Latest Posts by mixedandfurious - Page 2

When I tell you I always look forward to more Tom x Y/N fics🥹 This was so good!!!!

𝐍𝐨 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 | 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Y/N refuses to stay the night on a stormy, treacherous beach, but Tom has other plans. With a smirk, a plea, and his arms wrapped tightly around her, he convinces her that misery loves company—especially when the company is his.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - This is inspired by a cute little scene I saw on Yellowstone, thought it was cute so wrote this.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The night was thick with the scent of salt and rain, the thunder rolling in the distance as waves crashed against jagged cliffs. The cave, dark and unwelcoming, loomed behind them—a fitting place for the kind of work they were here to do. Y/N had only come to deliver information and supplies, nothing more. She had every intention of leaving.

That was until Tom laced his fingers through hers just as she pressed a goodbye kiss to his lips. She frowned, tilting her head as she looked up at him. His grip was firm but not forceful, his silent way of stopping her.

Her gaze flickered around them—the beautiful yet treacherous coastline, the storm rolling in, the endless expanse of the sea swallowing the horizon. The cave was their only real shelter.

“Tom, love,” she sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re about to say.”

He tilted his head, smirking just slightly as he pulled her against his chest. “And what would that be, doll?”

She groaned, leaning into him because, despite herself, she loved the way he held her—strong, possessive, like he never wanted to let go. “I’m not staying here, sleeping under a cave.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t even speak. But the way his chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath told her everything she needed to know.

She huffed. “Tom. There’s no tents, no bathrooms, no nothing.” She gestured at the desolate landscape around them before giving him a pointed look. “You think the Dark Lord’s wife is going to stay in that?”

At her words, his hold on her almost tightened, just enough for her to notice. Her eyes softened.

“Don’t you want me to go?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Tom shook his head, his dark eyes steady on hers. “Love, if you want to go, just say the words.”

She searched his face. He meant it—he always did when it came to her. If she wanted to leave, he wouldn’t stop her. But still… he was holding her hand. Still… he hadn’t let go.

She tilted her head. “Something tells me you don’t want me to go.”

His smirk returned, slow and knowing. “Y/N, love of my life,” he murmured, running his fingers along the back of her hand, “I don’t think I can survive two days alone.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“And you,” he continued, ignoring her interruption, “hate wet, cold places and being told what to do.”

“That is very true.”

“But…” He leaned down, his lips just brushing her ear, his voice a low murmur only she could hear. “Would you consider coming and sparing me the misery of being without you?”

She sighed, exasperated but already knowing she was going to cave. The worst part? He knew it too.

Y/N let her fingers trail up his chest before pressing her lips against his smirk, kissing him slowly, deliberately. “Well,” she murmured against his lips, “I don’t need you miserable.”

Tom’s smirk widened as he wrapped his arms around her completely, pulling her flush against him. He didn’t say another word, but she could feel the satisfaction radiating off him. He had gotten his answer. His wife was staying the night—well, staying until they found the last Horcrux.

As another crash of thunder rolled overhead, Y/N sighed dramatically. “I swear, if I catch a cold, you’re making me tea every morning for a month.”

Tom chuckled, guiding her towards the cave. “If you catch a cold, I’ll be the one dealing with your complaints every morning for a month.”

She gasped. “Excuse you, I do not complain.”

Tom arched a brow. “Love, you spent an hour ranting about your broken quill last week.”

“It was a good quill.”

He chuckled again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Merlin help me.”

She smirked, settling against him as the storm raged on outside. "You're the one who begged me to stay, Riddle. No take-backs."

Tom only tightened his hold on her. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

thinking about BUCKY BARNES playing with you from behind.. 18+ fem!reader, mdni. 345 words

he’d sit behind you casually, slumped against the headboard with you between his open thighs, your back lounging into his chest. your knees are bent, fluffy-socked-feet planted either side of his straightened knees. it’s lazy, it’s comfortable, it’s low effort.

his left, metal hand rests somewhere around the top of your abdomen, vibranium palm holding onto you under your oversized tee. one of your bare tits sits on his lower arm, the other held by his hand that grabs and cups and paws. an action so antsy.

his free hand hovers over the waistband of your underwear, fleshed fingers grazing across the thin thread of elastic. bucky slips a finger underneath, pad faintly skimming along your skin — the sensitivity of his touch making your thighs jitter and tremble.

he itches the rest of his hand underneath, his slightly balled fist protruding through the thin albeit dampened fabric. the tiny bow of your underwear sits atop his wrist, the contrasting sight of something so delicate against something so rugged and manly sends your mind into a tizzy. every micromovement being watched keenly by your fervid eyes.

you move a hand from its placement on his arm around your middle to his other one that’s slotted in the crease where thigh meets cunt. your grip is desperate, fingers struggling to envelope the meat of his upper wrist. you nudge his hand lower, the hold you have on him like that of a guide — directing him to what you want and where you want it.

his neck peers around you, lips finding themself placed perfectly in the dip of your right temple. a repeated, almost forceful iteration of kisses pushes your head to the side in a gentle sway, your neck exposing and growing slack, strength dissipating until it rests against the scarring on his left shoulder. 

bucky’s head ducks down, lowering into the crook of your neck where he continues the kisses — trailing them ever so faintly in lines up and down the side of your throat.

“not yet,” he whispers to you from behind. “not yet.”

⎯ ☆ ⎯

I loved this so much🤣🤣

Love drunk Bucky! What about a drunk reader?

Yes, we've seen drunk!Bucky in Pretty Girl. A drunk reader could be fun.

Your Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're very vocal about wanting Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Drunk reader with no filter, drunk confession, dirty talk, humor, slight feels, talk of consent and communication, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Raw. Next question.”

You sipped your drink, the room going eerily silent. It was the quietest it had been since everyone gathered in the lounge for some drinks hours ago. Pairs of eyes stared at you with a mix of fascination and shock as your words hung in the air.

Just moments ago, Clint had been going through his phone and showing everyone candid photos he managed to snap of everyone. Most of them were hilarious, but the most recent one wasn't hilarious at all. It was clearly hot based on your reaction.

“What did she say?” Steve whispered to break the silence.

“You heard what she said. Everyone heard it,” Sam whispered back, giving you a quizzical stare. “How many drinks have you had?”

You held up a finger followed by another couple. “Like this many. And water. Hydration is so important.”

“Hold on. Back to what you said a second ago.” Clint turned the phone toward him with a raised brow and slowly turned it back toward you so you could see it again. “You know that’s a picture of Barnes, right? Not some model or actor?” he asked.

Bucky Barnes, the beefy super soldier who was trying not to shatter the bottle in his metal hand as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. Clint managed to snap a photo of him when he removed his shirt after a recent workout, which begged the question of why he was taking the photo to begin with. Bucky wasn’t looking at the camera since his eyes were shut, but his parted mouth, slightly messy hair, and sweat shining off his torso made him look like a thirst trap. The sweatpants only made the picture that much hotter.

“Yeah, I know. He’s hot. We all know he’s hot,” you shrugged. “And I said what I said.”

Bucky audibly exhaled. You had a penchant for being very honest with the team which they appreciated. If someone asked for your opinion or thoughts on something you didn’t hide how you felt. You were careful not to be cruel if you disagreed with anyone, but you still led with honesty. Alcohol didn’t change that.

So, if you said you thought Bucky was hot and you wanted him to fuck you raw, you meant it.

Clint exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before the redhead nodded to the spot beside you. The spy looked like she was having a hard time not smiling. “And you know he’s sitting next to you, right?” she asked.

You downed the rest of your drink and shrugged again. “Yeah, I know. And I’d let him fuck me raw. Every day. Twice on Sundays,” you said unapologetically as Steve coughed. You swung your head toward Bucky with a sultry smile and leaned in a little closer. He smelled your perfume before you sat down tonight, but now the sweet smell combined with your natural scent was making him dizzy. “You’d fuck me raw, right? Maybe fuck me from behind so you can get nice and deep.”

The bottle shattered which only made you smile more. Bucky’s nostrils flared and everyone backed up a few inches, except for you, the newest member of the team. The person who loved to leave little treats and snacks for him to make sure he ate throughout the day. The same person who made a show of bending over and stretching in front of him whenever you two worked out together. The only one who seemed to get a real smile out of him since you showed up like a shining beacon of happiness and sass.

And now you were telling him you want him to fuck you. Raw. He thought about it, of course- how wet and snug you’d feel around his bare cock, how you’d take him like a good girl. He pictured you sobbing his name and squirming as he pinned you down and brought you over the edge again and again. Licking his lips, he imagined the taste of your arousal on his tongue and wondered if he could make you squirt. He sure as hell wanted to try.

Bucky heard Thor’s footsteps, but didn’t take his eyes off you as the God of Thunder took a seat. “Clearly, I’ve missed something.”

“I said I want Bucky to fuck me raw,” you said without missing a beat.

Bucky bit back a groan. He was two seconds away from throwing you over his shoulder like a caveman and taking you away from everyone. There were so many filthy things he wanted to say and do to you…

And your bluntness didn’t seem to bother the blonde. “I thought you two were already having relations. With how close you two-”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say ‘relations’?” Clint asked. “Relations.”

“Is that not what they’re discussing?” Thor asked, taking a sip from his flask. “Though if there is no protection there is the risk of procreating, but they would have beautiful offspring.”

You leaned in a bit closer, but Bucky gripped your arms to move you away from his spot. “I don't want the glass to cut you.”

“You're so thoughtful. And amazing,” you smiled. He adored your smile. “And if a breeding kink is what you’re into, actually breeding me or not, I’m all for it. I’m wet just thinking about it.”

Thor laughed and held up his flask. “That’s the spirit.”

Bucky’s cock twitched in his pants. “I know you’re wet. I can smell it,” he all but growled. He inhaled so deeply he could actually taste it, and he wanted more. And if he could smell it, Steve could smell it.

“Okay then.” Clint removed his hearing aid. “I think I’m done.”

Steve jumped up when his best friend glared at him. “I think I’m done, too,” he said, not wanting to face Bucky’s wrath even though it wasn’t his fault he also had heightened senses.

“Let’s go, boys. I think these two should talk without us,” Natasha suggested, hauling Sam up by the arm and giving both of you a wink. “Be good, okay?”

“No promises,” you replied in a sing-song voice.

“Shouldn’t they get a room? I’m just saying,” Sam said as Natasha dragged him away.

“Breed her well, Barnes. Make us proud!” Thor shouted. Steve hauled him from the room, too, with Clint hot on their tail.

“Alone at last,” you giggled. If you were at all embarrassed, it didn’t show. And now that the two of you were alone, the tension skyrocketed. “You know, this isn't how I pictured saying any of this, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” he said. He couldn't believe you wanted him, but you did.

“I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or weird. I’d never want that.”

“That’s the last thing I feel,” he exhaled, still gripping your arms when you finally moved into his lap and straddled him.

“Good,” you smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

As much as he wanted to feel your lips against his, he stopped you. And as much as he wanted to tear your leggings away and have you then and there, but he couldn’t. “I’m not fucking you. Not tonight.”

The playfulness slipped from your eyes. So did the smile from your face. “Oh. I thought…” you breathed, looking away and quickly blinking. God, he hoped there weren’t tears in your eyes. “You don’t actually want me, do you?”

Bucky hadn’t meant for his words or stopping the kiss to come across as rejection, but that was exactly what happened. “That’s not–”

“Oh, my God. I ruined everything, didn't I? Why did I open my mouth?” You sniffled and tried to move away, but he wouldn't let you. “Six months of friendship and crushing on you and I-”

“Hey. You didn't ruin a thing.” Bucky gripped your chin with tenderness he didn’t think he was capable of anymore, and his heart broke when he saw the tears swimming in your beautiful eyes. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life,” he admitted, brushing a tear away that fell. “But you’ve been drinking, and that means you can’t fully consent, and I will not take advantage of you, no matter how you say you want me or this. I respect and care for you too much for that.”

HYDRA took consent away from Bucky for a long time, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. He’d hate himself for doing anything with you without your full consent. He wouldn’t be the kind of man who did that. The man you deserved would be the one who properly took care of you in and out of bed.

And he’d be the best man for you if you let him.

“So, you do want me?” you asked, your voice uncertain.

“I did say more than anyone else, and I meant it,” he replied. You had to believe him. “But our first time should happen when you're sober.”

However you wanted your first time to be, he'd make it happen. He'd make love to you or fuck you or both. As long as there was clear consent and communication, he’d give you everything you needed and more, and he knew you'd do the same for him.

The smile you gave him repaired the cracks in his heart. “You’re a good guy, Bucky,” you said, snuggling against him. “And it isn’t just sex I want, but, well, I do want to have sex with you.”

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled and rested his chin on your head. “And I know. It isn't just sex I want either.”

Bucky wanted to take you to bed, but he also wanted to take you out on dates. He wanted to make you laugh and smile, wipe your tears and comfort you when you cried, and be the one you confided in. He wanted to be your man, and he wanted you to be his best girl.

