s-stop, we can’t.” you warn him.

He smirks, ignoring you, opting to do the opposite. He increases the pace in which his fingers torment you, his cock leaks when he sees a few tears spill from your eyes. He’s that good, huh? Maybe his little brother isn’t as talented.

“You’re fucking tight. You’re gonna cum, aren’tcha?” he taunts you, you attempt to clamp your thighs around his hand, but it only spurs him on more. His fingers sink deeper. Your mind and rationale become lost to him. “You’re gonna cum for a bastard like me? Your boyfriends brother, too. Gonna cum in your pants like a virgin just for me? Pathetic little girl.”

“Oh FUCK, GOD!” you cry out, thighs trembling around his hand as you orgasm. Your chest heaves, and he doesn’t fail to notice how your nipples have began to poke through your vest. “C-Christ, okay, lets just forget—”

“I’m not done with you.” he speaks, it cuts through you as he lets your hands go. You massage them quickly, before he pushes his full weight on top of you as you lie flat against the mattress atop the sheets. He holds your jaw, roughly, and kisses you.

He humps his clothed, hard cock against your soaked sweatpants, your slick dampening them with each roll of his hips. He breathes heavily as you kiss. An exchange of saliva and clashing teeth as you moan and break away before licking at each other’s tongues again and again.

You shudder when you feel him put his hands down your pants again, collecting the dewiness at the apex of your thighs before forcing it onto your tongue. And you suck, gratefully, replacing the loss of his lips with his monstrously thick fingers. You can hardly believe he fingered you so easily.

Your lips wrap around his digits beautifully. He moans as he watches your little hands in comparison to his own hold it in place so you can bob your head up and down the length, your tongue licks and laves until there isn’t a trace of your dewiness left.

So he kisses you, again, tongues tangling as he dry fucks his cock into your clothed core. His hands roam and pinch and squeeze every inch of your body that he can grab. He yanks your sweatpants down, tossing them aside with little care to where they might land. And he surprises you, again, when he manoeuvres you seamlessly so that you’re straddling him.

He thinks it’s cute as you look around, unsure of how you got into this position. But he brings you back to him when he humps up into you so that you fall forwards. You kiss him again, but he breaks it to speak.

“Let me taste you, baby. Sit on my face.” he tells you. You’re nervous, but you move yourself so that you’re hovering above him. He pushes a finger into your hole and you throw your head back in satisfaction. “I said sit. I wanna know what a slutty princess cunt tastes like, so fucking sit.” he orders, his arms hooking around your thighs and forcing you down until you smother him with your heat.

“FUCK,” you moan, loudly, as his nose nudges against your throbbing clit. You aren’t sure what to do with so much freedom to move. The way he slurps and feasts on your dripping flesh sends wave after wave of embarrassment through you. And he’s loud he’s so fucking noisy as he moans into your heat and drinks every drop that your heavenly cunt has to offer. “J-Jesus… ah—!” you yelp, feeling his palm come down hard to strike your behind.

You begin to roll your hips, rubbing your pussy up and down over his face and stimulating your clit with his nose. He reaches under your vest, tweaking your nipple as you hump his face. He spanks you again, quickly, as you stop moving. You’re too gone, completely lost in the moment as you use him for your pleasure. You’d never have expected this from him.

He relinquishes your nipple to free his cock from it’s material prison. You heard the sticky sound of it ring through the room as he jerks himself off. His moaning becomes louder. The divine taste of your cunt and the ability to stroke himself goes straight to his head. You’re gone, you’re fucking gone. But he’s right behind you. The way you’re smothering him makes him lightheaded, but he’s not letting you go until he’s ready.

You see the pink silhouette of his cock as you look over your shoulder, but you’re desperate to get a better view. He groans, so loudly that you think he might have came, as you tug on his pink hair. Using it to your advantage as you ride his face into your next toe-curling orgasm. And at that, you do collapse. Practically singing his name as you cum in his mouth, only when you’ve reached your high does he let up on you.

He admires the view of your tits as you back up to look down at him, throwing your vest over your head as carelessly as he’s discarded your pants. His face is shimmering with your juices, and you feel another searing tidal wave of embarrassment as the reality sets in that you’ve done this to him. And you’re still cheating on your boyfriend. But you’re past the point of no return, you think. Yuuji is barely on your mind, all of your attention is on his brother, now.

And he’s still not through with you yet.

“Do you need some cock?” he asks.

“Y-Yes.” you nod, pathetically.

“Look at it, then. Look at my cock and beg for it.” he tells you.

You adjust your position so that you’re hovering above his face again but facing his cock perfectly. It’s beautiful, you think. More defined than Yuuji’s but around the same size and width. His cockhead is more prominent and the veins are unmissable. You’d have begged without even being asked if you’d gotten the chance to see it earlier.

“Go on,” he starts. You feel his hands between your shoulder blades and he pushes you down roughly. “Beg for my cock, whore.”

“Please, please Sukuna. I need you to fuck me.” you start, completely reduced to tears as you look at it as your mouth waters. You hold him with both hands, and you’re still unable to hold the entire length of it. “Wanna cum on you. W-Want you to b-bruise my cervix. Need to feel you inside, please, please please.” you’re practically sobbing as you continue.

“Kiss it.” he demands. “Worship my cock, and I’ll decide if your slutty cunt is worthy.” he tells you. Your eyes widen, but you kiss his tip without question. It’s so sweet and affectionate despite how sordid and lewd it is. But you can’t help it. It’s worthy of worship. You’re sure it’ll hurt, but you’ll take it. You don’t mind in the least.

You lick your tongue across his slit, poking your tongue into it slightly and relishing in how he hisses from the sensation. He buries his face in your cunt again, moaning into your soaking folds as you please him.

His length is freed from one of your hands, making the decision to cup his balls as your kiss down his shaft towards his pubis. His head is thrown back as you make contact with his balls, the grunt he releases is ethereal, you’d never have known such beautiful sounds could from him.

You scream, slightly, as he spanks your ass. It encourages you to take him down your throat and ignore your gag reflex and you bob and suck and run your tongue along each vein it can detect. He can barely focus on eating you out, too bewildered with your near pornographic performance.

“Such a good little cocksucker. No wonder Yuuji likes you.” he spanks you again. “Think he’d still like you if I told him I’ve been balls deep down your throat, slut? I’m not so sure. But I like you, a lot more now.”

“S-Shut up.” you tell him, defiantly. You silence him as you lower your pussy to his lips again, distracting him momentarily with your sweet taste.

You feel his cock flexing in your hand, like he’s ready to blow his load right down your willing throat. Even though you don’t want him to cum like this, you wouldn’t mind. You’ll swallow every last drop for him.

He stops you, though, shoving you away from him so that he doesn’t cum prematurely.

“Hands and knees, now.” he speaks coldly. He admires your face quickly before you get into the position he wants you in. It’s glistening with sweat, tears, spit, and his precum. “Good fucking girl.” he spanks you as you arch your back and wait patiently for him. Your legs spread apart and your cunt pulses in anticipation for him to slot himself inside.

He doesn’t though, not right away. Instead, he leans over to his beside table and pulls his phone off charge. He kneels behind you as he pulls up the camera app and swiping to video mode. His sweatpants are shoved down his thighs and rest at his knees. He takes a few photos of your glittering, pulsating cunt, spreading it open as his fingers dig into one of your ass cheeks.

“Pretty fuckin’ princess pussy…” he moans, and you mirror him, following it with a giggle. You feel a sense of pride at his praise, arching your back deeper. “Ohhh there she is, good girl, good little slut.”

He drags his cockhead through your shimmering folds, gasping each time it catches against your hole.

“P-Please fuck me, daddy, n-eed it.” you whine, earning another hard slap against your ass. He’s happy, of course. He didn’t expect you to be such a slut, he’d never have expected you to utter such a filthy title for him of all people. He’s certainly never heard you refer to Yuuji as daddy whenever he hears you fucking through the thin walls.

“You’ve got good manners, for a whore.” he speaks, your hole flutters with each word, but he sees how hard you clench as he degrades you. A new understanding of what your body likes. He’d only been doing it for his benefit, but now, he knows you like it too. “Do you like being a whore for daddy, hm?”

“Y-Yes,” you pant, “Love bein’ a whore for you, daddy…”

“Cute. I’ll give you my cock, then.” he pushes the tip in before pulling out completely again, chuckling at how whiny you are from the loss. “But you know, princess, good whores like to be cummed in. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

“Please… please cum inside. W-Want you to fill me up!” you tell him, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough to have him bullying his cock into your desperate cunt. You moan, boisterously from the stretch. You’re sure their neighbours won’t be happy if they’re home, the whole complex probably heard you. But you don’t care, and neither does he.

He’s glad that you said he could cum inside.

It’s not like you had a choice, though.

“Do you still want me to bruise your cervix?” he asks, angling the phone in his hand to capture how fucking deep he is inside of you. Your ass pressed flush against him as you swallow his cock hungrily. You nod, dumbly, yelping again when you feel a stinging slap against your cushioned ass. “Words.”

“Want you to br-uuise my c-cervix, daddy.” you wince.

“You’re such a good fuck toy, aren’t you?” he laughs.

He begins to pound into you, his brute strength and weight behind every aggressive pummel of his hips. It hurts, God, it fucking hurts as his tip nudges against your cervix. But you don’t care, you’re sure you will when you’re sober and your logical train of thought returns.

But now, in this moment, you truly are Sukuna’s fuck toy.

And it feels fucking sublime.

He captures on film the way that you moan and gasp and plead for something you aren’t even aware of. The way your hands grip into his pristine white sheets. But is favourite part is watching how your pussy stretches open as you swallow his coke can cock. And the way your ass ripples with each pulverizing thrust into you.

“F-Fuck,” he moans, “You’re fucking suffocating me.” he speaks, barely able to contain himself as he feels heady with lust. He doesn’t stop, though, he doesn’t care if you cum anymore. He’ll finger you again to finish you off if needs be, but for now, he needs to be selfish. Thoughts of filling you up and flooding your unprotected womb make him feral.

“Sukuna! S-Stop!” you warn him.

“Huh?” he responds, showing no intention of stopping or slowing as he rams his cock into you repeatedly. The only thing on his mind is finishing, he couldn’t care less about your change of heart or guilty conscience.

“F-Feels funny, I- I can’t! Hnnng—!” you finish, cunt squirting and gushing like a fountain all over him. “Oh my god…” you pant, burying your face in the pillows as you hide your shame from him.

“Holy fuck,” he responds, thrilled that he’d captured the moment on film. You show no signs of stopping either. You squirt as much as a backed-up teenager getting his first handjob. He spanks your pussy and rubs his hand all over it, making a complete mess of the two of you and the sheets below. “Dirty little squirter, hah? Fuck, you’re like a pornstar.” he tells you, chuckling again.

You don’t dare show your face, but you mewl into the pillows as you ride out the rest of your high as he shoves his cock back into you.

“Do it again, on my cock.” he demands.

“C-Can’t, can’t cum anymore.” you tell him, utterly spent and defeated as you allow him to use your body for his own benefit.

“Brat. You’ll cum on daddy’s cock and be grateful that I’ve been so good to you.” he explains. And true to his word, he manages to build it up in you again, somehow, as he continuously batters his length into your g-spot until your vision turns white.

He’s not doing much better, either, still enraptured by the sight of your dripping wet pussy and soiled sheets. It’s something he needs to see again, a sight he will treasure ‘til the day he fucking dies.

“Cum, slut. Make a fucking mess.” he speaks through gritted teeth.

“Mmmnf, hah, aaaah—!” you moan, granting his wish. The sight helps him topple over into his own bliss. His cum flooding your ruined walls, he fucks it further into you, but pulls out eventually to see his sperm dripping from your filthy cunt.

“Are you embarrassed, brat? You sprayed yourself again.” he snickers, spreading your pussy open with two fingers to see the mixture of his cum and your release spill from your twitching hole. “Has Yuuji ever made you do that? No… I’m sure he doesn’t know you’re this much of a dirty whore. But I do, I know now.”

The mere mention of the man you’ve betrayed has you bursting into tears. The sex was mind-blowing, yes, but at what cost? You’ve been begging him to move in. Hell, he was talking about marrying you. But you can’t have that with him, now, not after this.

You sobered up a little after a shower, making sure to keep the door locked as you washed yourself of your indiscretion. You even waited in there until you dried off to get changed, not wanting to risk Sukuna seeing you naked again. The damage is done, of course, but you at least want to be able to proudly say it was a mistake that will never happen again.

Maybe Yuuji will forgive you.

There’s no way you can keep it from him. Not after what you went through. It’ll break his heart, of course it will. But you can’t hide it, it’ll just get worse over time when it eventually comes out, because it will. Whether you tell him or Sukuna does through a weed induced stupor, the truth will come out.

You’ve been checking the time on your phone repeatedly to see if Yuuji has finished work yet. Eager and filled with fear and anxiety so that you can tell him, honestly, what happened. He’s going to hate you. There’s no way he won’t hate you after this. But you owe it to him and you owe it to yourself to be truthful.

You tense up as you hear a knock at the door. Yuuji wouldn’t knock, so you know who it is.

“Go away.” you warn him, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Aw, don’t talk to daddy like that.” he smiles, a shit eating grin that you want to smash against concrete.

“You’ve ruined my life, get out of here.” you tell him, crossing your legs as you check the time on your phone again. You sigh, throwing it further down the bed so that it’s out of reach. You’d missed how he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh as he turned to leave. But you stop him. “Don’t tell Yuuji, please. I want to be the one to tell him.”

“Tell him… what?”

You look at him, bewildered, unable to process if he’s being serious or not.

“That we fucked.” you remind him, deciding you aren’t about to spend all day trying to decipher his tone. “I need to be the one to tell him, so don’t say anything.”

“Oh, tell him that?” he questions, laughing again as he realises he knows something you don’t know.

“It’s not fucking funny, Sukuna!”

“Yeah, it is, you’re a little slow on the uptake.” he laughs some more, sitting on the edge of the bed. His ruby red eyes piercing into yours intimidatingly despite the smile on his face. “You don’t need to tell Yuuji anything.”

“Yeah, I d—”

“Yuuji knows.” he laughs, louder, almost bursting into hysterics as he sees the astonished look on your face.

“W-What?” you sigh, looking around the room in horror.

“Yeah… I mean, c’mon.” he smirks. “Why else would he text you to come over, when he wasn’t even home?”

© 2023 rinitxshi

[zaczenemiji]

Hi! Just saw your request are open. I thought it would be a great to request a OS of Kenji Sato x Fem! Reader.

I got inspired by that song of "Too Sweet" from Hozier and I got the idea of how good is Reader with Emi, (since she knows he's Ultraman and also raises a baby Kaiju alone) such a Sunshine, even Emi sees her as a new maternal figure, he thinks she's too sweet, getting the idea of having kids with her but having the thought she deserves better.

But she thinks on the contrary, he's such a bad boy with a good heart. If you wanna add more things, it's up to you. I'll leave it to your imagination. Take your time and no need to rush. Take care.

Too Good, Too True

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 1,456

Genre/Warnings: Established Relationship, Found Family

Author’s Note: Particularly in love with this one, and Too Sweet plays rent-free in my head.

MASTERLIST

You know everything about Kenji: his past—the reason he’s distant from his dad, his secret—that he’s Ultraman, and his love child the 20-foot-tall kaiju baby in his basement.

You guys have been together for a long while now, even before everyone knew him as Ken Sato, the baseball star—the one whose name dominates the headlines.

With millions of adoring fans, you’re grateful you still have a place in his life. At first, there was a looming thought at the back of your head that tells you how easily replaceable you are.

No matter how you repress the thought, the fact remains that it is true. Who are you when compared to Kenji? You weren’t a model, an icon, a singer, or the daughter of a CEO—like all the other women waiting in line for him.

You were just… you. Simply (y/n) in her soft pastel and floral dresses. You don’t own a lot either, just a flower shop in LA. Your favorite hobby is tending to your garden where you grew the flowers that you sold.

All of your issues regarding this have long been resolved since Kenji has always been quick to reassure you of his love. That to him, everything and anyone else pails in comparison to you. He wishes you knew your impact on his life.

You have always been his breath of fresh air. It started at college during his baseball trainings, he’d wait for a certain girl to pass by. His eyes were always quick to find you among your group of friends.

On his games, you were his number one cheerleader. Your friends and his teammates were always so surprised to see the quiet dainty girl that you were yelling and cheering for his name.

Back when his mom was around, you got along with her so well. Kenji would find you and his mom in their kitchen baking cakes and making cute little pastries.

His mom loved having you around. You were always welcome at his house. When she found out that you were an international student who flew to LA alone and lived in a dorm, she almost wanted to adopt you.

But ain’t no way Kenji wanted to be just a brother in your life.

Many things have changed since then. In becoming a baseball star, half of his life was no longer private. In becoming Ultraman, his responsibilities were no longer limited to that of his career and personal life. And in becoming a daddy to a kaiju baby, he realized you deserve better.

You came over to his house every day to visit Emi. He admired your patience with her and how you were always a ray of sunshine to everyone, including a kaiju. And you’re not afraid of playing with her even if she could literally crush you out of nowhere.

You’d come over with fresh flowers picked from your parents’ garden. You’d make big flower crowns just for Emi and smaller ones for yourself and Mina.

Today was a particularly rough day as Kenji got home from a game. You wanted to accompany him today but he insisted for you to watch over Emi. He has been feeling like shit lately, not knowing what to do with Emi and his declining performance in his games.

Upon passing by the kitchen table, he sees a can of his favorite fizzy drink. Under it, a note. He lifted the can and read, “left this up here so mina won’t see (｡- .•)”

For the first time that day, he smiled. You’ve always told him how lucky you thought you were for being with someone as great as him. But the truth is, it’s the other way around.

In one go, he finished his drink so he could immediately head down to see you. You and Mina were too busy playing with Emi to notice him. He stayed at the lounge where he could see you from the other side of the glass.

There you were, beautiful, with flowers adorning your hair. You looked so pure and innocent. Your gentle demeanor had always put him at ease.

Your expressive eyes looked up at Emi in an attempt to communicate beyond words. Kenji loved your eyes. They were always filled with warmth and kindness but when you look at him, all he sees is love.

On the contrary, there’s him. He and his troubled past.

He is distant from his dad, wanting little to no connection with him. If it wasn’t for his mom, he wouldn’t have returned to Japan.

You weren’t like that. You had a good relationship with your parents. You deserve someone who could give you and your future children the same kind of environment you grew up in—peaceful and without the fear of the possibility that one day, your husband might not come home.

He worries he’d be like his dad, absent. He is Ultraman now. His duties would one day require him to be away, sometimes without notice and for extended periods. You deserve someone who can be there for you consistently.

He is constantly under the scrutiny of the public eye, both as Ultraman and the baseball star that he is. And the public is not often gentle. You deserve a private and peaceful life, away from the criticisms of society.

Kenji loves you dearly, he really does. But oftentimes, he thinks he’s not the best person for you. He thinks you deserve someone who can offer you a simpler and safer life.

Too deep in his thoughts, he failed to notice you enter the room. The kiss you gave on his cheek pulled him back to reality.

“Tough day?” You asked, sitting beside him on the couch.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But I’m okay now. You’re here now.” He turned to look at you, his rest.

“Would you like to talk about your day?” You asked, reaching out to brush strands of his hair away from his face.

He shook his head. “I’d like to hear about yours first.”

You smiled, excited to tell him what you planned on doing. Since he’s staying here in Japan for good, you thought you would too. The flower shop in LA would be left in a good friend’s care. And here, you thought of working as a kindergarten teacher. You had doubts before but after being able to take care of Emi and enjoying it, you were now sure that this is the kind of job for you.

Kenji’s expression shifted upon knowing this. A shadow of doubt crossed his face. “What’s wrong?” you asked. “Do you not approve?”

“You deserve better,” he said, eyes falling downward before turning away to lean properly on the couch.

Confused, you leaned back as well. “Better job?” You asked. “Kenji, I think this is the bes—“

“Better than a guy who’s got a kaiju baby to take care of and a past, present, and future that’s complicated,” he continued his earlier statement, cutting you mid-sentence.

You were shocked. You never expected him to feel this way. You felt bad because for every time he assured you of his love, you failed to realize that he needed reassurance too.

“Oh no, Kenji,” you said. You turned his face to look at you, cupping it with both of your hands. “You’re a good man.”

“I’m worried, (y/n),” he said softly. “I worry that I can’t give you the life you deserve.“

He wants to marry you, he truly does. He dreamed of having children with you, teaching them, watching them grow. And when all is done, living the rest of his life with you.

When he passes by jewelry stores, he always thinks of you. He’d get in, and browse their selection of rings, but thinking of how you’re too sweet for him holds him back from buying.

"You're the best man for me, Kenji. Not despite your past and your duties, but because of them. They've shaped you into the person I love,” you told him.

“You're a wonderful father to Emi. And if you ever wanted more—if you ever wanted us to be more,” you leaned in to press your forehead on his. “I know you'll be an amazing father because of how you love me every day.”

Kenji closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, the tension slowly leaving his body. "You really believe that?"

"Every word," you said softly. "You are my home, Kenji. As long as we're together, I'm not afraid of anything."

He opened his eyes, looking at you with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you, (y/n),” he said. “I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," you replied, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@flowerloves

[louisaskywalkerani]

Whispers in the Dark, forbidden embrace.

Pairing : Anakin Skywalker x f!Reader

synopsis : anakin reassures you about your forbidden relationship in more ways than one.

CW : 18+, smut! minors DNI. no movement but, p in v penetration, cock warming.

an : ok this is my first fanfic i've ever written, i'm completely petrified tbh, i tried to do my best, if u can give me some advice, it would be super nice. enjoy this ig.. the end is also inspired by @ohcaptains !!

The dim lighting in the temple corridor casts long shadows. Anakin's footsteps echo softly as he approaches you, a determined look in his eyes. You've been avoiding him, knowing the danger of your connection. Tonight, there's no escape.

"Anakin, we shouldn't be here," you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken emotions.

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "We can’t keep pretending, not anymore," he replies, his voice husky. "The Council doesn’t understand what we feel."

You look into his eyes, seeing the conflict mirrored in your own. "What if we're caught? The Council—"

"Screw the Council," he interrupts, his hands gently cupping your face. "I need you. We both know this is more than a fleeting desire."

Your breath hitches as his thumb brushes over your lips. "Anakin, we're risking everything."

"Some things are worth the risk," he murmurs, leaning in. His lips capture yours in a kiss that speaks of months of longing and suppressed passion. The kiss deepens, and you feel the warmth of his body against yours, his heartbeat pounding in sync with your own.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours. "Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I'll walk away."

You close your eyes, the truth undeniable. "I can’t," you admit softly. "I’ve tried, but I can’t."

With a relieved sigh, Anakin wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "Then let’s not fight it anymore."

—

The night is serene, stars twinkling above as if to guard your secret. Anakin spreads his cloak on the ground, inviting you to sit beside him. “Remember when we first met?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

You smile, the memory clear in your mind. “You were so arrogant,” you tease. “I thought you’d never take anything seriously.”

Anakin chuckles, his hand finding yours. “And you were so serious. Always following the rules.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the bond deepening with shared memories. You both lie down on the cloak, looking up at the stars. "I used to think the stars held our destiny," you say, your voice barely audible.

"They still do," Anakin replies, his fingers intertwining with yours. "But we can choose our path."

The quiet of the night is broken only by the soft sounds of the temple gardens. Anakin turns to you, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we didn't have to hide?" he asks, his voice tinged with sadness.

"All the time," you admit. "But the life we've chosen doesn't allow for what-ifs."

Anakin's grip tightens around your hand. "We could leave. Start a new life, far from here. No rules, no codes, just us."

You look at him, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart ache. "And what of our duties? Our responsibilities?"

"We've given enough," he says fiercely. "Isn't it time we lived for ourselves?"

The temptation is strong, the vision of a life with Anakin almost too beautiful to resist. But the weight of your commitments anchors you. "I don’t know if I can."

Anakin sighs, pulling you closer. "I can't lose you," he whispers. "Not now, not ever."

"You won't," you promise, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "We'll find a way to make this work."

The night stretches on, filled with whispered words and tender touches. As dawn approaches, you both lie entwined, the weight of your choices pressing down but the warmth of your connection offering solace. For now, in this moment, you are together, and that’s all that matters.

You lay there, enveloped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. The temple gardens, usually so serene and quiet, now seem to pulsate with the forbidden energy of your bond. The leaves rustle gently in the night breeze, almost as if they are whispering your secrets.

Anakin strokes your hair gently, his fingers tracing patterns that send shivers down your spine. “I’ve always admired your strength,” he says softly. “You’ve kept us hidden so well, even when it must have torn you apart.”

You sigh, nuzzling closer to him. “It hasn’t been easy,” you admit. “Every time I see you, I have to fight the urge to run into your arms. But I’ve never regretted it. Not for a moment.”

His grip tightens around you, as if he fears you might slip away. “I want to show you something,” he says suddenly, sitting up. “Come with me.”

Curious, you follow him through the winding paths of the garden until you reach a small, hidden alcove. The moonlight filters through the leaves, casting a mystical glow over everything. Anakin kneels and presses a hidden switch, revealing a small passageway.

“How did you find this?” you ask, amazed.

“I have my ways,” he replies with a wink. “Come on.”

The passage leads to a secluded chamber deep within the temple, one that even you, with all your knowledge of the place, had never discovered. It’s filled with ancient artifacts, relics of Jedi history, and texts that seem almost forgotten by time.

“I come here to think,” Anakin says, lighting a small lantern that casts a warm glow over the room. “It’s a place where I can be myself, away from the pressures of the Council and the weight of my duties.”

You walk around, marveling at the treasures surrounding you. “It’s incredible,” you whisper. “Like a sanctuary.”

Anakin smiles, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I wanted to share it with you. A place that’s ours alone.”

You turn in his embrace, your eyes meeting his. “Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “It means more than you know.”

For a moment, you simply stand there, holding each other, surrounded by the silent witnesses of a bygone era. Then, with a gentle tug, Anakin leads you to a small nook filled with cushions. You sit down together, and he pulls you into his lap, his lips finding yours once more.

He breaks the kiss and smiles up at you, taking in every curve of your body, his hands brushing along your thighs as he drinks in the sight of you.

“You're so beautiful... even more so up close.” he whisper 

He reaches up, his hand cradling your cheek as he kisses you again. As the kiss deepens, he pulls you closer, his hand sliding lower along the curve of your waist. His touch is gentle at first, but as his passion grows, he holds you tighter against him.

Anakin's tongue explores your mouth as his hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine as it ignites the fire burning within you.

You moan softly into his mouth as you feel his fingers brush across your skin, their touch leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Your hands explore his back, feeling every muscle as they clench and relax beneath your fingertips.

Anakin breaks away from you briefly, trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone. His teeth graze against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake.

“Ani... what are we doing...?” You breathe, biting your lip as his lips find a sensitive spot on your neck.

Anakin chuckles, his breath warm against your skin as he leaves a trail of kisses along your jaw.

"I think you know, love.." He murmurs, his hand slipping under your chin to tilt your head back and expose your neck to him.

“I want you,” he whispers in your ear, his voice low and husky.

His words send shivers down your spine, and you can't help but arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him. Your body aches for his touch, but you’re thankful that he can’t see the way you clench your eyes closed. 

Regardless, he can sense you tightening your grip on the back of his head. As you shift up against his thigh, the heat from your underwear burns against him.

He is aware that you are hesitant.

“It can be like i told you last time.” He stutters, licks his lips, and struggles to get the words out of his throat.

“Just- sit on it.” he managed to say. “If you don’t want to move it’s alright love, just wanna be inside you.” 

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and kiss it carefully to not leave any marks.

“Anakin..” You whisper softly as you struggle not to close your eyes to his touch.

He pulls away from your neck and looks up at you.

“What? Are you afraid?” 

Your eyes roll slightly “No i’m not afraid.”

A slight smile appears at the corner of his lips. “Then what is it?”

You squint at his attitude. “Nothing. I- I just won’t move.”

He nods and slowly kisses your neck, his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. “Alright, love.”

You shift back so he can pull his trousers down to his knees, and you take his cock in your hand, feeling him melting at your simple touch.

“Love,” he whispers, his voice deep and rough. “I want to be inside you. Now.” 

You feel a surge of heat between your legs, and you can't help but moan in response. You've never felt so aroused, so completely lost in the moment.

You push your underwear to the side, and you lift yourself to sink onto him as Anakin breathes “Take it easy love, don't want you to hurt yourself.”

You halt. To avoid pushing him inside of you all at once and hurting yourself, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself.

You push against him once more, and the tip of his cock nudges between your folds, forcing an ache to shoot through your clit and make you dizzy. You pause as a slow burn builds in your thighs, you clench down in an effort to relieve the pain.

“Fuck,” Anakin grunts as he wraps his arm around the back of your hips, “Lemme,” he mumbles, and he flexes gently his hips up, slowly feeding his cock into your soaked core and kiss your neck again to distract you from the potential pain.  

You're gasping for air, you moan softly in pleasure, the heat of his mouth on your skin igniting the fire within you. You've never felt anything like this before, and you never want it to end.

When you finally sink to the depths, the pair of you moan out loudly in unison.

Anakin buries his face in your neck, “Now, don’t move. Just don’t move.” He grunts once again.

You nod a little too vigorously, which creates a slight movement in your hips, and because of that you feel Anakin pulse from inside of you.

he manage laughs falsely and grips your hips more firmly “What did i say?”