“I wanna be yours,” you sighed as if you read his mind, his heart skipping a beat. “Can I be your girl?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes when he kissed the top of your head. “You can be my girl.”

And tomorrow once you were sober, he’d officially ask you to be his girl.

Happy Moanday, lovelies! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

Hi, this is a request for

MARVEL MULTIVERSE - The Game

I am very interested in Greek mythology AU with Sam Wilson. (Female reader.)

I don't know how much you had planned for it but if you don't have anything planned for now this is what could work: (If you already had something planned, ignore this ^^)

Maybe a slight rivals to lovers? As I have something on the side with him cooking about an OC also using wings but as an owl, maybe something around that.

Thank you :D ✒️

WISDOM

⤷ SAM T. WILSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Sam T. Wilson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, action, fantasy

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: you and Sam never really got along, but maybe things between you two will change if you have to go on a quest together

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Hi guysss!! I'm back! the fever finally healed and I'm back stronger than ever!!

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The sun dips low over the horizon, a burning ember casting its last golden light across the sprawling cliffs of Mount Olympus. The air is thick with the scent of wild thyme and sun-warmed stone, the distant crash of the sea below a steady rhythm that pulses through the ancient land. You perch at the edge of the precipice, your talons scraping against the rock as your feathers ruffle in the evening breeze. You’ve always preferred this hour—when the day begins to yield to the velvet quiet of night. It is yours, as much as the wings on your back or the keen edge of your sight.

The humans below are lighting their lamps, preparing offerings to the gods. Some, no doubt, will be meant for you. They always pray to you for wisdom, for guidance in the dark. An owl’s keen vision, they say, pierces the shadows where secrets hide. It’s a role you fulfill willingly. Not for them, but for the small spark of satisfaction it brings—to know that when they’re lost, they seek you out.

The sudden rush of air behind you draws your attention, your senses flaring in instinctive alarm. A moment later, a figure lands with an easy grace, the wide sweep of wings folding neatly against a broad back. The feathers gleam dark in the fading light, their edges tipped in a soft bronze that catches the sun’s last rays. You sigh before you’ve even turned to face him.

“Sam,” you say, your voice flat, though your pulse has quickened. “What are you doing here?”

He grins, his expression annoyingly smug. He’s always grinning, as if the world exists solely to amuse him. You’ve often wondered how he can carry such irreverence in the face of divinity—as if being chosen as the God of the Sky is a casual affair, not a mantle that demands respect.

“Can’t a guy enjoy the view?” he says, spreading his arms wide to indicate the sweeping vista behind him. “Figured you might appreciate some company out here, Wisdom.”

You bristle at the nickname. “I don’t need company.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he says, eyeing your solitary perch. “What is it with you and the whole lone-sentinel act? You’re not the only one with wings around here, you know.”

“Your wings are showy,” you snap, your gaze flicking to the sleek expanse of feathers at his back. “Built for speed and spectacle. They’re nothing like mine.”

“Showy?” He places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know these wings have saved countless mortals from storms, fires, and the occasional poorly aimed lightning bolt. But sure, let’s call them showy.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to the horizon. He always knows how to needle you, to find the exact tone of teasing that leaves you balancing precariously between irritation and… something else. Something you refuse to name.

“What do you want, Sam?”

“You’re no fun, you know that?” he says, stepping closer. His voice softens, just enough that it brushes against your defenses. “I wanted to see if you’d heard.”

“Heard what?” you ask, though you keep your gaze fixed on the distant horizon. You don’t trust him when he’s like this, his usual bluster replaced with something quieter, something that stirs a strange ache in your chest.

“Zeus has called another council.”

Your feathers twitch, betraying your annoyance. “He always calls councils. Half the time, it’s just to hear himself talk.”

“This one’s different,” Sam says, his tone serious now. “Word is, there’s trouble brewing in the mortal world. Something… unnatural.”

That catches your attention. You turn to face him fully, your sharp gaze locking onto his. “Unnatural how?”

“That’s what we’re supposed to find out,” he says. “But you know how these things go. A lot of posturing, a lot of blaming, and not much else.”

“And you came here to warn me?” you ask, suspicion lacing your words. “Why?”

He shrugs, the movement casual, though there’s a flicker of something in his expression that you can’t quite place. “Maybe I figured you’d want a heads-up. Or maybe I just wanted to see the look on your face when I told you.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re predictable,” he shoots back, the grin returning to his lips. “Come on, Wisdom. Don’t tell me you’re not even a little curious.”

You hate that he’s right. You’ve always prided yourself on being above his games, on keeping your distance from his reckless charm. But there’s a spark of intrigue now, a question that won’t be ignored. If there’s something unnatural threatening the mortal world, it’s your duty to understand it, to face it. And if that means enduring Sam’s presence… well, you’ve faced worse challenges.

“Fine,” you say, your voice clipped. “But don’t think this means I’m going to tolerate your nonsense.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, though the mischievous gleam in his eyes tells you otherwise.

The two of you take flight together, your wings slicing through the cooling air as the night deepens around you. You’ve flown alongside him before, but it’s never felt quite like this. The tension between you is a thread pulled taut, vibrating with each beat of your wings. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, noting the ease with which he moves, the confidence in every motion. It’s infuriating, how effortless he makes it seem.

“Try to keep up, Wisdom,” he calls over the rush of wind, and before you can reply, he dives, a blur of dark feathers and laughter.

You grit your teeth and follow, your wings folding against your sides as you plummet after him. The air tears past you, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sheer exhilaration of the fall. Then you snap your wings open, catching the wind and leveling out beside him. He glances at you, his grin wide and triumphant.

“Not bad,” he says, and you resist the urge to wipe that smug expression off his face.

The two of you streak across the sky, the world below a patchwork of shadows and faint light. You’ve always felt most alive in the air, where the burdens of divinity seem to fall away. And yet, with Sam beside you, there’s an edge to that feeling, a sharpness that leaves you breathless in a way you don’t quite understand.

When you reach the council chamber, the air is thick with tension. The gods are gathered in a semi-circle, their voices a low hum of discontent. Zeus stands at the center, his presence commanding as always, though his expression is grim.

“You’re late,” Athena says as you and Sam enter, her sharp gaze flicking between the two of you.

“Blame him,” you say, jerking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I’ll take full responsibility,” Sam says, his tone light, though his posture is respectful. “Wouldn’t want to tarnish her impeccable reputation.”

Athena sighs, clearly unimpressed, and turns her attention back to Zeus. “Shall we begin?”

Zeus nods, his voice booming as he addresses the assembly. “Mortals have been whispering of strange occurrences. Crops failing overnight, rivers running dry in hours, creatures appearing where they should not exist. These are not the workings of the Fates, nor of any god in this room. Something is amiss.”

The murmurs grow louder, and you exchange a glance with Sam. For once, his expression is serious, his brow furrowed as he listens. It’s a rare thing, to see him so focused, and it sends a ripple of unease through you.

Zeus continues, his gaze sweeping the room. “We must discover the source of this disruption. I will require volunteers to investigate.”

Before you can think better of it, you step forward. “I will go.”

Sam steps forward as well, his voice steady. “So will I.”

The room falls silent, and you can feel the weight of their gazes on you. Zeus nods, his expression approving. “Very well. The two of you shall go together. Find the source of this disturbance and put an end to it.”

You glance at Sam, your heart sinking. Of course it had to be him. This mission was going to be difficult enough without his infuriating presence. But there’s no turning back now. The path ahead is set, and you have no choice but to walk it—or fly it—together.

The mortal world feels strange as you and Sam step into its realm. Your wings, bound and hidden beneath heavy cloaks, feel unnatural, almost stifled. Every step on the uneven dirt road reminds you of the limitation you’ve imposed on yourself for this mission. Beside you, Sam walks with an easy stride, as if being forced to ground himself doesn’t bother him at all.

“You’re quiet,” he says, his voice low enough to blend with the evening breeze.

“Observation requires silence,” you reply curtly, your eyes scanning the horizon. The village where you’re supposed to start your investigation is just ahead, its cluster of thatched-roof houses dimly lit under the fading light of the sun.

Sam chuckles softly. “You can’t just say you don’t want to talk to me?”

“I thought that much was obvious.”

Despite your tone, his grin widens. He always seems amused when you’re short with him, which only irritates you more. But there’s no time for bickering now. The closer you get to the village, the heavier the air feels, thick with unease. You glance at Sam, and his face is serious for once, his jaw tight as he surveys the scene ahead.

The two of you enter the village cautiously, careful to keep your steps measured and your faces neutral. The streets are nearly deserted, and the few people you see hurry past without making eye contact. It’s a stark contrast to the lively villages you’re accustomed to, where mortals chatter and laugh late into the night.

“Something’s definitely wrong here,” Sam mutters, his gaze flicking between the shadows.

You nod. “We’ll find out more in the morning. For now, we need somewhere to stay.”

It doesn’t take long to find the village’s only inn, a small, creaky building with a faded sign swinging above the door. The innkeeper eyes you suspiciously as you step inside, his gaze lingering on your cloaks. You lower your hood slightly, revealing just enough of your face to disarm him.

“Travelers?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“Yes,” you reply. “We need a room for the night.”

His eyes dart to Sam, then back to you, before he nods. “Only one left.”

You sigh internally, already anticipating the argument that’s sure to come. But before you can say anything, Sam slides a coin across the counter and gives the man an easy smile.

“We’ll take it.”

The innkeeper hands over a key and mutters directions to the room. You follow Sam up the narrow stairs, your irritation simmering just below the surface. When you reach the room, you stop in the doorway, taking in the sight of the single, narrow bed pushed against the far wall.

“Perfect,” you say dryly.

Sam shrugs, dropping his pack onto the floor. “Hey, it’s better than sleeping outside.”

You glare at him. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, leaning against the bedpost. “You’ll be sore and miserable tomorrow, and we need to be at our best.”

“Then you take the floor,” you counter.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor either,” he says with a grin. “Guess we’ll have to share.”

Your feathers bristle beneath your cloak, but you keep your expression neutral. You don’t have the energy to argue further, and you know he’s right\u2014you’ll need to be rested for whatever comes next.

“Fine,” you say tightly. “But stay on your side.”

Sam chuckles, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Promise.”

You roll your eyes and turn away, slipping off your cloak and carefully tucking it into a corner. Without your wings bound, you feel slightly more at ease, though the thought of sharing a bed with Sam keeps your nerves on edge.

The two of you settle in awkwardly, lying as far apart as the narrow bed allows. You keep your back to him, your body rigid as you stare at the wall. For a while, the room is silent except for the faint creak of the inn and the occasional muffled sound from outside.

“Relax, Wisdom,” Sam says softly after a while. His voice is closer than you expect, and you can feel the warmth of him just behind you.

“I am relaxed,” you reply stiffly.

“Sure you are,” he says, his tone teasing but gentle.

You don’t respond, focusing instead on slowing your breathing. Eventually, your exhaustion begins to catch up with you, and your body starts to soften against the mattress.

When you wake in the middle of the night, the room is dark, the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the cracks in the shutters. It takes you a moment to realize why you feel so warm, so\u2026 comfortable. Then you notice the arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest pressed against your back.

Your first instinct is to pull away, but something stops you. He's holding you loosely, his body relaxed and unguarded in sleep. It's an intimacy you never expected from him, and for a moment, you let yourself simply feel it. The heat of his skin, the softness of his breath against your hair, it's almost enough to make you forget who you are, what you are.

But the moment doesn't last. Your mind catches up with your heart, and you shift carefully, trying to extricate yourself without waking him.

“Y/N?” His voice is groggy, barely more than a whisper.

You freeze, caught. “Go back to sleep,” you mutter.

He hums softly, his arm tightening around you just slightly. “You're warm,” he murmurs, his words slurring with sleep.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you don't trust yourself to speak. Instead, you lie still, willing your breathing to slow. It takes a long time for your racing thoughts to settle, but eventually, sleep finds you again, this time, with Sam's warmth still wrapped around you.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of birds outside the window and the faint glow of dawn creeping into the room. Sam is already awake, leaning on one elbow as he watches you with an unreadable expression.

“Morning,” he says, his voice soft but teasing. “Sleep well?”

You push yourself upright, your cheeks burning as you avoid his gaze. “Don’t read into it,” you say quickly. “It was an accident.”

“Sure it was,” he says, his grin widening.

You groan, shoving the blanket off and standing. “Come on. We have work to do.”

As you gather your things and prepare to face the day, you can feel his eyes on you, his presence a steady weight that you can’t ignore. This quest is going to be far more complicated than you anticipated, and not just because of the danger lurking in the mortal world.

The village stretches before you in the muted light of dawn, its narrow paths and crooked buildings casting long shadows across the dirt roads. Despite its eerie stillness, there’s an energy beneath the surface, a tension that vibrates in the air like a string pulled taut. You and Sam move through the streets side by side, cloaks drawn tightly to obscure your wings. His presence is a steady weight at your side, grounding you even as your senses remain alert for the slightest sign of trouble.