“S- Sorry” You whisper as you feel his wet lips brush against your breasts which makes you throw your head back.

“If you move again,” Anakin begins to say, panting, “I'll leave the Jedi order and do what I should have done a long time ago.”

Anakin always wanted to fuck you properly and it drove him crazy not to be able to do it.

“D - Don’t try to tempt me, Anakin” You managed to say, saying in your head to yourself,  

Don’t even move.

But Anakin brings you out of your thoughts by licking gently your neck, making you clench around him, causing him to groan deep against your neck.

“I'm warning you, this is the last time.” He says, gritting his teeth and gripping your hips even more firmly, but not enough to hurt. 

“It’s all your fault this time” You whimper as you tighten your grip on his shoulders. 

“Just stay still,” He said firmly, concentrating on not moving and coming inside you.

[xianyoon]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

alhaitham x gn!reader. hurt & comfort, fluff. reader works at the akademiya and is pretty badly treated by most people for some reason. alhaitham reminds you that you are loved by him !!!!! ♡ . reader is inspired by me ( dec 26 bday + peanut allergy + prone to bouts of anxiety ) ノ based off my own interpretation of how alhaitham loves. ノ wc 2.5k.

ask around the bustling hub of sumeru city, and the native dreamers would often describe being loved as something mesmerising and captivating – like a kaleidoscope, twisting and turning enchantingly in hopes that the beads would fall perfectly in place, but it never always truly does – it is endearing and a lesson for the lovers all the same. the messy beads twirl and turn but there is just some reason why they can’t get enough of it.

the thinkers talk about love like an anchor dragging you further and deeper down into the depths of adoration and affection and infatuation; to them, there are often few clear differentiations between sinking into love and drowning in it.

for alhaitham, however – love is natural, like the cycle of growth of the dainty flowers and wild grass beneath his feet. a swanlike, enchanting piece of music that flows from your violin’s bow – with the right person, it is as natural as breathing.

but for alhaitham, however – love is also... unnatural, given his lack of experience. he has adoring fans, he has scholars singing his praises and piles of handwritten letters from secret admirers commending his mind and aesthete – but he has never loved before, not until you.

the first act of love. listening, when nobody else will try to.

alhaitham is a wonderful listener. if you ask him, he’d say that he prefers listening, even – he is content to hear all that you have to say, however nonsensical or ridiculous you sound to others. the scribe’s work is simple, so he never truly minds – to sit quietly with a small smile on his face while you talk his ear off about anything and everything – that is what love is, you are sure.

“hey, i’m sorry.. this is just too much right now.” you know they use this as a replacement for you.

“could you tell me another time?” another time will never come.

“just keep quiet, archons! do you ever shut up?” no, i’m sorry. i probably should.

alhaitham watches from his office as your heart breaks with every unwilling individual, each choosing to walk away while you tore your heart out, still bleeding from your ribcage while laying the offering bare at their feet. how could a human being be so cruel? there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ – yet you believe you cannot make it speak because they do not choose to listen.

“...i believe you hadn’t quite finished your story from the last time we met.” he speaks plainly, eyes glistening – with pity or with eagerness is something you don’t wish to distinguish. let it be the same, lest the heartbreaking realisation that he is just like the others.

“you remember?” you ask cautiously. please do, i can’t bear to beg anyone anymore.

“i do. that day about your old neighbour’s dog escaping into your garden. you’re welcome to continue, if you’d like.”

he watches your eyes light up as you trip and stumble over your words, quietly surprised and eager to please. there is a soft feeling in his chest – a warm, weighing feeling nestled in his ribcage.

the second act of love. remembering, when it feels like no one else does.

it is no secret that alhaitham’s mind is incredible. highly intelligent, closely observant, adept at noticing discrepancies – any researcher would fight to have him take a spot on their team. he is good at remembering, you think to yourself – alhaitham remembers everything – the things you’d grovel at someone’s feet, to remember the slightest thing about you, for, and everything you wished the world forgot. him remembering everything is incredible – whether that be a good thing, or not; is another.

“when’s your birthday again?” your co-worker taps his fingers against his chin, looking through the sheet of office birthdays.

“it’s–”

“december 26th.” alhaitham walks past, not looking up from his notebook.

you and your co-worker stare in silence. he...

“yeah, december 26th...” you catch a glimpse of the silver-haired scribe around the corner. he remembered. even if it was just an offhand comment about how funny you found your birthday to be right after christmas. he remembered.

“huh.” your co-worker shrugs it off, noting it down on the list as if nothing happened.

something happened. you feel something warm blossoming in your chest – warm, comforting, lovely all the same. a tender, sweet feeling like the heavy blanket on a rainy day that attempts to capture your heart in your throat and keep it captive forever; there is so much you want to say to alhaitham. it’s nice that he remembers – out of all your friends ( was he a friend? ), who could confidently say the date without thinking twice?

“i believe those are nuts. if i recall correctly, aren’t you allergic?” the next time you see a glimpse of his silver hair, alhaitham peers into your bowl of noodles. nuts – how comical it is to think that such a small, minuscule digit could potentially cut off breathing for you.

“i thought i told them ... perhaps i didn’t.” you mumble, hurriedly spitting out half-chewed food into your tissue. you stare tiredly into your bowl – surely you remember letting the waiter know that you had an allergy.

“you did.”

before you could even turn your head to reply to his reassurance, alhaitham flags down the same, tired waiter. he trudges to your table, serving tray tucked between his arm and body.

“can i be of service?”

“excuse me, i believe we mentioned earlier that they couldn’t have nuts.” alhaitham stares at him in the eye, glancing briefly at your bowl with spat-out nuts beside it. the waiter grabs it, letting out a soft sigh of frustration.

“you are a service professional, are you not?” alhaitham interrupts the languid movement; yet he does not break the stare.

“sir, i am just a wa–”

“my apologies. are you are a paid member of this establishment?”

“i am.” the waiter nods in quiet submission. it is better to shut up than to argue with a man who loves.

“you understand the laws regarding a customer’s health and safety, do you not? even if it’s tiresome, if they had gone into an anaphylactic shock here in your cafe, i believe it would have been a matter of time before an investigation is launched and a lawsuit is filed.”

you hear alhaitham soften at the word they. they. you. you are important enough to him that he’d quietly, but fiercely rip into the waiter over your allergy. (alhaitham wishes you felt important enough to care about your health instead of apologising for not speaking loud enough.)

the waiter steels himself and takes your bowl back to the kitchen without another word.

“thank you,” you turn to alhaitham. “that meant a lot.”

you show him a soft smile, and alhaitham feels a wave of silent thankfulness wash over himself – that you sit before him, wearing a bright and sweet smile and not a pained grimace from struggling to breathe, on your features. he feels the same warmth in his chest once again.

“you don’t need to thank me.”

alhaitham remembers, even when it feels like no one else does.

the third act of love. holding, when your skin feels achingly colder.

alhaitham does not strike people as a touchy person; his love language is not physical touch. touch scares him a little, even. the thought that a simple loving gesture could be twisted and morphed into a threatening hold scares even the most intelligent and strong of men – but he is human, and that is enough for him to appreciate lingering touches on his back as and when he needs and wants to.

he sees you – fingers twitching and rubbing against each other, clumsily tapping against your palms then scrunching inwards – you need touch. you need to be held. it was as simple and as crucial as breathing. your fingers press in inwards of itself, and he watches the colour recede and return once again as you loosen your grip.

“come here,” alhaitham gestures, wrapping your hand around his. there’s something comforting about how your hand is smaller than his; it’s not that much smaller, but it’s smaller all the same. if you curled yourself up even more, perhaps you’d be able to fit into the palm of his hands.

“don’t do that. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“do what?” you look at him quizzically.

“i wasn’t sure if you were unaware, but you tend to self-soothe and search for touch.” he sighs quietly, absent-mindedly stroking your purlicue as he turned back to his book.

“although i believe you search for it too much. press too hard, and you’ll start to feel numb.”

“ah.” you stare at your hands – the left, which he holds, and the right, resting on the cool table.

“thank you.”

“i said before, there is no need to thank me. if it is a simple matter regarding your well-being, i would do–” he stops himself. anything, is left hanging in silence.

“i would be happy to resolve that matter.”

even holding you? would he dare hold something so shamefully broken?

“thank you...” you close your eyes. he hesitates; just once.

“you don’t sound pleased, nor satisfied. was it something i said?” you hear his voice soften.

no, it’s not you. you shake your head quietly, resting your head against your right palm on the table.

“it’s alright. you do not have to talk if you don’t wish to.” alhaitham replies. you feel him smoothing your hair back – a touch so soft and tender, you can hardly believe it to be for yourself. it was intoxicating; his touch lacked lust, full in love– you have never been loved (loved?) like this before.

you feel slightly warmer now.

the fourth act of love. comforting, when there seems to be no one in your corner.

“i just wanted them to be different. just this once. is that too much to even ask?”

alhaitham holds you tightly as you sob and lament; he holds tighter than he ever has before, and he mourns. he mourns for the walls you had slowly built up over time dawn with the realisation that it had been justified all along; alhaitham knows how hard you have begged for them to be unneeded.

“i know.”

you hiccup, ducking beneath his arm tiredly – and he holds you gently. he holds you, arm resting on the crook of your neck as you rest against a pillow on his side – he holds you like he has done it all his life. fitting yourself – not small but not big – into his frame, alhaitham thinks, may very well be the most natural thing the world has brought him.

“they had no right to treat you like that. i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault.” you sniffle.

archon, it hurt. you were going to get hurt in every lifetime, you know that– no, you deserved it. that has been etched into your mind since day one of starting your work. that was just who you were. the poor, miserable corner-sitter who had nothing else to do but correct their own mistakes. no initiative, no ounce of thought. why had the akademiya even hired you if its own people despised you?

“you don’t deserve to be hurt over and over, you know.”

how did he know?

“you said that aloud.”

you mumble a soft sorry, and he replies, shaking his head.

“it isn’t your fault,” alhaitham echoes your previous sentiment, almost teasingly. “i believe you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

before you look up at his tousled hair to reply, you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead.

a kiss.

his kiss.

“if you find them still bothering you, come and talk to me. the scribe’s position is – it may not be much – but i know with my place within the akademiya, they will listen. i promise you this,” he holds your warm hands in his broader ones.

“if they do not stop, i will leave. i have no regard for a company that will not protect its own workers.”

he wants to say a company that will not protect you, but thinks otherwise. perhaps it is too much right now after his impulsive kiss –that is the one thing that alhaitham mulls over. he has never been impulsive before; always thinking through and filtering and being rational and all the things that makes alhaitham, alhaitham. being impulsive is not a trait others describe him by. 

so why, you–?

the fifth act of love. loving you, even when you believe people cannot.

–because he loves you, and alhaitham cannot, for the life of him and even with all the overbearing advice from kaveh and more bearable guidance from nahida – he cannot put it into words. for the first time in his life, alhaitham stumbles over himself, words tumbling out like love letters hastily shoved into a sack with a cut into it.

“what is so special about me? you’re always here, alhaitham, yet you never grow sick of me.”

he finds himself caught off guard when you ask suddenly, caught in today’s throes of insecurities. your words hang cautiously on your tongue like a snake waiting for the moment a displeased reaction appears – whether you hiss or hide, is something alhaitham feels a modicum of curiosity about, pulsing, and pulsing, until he tries.

“you-”

there are too many things that he can think of, he feels. nahida, give me strength.

“you are- you are kind. and generous. you have a heart for people even when they do not have one for you.” he starts, slowly. “you listen intently, and you enable people to open and talk. they talk because you listen and you support them with all your soul and it is so evident that you love.”

you want to cry.

“i admit i am not good with words, but you deserve every vow i utter tonight. you love so loudly, and you feel no shame for it – you have inspired me, and i dare confess that there have been many times i have desired to pull back, out of worry that i have felt the distinct possibility that i was about to fall in love with you.”

oh. you blink as if that hasn’t been obvious enough.

alhaitham is deeply and madly in love with you.

“i love you, not only because you are special, but also because i believe you deserve every ounce of love i can retrieve from myself. i know it has been made clear to you that others do not feel the same way, and it hurts to believe that some of it has come from those i know – i promise to be different–”

“you already are, alhaitham.” you feel yourself choke up. love is entangling itself around your trachea and holding you hostage, never letting go.

“you have never treated me with the same contempt. i love you, i know you return my feelings and for that i am thankful. i’m sorry that i’m not an easy person to love, please...” you trail off, feeling his body collide into yours. alhaitham holds you. he holds you, hand on your back and the other cradling your head against his shoulder.

“i want to love you,” he whispers into your hair. “please let me.”

so, about love–

ask alhaitham? you see a soft smile adorns his features as he mulls over the question of what love is to him. love, forever yours, evermore.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Family, F1, and everything in-between

Social Media AU

pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader

summary: Follow the glamorous yet grounded life of Y/n Wolff, the supportive and stylish wife of F1's Toto Wolff, as she navigates the fast-paced world of Formula 1 alongside her husband, sharing moments of love, family, and behind-the-scenes paddock life ______________________________________________________________

Weekend getaway to the Austrian Alps with my favorite person ❤️ #QualityTime #NatureLover

LewisHamilton: Looks peaceful! Hope Toto unplugged from work for at least a minute 😂 → MercedesAMGF1: Of course I’m relaxing, @ LewisHamilton. Don’t worry, the team’s in good hands 😉 #WorkHardPlayHard

Charles_Leclerc: A much-needed break for the boss! Enjoy your time away 🌲 GeorgeRussell63: So this is what Toto looks like when he’s relaxed. Never seen it before! 😄 ValtteriBottas: Beautiful scenery! Make sure Toto doesn’t try to race down those mountains 😂 AngelaCullen: What a perfect place for some fresh air and reflection! Enjoy every moment ❤️ DanielRicciardo: Careful, Toto might start plotting his next strategy on those hikes! 😆 FanGirlSara: So adorable! You two are the ultimate power couple! ❤️ #Goals RacingHeart88: This is the break Toto deserves! You guys inspire us to balance work and life 👏

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A rare sight: Toto taking a break from his phone to actually enjoy dinner 😋 #DateNight #FineDining

PierreGasly: Impressive! How did you manage to get him to put the phone down? Teach us your ways, Y/n! 😂 EstebanOcon: A true miracle! Can we expect a happier Toto in the paddock now? 👀 LandoNorris: Bet he's still thinking about the next race strategy, though 😆 → MercedesAMGF1: I’m capable of multitasking, @ LandoNorris 😜 But yes, it’s nice to just enjoy the moment with my beautiful wife -Toto

CarmenMundt: You two are such a stylish couple! That dinner looks amazing too ✨ JessicaButton: Love seeing you both taking time for yourselves! Well-deserved break 🥂 FanPage_Y/n: This is such a wholesome post! Y/n, you’re a magician if you got Toto to put his phone away 😂 F1Life74: I aspire to have this level of work-life balance one day! Enjoy your evening 🌙

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Early morning runs are better with a partner 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♂️ #FitnessGoals #CoupleWorkouts

CarlosSainz55: who’s setting the lap times? 😉 MaxVerstappen1: Morning runs? Toto really is dedicated. Next time, invite the rest of us! DanielRicciardo: Must be tough keeping up with him, Y/n! I’ve seen that man in the gym 💪 → MercedesAMGF1: She’s faster than you think, @ DanielRicciardo. Might have to consider her for the next driver lineup! 😂 -Toto

RosannaTennant: Couple goals! I’m inspired to get up early tomorrow… or maybe just sleep in and watch from here 😂 MarkWebber: Toto’s secret to success—early starts! You two look great! FitnessF1Fan: Y/n, what’s your running playlist? Need some motivation! 🎧 SpeedQueen99: You both look so fit! How do you balance everything so well?