The innkeeper had mentioned strange occurrences—livestock disappearing without a trace, fields blighted overnight, people vanishing into the forest and never returning. There’s no clear pattern, no sense of what might be causing it, only an underlying fear that has driven the villagers to the edge. You suspect the answer lies deeper than what mortal eyes can see, and it’s your responsibility to uncover it.

Sam stops suddenly, his hand brushing your arm to catch your attention. His gaze is fixed on a group of villagers gathered near the well, their faces tight with worry as they speak in hushed tones. You glance at him, and he gives a small nod, a silent agreement to approach together.

The villagers stiffen as you draw near, their eyes darting to your cloaks. You’ve learned how to carry yourself among mortals without drawing too much attention, but their wariness is palpable.

“We’re travelers,” you say, keeping your voice calm and even. “We heard about the troubles in your village and wanted to offer our help.”

A man steps forward, his face lined with age and worry. He studies you carefully, his gaze lingering on Sam before returning to you. “What kind of help could strangers offer? The gods themselves seem to have turned their backs on us.”

“Perhaps the gods haven’t turned away,” Sam says, his tone light but firm. “Perhaps they’ve sent help without you realizing.”

The man narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced, but another voice cuts in before he can respond.

“They vanished into the forest last night,” a woman says, her voice trembling. “Three of them. My son among them. There was no sound, no struggle—just gone.”

You exchange a glance with Sam. The forest. It’s always the forest. In every tale of danger and despair, it’s the place where shadows deepen, where answers lie hidden beneath layers of mystery and fear.

“Take us to the edge of the forest,” you say. “We’ll look for them.”

The villagers hesitate, their fear a tangible thing that hangs in the air between you. Finally, the older man nods, gesturing for you to follow.

The walk to the forest is tense, the silence broken only by the crunch of dirt beneath your boots and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. When you reach the treeline, the man stops, his face pale as he stares into the shadowy depths.

“This is as far as we go,” he says. “If you’re wise, you’ll turn back too.”

“We’ll manage,” Sam says with a confidence that seems to unnerve the man further.

The villagers retreat, leaving the two of you alone at the forest’s edge. The air here is different, heavier, as if the trees themselves are watching. You feel a shiver run through you, not from fear but from the strange energy that pulses beneath your skin.

“You feel it too,” Sam says, his voice low.

You nod. “It’s not mortal. Something else is here.”

Without another word, you step into the forest, the canopy above swallowing the light and plunging you into a world of shadow and whispers.

The deeper you go, the stronger the presence becomes, a thrumming energy that prickles against your skin. The forest is unnaturally quiet, the usual sounds of birds and insects replaced by an oppressive stillness. You keep your senses sharp, your eyes scanning the underbrush and your ears straining for the faintest sound.

Sam walks close beside you, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by a quiet focus. It’s strange to see him like this, all of his attention honed in on the task at hand. You’d always thought of him as reckless, too carefree to take anything seriously, but now you’re beginning to see another side of him.

“Stay close,” he says suddenly, his voice soft but firm.

“I’m not a child, Sam,” you reply, bristling at his tone.

“Didn’t say you were,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Just don’t want anything sneaking up on you. You know, since you’re so predictable.”

You glare at him, but the faint amusement in his eyes disarms you. For a moment, the tension between you eases, and you allow yourself a small smile in return.

The moment is short-lived. A sound ripples through the forest, low and guttural, like the growl of a predator. You freeze, your hand instinctively moving to the hidden weapon at your side. Sam steps in front of you, his body tense as he scans the trees.

“Did you hear that?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Stay behind me.”

Before you can argue, something moves in the shadows—a blur of motion too fast to track. You barely have time to react before it lunges at you, a creature of sinew and shadow with glowing eyes that burn like embers.

Sam moves faster than you thought possible, his body a blur as he meets the creature head-on. His blade flashes in the dim light, slicing through the air with precision. The creature snarls, its movements erratic and unnatural, but Sam holds his ground, his strength and skill undeniable.

You shake off your shock and draw your own weapon, moving to flank the creature. Together, you and Sam fight as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, your movements instinctively synchronized. The creature is relentless, but it’s no match for the two of you. With one final strike, it lets out a piercing screech and dissolves into nothingness, leaving behind only the faint scent of sulfur.

You lower your weapon, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Sam turns to you, his face flushed but triumphant.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you reply, though your hands are still trembling. “What was that?”

“Something unnatural,” he says grimly. “Zeus wasn’t kidding about this.”

You glance at him, your irritation forgotten in the wake of the battle. For the first time, you feel a flicker of gratitude for his presence. Whatever lies ahead, you’re glad you don’t have to face it alone.

The rest of the day is a blur of tension and discovery. You and Sam uncover more signs of the creatures’ presence—claw marks on trees, patches of scorched earth, and the faint remnants of an otherworldly energy that clings to the air like smoke.

By the time night falls, you’re both exhausted, your bodies aching from the strain of the day. You find a small clearing and decide to make camp, the fire you build casting flickering shadows across the trees.

As you sit beside the flames, the silence between you feels less heavy now, less strained. There’s an unspoken understanding in the way you pass each other food, in the way Sam adjusts his cloak to shield you from the chill.

“You fought well today,” you say quietly, surprising yourself with the admission.

“So did you,” he replies, his voice warm. “Not bad for someone who’s ‘predictable.’”

You huff a laugh, the sound surprising you both. For a moment, the tension between you fades, replaced by something softer, something that feels almost like trust.

When you finally lie down to rest, the danger of the day lingers at the edges of your thoughts, but Sam’s presence is a steady comfort.

The forest feels endless, the thick canopy above blotting out the sun and casting everything in shadow. Days blur together as you and Sam press forward, following the faint trail of devastation left by the creatures. Every step deeper into the woods feels heavier, the oppressive energy seeping into your bones. Whatever force drives these monsters, it’s ancient and powerful, far beyond what you initially expected.

The attacks grow more frequent. It’s as if the creatures sense you’re getting closer to the source, their aggression increasing with every skirmish. The battles leave you winded and bruised, your divine strength tested in ways you hadn’t imagined. Even Sam, with all his confidence and skill, is beginning to show signs of wear. Still, he pushes forward, his determination unwavering.

You try to ignore how often his focus shifts to you—how his eyes flicker to check on you during fights, how his hand brushes yours when the silence stretches too long. It’s disarming, the way he looks at you like you’re more than just his rival, more than just another god forced to endure this quest. You don’t know how to process it, so you bury the thoughts deep and concentrate on the mission.

The final confrontation comes without warning. One moment, you and Sam are navigating a narrow ravine, the air thick with the scent of moss and damp earth. The next, the ground trembles beneath your feet, and the creatures emerge, their forms twisting and shifting like shadows given life. These are not like the ones you’ve faced before. They’re larger, more feral, their movements faster than your eyes can track.

You barely have time to draw your weapon before they’re on you. The battle is chaos, a blur of flashing claws and snarling teeth. You and Sam fight as one, your movements synchronized in a way that feels almost instinctual now. You’ve learned to anticipate each other’s actions, to move in tandem like two halves of a whole.

But even with your combined strength, the creatures are relentless. One swipes at your side, its claws tearing through your cloak and leaving a jagged gash across your ribs. You grit your teeth against the pain and strike back, your blade finding its mark. Beside you, Sam takes a blow to the shoulder, the force of it sending him stumbling before he recovers and drives his sword through the creature’s chest.

The fight feels endless, each second stretching into an eternity. You’re bleeding, your body aching with the strain of battle, but you refuse to falter. Beside you, Sam is equally battered, his movements slowing as exhaustion takes its toll.

Then, finally, the tide turns. With one final, desperate effort, you drive your blade into the heart of the largest creature. Its body convulses, a horrific screech tearing through the air before it collapses and dissolves into ash. The remaining creatures falter, their connection to the source severed. One by one, they fall, their forms dissipating into nothingness.

The silence that follows is deafening. You stand there, chest heaving, your weapon still clutched tightly in your hand. Blood drips from the wound at your side, staining the ground beneath you. Sam is equally battered, his armor dented and his face smeared with dirt and blood.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The realization of what you’ve done, what you’ve survived, crashes over you like a tidal wave. The euphoria is overwhelming, a rush of relief and triumph that leaves you dizzy.

Before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you and throw your arms around Sam. He catches you instinctively, his arms wrapping around you as you bury your face in his shoulder. His body is warm and solid against yours, grounding you in the chaos of your emotions.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. When you finally pull back, your hands still rest on his shoulders, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

His eyes meet yours, wide with something that looks like shock. For once, he’s speechless, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. You’re not sure who moves first, whether it’s you or him, but suddenly the space between you disappears.

His lips press against yours, warm and urgent, and the world falls away. The pain, the exhaustion, the forest around you—it all fades into nothingness. There’s only Sam, his hands steady on your waist, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

You don’t know how long the kiss lasts. It could be seconds or hours, but when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer.

“Was that—” he starts, his voice rough, but you cut him off with another kiss, softer this time.

When you pull back again, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Shut up, Sam.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and for the first time, you feel the weight of your rivalry dissolve completely. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll face it together—and for now, that’s enough.

The ascent to Olympus is both triumphant and wearying. After days of trekking through mortal lands and battling shadows, your bodies ache with fatigue, yet victory fuels each step. The air grows lighter as you near the summit, the golden halls of the gods shimmering in the distance, their brilliance blinding after the dim forest.

Sam walks beside you, his cloak billowing in the crisp wind. His wounds, though tended to, still show faint traces of the battles you’ve endured. His steps are sure, though his occasional glances at you betray a quiet worry, as if even now he fears for your well-being. It’s a side of him you never expected to see, one that has burrowed deep into your thoughts and refuses to leave.

When you finally reach the gates of Olympus, the other gods await you. Their eyes are bright with curiosity and perhaps a hint of respect. Even Apollo, lounging against one of the golden pillars, seems to straighten slightly as you and Sam stride forward.

Zeus rises from his throne, his imposing figure framed by the glow of lightning that seems to pulse around him. He regards you both with a mixture of approval and something sterner, his gaze lingering on the faint scars and bruises you carry.

“You have returned,” Zeus says, his voice booming across the courtyard. “And victorious, no less. I confess I had my doubts, but you have proven yourselves worthy.”

“Was there ever a question?” Sam quips, though there’s no malice in his tone. His smile is easy, but you catch the tension in his shoulders as he stands before the King of the Gods.

Zeus’s lips twitch, as if suppressing a smile. “You’ve done more than I asked. The creatures that plagued the mortals are no more, and the balance is restored. For that, I owe you a debt.”

He steps forward, his presence dominating the space. “For your bravery and sacrifice, I will grant each of you one wish. Whatever lies within my power to give, it shall be yours.”

The offer hangs in the air, heavy with promise. The other gods lean in, their curiosity palpable. It’s rare for Zeus to grant such a boon, and you can feel their eyes on you, waiting to see what you will ask for.

You open your mouth, but Sam speaks first, his voice steady and clear. “I know what I want.”

Zeus nods, gesturing for him to continue.

“I wish to marry her,” Sam says, and your heart stops. His eyes meet yours, unwavering, as if daring you to object. “I want to build a life with her, not just as gods but as equals. And I wish for a domain of our own—a place where we can rule together, as others worship and honor us, just as they do the rest of you.”

A stunned silence falls over the courtyard. You can feel the weight of every gaze, every whisper of disbelief and curiosity. Even Zeus looks momentarily taken aback, his brow furrowing as he studies Sam.

“You ask for much,” Zeus says, his tone measured. “To bind yourself to another god is no small request. And a domain of your own… Where would you lay claim?”

Sam stands tall, his confidence unshaken. “The winds,” he says simply. “The skies already belong to you, Zeus, but the winds are untamed, wild and free. Let us rule them together. Let them carry the prayers of mortals to the heavens. Let them be ours.”

Zeus considers this, his gaze flickering to you. “And what of you? Is this your wish as well?”

You can hardly breathe. The weight of Sam’s words presses down on you, your mind reeling. You’ve spent so much of your existence keeping others at arm’s length, refusing to let anyone get too close. But now, standing before the gods, Sam’s proposal laid bare for all to see, you realize the truth.

You want this. You want him.

“Yes,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you. “It is my wish as well.”

Zeus nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “So be it.”

He raises his hand, and the air around you shifts, crackling with divine energy. The sky above darkens momentarily, the winds whipping around you in a frenzy before they suddenly calm. You feel the power settle into your bones, a new connection to the world around you, as if the very air has become an extension of your being.

“It is done,” Zeus declares. “You are now gods of the winds, your domain as vast and untamed as the skies themselves. As for your union…” He pauses, a faint smile curling his lips. “Let it be known across Olympus and the mortal world alike. You shall be husband and wife, partners in rule and in life.”

The gods erupt into applause, some more enthusiastic than others. Aphrodite claps her hands together, a pleased smile on her face, while Ares merely grunts in approval. Even Athena gives a small nod, her sharp gaze softening as she looks at you and Sam.

Sam turns to you, his eyes shining with something you can’t quite name. He extends his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, you take it. His grip is warm and steady, grounding you in a way that nothing else ever has.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other now,” he says, his grin crooked but genuine.

You laugh, the sound light and free. “Guess so.”

As the gods continue their celebration, you and Sam stand together, the weight of your new roles settling over you. But for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you know you’ll face them together. And for now, that’s enough.

Everything about this was so beautiful 😍

Sweet Juice

Severus Snape x Alumni!reader.

NFSW! Basically (fluffy) smut with a massive plot. //! Incorrect use of Potions.

Severus is 30 years old in this fic, you are 23, minor age gap. 

Summary: Ever since your youth, you were passionate about the art of Potions. Luckily, during your time at Hogwarts, you found a mentor in the strict and cold Professor Snape. Having made a habit of spending hours after class talking to him, all of this came to an abrupt end during your final year. Leaving you in a total mystery, with no answers.  It was only years later that you took your revenge, in the hope of moving on. Not suspecting that it would bring you face to face with your deepest desires. 

A/N: I admit I could have turned this into a multi-chapter fanfic, but I figured that would break the rhythm, so enjoy this long read! This fic is inspired by ‘Sweet Juice’ by Purple Kiss, go stream it for a better life! Trust me (;

Word count: 14k. (hehe)

"Ah- Miss Y/f/n, please accept this price. It is an honour to be able to reward young talents like yourself." The little cup was hurriedly placed in your hands.

"It is an honour to be awarded with this prestigious prize," You politely thanked the crowd.

Your eyes lingered on the name of the prize, ‘Research & Development, winner of the best potion of the year'. And without even realising it, your lips drew a somewhat smug smile. Standing upright, ready to have your photo done, to appear in the next edition of the Daily Prophet, with pride, you held the cup in your hands. In that busy room, you were the youngest. And yet, you are the one who has been praised for your achievements. Earning jealous glares from the potion makers, who coveted it as much as you did.

"Miss, can you tell us more about your potion, how did you get the idea?" You were asked, for what you guessed was now an actual interview.

"I wanted to be able to help the Wizards and Witches to unwind more easily, it is sometimes difficult to let go of work pressure and its boredom. That is why I decided to study Amortentia, and its derivations, in order to create a potion capable of releasing in us the hormones necessary to enjoy ourselves... Without the negative effects of the ancient Potions." You explained, in the simplest way possible to the journalists.

"So it's a potion that gets you aroused?" One adds.

You frowned, a little offended by this shortcut, "Yes, in theory, but it goes deeper than that. Otherwise, I wouldn't be rewarded today. But if you want to know, you have to taste it... All the reviews have been very positive." You commented, with a wink. 

To summarise months, almost a whole year of research, is almost an insult to your work. Amortentia is one of the most dangerous potions. Studying it to the point of understanding its mechanism and removing the obsession it causes, was the greatest achievement of the process. The rest was just a series of experiments, an understanding of the human body and its hormones, and it was done. 

The result was prodigious, it brought a sense of relaxation, without the risk of an eternal sleep like the Draught of Peace. Comfort and love, without the risk of being manipulated by an evil liquid. And then, depending on the quantity used, the effects could be more or less intense, but never dangerous. Quite remarkable, considering all the side effects that most Potions could provide. 

You deserve your reward tonight for many reasons, no one else has been able to do it in the past.

“Have you always held an interest in the subject?" The interview proceeded, to have some content for the beloved magazine.

"Yes, since my school days at Hogwarts. I quickly found a vocation in the subject, expressing my talents at an early age.” You paused, before continuing, "But it would never have been possible without the support of my teacher and mentor, Severus Snape, who taught me everything. His talent is second to none, and next to it, I am nobody, even after tonight." You humbly added, with another smile.

At the end of this sentence, your eyes searched for a certain dark silhouette. 

Unlike earlier, that smile was particularly forced on your lips. To say that he had supported you was a fine lie. While at first he was indeed ‘supporting’ you (more like a tolerating you), graciously accepting you to attend his prestigious private Potion club, the entirety of your last year was a failure. 

In your first years, you never had to face his wrath and nasty comments, simply because he couldn't blame you for anything. Your work was perfect, from theory to application. But to him, you were nothing.

With time, and your growing skills, things changed. There was a time when you even assumed that an understanding had developed between the two of you, you were not friends, it was impossible with such a man, but it wasn’t nothing either. Eventually, the discussions after class or the club, sharing theories and experiences, became quite regular. Sometimes up to dinner hour, and even after curfew, the time went by so quickly in these periods, as neither of you paid attention, caught up in the interaction. After all, the discussions were very entertaining, between two Potions enthusiasts, and you gained a lot of knowledge from them.

Perhaps because you had succeeded to raise his esteem for you, Professor Snape, during class, would give you one of his infrequent compliments on your methods, or provide you with advice while experiencing in the club. Over time, you came to really treasure this exclusive ‘bond’, with such a cold and distant person. It would be a lie to say that in every class, your shared private discussions weren't the moment you were most looking forward to. You felt special.

You couldn't remember exactly when or how this routine started, it had developed naturally during the end of your fifth year and lasted all the way through to the sixth. However, you could remember bitterly how it had ended. 

By the start of your final year at Hogwarts, a cold shoulder from Professor Snape had begun to creep between the two of you. He no longer commented on your work, or even dared to give you one of his rare compliments. It was simply as if you didn't even exist. This drastic change was particularly noticeable when you tried to revive another discussion after class, only to be rejected. 'I don't have time Miss Y/f/n', 'I've got too much work', 'Go, and revise', these were, obviously, bland excuses. 

You had spent time thinking about it, trying to understand this radical change, but nothing could be found. The discussions had never overflowed on personal information, at least on his side, you - You had been more talkative. And again, nothing major, just simple information like your preferences in terms of flowers, cake flavours, and favourite literature. It never looked like it bothered him to listen to you, and yet strangely enough it seemed to interest him. But, in the end, most of the talk was about Potions, nothing odd that should have ended it all brutally.

In the course of your discussions, you had always expressed an interest in a career in the field, and Professor Snape had consequently supported you (in his own way) in this idea. In all honesty, having his approval really encouraged you. Until, once again, your senior year. While you had been able to get decent, if not perfect, results up to this point, the downfall continued when you saw your grades drop for unfair reasons. You had never witnessed his unfair grading, but when you became one of his victims, he was unforgiving towards your harmless mistakes. It was as if he was trying to ruin your future career as a potion maker.

All this unjustified hatred, discouraged you, but not to the point of giving up your aspiration, otherwise you wouldn't be standing there with the precious prize in your hands. 

Was it some kind of revenge? Definitely. 

Mentioning Severus in your ‘thank you speech’ was perfectly legitimate, he had given you more than anyone else in your life. But, even though you kept telling yourself that it was already 3 years ago and it belonged to the past, your heart was still broken, disappointed. And by his presence tonight, you were hoping to finally put an end to it all. Snape had witnessed your happiness, you had won, the revenge was completed. Time to move on. 

However, it was easier to convince yourself than to apply it. It would be wrong to claim that you hadn't worked hard to impress him. Ever since that cold war between you two, no matter how strange it may seem, you couldn't get over it. 

Sometimes, in your most private moments, you would close your eyes in the hope of being able to remember. The damp smell of the dungeons invading your nostrils, your teacher's deep voice echoing within the cold walls to your ears, praising you how well you had worked. His dark eyes focused on you, and only you. In fact, the intensity of his dark gaze could suffocate you, and yet you would not care. You desperately wanted to reclaim that relationship, as someone to whom he would give his precious time, where he would share his passions anew, a time when in his mind you existed and were important. And no matter how embarrassing it was, the idea of finding pleasure in these memories was enough to make your knickers wet.

At the time, you had convinced yourself that you were not holding any affection regarding your Professor… Another fine lie from you, obviously. It had taken a few years to come to this conclusion, to get out of the denial of this forbidden love. But now it was clear and explained a lot concerning your addiction and pain. The feeling of anticipation at the end of each lesson, the way you would pour your soul into the subject in the hope of receiving a ‘compliment’... Or simply the way you kept seeking for his attention, even after years. Nothing about this behaviour was appropriate, regardless how hard you tried to maintain the classic student-teacher relationship, on your own. 

Perhaps Snape had even realised this, explaining the sudden cessation of your individual time together. 

And even though, with hindsight, you should have felt guilty, you couldn't throw away that attachment. It was as if he had put a spell on you, that the lack of contact with him since you graduated from Hogwarts had reinforced that love. 

But today was different, it was your revenge, your mourning over this period of your life. 

The sound of the camera flashes snapped you out of your thoughts. The lights blinded your eyes for a moment, and you blinked frantically to regain your sight. Hoping that the pictures would look nice on the magazine...

"Well, congratulations Miss Y/f/n, we hope to see your Potion soon on the market amongst our merchants. I can’t wait to taste it, as you have suggested." The interview ended on this note, and the journalists dismissed themselves to make room for those who wished to thank you or congratulate you in person. 

Thus, you were greeted with a new wave of questions, of praises, mostly it was older wizards and witches who were attending the event, and thus more 'experienced' than you in Potions. Their words tasted like hypocrisy, but you accepted everything with a polite smile. You actually enjoyed the attention, although deep down it was a particular Potions Master you were looking for, so it all went over your head. After a few moments you managed to escape from the conversation that had been built around the right to use the Felix Felixis at the Ministry's work, to get yourself a glass of alcohol from the buffet. 

The taste of alcohol eased your nerves, rejoicing in the moment of calm you just gave yourself after all the attention you received. But the moment was short.

“Miss Y/f/n. How fortuitous to find you here." A voice commented sarcastically on your presence at the bar. 

There was no need to look up at the person speaking to you because you already knew who he was. His deep voice was like a melody, a music composed by the finest musicians of this world. How, Merlin, you truly missed it…

“Professor Snape- Hum, or should I say Severus now that we are colleagues?” You answered him a little too smoothly for your taste, One drink and my anger is already forgotten? I need to get my act together!

“Snape will do, we are not direct colleagues. Let's keep some formality.” He replied somewhat distantly. Ouch- Years did not seem to have quieted the hatred he had against you.

You had not yet looked up to him, postponing the moment when you would be blessed with his physical presence. But you could see from the corner of your eye that he was pouring himself a shot glass of what seemed to be a fire whiskey.

"I must say that I am surprised that the award was given to you tonight... However, it would be wrong not to congratulate you." Severus began slowly, as if preventing himself from saying too much. “But…”

“But?” Your voice cut him off, a mixture of excitement and sheer joy at the thought of receiving praise from your dear Professor. This special praise you had been longing for. 

"But-” He sighed as if you had annoyed him, “I object to the fact that my teachings have led you to produce such a grotesque Potion." 

If your eyes had been glued to your glass since the beginning of the conversation fearing to feel butterflies in your stomach at the sight of Severus, you suddenly raised them, eyes wide with surprise. And in your stomach, anger. How dare he humiliate my work like that?

However, you were at a loss for words. He hadn't changed at all, he hadn't even made the effort to wear another suit for the event. He remained the same man as when you left him. Your eyes fell on his face, he had a neutral expression, as if his hurtful words were the most well-deserved ones. His eyes were on you, but because of the dim light and his dark pupils it was impossible for you to discern any judgement within. Otherwise, his hair was still the same length, falling gently over his shoulders, soft… His hooked nose made him look sterner than ever, and the crease between his over-frowned eyebrows did not seem to have increased.

He was still the same man, the one you were so fond of, and that made it more difficult. 

But it was as if you two had evolved in two different time spaces. It had only been two years since you left Hogwarts, and it was certain that the occasional times you ran into a former classmate, they all had trouble recognising you. Obviously, you have grown in maturity through your work. You were no longer a young girl, you were a woman, a lady, with stature and respect. You were even certain that if your name wasn't mentioned at your prize-giving, Severus wouldn't have known who you are. 

"A grotesque potion?” You took back his words, insulted, “You know perfectly well all the work that lies behind it. I explained it in a briefing for the association. You must have read it, right?" You tried to hide the irritation in your voice.

"I read it, of course. And although I must admit that it was all a tremendous amount of hard work... All these efforts, for such a clownish result, is disappointing."

You couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief. You were supposed to be the one to get your revenge tonight. And here you are, in the shoes of the student you used to be in your last year, being jeered for your hard work. His words were harsh, and perhaps because they came from your professor, they hurt you badly. 

"The mere fact that I am the one who taught you everything is even more terrible." He added nonchalantly, bringing his glass to his lips. 

You remained quiet, thinking of all the things you could say to him. After all, he was no longer your instructor, Severus no longer had superiority over you. What can he do now, if I snapped at him? Expel me from Hogwarts? Perhaps, it was the moment for you to confess everything that was weighing on your heart. How his coldness and distance had made you miserable. 

"I thought it was only fair to thank you in my speech." You retorted, "But as far as I can see, you don't even want to be associated with me anymore, even as a mere tutor. Your hatred of me, I don't know where it comes from, but it's all unfair. This was supposed to be my special night. But now you've ruined it.” You hesitated before speaking again, “Like you’ve ruined my seventh year at Hogwarts."