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My favorite place to unwind: our garden at sunset 🌅 #HomeSweetHome

SebastianVettel: A perfect place to recharge. I’ll trade you some honey for a spot in that garden 😉 FernandoAlonso: You have to take good care of that garden, Y/n. It’s where Toto recharges his winning energy! GeorgeRussell63: That’s where all the secret Mercedes strategies are born, right? 😂 → MercedesAMGF1: It’s where I find peace, @ GeorgeRussell63. And maybe, just maybe, where I come up with a few ideas😉 -Toto

RomainGrosjean: Beautiful garden! Can’t wait to see it in person sometime soon 🌸 ReneeWolff: That garden is pure magic! Love seeing Toto relax there 🌼 LoversOfF1: Toto smiling and flowers blooming—this is the content we’re here for! 😍 EcoRacer17: Your garden is a dream, Y/n! And having Toto in the background is a bonus 😊

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Just another day at the track supporting @ MercedesAMGF1 🏁 Always proud of my boys! #F1Family

MickSchumacher: The ultimate team supporter! We’re lucky to have you around, Y/n 😊 LewisHamilton: You’re the glue that holds this family together! Appreciate you always ❤️ NicoRosberg: Always nice to see you at the track! Brings back memories 😄 NataliePinkham: Y/n, you’re such a star! The energy you bring is unmatched ✨ Y/nWFans: Love seeing you at the track, Y/n! You bring such positive vibes to the team 💙 Formula1Fanatic: You’re the real MVP of Mercedes, Sophia! Keep doing what you do! 🏆 F1_GossipCorner: Y/n Wolff is truly the queen of the paddock! So much respect for her 👑 MercedesAMGF1: Couldn’t do it without you by my side, @ Y/nWolff. Team Mercedes is a family, and you’re at the heart of it 💙 -Toto

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A little family time before the next race 🐾 #FamilyFirst #DogLovers

ValtteriBottas: That dog is living the dream! 🐕 You guys look so happy! → MercedesAMGF1: Our dog has the best life, @ ValtteriBottas. He might even join me in the paddock one day! 🐕 -Toto

LewisHamilton: Love seeing you all together! Give the pup some extra pats from me 🐾 PierreGasly: Y/n, you might have the cutest dog in the paddock! 😍 AngelaCullen: Dogs are the best stress relievers! Enjoy your time together 🐶 RomainGrosjean: Family time is the best time. I see Toto is more relaxed when he’s around the dog 😊 DogLoversUnite: That’s the cutest family photo! Your dog is so adorable! 🐾❤️ PaddockPets: Can we get more of Toto and the dog? This is the content we need! 🐶

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Behind the scenes of an F1 weekend 🏁 #TeamSupport #PaddockLife

LewisHamilton: Y/n keeping the team spirit high as always! 🙌 Charles_Leclerc: t’s always great having you in the garage, Y/n. You bring such good energy! ⚡️ GeorgeRussell63: Look at Toto, all business as usual 😂 → MercedesAMGF1: Focused as always, @ GeorgeRussell63. Y/n is the secret to our success in the garage 😉 -Toto

LandoNorris: Y/n in the garage = good vibes only! 🎉 TechFanF1: Seeing the behind-the-scenes action is awesome! Thanks for sharing, Y/n! RacingWivesClub: Y/n, you’re the real MVP behind Toto’s success! 💪

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Pre-race rituals with the one and only 🏁✨ #RaceDayReady #F1Life

LewisHamilton: That’s the pre-race boost we all need! Sending good vibes to you both! ❤️ MickSchumacher: Now I see where Toto gets his race-day focus from! 🏎️ NicoRosberg: Aww, bringing back memories! You guys are the best 💫 JessicaButton: Love seeing the love and support between you two! Power couple vibes all the way 🌟 TheWolffsfan: That’s such a sweet moment! Toto’s good luck charm ❤️ SpeedyF1Fan: This is too cute! No wonder Toto’s always so calm before a race. RacingLife_92: Y/n, you’re definitely the best part of the pre-race routine! 😍 MercedesAMGF1: Every race is better with you by my side, @ Y/nWolff. You’re my good luck charm 💖 -Toto

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When in Monaco… 🇲🇨 #MonacoGP #LivingTheDream

Charles_Leclerc: Looking stunning! Hope you’re enjoying my home race 🏎️🇲🇨 DanielRicciardo: Monaco magic! You two look like movie stars! 🎥 MaxVerstappen1: Y/n, you’re outshining the entire grid with that look! 😎 AngelaCullen: Wow, you both look amazing! Monaco has never looked better 😍 PierreGasly: Y/n, I think you just set a new standard for race day fashion 👏 FashionAndF1: This is what we call couple goals! Y/n, your dress is absolutely stunning! ✨ MonacoMagicFan: Toto and Y/n, the ultimate power couple at the ultimate race! 🔥 MercedesAMGF1: Monaco feels even more special when I’m with you, @ Y/nWolffYou make every event shine ✨-Toto

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Back to Brackley! Ready to get back to work with the team 🏠🏎️ #HomeBase #F1Family

LewisHamilton: Welcome back! Let’s get back to business 💪 GeorgeRussell63: The team's energy always picks up when you’re around, Y/n! Time to put in the work 💼 ValtteriBottas: There’s no place like home! Brackley is ready for the Wolff magic 🏁 AngelaCullen: Exciting times ahead! So glad to see you back with the team 😊 TiffanyCromwell: Y/n, you always bring such positive vibes! Can’t wait to see what’s next 💥 JamesAllison: We’ve missed you around HQ! Let’s gear up for an even stronger season 🔧 MercedesF1FanForever: It’s great to see you back at the heart of Mercedes, Y/n! Your presence is truly inspiring 💙 F1_Fanatic88: Y/n back in Brackley! Can’t wait to see what the team achieves next! #TeamMercedes MercedesAMGF1: Back to where the magic happens. Couldn’t do it without you by my side, @ Y/nWolff. Let’s make this season one to remember 🏆 -Toto F1FamilyMoments: Y/n support is what makes Mercedes more than just a team. It’s a family. Welcome home! 🏠💙

[marimbles]

happy holidays @0ellestrid0! I was your secret santa for @mlsecretsanta 💜

I don’t know much about solarpunk but I was intrigued by the concept and wanted to give it a shot! hopefully this is ok. random silly solarpunk AU ideas under the cut hehe

since solarpunk is about solar power and green/eco-friendly societal structure, I figured plants would be central to an ML solarpunk AU. it’s cool to imagine a version of Paris with lots of green areas and clever, space-saving, clean-energy solutions. I like the idea of the dupain-chengs having their own greenhouse where they grow ingredients for use in the bakery. And I wanted marinette to have her own greenhouse too where she grows plants that she uses as fibers and dyes for making clothes! So that’s what I drew here. Chat Noir likes to help marinette in her garden and he nerds out about the plants which she thinks is very cute:)

The plant in the middle is associated with ladybug and chat noir. I love sun/moon symbolism and that seemed to fit a solarpunk AU really well so I ran with it haha. in this AU I thought tikki could be a spotted sun beetle and plagg could be a black moon cat (or panther?). sun beetles would be associated with the sundrop plant (first image), and moon cats would be associated with moonflowers (second image). chat noir’s tattoo is a moonflower and in my mind ladybug would have a matching one that’s a sundrop.

The moonflower is inspired by the actual plant of the same name, which blooms only at night, except I wanted to also make it bioluminescent bc that’s cool lol. (I’ve been playing lots of tears of the kingdom and I always love the blue nightshades and silent princesses that glow blue in the dark!) irl moonflowers are actually a type of morning glory, which typically bloom in the morning in full sunlight and then close up at night. so in this AU the sundrop is the corresponding plant (since “sunflower” is already taken, haha) and it would also glow, but only during the day when it’s blooming.

I thought maybe sundrops and moonflowers could have magical effects and marinette is experimenting to discover them. maybe there’s stuff about them in the grimoire and she’s trying to unlock special powers for her and chat noir. maybe those effects and the symbolism of the plants could help her understand more about her and chat’s roles and abilities and potential and even help her discover the key to defeating hawkmoth…hmm… (I really haven’t thought too deeply about it lol I just like glowing plants)

As for their outfits…I was just trying to make them look sort of “punk”-y 😂 I feel like in all the punk AUs like steampunk, cyberpunk, etc, people are always wearing goggles and boots and aprons and vests and stuff with pockets and zippers and arm braces. So. I made a vague attempt fjdkkd

anyway thanks for humoring me with my rambling lol I hope you enjoy and that you had a good holiday!

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Hiii!

I love your writing, especially Mirror, Mirror! Are you still taking request? I‘ve been thinking about Ascended Astarion and female Tav/Reader attending a ball for the politicians and nobles of Baldur’s Gate, getting all dressed up and socializing, dancing and Astarion flirting with her all night long. Astarion obviously wouldn’t waste a chance to be alone with Tav/Reader, takes her on a romantic stroll in the gardens and has his wicked way with her somewhere in a dark corner 👀

I can not make Ascnedant Astarion not dark I am SORRY but I can't help myself. The intro to this is sad bad, but honestly it gets pretty fun later down the line. Gotta set up that Stockholm syndrome. You gots it here.

Tw: Murder, Violence, not much but it is there, graphic smut, 18+ sweet dark fluff. I do consider this Stockholm on your end. Very inspired by the in-game quote of locking you away for a decade. Also, never write shit only in tumblr post editor, I lost half of this right before I was going to post last and it almost killed me

~

Astarion was.... aware that you'd been having a hard time as of late. If anyone could empathize with the complications of being a vampire spawn, it was certainly him. Even though his circumstance were obviously much, much worse than yours ever could be.

He was no Cazador. Astarion was different, he loved you. He knew what was best for you. All that needed to happen now was for you to accept it.

And in your defense, you were trying. It had taken a long time for you to finally come to terms with the full extent of power he had over you as his spawn. He would always know where you were through sensation alone. Always ready and willing to drag you back home if need be. He could compel you to his side at any moment, though he did have a bad habit of going out to find you during your little tantrums. It seemed to work better to put you in your place, especially since he had very little self-control when it came to who you associated with. Many a possible friend had died at his hand, in front of your eyes. A waste, really, one that wouldn't be necessary if you would just listen.

But the demonstrations had been useful. Slowly but surely you were learning that the option of secrets between the two of you had died the second he sunk his fangs into your wrist. He had personally put an official stop to all of your extracurricular activities. The things you used to do in your spare time were silly and dangerous, always going out of your way to help the undeserving. But now he had the control to stop you, to sequester you at the estate where you were safe.

You had nowhere to be besides his side and you were finally starting to understand that. Things were so much easier when you gave in and listened, happier and more fun.

Lately, it had almost felt like another honeymoon phase, with your sudden predilection for extreme loyalty. It helped that he could still see into your mind through the new connection, fully aware that your love remained real and pure, if not a bit melancholic. It was silly really, the guilt you felt towards him for letting him ascend. Never mind the thousands he sacrificed, you were too concerned with how power had chanced him.

It was cute. Stupid, but cute. Because obviously it had changed him for the better. How else would he be where he was now? With his hands already in nearly every major part of Baldur's Gate's governance? He had made wide, sweeping moves to gain control in the past year, banking on your dual hero status to deflect from his more... unsavory attributes. But it was working, and in a few years time this city would belong to him. Then the two of you would be on to the next major conquest. A future that you were just now coming to terms with.

And Astarion wanted to reward you for that acceptance. He had been a bit paranoid of late, paranoid enough to not let you out of the house for a solid fortnight. But for good reason. The last of the Gur had come out of the woodwork recently, looking for revenge for their children and fallen comrades. With a specific interest in you. It had made sense, in a way. You were his greatest weakness after all. So of course he had to take it upon himself to personally hunt the last of them down to tear them limb from limb.

But now they were officially gone, and he was finally feeling comfortable with letting you out into the world again. Just not out of his sight. And tonight was the perfect opportunity. He had a mandatory soirée to attend, populated by neighboring nobles and a few powerful foreigners. One that would be so much more entertaining with you willingly by his side. Or forced, if need be. Depending on if you decided to be in one of your moods, though they were a rarity nowadays.

But no, you turned out to be too excited at the prospect of leaving the house to even attempt being a brat. Astarion watched you with a smile as you appeared at the top of the staircase, dressed to the nines. He whistled as he watched you descend, beyond pleased with how you looked. He met you at the bottom of the landing, easily wrapping an arm around your waist before setting a quick kiss to your temple, "You look beautiful pet. Absolutely stunning."

You truly did. A navy satin gown that matched your skin tone perfectly, fitted with delicate straps and a low bodice. Perhaps the slit in the leg was a little high, revealing too much of your perfect thigh for the rest of the world. But you looked too good for him to complain.

You really were so gorgeous, could he be blamed for wanting to dress you up?

You rolled your eyes, but Astarion didn't miss the tiny smile dancing on your lips, "You're the one who picked it out."

"And you wear it perfectly," Astarion praised, already leading you out the door. He kept you close to his side during the short journey, his eyes darting around your surroundings every few moments. His paranoia had been quelled, but it hadn't completely died out. But he had already made the decision that he was going to be on his best behavior tonight, and that included not indulging in his protective nature. You deserved nothing less.

But that didn't stop Astarion from taking some mental notes on those who stared at you too brazenly when you arrived. Part of him couldn't blame them, not when he could understand your thrall better than any one else. But the other, more fun part of himself was too busy imagining ripping them apart for the audacious, lustful stares.

But he didn't drag the two of you out for strictly fun, a fact that he was quickly reminded of when you were approached by the main host, "Lord Ancunín! I'm so pleased that you could make it."

Astarion vaguely remembered who he was, though he was much more interested in his friends than the man himself. The man turned his attention toward you, brow raised, "And who is this beautiful creature?"

Astarion could feel his brow twitch at the insolence. How dare he not know who you were? The Hero of Baldur's Gate, his consort, the love of his life, how could someone of his breeding be so ignorant? You had to many titles to choose from for introductions, so Astarion decided on the most important, "This is the future Lady Ancunín, my fiancé."

He could feel you tense at his side, staring up at him with wide eyes like what he said was surprising. Which was odd. He had been extremely clear about his intentions since the day he ascended, marriage was the obvious next step for the two of you.

"Well it's lovely to meet you," The noble said with a smile, his attention going straight back to Astarion, "Now if you'll excuse us, I have a few matters to discuss with your future husband."

Astarion was startlingly close to hurting this man. What on earth made him feel as though he had the right to dismiss you? He tightened the arm he had around your waist, sneering at him, "There is nothing that you can say that she won't eventually know. Don't waste our time."

Then he proceeded to do just that, wasting Astarion's time with useless information and worthless attempts at allyships. It seemed to be an unfortunate trend as the night progressed, just reinforcing how utterly useless the gentry could really be. Not to mention their constant passive dismissal of you. He really was going to need to start letting you out more often, though he had to wonder if they were even worthy of your presence. He would have been a bit more forceful regarding his own displeasure at their arrogance if you weren’t so distracting.

It was hard to hold onto his own indignation when you seemed so content. You were leaning into him the whole night, smiling softly through all of his inane conversations. Never failing to be adorably pleased at your introduction. It made Astarion want to fawn over you, alternating between whispering sweet nothings in your ear and sweeping you onto the dance floor. All of your pleased laughs and giggles music to his ears.

He kept you close all evening, never allowing you to wander past his sight. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, never quite shaken off after your first waltz together. But you didn't seem to mind. If anything you were glowing under the attention, happy in a way he hadn't seen for a long time. Too long. Beautiful enough for him to have the overly romantic thought that he never wanted the night to end.

Even after he had done his rounds, engaged with all whom he had planned on, he wasn't quite ready to leave. They had all been dreadfully dull, but at least a few conversations would prove useful in the future at the very least.

He started to steer you towards the back garden doors, whispering in your ear, "Take a walk with me?"

You followed him easily, happy to leave the bustle of the ballroom and step into the coolness of the night. You both started walking, hand and hand in a comfortable silence. It was a pretty enough garden, hedges and ivy lining the walkways, a white slightly weathered gazebo placed in the center.

"You know," You said eventually, as the two of you went up the gazebo steps. You leaned against the railing, looking at him with a coy smile, "I don't recall you ever proposing."

Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he crowded around you. It was an unnecessary question, considering how you would have no choice in the matter. But he was playing nice tonight. Astarion grinned at you, bracing his hands on the railing to cage you in his arms, "If you want a proposal, I'm more than happy to oblige."

"I do," You were playing with the lapel of his jacket, looking up at him through your lashes, "Sooner than later if you don't mind."

"Your wish is my command," Astarion murmured, shameless as he started to kiss along the line of your throat, "I'm proud of you pet. You've been an angel all night."

"You haven't given me much to complain about," You said with a small laugh, your breath hitching when his fangs scraped against your delicate skin, hard enough to make pinpricks of blood bubble to the surface.

"You know..." Astarion started, pulling back to look you in the eye. His voice gentle but serious, "It could always be like this. If you let it."

"I... I know," You admitted, biting on your lower lip as you struggled for the words, "I-I want that. I want you. Even if... it's like this."

Astarion would take offense at the subtle dig if it was anyone else. But with you? He was just happy that you were finally coming around, at long last willing to accept the fate he'd set for you.

"You have it," Astarion promised, tilting your chin up to press a light kiss to your lips, "For as long as I breathe my love, you're mine. And I'm yours-"

You kissed him before he could finish, wrapping your arms around his neck, forceful in a way that he had desperately missed. But you were pulling back too soon, your mouth swollen and your lipstick slightly smeared, smiling at him like the precious thing you were.

How could he resist?

"I think you deserve a reward for tonight my pet," Astarion said, leaning in to softly kiss along your jaw, "For being such a sweetheart."

His hands were wandering, already moving to pluck at the delicate straps of your dress, slowly teasing them to drop down your shoulders.

You made no moves to stop him as your eyes darted around the empty space, "H-Here? But what if someone sees?"

"Then I'll tear their eyes out and feed them back to anyone who stumbles on us," Astarion said simply, smiling at the way it made you laugh softly.

"Violence isn't always the answer you know," You said, your breath hitching as he lightly bit your neck. Your dress still slinking down all the while, "I thought we talked about that?"

"Perhaps," Astarion murmured, "But it seems to usually work in my favor."

He had already managed to slip the straps down enough to ease the way, brazenly tugging the fabric until your breasts spilled from the top. He leaned back in, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth as you gasped; mewling when he began touching you, shamelessly pinching your nipples just to hear you whine.

He adored all your little noises, so easy to coax out of your mouth. He could feel his own cock pulsing in the confines of his trousers, the feeling getting worse and worse as you started to whimper.

Astarion let one of his hands travel further down, right through the slit in your gown. He traced the seam of your pussy through delicate lace, smiling into the kiss from how the simple touch had your hips pitching forward. He could feel you getting wet, already seeping through the fabric of your panties, your needy cunt already begging for his touch. And Astarion was more than happy to oblige.

He tore them from your hips, letting the tattered pieces fall unceremoniously to the ground before he started to rub his palm against your clit, more slick gushing out as you moaned.

You were clutching at his shoulders, panting into his mouth as he played with you. Your thighs tightened around his hand, your cunt wet enough to fill the air with messy, indecent sounds.

Whatever trepidation you had before was quickly dissolving, a small chant escaping your lips as you two kissed, Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

Astarion was more than happy to oblige.

"Hold onto me darling," Astarion ordered, giving you a split second to tighten your grip around his neck before he was lifting you in the air, settling you on top of the thick railing with your legs spread wide. He made quick work of taking his weeping cock out, rubbing it along the seam of your cunt as you moaned. And then he was pushing inside, the slide soaked and easy.

You felt so tight around him, tight and sopping wet as he started to fuck into you. He bent his head down, popping one of your hard nipples into your mouth as you cried out, your nails clawing into his shoulders. You wrapped your legs around his hips, trying to pull him in even closer, despite the fact that he was pressed deeply inside of you. Hitting all of your sensitive places.

He could tell that you were close, your whining getting more and more high-pitched by the second, your sweet cunt pulsing around his cock. Astarion started to rub at your clit again, at the perfect angle to make you tense up and cry out. And just like that you were squirting against his hand, breathing heavy as your orgasm ravaged through you.

Astarion grinned, popping off your breast to kiss your slack mouth. Naughty thing that you were, making a mess all over your fancy dress. He pulled back to look at you, debauched and panting, your pupils dilated at you stared up at him. You looked gorgeous, fucked out and perfect.

He started to fuck you harder, the erotic image was too much for his mind to handle. You where whining with each thrust, no doubt oversensitive as he roughly slammed into you. But you were a good girl, taking it without a single complaint as you held on for dear life, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. But lucky enough for you, you didn't have to wait long.

Astarion spilled inside of you with a drawn out moan, grinding circles into your cunt as you quivered. You pulled him in for another kiss, messily sliding your lips together as he filled you up. The two of you stayed like that for awhile, lazily kissing as he softened inside of you. It felt good, it felt right, the perfect end to a great night.

Astarion pulled out slowly, cooing at you as you gasped at the feeling. Your legs were still trembling as he set you back on the ground, bad enough for Astarion to wonder if he should just pick you up before you crumpled on the floor.

But first...

Astarion dropped to his knees, ignoring your surprised gasp as he spread your legs back apart.

"Hush darling," Astarion ordered as he pushed your dress back up, "Let me have a look at you."

Astarion was aware that he had gotten a little rough near the end there. It wouldn't be the first time he made you bleed during sex, nor the last. But he would hate to do so accidently. But no, your pussy looked perfectly healthy, if not a little swollen. Flushed and pink, your hole still twitching the slightest bit. The sight of your pussy all slick and red was nearly enough to make his mouth water.

"Spread your legs a little further pet," Astarion murmured, looking just to look. He gently added pressure to your shaking thighs until you complied, "That's it. Good girl."

His cum was already starting to leak out of you, the smallest bit of white making it's first appearance amongst your wet folds. No doubt it would be sliding down your legs soon enough. He could do something about that. But then again... the alternative sounded like too much fun.

Astarion stood back up with a smile, patting your pussy once before letting your dress fall back down, "Try to hold it in darling. We wouldn't want to make another mess, would we?"

You nodded slowly, still looking half out of it. A sweet, hazy look still plastered onto your face. You were already leaning in for another kiss, naturally desperate for more contact. Contact that Astarion was more than happy to give. He pulled you closer, kissing you deeply; your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him even closer. He wrapped his arms around your back, dipping his tongue between your lips as you dreamily sighed.

You pulled away first, to his displeasure, but you didn't go far. You rested your forehead against his, smiling softly with loving eyes, "Hi."

Astarion couldn't help but smile back, taking the time to tuck a wild piece of hair behind your ear, "Hello my treasure. Did you have fun tonight?"

"I think you know the answer to that," You giggled softly, "I'm not even sure I can walk."

That he did. And there would be many more nights like it. Though for now, he'd prefer to get you home. He felt a bit reluctant to parade you back out there for the masses eyes, so obviously debauched by his hands. No, the sight of you happy and flushed was for his eyes only. Your night would be ending here.

You squeaked as he swept you up in his arms, already muttering the magic for a portal under his breath. And just like that the two of you were gone, completely uncaring to give any good byes.

The two of you popped right into the entry hall of the estate, sudden enough to nearly scare a maid half to death. Astarion paid them no mind, too busy with carrying you upstairs to the sanctuary of your quarters.

You cuddled into his chest, looking up at him with a nervous look, "Did... Did I do good tonight?"

"Of course you did," Astarion cooed as he kicked the door to the bedroom open, trying to softly drop you on the bed, "Perfect creature that you are, what else could have possibly happened?"

But you didn't let go when he tried to pull back, clinging hard enough for Astarion to simply follow you. But he didn't mind, no he preferred you like this. Needy, wanting, and his. He twisted the two of your around, settling only when he had you laying on top of him. He would set a bath for the two of you later, but for now he was more than happy to lay here, watching as your tired to stay conscious. You always got so tired after sex, just one more silly thing that he was endeared by.

"I love you," You mumbled, your eyes falling closed, "Thank you for taking me tonight. For trusting me. I... thank you."

"I love you too darling," Astarion murmured back, kissing your forehead, "You get better by the day. I really am proud of you."

It was true. You were learning, adjusting. Give him a decade and you'd be completely immersed in your new life, all thoughts of useless things like "freedom" forgotten.

You were his. Until the end of time, you'd be together.

He'd make sure of that.

[bucktommypositivityweek]

++ daily prompts list!

here is the list of daily prompts for bucktommy positivity week, starting on friday!! as a reminder, absolutely any kind of creation counts towards taking part in this week if you'd like to; fics, drabbles, art, headcanon posts, gifs, etc, as long as it is a bucktommy-positive creation. if the prompt for a certain day doesn't speak to you, you're also welcome to interpret them in a different way! just remember to @ us in whatever you make!!

friday august 16th — what they love most about each other

saturday august 17th — nicknames and terms of endearment

sunday august 18th — meeting the friends and family

monday august 19th — hobbies and dates

tuesday august 20th — outsider perspective

wednesday august 21st — kids and pets

thursday august 22nd — soulmates/string of fate

we will reblog all the creations we're tagged in, and post a fic list for ao3 works when the event is over, so make sure to follow us!

below the cut are some prompts and suggestions for each day, if you want a bit of additional inspiration, but you're of course free to interpret the prompts absolutely however you like! just try to remember to focus on all the positive things we, buck, tommy, and everyone who loves them thinks about their relationship :))

what they love most about each other - are they telling this to each other, or waxing poetic to a friend about what they love about their boyfriend? is it early in their dating life? their wedding vows? on a happy day or combating a moment of insecurity?

nicknames and terms of endearment - we all love tommy's 'evan' voice, but does buck have an equivalent? do they use any other pet names? when do they call each other 'babe' for the first time? is it cute and affectionate, or does one of them have a ridiculous nickname from high school that the other finds out about and teases them?

meeting the friends and family - is this an expansion of canon meetings or the wedding scene? is it buck meeting tommy's oldest friends, or doting sister? is it tommy having a first proper couples-double-date with buck and madney or bathena? an au where they met a different way, set up by a friend, or at an event with the firefam? and what positive things do their friends and family have to say about bucktommy?

hobbies and dates - what do they like to do together in their spare time? movie nights? hikes or working out? cooking together? have they taken up a random joint couples' hobby like puzzles or gardening? what does a typical weekend off look like for them?

outsider perspective - do the 118 notice changes in buck or tommy after they get together? do tommy's team, friends, nosy neighbour? do bucktommy have a secret and their friends are trying to figure it out? does a stranger notice them on a coffee date and take notice of how sweet they are to each other?

kids and pets - babysitting/petsitting for friends or family? we all know buck's adorable with kids, is tommy obsessed with watching him with jee? are they discussing their future plans for kids? deciding what pet to get when they move in together? is it an au where they meet through their dogs at the park, or as single dads?

soulmates and string of fate - soulmate or red string au? au with magic elements? or canon verse discussing if they believe in the concept of soulmates, calling each other soulmate, watching a romantic movie, discussing the string of fate events that led to them meeting?

[brookghaib-blog]

Kaiju n8 : The secret of Hoshina pt.2

pairing: hoshina soshiro x reader

summary: The beggining of the story between Y/N and Hoshina

an: pls be free to warn me about any mistakes in my writing

previous chapter

—

Years before Mina Ashiro assumed command of the Third Division, the unit thrived under the leadership of Captain Y/N. Known for her tactical brilliance and compassionate leadership, she was a beacon of hope and resilience for her team. Vice-Captain Hoshina Soshiro, a master swordsman and strategic genius, was her right-hand man, his loyalty to Y/N evident in every mission they undertook together.

Their relationship began strictly professional. Y/N admired Hoshina's dedication and his ability to remain calm under pressure, while Hoshina respected her leadership and the way she inspired everyone around her. As they worked together, their bond deepened, forged in the crucible of countless battles and shared hardships.

It was during a particularly harrowing battle with a massive kaiju that their feelings for each other began to surface. The kaiju had attacked a civilian area, and the Third Division was dispatched to neutralize the threat. Y/N and Hoshina led the charge, coordinating their team with precision and bravery. In the heat of battle, they moved in perfect sync, their trust in each other unwavering.

As the battle raged on, Y/N found herself in a precarious situation, surrounded by debris and with the kaiju bearing down on her. Hoshina, sensing her peril, fought his way to her side, his sword slicing through the enemy with lethal efficiency. Together, they managed to bring down the kaiju, but not without sustaining injuries.

In the aftermath, as they caught their breath amidst the ruins, their eyes met. For the first time, they allowed themselves to acknowledge the deeper connection that had been growing between them.

"Soshiro," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Hoshina stepped closer, his usually stoic expression softening. "You never have to find out. I'll always be here for you."