Severus’ face remained as neutral as ever, but in his posture you felt a kind of irritation, he was caught off guard by your curt reply. Well, he must understand that I won't take his nastiness easily anymore. 

However, you took no pleasure in giving him this answer. You had imagined many scenarios about your reunion... You had hoped that he would apologise, show that he felt sorry for having been cold to you, and in the more realistic scenario simply shake your hand, congratulate you and that was it. In no way, had you expected that he would remain so hostile. 

A heavy silence fell between the two of you. His lack of response bothered you further, so you grabbed your glass and finished it straight down. "I'm going to get some air, if anyone is looking for me." Your voice was less angry, as your throat tightened dangerously, poised to burst into tears and it was slightly audible. It was a disaster.

You took your trophy with great care, the only thing that gave you comfort, and left without even bowing to Severus. You were never going to see him again in your life anyway. 

The evening of the association for Potions makers of Great Britain (or simply those with an interest for the discipline), was held in the large manor house of the current Chairman. After escaping from the hall where the main event was taking place, you looked for a way out to the garden. Your heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing in the various empty corridors. The laughter and voices of the party began to fade with each step you took. 

You were getting away from these jealous and condescending people and above all, from Severus. Good, you didn't feel like crying miserably in front of everyone. Your hopes were already destroyed, your ego wasn't going to be the next crime. After a moment, you spotted a windowed door leading to the backyard and quickly rushed to open it, taking a deep breath of air in desperation. 

Stepping out completely, you were pleasantly surprised to discover the lovely atmosphere. The garden was well tended with bushes of various flowers and the grass was green and healthy, while lanterns lightened the path leading to the depths of the garden. You were caught up in the sense of peace and quiet that it gave you, feeling much more comfortable on your own. 

It was summer, late August, school was beginning soon, work was about to restart and the merchants would soon be back in business. But it was already late, the moon was already high in the sky, almost full, and the stars shone brightly in the country sky away from London's city lights. The air was a bit fresh, but cold enough to get your mind back in order without freezing in your evening gown, which was quite revealing… But still elegant and pretty.

Venturing into the garden you finally found a bench to settle down on and think about what just happened, alone. Your eyes lifted to the magnificent starry sky before you, and its darkness made you think of Severus... The way his pupils were fixed on you, the image replayed in your mind... Over and over. You wanted to despise him for his behaviour, he had broken your heart! Not to feed your already distracted mind with lusty thoughts. Did he, at least, appreciate the sight of me in this dress? Your mind began to wander in a dangerous area, and you needed to stop right now.  

Severus had been nothing but spiteful, he hadn't changed for sure, whether it was physically or mentally. And yet... You couldn't hate him in the slightest. It all seemed wrong on his part, as if he was forcing himself. Pushing you away. 

You sighed, it was truly a disaster, you were frustrated with Severus, with yourself. Tonight was about revenge, moving on was the main mission and now you were fantasising all over again, like the flame of your love had been rekindled. 

A tear rolled down your cheek from sheer frustration, disappointment in yourself. Then one tear broke into a silent cry. Were you doomed to love a man you will never see again, who is out of reach and seems to be loathing you? Put like this, it was as if you enjoyed suffering. 

Now, you had no desire to return to the house with the other members, the possibility of running into Snape again and worsening your mental state, made you dread the prospect. Great, he had won and definitely broken your heart. 

It was decided, you were going to stay there, with your trophy in your arms and with a bit of luck you will be able to leave unnoticed by floo powder. The plan seemed reasonable. 

But fate seemed to have decided otherwise. 

You jumped when you heard someone cough to get your attention. You were so deep in thought, your eyes fixed on the sky, that you didn't hear anyone approaching you. Your little moment of peace had been ruined, and you frowned as your eyes fell on the culprit. Severus’ brooding silhouette in the darkness of the garden lived up to his Hogwarts reputation as a bat. 

You sniffed, "What are you doing here? Go away. You've already hurt me enough, there's no need to make it worse, I heard your nasty comments once already." In your pathetic state you asked Severus rather rudely to leave. 

There was a small silence before it was broken by his voice, "Are you crying?"

You couldn't make out his face, so you concluded that he couldn't see yours either. You hesitated between telling the truth or lying before answering, “Why do you care…?” Your voice was weak, in no way hiding the truth. 

“I asked you a question, Y/n” He persisted.

Hearing his voice pronounce your first name, as he used to do when you were in private conversation, made you weak in the knees, much more than you would have liked to acknowledge. 

"I, hum... Yes." You replied, sobbing quietly. Resistance will only make things worse. 

"It's a wonder you've managed to make a respectable place for yourself in the business, with such a weak mind." But unlike earlier his voice was gentler, firm, but gentle. "I've talked a bit with some of your fellow peers, people who have been around you for the past few years. Supporting you in carrying out your work… Believing in this project of yours.” He paused for another moment. 

You didn't know what he was getting at, confusion all over your face. The people you had surrounded yourself with for work were not in attendance tonight. They were mostly former students just like yourself, who had attended the advanced Potions class. If they were absent tonight it is because in their research of Potions, unlike you, they had not managed to produce a viable solution. 

In the darkness, you discerned him taking his place beside you on the bench. The warmth of his body spreading over your arm, allows you to evaluate how close you were to each other. And the answer was easy, very close. You could smell the light scent of his fragrance, a bit musky, the bare skin of your arm was grazing against the thick fabric of his frock coat, and it was a miracle that he was still able to breathe under all those layers in this warm weather. You noticed that it was the first time he was so close to you, usually he would keep his distance. His desk or the potions station had always been a well-respected barrier between the two of you. And thus, it made you a bit timid.

"Well, talking…” He spoke sarcastically to rectify himself, “I’ve exchanged letters with them. Checking on my former students, those you are working with now. Ensuring that everything was going well for you." He emphasised the last part of his sentence. 

And Severus doesn't need to amplify his words, for you to understand what he was implying secretly. 

Severus had checked on you, taking news through his letters over the past two years. 

Each of his words hit you straight in the heart, making it pound faster each time. You thanked Merlin for the obscurity, because between your tears that must have drenched your makeup and the crimson spreading over your cheeks, the sight must be pretty dramatic. 

"Why didn't you send an owl directly to me?" Your voice was still weak, but your tears had ceased. You ran your delicate hand over your cheeks to remove the remaining tears. 

You heard Severus sigh quietly at your question. It took him a while to answer, as if he was tortured to answer honestly or lying, hesitating in the same way you did a few moments ago with his question. “It’s complicated.” Severus opted to be vague, "In any case, I've got nothing but praise for your work or even your person... They like you just the same as they did back at Hogwarts."

You didn't know if your mind was playing tricks on you by wanting to romanticise everything, but in his voice there was a faint hint of nostalgia. Severus' note brought a smile to your lips, "I'm glad to hear that, I appreciate them as well. At least they're not hypocrites like everyone else tonight..." Your honesty seemed to catch what sounded like a quiet chuckle from your former Professor. 

"I must grant you, Y/n... That my words were harsh against you." Severus' voice regained its usual firm tone, "But I must confess, that such a potion, with such utility, surprises me coming from you."

That was what you guessed, his form of apology, and you accepted the way it was. "It is true that in my youth I never showed any interest in Healing Potions. What interested me the most were Poisons... But Amortentia is a poison like any other, in its own way, and research can lead us to expand our minds, can't they?” The fact that Severus knew perfectly your preferences in the area, made it easier to explain. "And then, with hindsight, I'm proud that my invention helps people, rather than killing them."

Severus nodded quietly, indicating that he fully understood the meaning of your words, as you had hoped he would. He seemed to remember all the information you had told him about yourself three years ago. That made you more than happy.  

“‘Sweet juice’, that's how you named it?” He spoke with sarcasm, gently mocking. 

It was your turn to sweetly chuckle, “No! I had originally named it 'Aquae dulcis', from the Latin ‘peaceful liquid’... But for the promotion, I was advised to change the name to a more sales-oriented one, which would fit better with my image as a lady.”

"I was wondering why the name doesn't match you… I've got my answer." He sounded somewhat relieved, "Many people have mentioned the taste." Severus sounded less reticent over your Potion, it was even if he was aware of the feedbacks that were provided in order to boost the pre-sales. 

"Ah- yes, the taste... That's what gives the potion its reputation for being arousing." You sighed a little embarrassed to talk about this with him, “Unlike many Potions, with a disgusting taste… Mine is sweet. The liquid drips slowly down the throat, the taste hooked up everyone wishing to take it. The feeling is strange to describe, and actually I can’t… Like a flame, it all burns, it all gets on, the throat-burning sensation is taboo.” You added the last part of your sentence in a whisper due to the embarrassing nature of your language. It sounded sexual, you must admit. 

Again there was silence and you wished you hadn't said what you revealed about this special taste, fearing that you had gone too far and brought your former teacher into equal discomfort. 

But he answered with an unexpected thought, “I’m curious about the experience.” You caught your breath surprised, not even realising that you had stopped for a moment out of fear,  "No potions so far have managed to ease my nerves. The Draught of Peace made me feel like I was too tired to continue working properly, so I stopped years ago. And if there's one time when I'm extremely irritable, it's at work, or when I'm grading papers… Especially when I grade the papers.” It was as if Severus was 'justifying' himself for wishing to try it. But deep down, some peace would only do him good. 

"Only a few drops then, otherwise you'll regret the tiredness you got from the Draught of Peace when you'll feel aroused during your teaching." Even yourself was surprised by the bold words you used.

Thankfully Severus took less time to answer than last time, "Of course. I'll be careful. I'll give you a personal feedback on my impressions over the next few days following the start of term."

"Send the owl directly to me this time, it would be unfortunate if anyone found out you had an 'uncomfortable issue' because of my Potion." You laughed softly, clearly more comfortable around him. You were both adults now, fellow colleagues in the Potions discipline, you have the right to tease him about the unwanted side effects.

Well, unwanted for Severus’ case. You knew that many were looking forward to taking bigger doses... Precisely to get horny. 

“I will Y/n,” He answered in a tone that seemed to be almost as amused. 

“So… You want it, you want some Sweet Juice?” You ask him, hardly believing that you were asking Severus Snape, your cold former professor, if he wanted a stash of your own (arousing) Potion. 

"If you don't mind, as it will only be sold on the mid-September market, if I understand correctly. I will, of course, pay for anything you may want to send me." He firmly says, 

You shook your head sharply, "Absolutely not, I'll send you these for free as a thank-you. And before school starts, so everything will be ready for you to face those annoying and incompetent first years." 

Severus sighs, a mixture of exasperation and relief. Exasperation because you were strict about him not paying you for anything, relief at the idea of finally having a solution to calm his tense nerves. “Stubborn as ever, I see. You may have changed physically, mentally you’re still the same.”

His little statement had the power to make your cheeks even more flushed. So he noticed that I had changed… That I’m now a lady. “Thank you, I guess?” You had no idea how to reply to that. 

"That's a compliment.” He clarified for you, “You are, indeed, now… Excuse my choice of words- a pretty woman. But besides your appearance, you are blossoming in what you always dreamed of, with a remarkable career start. It's a good thing you've kept parts of yourself intact, fame must not go to your head. But you are a reasonable lady, I know everything will be fine." It was Severus' turn to be a bit awkward with his words.

His compliment went straight to your heart and seemed to soothe all the pain you had felt over the last few years. However, in his tone, Severus sounded as if he wanted to keep his words strictly formal, as he had always done even in your deepest discussions in the past. 

"Thank you Severu- Hm, Snape.” You hated how easy it was for you to say his first name, when he had just corrected you a few moments before. However, he didn't correct you this time, letting that minor error slide. 

You indulged in the peaceful silence that settled between the two of you. The way the conversation had progressed was comparable to the ones you had in the past, if not more comfortable. Two enthusiasts discussing about their favourite subject, trying to understand each other's opinion with respect and interest. Obviously, a formal one, Severus always maintains his distance from you, as if he was always your Professor and couldn't afford to be more. Your hopes were not high on a potential romance with Severus, he was older, your former teacher, mysterious… In the end you know nothing about the man and his job was keeping him busy all year long. However, a friend would be a good start… A rather affordable hope.

In the end, when Severus opted not to act cold, it was as if there hadn't been a rupture in your relationship. The chemistry had returned back in a flash. It made you bitterly regret those three lost years... Besides, you still had no idea of the exact nature of his past harsh attitude. Maybe even tonight was just an exception and the question will never be answered.

However, if Severus ever decided, as he had suggested with his impressions, to exchange letters, perhaps with time you would find the courage to ask him. Now, it would be a bad idea and would ruin the calm atmosphere. 

"Maybe it's time to get back to the party..." Severus offered, his voice not exactly enthusiastic about joining the festivities again as well, "The others will wonder when they notice our absence."

“Right, It would be unfortunate if they started to wonder about our connection..." You laughed lightly, mocking his constant worry about being paired with you. Severus huffed, outraged. 

He stood up, and in the half-light you saw him offering his arm to you, like a gentleman. You took it without hesitation, linking yours to his.

"It's been pleasing tonight…” You spoke quietly, as Severus escorted you back into the manor.

He inhaled shakily before answering, "Yes, I agree. And hearing from you, - personally - is always preferable. I hope this will last in your future letters." 

You smiled at his words, "Obviously, Severus." There was a deep fondness evident in your voice. This time you couldn't help it, saying his first name felt right, and he didn't correct you either. 

-

The October leaves had just fallen, the soft light with its morning rays of sunshine was reaching into your office. The scenery was quiet, peaceful even. And even though you had no reason to be in your office this early, you were waiting for a special occurrence. 

Sweet Juice' had been on the market for almost a month, at various shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and sales were more than encouraging. In fact, it was a real success. Some minor stock-outs caused even a panic among the sellers when they couldn't satisfy their demanding customers. Everyone was talking about the benefits of your Potion, and how it changed their life.

The money you received was considerable, allowing you to take a break. After two years of hard work, you deserved it. And a new solution cannot be invented that easily anyway. So your days were pretty uneventful, sometimes you were occupied with checking in with the producer, the one you had trusted enough to share the secrets of your mixture, and the sales. Otherwise, most of your days were spent taking care of yourself, enjoying life and, above all, waiting for Severus' letters. 

Currently in your hands, the last letter you received, already dated from the previous week. The other letters, which numbered five, were neatly folded and kept in the first drawer of your desk. Severus' handwriting was as elegant and delicate as ever, and you took great comfort in receiving them. The content was kept formal, but somewhat ‘casual’ or ‘friendly’. Which was a good development. 

The letters were quite brief and mostly structured the same way. Severus would write about his thoughts on Potions, then about his days at Hogwarts, and finally he would reply directly to the contents of the letter he had just received, making his comments on your daily life. 

In each of his answers, you could tell that he was making the effort to maintain the relationship despite the distance. When the first correspondence started, you were quite surprised to see his owl on your windowsill within less than a week. You were pleasantly surprised, expecting to receive a response within a relatively long delay. To be honest, you weren't expecting this much from him, because you know how occupied he is.

Your eyes lingered on the contents of the one you held in your hands. 

Dear Y/n, 

Thank you for the new batch of Potions you have sent me.

I would like to use it sparingly, addiction would be regrettable. So I take precautions, even though the peaceful effect it brings me is always efficient. Being able to sleep properly is, I must confess, a luxury I had not enjoyed until recently. And it's all thanks to you. 

I would say my days at Hogwarts are bearable. Work is draining, as always. 

I hadn’t found a moment to read the book you recommended. I will try to make up for it before my next answer. 

However, I am glad to hear that you are taking the time to have a break. Don't worry if the days can be boring, and you miss work, you need it. Do not become like me, please.

Yours faithfully, 

Severus Snape,

You had lost count, you must have read the contents of the letter ten times already. In fact, every letter you received from Severus was read more than once. It was a forbidden pleasure, but seeing his words specifically directed at you, gives you butterflies in your insides. 

But, you put your mind at rest with the fact that they were just letters and nothing more. It was less severe than when you were seeing him daily, in your student days. It was impossible for Severus to even guess the depth of your feelings towards him, when the only contact the two of you had was a piece of paper and a few words. You weren't likely to offend him or make him feel uneasy with your feelings towards him. So you were living your affection for this man to the fullest in the privacy of your own home. 

Leaning back in your desk chair, while your mind wandered over Hogwarts’ dungeon bat, you heard a tiny clatter against your window. Looking up, a sweet smile came to your lips. Your hands folded the current letter you were reading, folding it carefully and storing it away before standing up to retrieve the new one you had been expecting. 

Severus' owl was just like him, black plumage, piercing eyes. The only thing they did not have in common was their sweetness. When you opened your window, you were immediately greeted by a warm hooting.

“Hey, I hope the journey wasn't too long.” Your voice was almost too mellow for just an owl, and your hand gently stroked the top of its head as you greeted back. With a smile, you carefully untied the letter from its grasp. Once done, you put the envelope on your desk and collected grains to feed the owl. The owl pecked into the palm of your hand, now used to this small ritual. A hoot of gratitude indicated that the mission was accomplished. 

"Return safely to Hogwarts." With a last small pat, you gazed at the black owl as it flew off into the distance, back to its owner. 

Returning to your desk, you opened the envelope carefully and unfolded it. You were surprised to see that the content was longer than usual, twice as long. You didn't remember that your previous answer was that interesting to deserve such a detailed reply... Thus, you hurried to read it. 

Dear Y/n, 

I fear I haven't kept my promise.

I think I underestimated the side effects of your Potion, and this past week I've ‘suffered’ the consequences. A few drops was the dose I set myself to respect every night before going to bed, following your advice and the instructions for its use. Alas, after a particularly difficult day, I wanted to experiment with a higher dosage. I don't need to tell you in detail what it did to me, I think you've already guessed…

But I must, at least, keep our initial agreement, so if you don't object I will give you a report on this new experience. For the sake of the profession. 

The usual few drops prevented me from being able to experience in its fullest, the unique taste of the potion's effects. And I must say congratulations, never in my life have I tasted anything so sweet. The description you gave me a few months ago has stayed in my mind since, and I must say that you were right, nothing can describe how it feels. Heaven? Maybe. On that night, I reached heaven.

I was starving, I was out of control (or so I thought). I was almost unable to bear it, and then, it was time to awaken the sleeping madness in me... 

The hardest part is, I can't blame the Potion. It's almost cruel, but as you said, unlike with Amortentia, I had full power over my body, I wasn't intoxicated or bewitched. I succumbed to my impulses on my own. And… It feels good. 

This followed, of my own accord, a kind of addiction. The nights prior to this uneventful ‘accident’ I made a habit of taking these larger doses, for my own pleasure… Thus, I would conclude the entire experience to be more than enjoyable. 

In the future, I will try to find a balance to avoid abusing what is more than good. For the time being, I'm still enjoying myself. 

However, even if your potion is a miracle, it does not take away all the work I need to complete. 

And I must say, a thought came to my mind. In fact, Dumbledore was the one who suggested it to me years ago. And even if I was reluctant to the idea at first... The prospect feels less unpleasant if you are the one taking on this duty. 

Not wishing to interfere with your precious break, would you like to be my occasional assistant? 

You have the right to refuse, I wouldn't blame you. 

If the answer is positive, the first period I would wish to ask for your help would be mid-November, before the first exams. And that's for a few weeks, maybe for two, more or less. 

Naturally, you'll be welcomed at Hogwarts with all the necessities, a private chamber and a paycheck. But I'll give you the details in due time.

In any case, I will respect your decision and will look forward to receiving your answer, as I always do. 

Yours faithfully, 

Severus Snape,

PS: I trust you to keep this information confidential. 

Your eyes frantically scan the contents of the letter, there is a lot to take in. Your cheeks were flushed, your heart was pounding, the first major piece of information was that Severus was using your potion for his own sexual needs. And while you detected some reserve in his wording, he had admitted it without shame in that letter. You would never have thought Severus capable of speaking in such a way (at least, towards you), even if his words were formal, they were nonetheless heavy with meaning and bold.

You couldn't help it, your mind perfectly pictured Severus. At night, alone, under the pleasurable effect of the Potion. In your fantasy, his face was focused, his eyebrows a bit furrowed, some sweat rolling down his forehead because of the heat. A few strands of his hair would fall into his eyes, but his attention was so focused on the intense pleasure he was experiencing that he couldn't care less. Was he the type to moan? Or to remain silent? Or… Maybe the cravings were so powerful that he would bite his lip to keep quiet. 

At first, his hands would temptingly wander down his body, slowly, carefully, intoxicated by the rising pleasure. Touching himself was a pleasant torture, and as he said himself in the letter, he was unable to stop. Knowing how the potion would affect his senses, his skin must feel sensitive, leaving burning trails with every brush of his fingers over every inch of his skin, over all erogenous parts of his body, making him lose his mind. 

The way Severus’ hands would desperately clutched his already erected manhood, dripping precum with impatience, hoping to reach an orgasm, maybe even one or several. Seeking frantically for friction to satiate his craving, his hips bucked, his hand tightening to increase the contact pressure. The sight must be sumptuous. 

You wondered, for a moment, about the thoughts Severus might have to stimulate his mind. Was the Potion working enough to turn him on? Or was he seeking greater satisfaction with some dirty images? This left you with a real question. And you realised that even after all this time, you knew many things about him, but not at all in such an intimate setting. Which made sense, since most of the time you were his student... The first glimpse you had of this point was the letter.   

And, you're the only one who knows his nightly routine. He trusted you, beyond the fact that you were the creator of the Potion who helped him satisfy his lusts. The mere idea to be in the confidence of this secret, made your knickers wet. 

And even though it was already a lot to process, this was not the only exciting news. Severus asked you, himself, to be his assistant. He even suggested it, because the idea of working with you sounded appealing. You. Of all people, he thought about you. 

You didn't question it, it was decided the moment the information reached your brain. You were going to accept. And how could you turn down the offer when the mysterious and reserved Severus Snape admitted on his own, that he was eagerly expecting your letters…

After years of longing to feel that special feeling again, in one letter Severus had given you a lot. 

-

Returning to Hogwarts was a hope you never thought imaginable. However, a week ago you arrived with a suitcase packed, ready to work. The stone corridors, the moving stairs and even the staff had remained the same. The only change was that instead of sitting at your house table for dinner, you were now placed between Flitwick and Snape. And of course, that most of your time was spent in the dark, damp dungeons of the School brewing Potions, or grading papers. 

Unlike what many might think, working alongside Severus was much more manageable than they might have thought. In any case, with you, he trusted your work enough not to question it. In fact, when you arrived, you were quite worried when you saw the dark circles under his eyes, which were more prominent than you used to remember. And when you became his assistant, you understood why. Severus was a perfectionist, and his teaching methods were all tailored to ensure the success of his students. So your tasks were simple, like preparing the exams, the basics for the Potions that were going to be taught, correcting papers, arranging the ingredients... And while you were just assisting him, within a few days he had managed to find more rest. Something that made you feel better.

Apart from that, the working conditions were quiet and calm. Severus was conversing with you during the simplest of tasks, he didn't seem as tight as usual (in private, at least), what you guessed were the effects of your Potion. At times, it was simply work performed in a comfortable silence. But between you, there was no longer any sign of discomfort or coldness. It was as if it had never happened, actually. 

Well, until today. 

"I wonder..." Severus began his sentence thoughtfully, his eyes focused on the cauldron in front of him, his hands busy chopping up ingredients, "How I used to find time to work and talk to you, back then."

You had a similar task, but unlike him you looked up in surprise. Severus rarely mentioned the past between you, or even the letters you had exchanged the past month. "I don't know either... That's why you stopped in my seventh grade, right?"

You didn't particularly want to mention the subject that had become nearly forbidden with time, namely your cold war. But you felt that under the current circumstances, you were old and mature enough to take it on yourself. Even though you might never get any solid answers about his past behaviour. 

“Y/n, we both know that’s not the truth.” 

Your eyes were still fixed on him, and you didn't know if Severus was too focused on his Potion to realise the implication of his words, or if he really wanted to discuss the issue once and for all. But you weren't going to miss your chance, trying to summon all your courage. "Oh- Really? Those are the excuses you gave me, would you like to tell me the truth then?" You answered casually, trying to play it cool despite your racing heart. Years of seeking the answer, it was as if what haunted you most was finally going to be removed. 

However, the answer did not come as easily as the conversation had started, Severus stopped in his tracks and raised his head to you. His expression was hesitant, or perplexed, you didn't really know. "It was best for us to stop there, that's the real reason." He replies vaguely, his eyes fixed on your face where you stand across the Potion station. 

You frowned, you were an adult now, you could handle and accept the truth. Severus, on the other hand, was being vague, as if putting a finger on what had happened was forbidden. "Are you implying that in our professional discussions, we were going down the wrong path?" You didn't want to tempt him, but getting the truth out of Severus' mouth was more complicated than you expected. 

"Our discussions were nothing professional." He sounded a bit irritated with himself, indeed, the subject was sensitive on both sides. He put a lid on his Potion and dried his hands with a cloth, "We're done for the day, you can leave me." He waved you off, putting an end to the conversation. 

But you stayed in your place, it was as if your feet were frozen to the ground, you couldn't leave. "You are the one who started the conversation. Don't be angry with me." Your voice was quite composed, you weren't afraid to face him. And just like at the event, he seemed stunned by your tone of voice. 

You put the tools down and placed a lid on the Potion in the same way he had just done. "You cannot cut off the discussion and asked me to leave, Severus. You don't know how I've suffered my entire last year because of this, because of you. You can at least look me in the eye and give me a proper answer.” You sighed, as he tried to keep his eyes from looking at you. Perhaps because of guilt. 

"Severus, we can sort this out, and go back to the way things were. But I need an answer, to move on. To be free of this guilt. Did I do something wrong? Was I bothering you so much? Tell me…" You hated how your voice was almost begging. But with every word you said, you could feel it, it was like he was re-building that distance between you. You didn't want to lose him, not that quickly. 