Their relationship blossomed in secret, hidden from the rest of the Division to protect their positions and avoid any potential distractions. They cherished their stolen moments together, finding solace in each other's arms amidst the chaos of their duties.

Months later, Y/N discovered she was pregnant. The news brought a wave of joy and hope for both of them. They began making plans for a future beyond the battlefield, dreaming of a life where they could raise their child in peace, where they eventually organized a very secretive wedding to celebrate their love and become official in the eye of heaven itself, hoping to be blessed with happiness and the health of their baby.

One evening, after a long day of training, they sat together in their secret haven, a small, secluded part of the base garden that few knew about. The stars were bright above them, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

"Soshiro," Y/N said, leaning against him, "I've been thinking about names."

Hoshina smiled, wrapping an arm around her. "Oh? Do you have any favorites?"

She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "If it's a boy, I was thinking of Kaito. And if it's a girl, maybe Aiko."

"Kaito and Aiko," Hoshina repeated, the names rolling off his tongue with warmth. "I love them."

Their happiness, however, was short-lived. During a routine patrol, a new and unusually aggressive kaiju attacked. The battle was fierce, and despite their best efforts, Y/N was gravely injured. In the chaos, she lost their baby, a devastating blow that left her physically and emotionally shattered.

Realizing she could no longer continue in her role, Y/N made the painful decision to resign from the Third Division. She needed time to heal, and the memories of what she had lost were too painful to bear in the place where it had all happened.

The night she told Hoshina of her decision was filled with tears and heartbreak. They sat together in their secret garden, the weight of their grief heavy between them.

"Soshiro," Y/N said, her voice trembling, "I can't stay here. Every corner of this place reminds me of what we lost. I need to leave."

Hoshina held her tightly, his own heart breaking. "I understand," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could come with you, but the Division needs me. Promise me you'll stay safe."

"I promise," she whispered, clinging to him as if trying to imprint his presence into her memory.

Y/N's departure was a quiet affair, known only to a few trusted members of the Division. She left behind a legacy of strength and sacrifice, her absence felt deeply by those who had served under her. Hoshina, in particular, felt the void she left behind, her absence a constant reminder of their shared pain and the future they had lost.

Years passed, and Mina Ashiro took command of the Third Division. Hoshina continued his duties, carrying the weight of his loss in silence. He never forgot Y/N, cherishing the memories of their time together and the love they had shared. He often found himself in the secluded garden, looking up at the stars and remembering the nights they spent dreaming of a brighter future.

Despite the pain, their story was one of resilience and hope. It was a reminder that even in the darkest times, love could endure, giving strength to face the challenges ahead. And though they were apart, the bond between Hoshina and Y/N remained unbroken, a testament to the enduring power of their love.

Every year, on the anniversary of the battle where they lost their child, Hoshina would visit a small memorial he had built in the garden. He would lay a single white flower on the stone and stand in silent remembrance, his heart heavy with both sorrow and gratitude for the time they had shared.

And though being separated by distance only, the memory of their love continued to guide Hoshina, inspiring him to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, just as Y/N had always done. Their love story, was marked by both joy and tragedy, both hoping that their healing would allow them to be together again.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

— oh baby! | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

thank you so much to @lvnleah for giving me the idea inspired for this fic along with some of the ideas and thank you @alotofpockets for her help with the pictures as well as the ideas for this one, very grateful for you both! 💗

check out the rest of the buddy & monkey series here: the masterlist

"Will you please tell me what it is?" You all but pleaded, desperate to know the gender.

Jordan chuckled and shook her head in amusement, "Do you not know the meaning of the word surprise?" She lightly teased.

"No, well I do, but you know I don't like them!" You continued to tell her, having a pout on your face about the disappointment of not being able to know in advance.

As soon as you found out that Leah was pregnant, from day one you were so excited about the new baby and you were even more keen to know the gender.

However, that was difficult when Leah and Jordan were both determined to keep it under wraps until the gender reveal party that they were planning to have with their close family and friends in the back garden.

"That's a shame that you'll have to wait like everybody else," Leah found it amusing to watch you stew about finding out the gender, that even they didn't know as they had chosen to keep it hidden in the envelope that had been handed to Leah's mum to take care of it all.

"Come on, you can tell me! I can totally just act surprised when everyone else does!" You told her, grinning cheekily at the two women before you began to tuck into your dinner, "I'm a really good actor you know!"

Jordan let out a loud laugh and shook her head, "Oh no you definitely are not-- You cannot keep a secret to save your life, kid!"

"That hurts, you know? I'm deeply offended," You faux your heart and clutch your hand over your chest, "I have been able to keep great secrets!"

"Is that so?" Leah smirked and shook her head in disagreement, "I seem to recall differently about a birthday party." She joked, gesturing back to the 'surprise birthday party' for Kim and you had totally blabbed about it.

Shrugging your shoulders, you continued to tuck into your dinner, "I was caught off guard. I'm not good on the spot." You told them both.

"And that is exactly why you are not finding out the gender before everyone else is, kid," Jordan joked, walking past you and patting you on your shoulder, "You'll just have to wait in suspense until then."

"This is going to be complete torture!" You whined in protest, not liking the fact of having to wait to find out like everyone else, "I just wanna know already!"

"It's only a week you have to wait, I'm sure you'll cope," Leah joked, picking at her own dinner, "It'll be exciting for you to find out!"

"It's gonna be a girl! I know it is, I am convinced!" You stated determinedly the day before the big gender reveal, you had some gut feeling that it is bound to be a girl.

"Oh, you're so sure about that one, are you?" Leah was amused that you were absolutely determined that it was going to be a girl.

"Yes, I'm one hundred percent sure about it!" You told her with that same sense of determination, "I got a feeling that the baby will be a girl!"

"And what if it's a boy?" Jordan chipped in amusedly.

"Nope, no, uh uh, it's gonna be a girl!" You continued to insist, still going with your gut instinct, "Damn, I should've put a bet on this!"

"You're not putting a bet on the gender of our baby!" Leah chided, shaking her head in disagreement, "Haven't you got homework that you need to be getting on with?" She wondered.

You shrugged your shoulders, the idea of homework was not something you wanted to put up with at the minute, "Nah, its' sweet. There's no rush to do it!" You told her.

"Oh? And what happens when you leave it until last night and you're up the night before rushing to do it, huh? I don't think so, go and do it!" Leah stated, already knowing what you are like when it comes to any type of school work, "Go on, it'll give you something to think about and stop nagging us about finding out the gender." She joked.

"That's not fair," You huffed and slumped your shoulders in protest, "I still have time to do it, there's literally no rush. I don't why you can't just tell me now?" You questioned.

"Because we've already told you that you're going to have to wait like everyone else," Jordan chuckled and shook her head in amusement at your lack of patience, "You only have to wait until tomorrow, kid."

"It still feels like forever!" You whined in disagreement about it, "It's practically tomorrow already! Please just tell me, pretty please!"

"No, Monkey, we've already told you to be patient," Leah said, shaking her head much to your dismay, "It's just one more sleep to wait and besides, even we don't know-- It'll be a surprise for us all!"

It's safe to say that you were not a fan of having to wait to find out these things and you just wanted to be put out of your suspense to know the gender.

Even though you were more than determined that it was a girl.

"I hate waiting to find out," You complained, crossing your arms in protest.

"You know what might help to pass the time?" Leah questioned and you looked at her curiously for the answer, "If you go and start that homework that you have at the bottom of your bag." She said, giving you a knowing look.

"Wha-- You tricked me!" You huffed in protest, not liking the idea of wanting to start it at all and you would be happy enough to delay it given the chance.

Unfortunately for you, the blonde you lived with was determined to not let you push it aside, complete buzz-kill.

"You might as well go ahead and start it while you can," Leah pointed out, shrugging her shoulders.

"Ugh, fine," You huffed, letting the blonde win on that one, "You win, I'll go and start it. Why can't tomorrow just hurry up already? I wanna know!"

"It's just one more day that you have to be patient for, kid," Jordan stated, seeing your urgency to know already, "It'll be here before you know it." She added.

You wished you could say that you slept the night before the gender reveal party, but you definitely did not do that.

You were so excited to find out and no matter how much you tried to sleep, it was impossible so instead you spent most of the night scrolling through the internet and looking at the various different outfits that you couldn't wait to buy the baby that was soon to be your best friend.

Finally, after hours of lying awake in your bed, you eventually do nod off with your phone still in hand, and that's exactly the way that Leah found you the next morning when she came in to wake you up.

"Today's the day!" You jumped out of bed in realisation, finally you didn't have to wait to find out.

"Today is the day," The blonde smiled in amusement, "But not until later on, so come on, lets' get on with the day until then. None of my family will be here for a while yet." She explained.

"Why does it feel like the day is really going to drag?" You huffed, making your way downstairs to sit at the table and stir your spoon around in your bowl without making any attempt to eat it, "Like, it's' not just me that thinks it is going slow, am I?"

"You're just impatient," Jordan joked, sitting opposite her at the table, "Your cereal is gonna go soggy the longer you leave it." She pointed out, gesturing to the way you were barely touching it.

"I can't help it, I feel too excited to even want to eat!" You exclaimed, sure enough you were absolutely brimming with anticipation to find out.

It felt like Christmas day.

"You might wanna eat it before it turns to mush," The older women joked, scrunching her face up ever so slightly, "I can't imagine that it tastes very nice otherwise." She joked.

"I'm too excited to eat," You repeated, fidgeting in your seat as you just want the rest of the day to hurry up already, "I just wanna know already!"

"I'm still convinced that the baby is a girl. It has to be!" You insisted, making your point well known to your captain, Kim, who had not long arrived at the house for the party.

Most of Leah and Jordan's family were here, along with some of their closest friends, the majority of them had gathered out in the garden already and were conversing in conversation.

Meanwhile, you were less than keen to be around everyone and glued yourself to the people that you did know, them people being Leah, Jordan, Kim and Lia to some extent as well, but Leah currently off showing her mum something they'd brought for the baby and Jordan was with her dad doing something else, so you begrudgingly stuck beside Kim since she arrived.

"What if it's a boy?" Kim wondered, amusedly.

"It won't be a boy, I know for a fact it is going to be a girl!" You're more insistent than ever, "I can feel it that it is gonna be and nobody can convince me otherwise!"

Your captain chuckled and shook her head, "Just remember to not to be too disappointed if it is a boy though," She joked with you, "You have to be happy with whatever the baby's gender is."

"I know, I know, but I still really do want it to be a girl," You told the older woman with a cheeky grin, "But I guess I will be happy for them, whatever the gender that the baby is and what not." You continued to promise her.

"Good," The Scottish woman stated.

"But I still have a good feeling that it's gonna be a girl!" You chipped in, before trying to drag the older women outside into the garden.

"Hi little one," Lia walked over to you and gave you a faint smile, "Are you feeling excited?" She wondered.

"Uh huh! I can't wait to find out!" You nod enthusiastically, beaming a wide smile.

"Not too long now," Lia chuckled as you set your eyes on the cupcakes on the table, "Uh oh I know that look..." She joked, watching your gaze on them.

"I just think they look delicious and they need to be eaten already," You murmured, shrugging your shoulders.

"Not long until you can eat one of them," Leah appeared behind you, dressed in a loose fitting white dress that showed off her ever-growing baby bump as she wrapped her free arm around your shoulder, "You and your sugar addiction, huh?" She teased you, lightly.

"Woohoo!" You fist bumped the air in glee, you loved sugar a whole lot, "Is it time yet?" You asked.

"Someones' eager, huh?" One of Leahs' cousins, Holly, piped in as she walked past you.

You couldn't help but blush faintly, feeling a bit shy around people that you were not all too familiar with as you tried to keep closer to Leah, "I... I'm just excited," You whispered, quietly.

Leah could straight away tell your shift of attitude as she protectively pulled you in closer to her, "Oh this ones' been trying to get us to spill all week, even though we didn't know ourselves," She joked with her family that you had now reluctantly been pulled into chatting with since a few of them gathered around you.

"We did hear about that," Leah's mum, Amanda chuckled, shaking her head in amusement, "I have something for you at the end of this, Monkey, but we have to do the gender reveal first." She told you, winking playfully at you.

"What is it?" That did indeed peak your curiosity to know as you peered out from where you stood, trying to figure it out.

"Just wait and see," The older woman told you playfully.

"I can't wait to meet the baby when she is born!" You spoke up louder, more than convinced about the gender.

There were a few noises of laughter from various members of Leah's family at your determination of the gender.

"We still don't know the gender-- It could very well be a boy!" Leah stated, shaking her head in amusement.

"Eh, I still have high hopes it's a girl, Le!" Feeling a bit more confident, you shrugged your shoulders, "I could know already if you had just told me already last week."

"It's a surprise for a reason, Menace," The blonde said, laughing a little bit.

You couldn't help but pout, "I don't like surprises though!" You whined, slightly kicking the grass underneath you.

"This will be a nice surprise for you to find out," Leah's grandma added in to the conversation.

"Monkey doesn't do surprises well," Jordan chimed in, joining in on the conversation as she patted your shoulder before she turned to Leah, "Ready to find out and keep the kid from waiting in suspense any longer?" She questioned.

Leah beamed a wide smile and nodded, "Let's do this!" With that, the two women made their way over to where the canons were set up, ready to be used by them.

You had wandered back towards Kim and Lia, finding them two people to be the most safe bet around a bunch of people that you weren't all familiar with but this day wasn't about your worries and anxiousness, it was about finding out the gender reveal of Leah and Jordans' baby.

Even though you were still determined that it was a girl.

"On the count of three," Jordan began to say.

"Three, two, one!" Everyone counted down aloud, waiting in eager anticipation as the two women twisted the canons and powder flew up into the sky.

Pink powder.

It was a girl!

"I knew it!" Your jaw dropped in amazement, your shyness completely forgotten about as you started to jump up and down in excitement, "I knew it! I told you it was going to be a girl!"

"You were indeed right there," Kim replied in agreement.

"I knew it!" You repeated, still continuing to jump up and down in excitement before you rushed towards Leah and Jordan, "It's a girl!" You screamed in joy.

Leah and Jordan both laughed in amusement at your excitement over the news.

"Are you excited, kid?" Jordan questioned, not even bothering to contain her happiness over it.

You nod your head in a fast pace and grin, "Yes, yes, I knew it. I told you both it was gonna be a girl!" You exclaimed before you were pulled into a hug with the two of them.

You couldn't wait to meet your new best friend.

"I can't wait until she's here and I can meet her!" You stated, excitedly.

Leah grinned and kissed the top of your head, "I can't wait for that either, Monkey. Your going to be the best big sister to her!" She said them words and you feel the tears well up in your eyes.

You hadn't thought of it like that, you were just the kid that Leah and Jordan had taken pity on, but you never thought they would consider you family in all of this?

"Just don't be leading her astray and showing her bad habits," Jordan teased you, ruffling your hair.