"Severus... Please." You finally decided to move, taking a step towards him, the atmosphere in the classroom had totally changed. But even if the tension was heavy, you weren't going to abandon him, not this time. He did not move as you approached him, however, his face was tense. You hadn't seen him this cold in a while. 

"I can't answer you. Things wouldn't be the same after that.” His voice was harsh, but not offensive. He sounded frustrated with himself, “But… If you want an answer, I must admit I'm not sufficiently secure to reveal my past intentions." 

His words were odd, leaving you confused. The enigma that was Severus Snape was impossible to understand no matter how much time you were spending by his side. Can he give me an answer or not?

Several times your mouth opened in an attempt to answer, but nothing came to your mind. The problem seemed to be stuck. It left you upset. "I... I want an answer." Your words were both hesitant and confident, the statement was, frankly, a bit silly. 

This seemed to amuse Severus, who laughed silently in mockery, warming the atmosphere. “Why are you so…” He paused for a moment as if hesitating, then at last he gave in, "Endearing?” 

His words slammed into your heart, leaving you baffled. But you didn't have time to answer, Severus resumed speaking just as soon, "But, if I can manage to calm myself, maybe I'll be able to talk to you. Does that please you, Y/n?"

You hesitated, understanding what Severus was implying behind those words, 'relaxing' meant taking a few drops of Sweet Juice. And as much as you wanted to keep a respectful image of Severus, the last words written  in his letter about its use stayed in the back of your mind. But, how can I refuse?

"Fine.” You agreed, nodding slowly.

Severus seemed somewhat reassured by your agreement, the walls he was starting to build around himself to push you away, were falling down again. It was his turn to approach you, offering his arm. A habit he'd adopted with every walk you shared at Hogwarts. You took his arm, the gesture had become natural, Severus added, "Follow me."

With that, you walked after him. Severus led you, in the utmost silence. Your heart was pounding, you didn't know exactly what to expect. The path he was taking, staying in the dungeons of the school, made you realise that he was inviting you into his personal quarters, which did not help your state of mind. Every step you made, was a step towards the possible truth. 

Your recent exchange had been unclear, Severus was just as confused by his attitude as you were, you could tell with the look on his face. Torture between two separate decisions: to hate you back or accept what was happening between you two. 

Still in silence, Severus finally arrived, unlocked the door to his quarters and let you in first. It was the first time you had entered, and the surroundings seemed oddly familiar. Everything reflected Severus, with its dark tones and simple, yet elegant furnishings. Your eyes rest on the many books, all meticulously arranged, and then, a little farther away, on the bed. It was impossible to miss the three vials filled with the purple liquid that you had conceived yourself, one of them was nearly empty. The sight of Sweet Juice beside his bed only made your heart flutter, as if it was confirmation that everything he had described to you was, indeed, true.  

"Well, sit on the sofa. I'm coming up with what's needed." Severus breaks the silence as he removes his cloak, stopping your dirty thoughts dead in their tracks.

"Yes, of course." You nodded, quite flustered, and you did what you were asked as you sat down on the couch, next to the fireplace and the bookcases. Your eyes followed Severus' actions as he made his way to his bed, lighting the fireplace with his wand as he passed. 

He came back with a new bottle of Sweet Juice in his hands, and sat without discomfort at your side. "Do you use it daily as well?" He asked you, an undeniable curiosity in his voice. 

"Um... No, I just tested it on myself a while ago before I submitted the notice. I have no use for it." You looked at him blankly, you didn't know what Severus was trying to find out with his question, "So, it was only for professional purposes." You added rather quickly, in case he wondered if you too were finding sexual satisfaction through its use. 

"Well, this will be the occasion to taste it again then." His hands opened the bottle carefully, and with some skill showing how familiar he was with its use. 

You looked at him, confused by his words, "I don't intend to take it, you said you were the one who needed it to speak honestly." 

"I think it's wiser for you to take it, to learn the truth. I don't want you to get mad at me." He replied with his calm voice, "Don't you trust me?" He raised an eyebrow with his usual expertise in the motion. 

Of course you trusted him, the question didn't have to be asked. And right now, with all the tension in your body from the pressure of the whole situation, you had to agree. He was right, it was wiser if the both of you were in the same state to discuss. "Fine, but only a few drops..."

Severus nodded, "A few drops will be more than enough."

You reached for the vial, but Severus placed his hand on your chin before you could get your hands on it, and directed your face in his direction. “Open your mouth, please Y/n.” 

His eyes were fixed on you, you felt like melting under his gaze, so intense was it. You couldn't ignore the intimate intensity of the situation, your cheeks were starting to burn. The scenario was far more pleasant than anything you could have imagined in your dirtiest dreams. 

Without even adding anything, you parted your lips for him. Severus seemed satisfied with your willingness, and put the eyedropper to let a few drops fall from it. A promise he kept. And even though it was only a few drops, the taste burned in your throat, taking effect as soon as it was swallowed. It was addictive, sweet… Divine. A tickling sensation settled in your body, you felt perfectly fine, as if your body had never felt any tension. 

Severus watched your every reaction, his hand still on your chin, you felt like your skin was burning under his fingers, "Well. You seem to be reacting well."

He withdrew his hand and this gesture left you with a feeling of need. Your eyes never left him for a second as you watched him perform the same operation with himself. His previously tense face, softened in an instant. To have Severus so effortlessly relaxed was quite an exclusive sight. He trusted you enough to be so vulnerable without shame, in front of you. It made you smile.

"Y/n, I've been intending to talk to you about this for a while, it weighs on me just as much. I'm sorry for the way I acted," Severus began quietly. 

Hearing him apologise was strange, he was such a proud man. It made you happy, because while he was under the effect of the potion, he was still aware of what he was doing or saying. He was not controlled by the Potion, in front of you there was a sincere and apologetic Severus. One of the many facets you were starting to find out about this very mysterious man. 

"I apologise as well, I wasn't always straightforward." You matched his gentle tone, 

Severus shook his head, "You were not the problem, I handled the situation very poorly. It's all my fault, I hurt you." He put his hand over his face, ashamed, "When, in fact, that's all I wanted to avoid... It haunted me, until I saw you again a few months ago. I wanted redemption, to make sure you were fine without me... But, I’m selfish as I am taking a role in your life again,” He sighed hopelessly, “There's still this guilt in me.”

Hearing Severus speak with such regret, made your heart grow fonder for the man, you couldn't fault him. He had suffered the same pain from his choices, he acted in order not to lose his teaching position, in order to not deprive you of a possible 'happy' life. And even if the Potion worked miracles, guilt and pain couldn't be erased. You wanted to reassure him, to remove this pain from him, to leave it in the past. "Severus, I only wish to understand what I did wrong..." You whispered, your eyes focused on the buttons that fastened his cutaway coat.

The more minutes passed, the more the Potion worked through your body. The sensation was odd, like a kind of ache, but it was unmistakably delightful. This only served to reinforce your self-consciousness about the situation, your body tickled everywhere, straining, trembling, longing to be close to him. 

"You have done nothing wrong... As the days went by, my regard for you changed. Your radiant smile, the way your eyes brighten at my every word, the way your perfume intoxicates me when it stays in the classroom, your delicate hands working with agility... All of this, I should never have noticed, and yet, I couldn't help but feel captivated. Charmed because of what you were, and still are, in fact." 

He slowly pulled his hand away from his face. But, you didn't want to leave him in his demise, so you laid your hand on his as he lowered it, encouraging him to continue. "I wasn't blind, I knew the feeling you held for me. I believed it was for the benefit of the both of us. But after rejecting you, I was terribly missing you. Inside me, it built up a terrible guilt…” He paused for a moment before concluding, “And without realising it, I was feeling the same way about you."

Severus gently takes your hand in his, as if you were a delicate flower, or would disappear at any moment. His gaze is now focussed on both your joined hands, "Since, I haven't stopped thinking about you, night and day. Seeing you again... Was a breath of hope, I thought impossible. And even though you sounded different, like you were angry with me, I couldn't help but appreciate you. I soon realised that despite all my efforts, pushing you away a second time was beyond me... Beyond my strength."

He intertwined his fingers with yours, "You can hate me, yell at me. I hurt you and yet, selfishly you're here with me, instead of enjoying what life has to give you. I’m older, grim, and stern. I don't deserve you."

As he confessed, what you were focused on, was the heavy pounding of your heart ringing in your ears. The intensity of his emotions was heartbreaking, as you listened to him. 

Your body's reaction to his was overwhelming, everything seemed like a raging fire that neither of you wanted to quench. The sensation of his own skin against yours only made it burn harder, leaving you with an insatiable urge of need and want. Your body knew what it wanted, the heat started to build up in the lower part of your stomach.

"I- Severus… I'm sorry that I was angry with you, when you were trying to do the right thing. I had no idea how you might be feeling on your own. But today, everything has changed, I’m not your student anymore.” You spoke with all the determination you could muster to prove him wrong, “And I don't care what life has to offer, if you are older. I know what I want. And it’s you.” 

“It's only been a few weeks since I've been back with you, and I've never felt so happy. I feel alive.” Your cheeks flushed hot at your blunt words, “And to be honest, the club, the award, Sweet Juice, I did it all, to get your attention. I wanted to be special to you again."

"Come," Severus uttered in a deep, rumbling voice. His hand, the one that was already holding you, pulled you towards him, and his other hand guided your hips as he gently settled you on his lap, straddling him. The way your body easily accepted his request, was a reflection of how much you wanted to be with him, to be close to him. 

"I wanted to move on, to forget you, but it was impossible. But nowadays, as I am closer to you..." Your eyes fell on his face, Severus seemed to be listening to you with such intensity, that coupled with this sudden intimacy caused you to speak in a shaky breath, "I burn and my body is feeling new things, and the intensity is only growing, nearly out of control. I can't think anymore, you're always on my mind…- I just want to be close to you, like I've always hoped." Your voice died down near the end, admitting your deepest thoughts. You were nervous, the aching sensation started to get on your nerves, overflowing with desire for the man in front of you.

His hands gripped your clothes, as if to remind you that he was indeed there, by your side. You were taken aback by the violent wave of emotions that flashed through his eyes. Severus had said nothing after your own confession, but there was no need for him to speak in order for you to understand. His eyes were speaking for him. Need, lust, desperation, want, longing- And most strikingly, love. His hands clasped your face, leaving you no choice but to lock your eyes with his. You couldn't escape the impact of his emotions, of the intense waves crashing over you nearly suffocating you. And the truth is, you had no desire to avoid him. 

It was as if time had stopped, his beautiful face, his lovely hands, the wildness in his eyes, and the way he made you feel was beyond description. 

"I love you," He exhaled as his thumb stroked your cheek. It felt like a weight was being lifted from his chest, 

Your fingers found his shoulders, pressing into the soft fabric of his coat, “I love you as well,” You answered, the same weight disappearing from your heart. 

The affirmation of your feelings towards him seemed to ignite something new in Severus. His thumb went down to your lips, running it over them, "You know, I thought about you as my assistant not only because you're the smartest, most diligent and serious person I know to handle the task perfectly," He spoke in a low grumble that made your whole body quiver, "But also because every night as I took a stronger dose of that delicious elixir you conceived, I always find myself thinking about you. I found satisfaction only when I thought of you.” 

He sighs, "I must admit that if you're here, it's also because I couldn't bear to keep all this to myself, I had to confess. I wanted to see you again, terribly."

“I’m here Severus, I’m here for you and only you.” You replied hurriedly in order to reassure him.

He took a deep breath, your words seemed to have reached his heart, "Maybe it's a bit premature, but I should ask you."

It sent a ripple of delight through your entire body, increasing the desperation you had to be against him, “What do you want to ask me, Severus?”

Your question, perhaps somewhat naive given the situation, brought a smile to his lips, “Would you like to make love with me?” The question was phrased extremely graciously, contrasting dramatically with the ferocity of his eyes. 

Your body shivered under his powerful stare. Your reply was obvious, and yet in the warmth of his body, in the puddle of intensity that Severus was bathing you in, you were at a loss for words. He looked at you like a hunter ready to chase down his prey, your consent was all he needed for him to pounce on you. It should have worried you, but behind his raging stare were years of self-restraint and pain. You felt more than special, being loved by such a cold and distant man made you feel like you were the only one in this wide world, the one and only for him. 

You couldn't make him wait any longer, it was torture for him as much as it was for you. So you nodded, silently at first, then you found the courage to finally voice your need, "Yes, Severus, I do."

He smiled again, it was a delightful sight to see Severus smiling, and you took a moment to observe him as if to commit the image to memory. It was so infrequent, that you were pleased to know that you were the only one to be blessed by it. He was perfect, you could do nothing but kiss him. Passionately, freely, desperately. There was nothing anymore to stop you from doing it. You tasted him, setting all your senses on fire. You licked the inside of his mouth, as his tongue linked with yours in an intoxicating dance that only the both of you seemed to know. The scent and taste of him captured all your senses, and you couldn't stop humming with delight as it resonated through your chest from the pleasure of kissing him. 

In that first kiss, you feel it all. 