"Sister?" You fought the tears in your eyes as you looked at the two of them with a sense of confusion.

"Big sister," Leah corrected, nodding in agreement and smiling at you, "You became part of this family from the first day that you moved in with us, our baby girl will love you too much and we will be a family of four." She told you and that was enough for the tears that you'd been fighting to spill.

Big sister? You had to admit that you did like the sound of that a lot.

You couldn't wait until you could finally meet your favourite little buddy.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[grugruel]

Bad News 1 |

Parts: 1/2, read part 2 HERE

Parings: dbf!bucky x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Inspired by, Call me by your name

Summary: Your fathers best friend accompanies you and your family to your summer house in the country. Sparks ignite as you grow closer, secretly spending one-on-one time together at night.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: plot with smut, secret-relationship, angst, choking, praise kink, petname (doll), oral sex (f recieving), pinv sex, fingering, creampie, c*ck warming.

AN: Ill make it into a series if yall like it, please enjoy!

Baring Throats

I leaned onto the windowsill, one arm stretched into the cool night air, holding a half smoked ciagrette as I rested my head in the crook of the other. A song filled the empty night, small birds and morning doves serenaded me beautifully, the occasional cranes interuppting with their paired cries.

I took a puff, exhailing slowly as I admired the view overlooking the garden, the vast grass plains surronding the house and the tree line in the distance. It separated us from the forest, obscuring the lake behind it and hiding all things wild. I glanced down the long road leading up to the house, and found a man walking along it.

Bucky, heading back from another venture into town. Perhaps he had visited a lady friend, which he had a good number of, perhaps it wasnt any of my concern. It shouldnt bother me, yet, it did.

I found my mind drifting, painting a picture of him in a bed, sweaty and naked, laying next to another woman and a spark of jealousy flared up inside me. The sound of footsteps on a gravel path approached, bringing me back to the moment, I blinked the images away and rebuked myself.

Looking down to the ground, my eyes met his. Smiling, I greeted him amd leaned over the sill. Nothing on but a thin t-shirt and a pair of panties, goosebumps prickled my skin. He smiled back at me. We looked at eachother in silent understanding, our business remaining our own. Wordlessly we communicated, I took another drag of the cigarette and he gestured for me to give him one, I held my index finger up, indicating for him to wait a second as I grabbed the pack and lighter from my nightstand, in turn tossing them down to him. Graciously he caught them and lit up, I nodded my head inside, asking him to join me. He took a long drag of the cig, considering me carefully, but he shook his head. Smiling increadolously, he pointed at me as if saying, "youre bad news" then snuffed his cigarette and went inside.

I heard him walking up the stairs, toward my room, the footsteps stopping just outside my door. Please knock, I begged, he seemed to be considering it, but a moment passed and then another, and at last he left. Entering his own room instead, opposite mine.

This had been our routine for the past few weeks, both being night owls, we'd sometimes encounter eachother on the premises. Coming from our separete affairs, but never asking the other where they'd been. We'd share a snack, talk in hushed voices, hold in laughs and shush eachother when we inevitably were to loud. It became our little secret, not because we did anything innapropriate, but simply because it were a few moments that belonged to just the two of us. Talking about things we couldnt talk about with anyone else. It had been innocent at first, but at some point had that charming smile of his begun to make me blush, at some point had his touching become more tender and at some point did our night time talks stop being accidental, but rather sought out. Last night, we'd come dangerously close to kissing and I think alarm bells sounded for the both of us, which is why we kept our distance tonight.

Dissapointed I went to bed, falling asleep with unseemly images of my fathers best friend clouding my mind.

I slept late into the next day, the sound of heavy rain battering the roof roused me from my sleep. As I got ready to go about my day, I found a note slid under my door, my lighter was inside, along with a few written words "Smoking is bad, you know. I'd better finish them for you :)" Chuckling, I saved the note, tucking it into my nightstand. Wiseass.

Due to poor weather and lack of outdoor activities, the family + one was gathered in the livingroom. My parents on one sofa, dad holding an arm around my mom as they read from the same book, my brother in the armchair and Bucky on the other sofa, everyone reading a variety of something. They all looked up as I entered the room, feigning surprise that I had finally joined them.

'Good afternoon stranger.' my father chuckled. I kissed my mothers cheek in greeting, she smiled sweetly and squeezed my hand in response as I passed them.

'About time you graced us with your prescence' Bucky teased, making my brother and mother join in with the cheerful joking.

I smirked and shook my head, waving my hands dissmissively, 'Very funny, I blame the weather.' I said and gestured toward the sky, sitting down on the empty seat next to Bucky. I laid my legs in his lap and leaned back against the armrest, propping my head up on a pillow. A conversation was struck up, talking about what I had missed, discussing resent books and making plans for tomorrow, it seemed like we'd go to the beach. Ocasionally, Bucky would grab and squeeze my legs when talking, in the same way some people gestured to get their point across.

As the chill of the evening drew closer, we lit a fire in the hearth and grabbed blankets. But a shortage occured, so I had to move closer to Bucky, he laid an arm across my shoulder as I curled up intill him so one blanket would be enough for the both of us. We grabbed a few bottles of wine, dusted off the old board games and got down to business. A heated game of monopoly ensued, followed by a short dinner break, eventually resulting in very drunk charades. Bucky and I teamed up, two versus three and we won regardless. Were all very competitve people, safe to say that none of us went to bed feeling very sportsmanlike that night. As the evening wound down, so did our energy, the wine was taking its toll. My legs were tucked against Buckys chest as I leaned my head against his shoulder, he circled his arms around my legs and rested his chin on my knees. Lazily the five of us talked for a while longer, enjoying the pleasent atmosphere of the night while we were still contious to do so. Eventually though, as laughs turned into yawns, Bucky and I offered to stay behind and clean up while the other three departed. Tidying went by quickly, we made a good team. As I discarded the last of the dishes in the sink, he put his hands on my shoulders and kissed my forehead, trying to keep his focus on my eyes, 'Go to bed, doll. I got the rest.' He said, smiling sweetly, attempting to act sober and rubbed my shoulders tenderly.

I looked at him with hazy eyes, 'If you say so.' I answered, smiling lazily, then went upstairs. Between our rooms, there was a french balcony. It stood wide open, my parents had presumably opened it in a drunk hot-flash to let air in. I was headed for my room, but my mind drifted to the crisp, sublte wind calling my name. My feet changed direction by themselves, and magically I appeared in the opening.

Leaned against the doorframe, I fell half asleep, the rain had devolved into a drizzle, but the air was damp and pleasantly chilly against my skin. Involuntairy shivers took over my body, but I was to tired to move. I heard distant footsteps behind me, coming and going, and eventually coming back again. The steps approached and strong arms circled around my shoulders, a warm body pressing up against my back. He'd covered himself with a blanket, holding the ends in his hands and gift wrapped me into his embrace. I held onto his forearms, a smile kn my lips as I basked in his warmth.

He rested his head on my shoulder, 'You were gonna freeze.' He explained himself, whispering against my ear and sending a cold shiver through my spine. I leaned my head back against his chest, sighing happily as we stood silently, appreciating eachothers presence. I drunk his scent in as our breaths matched up, the birds singing for us once again.

'I want my cigs back.' I complained, drunkenly disturbing our peaceful moment.

Bucky chuckled, 'I dont want you to get cancer.' He protested, half-joking.

I turned around, alcohol causing the bounderies of a long friendship to blur. I placed my hands on his chest and met his eyes, looking at him through my lashes, making them as big and pretty as a puppys 'Please?' I asked kindly.

He looked at me with adoration in his gaze, removing the blanket from himself and covering my shoulders with it. A smirk curved his lips as he looked at me, shaking his head in defeat. Wordslessly his manmersism spoke for him, 'Youre bad news." they told me, and this it would get the better of him. He grabbed my hand and led me into his room. Once inside he let go of me, opened his window and began rummaging around his dresser. I leaned my back against the windowsill, grabbing the lighter from my pocket and crossed my arms, wrapping the blanket tighter around me as I waited, watching him with a smile on my lips. His arm shot up into the air, displaying the packet proudly as he found them, 'I'll give you, one.' He told me quietly, a stern expression on his face.

My mouth fell open in disbelief, 'I payed for them!' I exclaimed, forgetting myself. Bucky put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, and walked up to me. He took a cigarette out of the pack and opened his hand expectantly, I gave him the lighter and he lit his cig, taking a puff and leaving it between his lips. He rested his elbows on the windowsill behind me and leaned forward, leveling his head with mine. Moving past my head, gracing my cheek with his as he blew the smoke out of the window, then leaned back. He had one arm on each side of me, crossed behind my back, he had me pinned between him and the window. Our faces were inches apart, both painfully aware that this wasnt appropriate of a daughter and the family friend, but the wine had pushed out any reason or logic of our minds. I couldnt help but look away, suddenly shy. Luring a smile from him as he observed the way a blush crept its way up my cheeks. I took the cig from him, my fingertips acidentally grazing his lips, and placed it between my own. I took a puff and faced him again, our eyes locked, sharing hidden thoughts through transparent gazes.

Energy sizzled in the air, building onto the tension between us, magnetizing it, pulling at the invisible string that connected us. 'Let me taste.' He whispered, inching closer. I hesitated, before slowly exhaling the smoke as he breathed it in, sharing the toxic cloud between us, poisoning our judgement. I felt myself drawn closer to him, the string pulling taunt on both ends, his lips a mere ghost over mine. Temptation coarsed through our veins, causing heavy breathing as we fought our urges. But we both gave in, in the end.

Our lips met in a soft kiss, he moved his arms from the windowsill and grabbed my waist. I was taken off guard, but welcomingly so. Complicated feelings bounced through my mind, but I couldnt back down now. I hurridly snuffed out the cigarette against the sill and snaked my hands around his neck as I kissed him back, pulling him closer. His hands found their way under my shirt, sliding up my torso until his fingertips touched the plush flesh of my breasts. He inhaled sharply, the oxygen returning to his brain as common sense flooded back to him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, this was his best friends daughter. He tore free from the claws of desire, grabbing my arms and unhooking them from his neck, he backed up. I reached out for him, but he pulled away, sitting down at the end of his bed, he laid his head in his hands, a labored sigh leaving him.

'We cant, you know we cant.' He whispered, voice muffled against his palms. I did know, but I couldnt help it. I sat down next to him, wrapping my arms around his, grabbing his bicep as I rested my head against his shoulder. He sat straighter, letting one of his hands fall to my knee as the other stroked my hair, he kissed the top of my head.

'I just- Why did it turn out this way?' I asked him quietly, my voice quivering 'I know we cant, but. . .' I paused, thinking of the right words. His hand slid from my hair to gently caress my cheek, then tracing his fingers finger along my jaw until they found purchase under my chin and tilted my face to meet his. I searched his gaze for something unknow to me, 'I need you.' I whispered foolishly, my eyes watering, 'This is all your fault you know, your stupid smile and caring words.' I laughed mirthlessly, keeping my eyes locked on his, as a tear threatened to fall.

He cupped my face with boths hands, looking at me with a sorrowful expression as he leaned his forehead against mine.

'Bucky, please.' I whispered, leaning into his touch 'If you cant have me, stop this.' I pulled one of his hands from my face, clasping my own around it and kissed his palm softly before letting it fall to my lap.

'I cant get stuck. . . Wanting your love if you cannot give it to me.' I told him quietly, squeezing his hand as my voice broke, I leaned back, meeting his eyes again, pleading, 'Please say something.'

But he remained quiet as his eyes welled, admiring my blushed, tear streaked face.

My eyebrows furrowed, not understanding how he could be so cruel. A tear finally rolled down my cheek and my chin quivered in disbelief, I was nothing more than a naive girl to him.

I looked away, not wanting him to see the pain he caused me. I took his silence as a rejection and moved to stand, but he grabbed my wrist, stopping me from leaving, 'Let me go.' I cried silently, unwilling to face him as tears streamed down my cheeks. I stood again, pulling, trying to unclasp my hand from his grip but I could not, 'Please Buck, I cant do this.' I croaked, looking up at the ceiling as I tried to blink my tears away.

'Look at me.' He ordered softly, but I refused. 'Doll.' He whispered in warning, but hearing his name for me only made my cry harder, I pulled on his grip again but he was unrelenting. 'Sit, please.' He asked this time, desperation burried in his voice.

'No.' I answered, resolute.

As I was not cooperating, he took matters into his own hands. He pulled me back down and cupped my face as kissed me harshly, I fought him out of anger, but quickly melted into his touch, all was forgiven, it had always been.

He deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into my mouth, moaning from just the taste of me. My hands found their way to his brown locs, burrying themselves, while his hands felt their way down my body. We fell backwards onto the bed and he cilimbed on top of me, pushing his knee between my legs to separate them. His lips found my neck, trailing kisses from my jaw to collarbone as his hand kneaded its way up my thigh, my skirt catching on his wrist. His lips left my skin as he sat up, scaring me for a moment as I thought he changed his mind. But he climbed down to the foot of the bed, knees on the floor and hooked his hands under my kees, pulling me to the edge of the bed. His hands found my panties and ripped them off, I gasped from the sudden gust of cold air hitting my wet core. He kissed my thighs, licking and nipping as he worked his way inwards, panting inbetween pecks, desperate to taste me. He looked up at me, meeting my eyes as he hovered over my core, his breath fanning over my clit, he looked like a crazed mad man. The anticipation was overflowing, I bit my lip, nodding for him to go ahead and he dove in. Lapping at my clit, tasting me. I almost screamed from the sudden sensation, but covered my mouth at the last second. I rutted my hips against him, hoping for further friction, but his hands grabbed my hips, holding me down so he could please with intention. I whined, grabbing at the sheets, pulling on them for support, It wasnt enough.

'More, more.' I moaned, and he obligingly latched onto my clit, sucking as two of his fingers found their way inside me, thrusting and curling at my pleasure. Breathy moans escaped me as I was getting closer to cumming.

'Close, real close' I managed with a mumbling voice, he squeezed my hip in reassurance, telling me it was alright. I hummed as the knot in my stumache pulled tighter, he pushed another finger inside me and im convinced I saw the light. I came tumbling over the edge, stiffling another scream by shoving my face into the bed. And as I was catching my breath, he kissed his way back up to me, climbing on top once again, he snaked one arm under my back to pull my shirt off, freeing my breasts, then lifted my hips to take my skirt off, followed by his own shirt and sweats. He was huge, no surpise there.

'You okay?' He asked, and I hummed in response, cupping his face and pulling him back up to my lips, kissing him with a burning passion. He pulled back, 'Use your words girl.' He said sternly.

'Need you.' I whispered, kissing him again.

'You sure doll?' he asked against my lips, I nodded enthusiastically.

'Please, Ive never wanted anything more.' I assured him. He hooked my leg onto his knee, raising it to get better access to my opening. I circled my other leg around his hip and he lined himself up with my entrance.

'Look at me.' He ordered again, and I met his eyes, gazes locked deeply as his tip teased my entrance. I admired his beautiful face as I circled my arms around his shoulders, preparing for whatever was to come. Suddenly he slid inside me and we gasped in unisome, he didnt move for a second so I could get used to his size. He stroked a strand of hair behind my ear as he admired my face, 'My beautiful girl.' He whispered, making my heart beat faster.

He pulled out of me and thrusted in again softly, setting a slow but intent pace. Each thrust took my breath away, all the while he was grunting in my ear. His hand found its way to my throat, closing around it and squeezed, putting slight pressure on it and stealing another moannfrom me in the process. He graced his nose against my cheek, kissing my jaw as he thrusted deeper, and I met them with desperate ruts, 'C'mon doll, just like that.' He encouraged me in a breathy voice, that alone couldve been enough to make me cum. He trailed kisses down my chest and latched onto my breast, taking it into his mouth, sucking and nibbling at my nipple as his hand found the other, kneading it intently.

'Getting- closer.' I hummed, but his thrusting slowed, eventually stopping completley. 'Buck?' I questioned, and he let go of my breasts, pulling out of me completley, pleasure and confusion mixed my mind into a strange mess. He backed up, grabbed my legs, raising them and in one solid motion hooked them onto his shoulders and thrust into me again, deeper than ever before. A loud moan tore through me, to blided by the feeling that I completley forgot about being silent. His hand quickly covered my mouth as he began a ruthlessly deep and hard pace, rocking my entire body. His mouth quickly replaced his hand, kissing me deepley, passionateley, in rythm with his thrusts.

'Almost there, doll.' He mumbled between kisses, I nodded, not able to for words, but I was close to. The knot in my stumache terribly close to coming undone once again. His thrustingbecame rougher, harder as he closed in on his orgasm, hitting that sweet spot every time. Our breaths were nothing more than frenzied moans, his pace faltered, giving it all he had for a few last thrusts before we both came undone. Warm liquid spurting into me as he collpased on top of me, resting his head in the crook of my neck and kissing my skin softly as we cought or breath, 'Good girl.' He whispered, 'My good, good girl.' He panted, still inside me as his seed slowly, sippered out of me.

My heart fluttered at his words as I fought to keep my eyes open, the alcohol and exhaustion from the day along with the bliss of our secret activities were catching up to us. He laid an arm around my ribbcage, pulling me closer to him, I hooked my leg over his hip and curled up to him. I gave him a quick peck on the lips as he kissed my forehead, and we fell asleep in eachothers arms.

I woke up later in the night, but in my own room. I wouldve thought I had dreamt it all if it wasnt for the blanket tucked tightly around me, still smelling of him.

Read part two HERE <3

[rainystarters]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 and other stories . . . 〗 a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by angela carter's the bloody chamber and other stories. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust details as necessary.

dialogue :

are you sure you want to marry him?

oh! how you must want me!

soon.

i had never been vain until i met you.

anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.

all the better to see you.

what is that key? the key to your heart?

every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife.

all is yours, everywhere is open to you.

but now... what shall i do now?

my darling, i cannot wait for the moment when you make me yours completely.

there is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.

you are in some great distress.

any bride brought to a castle should come ready dressed in mourning.

oh god. i can smell the blood.

i thought all these were old wives' tales, chattering of fools, spooks to scare bad children into good behavior!

can't it wait until morning, my darling?

who can say what i deserve or no?

i've done nothing; but that may be sufficient reason for condemning me.

i have a place prepared for your exquisite corpse upon my display of flesh.

good fellow? i am no good fellow.

forgive me for robbing your garden!

all she wanted, in the whole world, was one white, perfect rose.

and what else was there to be done?

they are the death of any tender herbivore.

so late! you will want sleep.

you will come back to me? it will be lonely here, without you.

i will come back. soon, before the winter is over.

i am sick and i must die.

if you'll have me, i'll never leave you.

i think i might be able to manage a little breakfast today.

i have lost my pearl, my pearl beyond price.

if you are so careless of your treasure, you should expect them to be taken from you.

for all my pride, my heart is heavy.

if you wish to give me money, then i should be pleased to receive it.

i shall twist a noose out of my bed linen and hang myself with it.

you are a woman of honor.

nothing human lives here.

we have dispensed with servants.

take off my clothes for you, like a ballet girl? is that all you want of me?

all cats are cynics.

you read my thoughts, my love.

the woods enclose. the wood swallows you up.

all will fall still, all lapse.

it is easy to lose yourself in these woods.

i thought that nobody was in the wood but me.

there are some eyes can eat you.

sometimes the birds, at random, all singing, strike a chord.

eat me, drink me.

dive in and fetch it for me.

now you are at the place of annihilation.

and she is herself a cave full of echoes, she is a system of repetitions, she is a closed circuit.

can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?

beauty is a symptom of disorder, of soullessness.

a single kiss woke up the sleeping beauty in the wood.

be he alive or be he dead.

coffee. you must have coffee.

welcome. welcome to my chateau.

i rarely receive visitors and that's a misfortune since nothing animates me half as much as the presence of a stranger.

this place is so lonely.

now the village is deserted.

often i am so silent that i think i, too, will soon forget how to do so and nobody will ever talk any more.

i must apologize for the lack of light.

you have such a fine throat, like a column of marble.

i am condemned to solitude and dark.

i do not mean to hurt you.

i will be very gentle.

and could love free me from the shadows?

i've been waiting for you in my wedding dress, why have you delayed for so long.

you will feel no pain, my darling.

so delicate and damned, poor thing. quite damned.

the end of exile is the end of being.

it is a northern country; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.

the devil is as real as you or i.

do not leave the path.

you are always in danger in the forest.

they are as unkind as plague.

fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems.

besides, aren't you afraid of the wolves?

actions :

clasp. from behind, the sender places their hands over the receiver's eyes.

opera. through opera glasses, the sender watches the receiver.

choker. the sender fastens a gemstone necklace around the receiver's neck.

carriage. the sender locks the receiver in with them in their train compartment.

spine. the sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's bare neck.

cigar. the sender leans in and blows smoke in the receiver's face.

ermine. the sender wraps the furs around the receiver tighter as the snow falls.

keys. the sender silently enters the room and listens to the receiver play piano.

harem. the sender undresses the receiver before a collection of mirrors.

lazy. the sender brings the receiver breakfast in bed.

call. the sender calls the receiver and bursts into tears upon hearing their voice.

note. the sender discovers a love letter sent to the receiver from a previous lover.

death. the sender finds the receiver with the body of their latest victim.

hospitality. the sender watches from the shadows as the receiver take refuge from a storm in the sender's seemingly abandoned home.

servant. invisible, the sender feeds/washes/cares for the receiver.

hearth. the sender and the receiver talk past midnight by the fire's light.

hands. the sender falls to their knees before the receiver and kisses their hands.

bouquet. the sender has a hundred white roses sent to the receiver.

reunion. the sender lays eyes upon the receiver for the first time in an age.

bad luck. the sender hangs their head having lost a bet to the receiver.

voice. the sender sends their valet to speak their desires to the receiver.

powder. the sender dresses/makes up the receiver before an important night.

stallion. the sender grabs the reins of the receiver's horse and leads them away.

weep. the sender cries at the sight of the receiver in such a state.

dry. the sender brushes a tear from the receiver's cheek.

flush. the sender pinches the receiver's skin, watching it redden with blood.

prey. the sender guides the receiver's hands as together they skin a rabbit.

song. the sender sings and the receiver is spellbound, their feet following their song's command.

caught. the sender locks the receiver into a cage.

green. by the sender's command, the growth begins to take over the receiver.

tarot. the sender tells the receiver they are doomed to a sad fate.

stain. the sender touches the bloodstain on the receiver's white negligée.

wild. the sender rides hard through the night, chasing the receiver.

thirst. the sender sinks their teeth into the neck of the receiver.

china. the sender pours tea for the receiver and offers them biscuits.

blemish. the sender explores the receiver's skin and finds the mark of a witch.

wolf. the wolf reveals themself to be the sender before the receiver.

muzzle. the sender kisses the monstrous mouth of the receiver.

[crowleyholmes]

Hello friends, lovers, hereditary enemies, and fellow Good-Omens-brain-rot-afflicted!

Inspired by some lengthy conversations and the need for reassurance regarding a renewal for season 3, the lovely Eena @michaelsheens and I have decided to start a little Project!

(Sorry, Crowley, we had to…)

THE NICE AND ACCURATE PROPHECIES* WEEK

Running from SEPTEMBER 25TH to OCTOBER 1ST, it’s all themed around season 3 and the assumption we’re gonna get that renewal. (Manifesting, baby.)

✨ THE PLAN ✨

Every day will focus on a theme around which everyone who wants to participate is encouraged to create any kind of content they want to! Art, fanfic, edits, playlists, speculation, meta, go nuts!

(Also please don’t worry if something doesn’t fit neatly into a day’s theme; they’re only meant to give somewhat of a prompt and structure. Ultimately it’s not that strict and serious, we just wanna see your stuff :))

✨ HOW TO PARTICIPATE ✨

Share whatever your big heart and massive brain comes up with and use the tag #gomensnaap

(It’s like a long nap or something.)

You’re also welcome to give shoutouts to other people’s work you love and want to celebrate, but please make sure to link and credit properly (!!!)

Most importantly: have fun <3

✨ THEMES ✨

(under the cut)

DAY 1: “And there will be great lamentations.”

Let’s talk the Second Coming! We start off and warm up with everything plot-related. Theories, meta, crack ideas, let’s hear your thoughts on where you think the Big Main Plot is going to go!

DAY 2: “I can make a difference!”

For day two, let’s focus on Aziraphale’s arc in season 3. Did he go to Heaven with a plan? Or is he winging it? (Pun only somewhat intended.) Was he threatened or manipulated or both or neither? Will he tell Heaven just where they can stick it or can he actually succeed? What’s in store for our favorite angel?

DAY 3: “Hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Day three is all about Crowley and what we think he’s going to get up to. Is he going to go drink himself senseless and have a good cry? Go snek and hybernate for a bit? Hang out with Muriel and do some tempting? Does he have a plan and how will he cope being on his own?

DAY 4: “There was magic abroad in the air…”

Let’s talk Ineffable Husbands! How are Crowley and Aziraphale going to resolve things between them? Will there be a massive fight? Radio silence for days/weeks/months/years? Will they learn to Actually COmmunicate? Will there be grudges, grand gestures, secret meetings, a big rescue mission from either side?

DAY 5: “Extreme sanctions.”

On day six we wanna make ourselves anxious, sad and upset. (As one does.) What thing that may or may not happen in season 3 are you most worried about? Dark/depressed/evil/etc Crowley? Memory-wiped/brain-washed/archangel Aziraphale? Book of Life? How could Neil & Co hurt us the most?

DAY 6: “Do you…want a hot chocolate?”

After day 5’s spiral, it’s time for a metaphorical treat. What are you most looking forward to in season 3? What do you really want to see? Headcanons coming true? Scenes you wish for? Things that’ll make you wanna name your cat/dog/fish/insert other pet here Neil Richard Gaiman or Sir Terence David John Pratchett?

DAY 7: “It’s starts, as it will end, with a garden.”

Finally, to finish it all up, let’s speculate about the end of season 3. How do you think we’ll leave this story? Will things just go back to how they’ve always been? Will there be peace? Earth hidden from Heaven and Hell with a big 500 Lazarii miracle? Aziraphale and Crowley turned human? Or will they get their cottage in the South Downs for the rest of eternity?

[sweetwolfcupcake]

A Gentleman

Secret Garden

Category: Drabble

John Wick x Reader

Warning: Yandere/Obsessive behaviour, stalking.

Unedited

There were a few subtle traits she had noticed about John. Like, while walking on the side path, he would always take the side of the road, while keeping her on the safer one. He also walked a step behind her– not something immediately noticeable but while walking back to her house from the grocery with him for the fourth time, she couldn't help but take notes of the pattern.

“Didn’t you bring your car?”

John shrugged “No, needed some fixing. Besides, I prefer to walk sometimes.” 

There was a hint of something akin to a smile on his face. Under the golden glow of streetlights, his eyes seemed to have a language of their own. (Y/N) bumped into him at the store often. John was the kind but aloof neighbour she thought everyone needed at least once in a lifetime.

She did not see him often, except for grocery shopping and sometimes, he would sit by himself on one of the few isolated park benches, watching, or thinking-- one could never tell from afar.

It was a miracle that he spoke to her first— he did not seem to be of the kind to initiate any conversation— but speaking to him felt good. She never heard his voice raised– his quiet, deep voice along with dry humour was appealing to her, and in (Y/N)’s dictionary, the number of times they had walked back to their apartment building together and made random commentary on things and people (mostly her) with the sprinkle of John’s dry humour, she and he could be considered friends.

He carried three bags– one his, two hers while she was allowed to keep the lightest one for herself. He was quite old school regarding such mannerisms, she had come to realise that. And while she there would be countless arguments against it, she had come to like his ways. The courteous, elusive and somewhat aloof enigma of a gentleman who was always high on his traditional manners, always polite and often fed stray cats and dogs.

Everything about John indicated that he was a good man. So, she never had a second thought before inviting him into her apartment for coffee. He had carried her grocery bags all the way to her home, at least she could make him feel welcome and comfortable. 

She was sure he would politely decline but he just gazed down at her for a momant or two before asking-

“Are you sure?”

She blinked. “Yes? Yes, John, please come in, I have no problem.”

His gaze melted from the strange intrigue to something soft, almost amiable. She was sure she saw the corner of his lips quirk up a bit before she opened her door wider and invited him in.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Huh?” he was distracted, looking around when she asked.

“How would you like coffee?” She asked again with an amused smile.

“The way you make it.”

Smooth.

“Okay, please take a seat.” With that, she went into her kitchen, preparing two steaming hot cups.

John sat on the sofa– it felt unreal to be in her home, invited. His eyes glanced at the ceiling fan above— the small opening blinked green twice before disappearing into the darkness– the usual cycle of every two hours. He glanced at his phone, the live video of him sitting in her livingroom showed that the device worked just fine.

His eyes found her form again, moving around to make coffee, oblivious to his eyes fixed on her form– silent, observing and moving along with her– noting each movement with a strange kind of fixation and tenderness. 

She was, unlike him, so defenseless, unguarded, alive…

John glanced at the ceiling fan again before dropping his gaze right before she turned around with a smile and two steaming mugs.

He could not help but feel his heart thump. His calm and collected surface shook at the sight of her beaming smile.

He needed the camera. She needed him.

He told himself as he accepted his coffee, relishing the way her fingers grazed against his.

****

Inspired by @johnwickb1tsch's Bittersweet. I realised that as soon as I finished writing with my eyes half-open. Go read the amazing fic.

So, what do you think? Should I post something darker or keep things on edge for now?