Both of his hands clasped your face tightly to keep you close to him as your hands trailed through his long hair, down to his neck. The warmth that radiated from him made your flesh flush, your heart pounding so hard in your chest that even Severus should be able to feel it. He tasted like heaven. 

He skillfully guides you, allowing you to get lost in his adoration. One hand gently grasped your throat, while his other hand travelled from your cheek over your neck, down to your waist where his arm snaked around to press your body against his in a secure embrace. 

Severus didn't break the kiss, as he stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your eyes were closed, allowing you to get completely absorbed in the feverish kiss, but you knew he was heading for his bed. The next moment, your body found its place against the soft fabric of his sheets, enveloping you once again in his wonderful manly scent. Wrecking you, in the most pleasing ways possible. 

You moaned into his mouth as your fingers tugged his hair a bit tighter, Severus growled at your action, searing your whole being from you body to your soul. You were desperate for more, to see him, to touch him, to feel him. Your clothes were simply a suffocating barrier that separated you from Severus. Your irritation didn't seem to escape Severus as he broke off the feverish kiss you two were sharing. 

You finally opened your eyes, to be greeted by a dishevelled and flushed Severus. You were both out of breath, panting. However, he was quick to lay another kiss on the exposed skin of your throat. Sweetly, lovingly, small kisses from the tip of his lips teasing you, all dripping with desire.

"Love, you're perfect," He hummed against your neck as he gently nuzzled his nose against it to inhale your fragrance. You were like in heaven, your blood was running through your veins, your stomach transformed into butterflies out of worship for him. 

His hands ran along your body, before undoing the button on your skirt. Your thighs were released quickly from the constraint that your clothes provided you as he dropped the first piece of fabric on the floor. Your hands hesitantly passed over his upper body, your fingers delicately unfasten the buttons of his coat. Once done, your hands grabbed the lapels of his coat to let it fall over his shoulders, quickly meeting your skirt on the floor. 

Severus certainly was consumed by an insatiable urge, never getting enough of you. His lips never leave you, trailing against your jaw, nibbling your earlobe. His warm breath left your sensitive skin tingling with delight. Your hands were slightly trembling as you began to reach for his shirt, while his hands reached for the rest of your clothes with utmost care. 

The clothes that had been a painful barrier, began to strip from your bodies, slowly, teasingly. Falling one by one on the floor. Severus leaned on his arm as he took a few steps back, your breath caught with worry and missing his warmth. His eyes roamed over your body, in an intimidating powerful manner. You had never felt so vulnerable and exposed, only covered by your underwear, his intense gaze left a heavy feeling on everything you could offer him. 

However, you didn't have time to think for long when his lips captured yours. “Perfect,” He whispered as his eyes met yours. With burning cheeks, you averted your eyes. You could not hold his gaze, so much the intensity of his emotions caught your heart. His pupils were dilated, too wild, too fiery. 

Your reaction left Severus laughing in a deep breath, "You really are more lovely than anything I could have imagined. My mind didn’t do you justice, love.” The gentle title he gave you made your heart beat faster, and as your hands were pressed against his chest you sensed the intense pounding of his as well. Both your hearts were beating in perfect tune. 

Your hands began to undo the upper part of his shirt, releasing his neck from his stiff attire. You were still shaking, but proceeded nonetheless. There was only a layer left before you could see him as vulnerable. Severus waited, letting you take all the time you needed to finish. And the next thing you knew, you were pulling his shirt off his shoulders in the same way you'd done before. 

You marvelled at the sight in front of you, your breath caught in your throat at the sheer beauty of Severus, his broad shoulders, his pale pearly skin, his strong arms were now at your total disposal. You gave yourself a moment to appreciate the one you've craved for, over the years.

"Perfect," You whispered with the same adoration he had for you, your fingers spread over his bare skin, temptingly. You were amazed at the softness of his body despite his strength, he, who held himself so rigidly in his daily life. 

"Not as much as you, love," Severus left a warm kiss on your cleavage and his hands found the clasp of your bra as your hands found down his trousers. He removed the rest of his clothes at the same time as you.

Your skin was flushed, your breaths quick and uneven with anticipation. It's a good thing you had taken a few drops of Sweet Juice, otherwise you would have been a nervous wreck. This allowed you to handle the whole experience with confidence, coupled with your trust in Severus, it was pure bliss. And this must have been the case for Severus, because behind his expert strokes, he seemed a bit unsure with himself. 

Your skin burned under his every touch, letting the fire spread over your skin down to your trembling, hot, insides. You were wet, swollen and soft. Severus sat on his knees, between your legs. The action left your body screaming with desperation, arching with anticipation for more, for him. Until now, you had not dared to lower your eyes to the level of his girth, but now it was time to get acquainted with what was about to enter you. Your breath was taken away at the sight of his long, veiny and erect manhood. That’s going inside of me?

"Love, I'll be gentle with you," Severus sensed your apprehension immediately, his hands gently resting on your knees to spread your legs leaving your body on high alert. He leaned forward, and placed a first kiss on your jaw, then another one on your breast, before his mouth wrapped around your already hard nipples to sweetly suck on it. 

You didn't know if you'd taken a sufficiently large dose of the Potion for it to play on your sexual sensibilities, but you gasped. The feeling of his soft lips over your most forbidden body parts was exhilarating, your insides tensed. Your breasts were sensitive, responsive to every lick he gave. You were blown away by the way your body fit to him, catching his slightest touch. And as if he wasn't satisfied enough with himself, he moved his hand up from your hip, running teasingly along your skin to find your nipple, toying with it, pinching it. You couldn't help but moan, the sensation strains you again, leaving you longing for more. Your mind failed to follow, a wave of pleasure overtaking your whole body. Everything felt heightened, the sound of Severus' sharp breath, his tongue, his touch, his scent. Even the cotton of his sheets was seemingly intense. 

Severus let out a long, deep growl from the back of his throat, and it made your whole body shudder. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ready to welcome him. He understood the sign, but continued to whisper his words of adoration, of love for you. How he had dreamed of this for years, that he didn't want to be apart from you anymore. His words that met the hollow of your ear, made you feel in a whirlwind of emotions, cherished and safe. You held on to him, your arms reaching around his shoulders. 

He wanted to slowly devour you, until your rational thoughts were consumed by pleasure.  

“Sev,” You breathed out a long, deep moan as his finger slid inside you. You were soaking wet at this point, drenched for him. His finger stroked your insides, his thumb brushed against your sensitive bundle of nerves while his lips lingered on your throat, placing numerous small kisses. 

“You are perfect,” He hummed out, right by your ear, “Perfect for me,” His nose dragged along your skin, in the hope of finding a new spot to kiss. He pressed another finger into you. Your legs tightened while your insides softened further. The stretching of his fingers was astounding. “You are the only one for me, I love you,” His words shattered everything, all the common sense you had in you. You wanted him to ruin you with his love. In a manner as violent as the emotions you had for each other, giving him everything, everything you ever had. 

Removing his fingers, your eyes fell on his hand as it darted back and forth between his legs. You gasped as his delicate hand folded around the girth of his manhood. "Love, I'm here. It's going to be fine. Tell me if you don't feel well, I'll stop," he hummed softly as he laid back against you, pressing his body over yours. You nodded, and his lips found yours anew. 

You felt his body lowering, and the next instant, he was sinking inside you. You hissed from the pleasure that suddenly caught hold of you. There was no discomfort, no pain, your body adapted, moulded itself to him. Your body was being taken by Severus, and everything at that moment, finally being one with him, felt right. 

“Look at me,” He ordered you gently, holding himself up with one arm, ready to move. When your eyes met his, you were immersed in the depth of his love. You felt calm, in heaven, as you were shaped to accommodate him. He was the only one in this world, especially when he was looking at you with such worship. 

“Good,” He smiled in satisfaction when you complied. Your eyes were hypnotised by all the love he bore you. He began to draw out, slowly. And as with your skin, your insides were just as sensitive causing electricity to run through your body, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze intensified as he began to move a bit faster, his movements always precise and well controlled, making it more intense. 

Catching his breath, Severus kept praising you, “You, are, magnifi-cent,” He growled in a low tone, between thrust as you moaned out his name in a barely comprehensible manner. You find satisfaction in being filled and stroked, to be loved in such a carnal manner, it was intense, overwhelmingly intense. He was everywhere, he was everything to you. 

“Sev-, Severus, I love you!” Your voice was slurred, your mind was unable to form a coherent thought, and yet you felt the urgent need to confess your love all over again. At your words, he quickened his pace and buried himself inside you, over and over.

You were consumed by him, by his love, by your love for him. You were his, and he was yours. Entirely, irrevocably, ineluctably. There was no other way. Severus was breaking everything you owned, and it felt right. With every push, with every pull, with his loving hands, with his loving words, with his hungry breath, he was breaking you.

“Please,” You pleaded for him, a moan escaping through your sore lips. His movements became powerful, irregular, hasty. As if to satisfy you as much as possible, even if he was exceeding all your wishes, pushing your mind to the edge of depravity with each of his thrusts. 

“Love,” He growled in a feverish manner, as if he had been entrusted with the most valuable mission possible, to please you. He shoved in so deeply that your eyes rolled back and watered from the sensation of being nothing but completely filled. You back arched in pleasure, welcoming the emotion in its fullest. 

“Awh-” You gasped as he started to pace harder, faster. Your legs were quivering from the pleasure, your lungs burned from your moans. He held onto you tighter, in order to be able to dig into you with more vigour. Over and over. It was relentless. His need for you became beyond desperate and engulfed him into the same depravity. 

“I love-, you,” He moaned darkly under his gruff breath, “I can’t-” He growled this time, in a low rumbling. His movements became irregular, erratic. 

You kissed his neck, inhaling his sweaty scent and the taste of his skin stirred in your mouth. “Me too-” You whispered, in a rather dark tone, meeting his love and distress at the same time. 

“Y/n-!” He growled, and after a split second, you felt him growing within you, as his whole body tightened, hardened. His cock shifted faster inside you, pounding against your inner walls. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and moans his release before his movements come to a slow halt. 

Ripples of heat mingled with the throbbing of muscles and the warmth of the skin inside you. You held him close and marvelled at the sensation of your orgasm, of being filled and being enough for him to reach such a fierce release. To be enough for him to love you, to be enough for him to be so intimate with you. 

You caught your breath, you were in a state of pure bliss. The last waves of pleasure take over your body, making the pleasure last longer. Severus withdrew from you, leaving you with a longing that he satisfied by taking you in his arms enjoying your post-orgasm state.

He placed a kiss on your sweaty forehead as he affectionately snuggled you pressing your body against his. After the intense encounter you'd just experienced he still longed to feel your burning skin against his. “I love you,” He said it again, as if he needed to prove it to you, but you knew by now that his affection towards you was wrenching. 

"I love you more," you lay your head against his chest, letting the sound of his heart lull you to sleep as it only started to calm. His soft laughter vibrated through his rib cage, 

"I doubt it, love, but this is not the time to talk about it. Tomorrow is another day, a day when I can finally enjoy you without any rules or barriers," Severus sounded enthusiastic, he pulled the blanket over both of your naked bodies and took his wand to stop all sources of fire from making any light. 

His uncharacteristic lively tone brings a peaceful smile to your lips, you are now the one that makes Severus eager to wake up in the morning, to carry on with his life. He was your source of happiness, and you were his. 

After years of trying to understand everything between the two of you, you were now in his arms. 

Peaceful. 

Loved.

Omg where do I even begin😭 I just finished binge reading this story and all I gotta say is that this is the best thing I've read in a realllllyyyyyy long time! To a point where I was literally fighting back tears towards the end😩 The level of YEARNING that you so beautifully captured between Draco and Y/N is something that I've been longing to read for so long! Thank you so much for writing such a masterpiece and for feeding the hopeless romantic in me😍 I feel like the lovergirl in me went into hiding for a long time because of how shitty real-life romance can be. But stories like this one really feed my soul and make me feel all giddy inside. You deserve all the hugs in the world for reigniting this spark in me! THANK YOUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES MASTERLIST

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

“We start to find comfort in the strangest of places.”

The war has ended, and life is getting back to normal, or least supposed to be. For returning half-blood Ravenclaw Y/N Y/L/N, her only focus is to finally have a year without fear and uncertainty, until professor Slughorn asks her the question the rest of the room is dreading: “I trust you will be Mr Malfoy’s partner?”

Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts the same as any other past seventh year student. He wants to complete his education and ensure himself a good future, one better than his previous years, but there is one slight problem: he’s Draco Malfoy. For his family’s involvement in the war, Draco attends school feeling alienated and resented, spending most of his time alone and suffering his guilt in silence. When Y/N starts coming over to the manor, they begin a rocky work relationship, and often argue

After a small but grand gesture, they decided to become friends. Neither of them realise, however, it was about to get a whole lot more complicated than that.

Keep reading

It’s so cute to see this side of Draco🥰 I LOVED THIS SO MUCH!!!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ Hidden Moments | Draco Malfoy ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem! Reader

Warnings: characters are 18+, soft Draco

Summary: Fluff | A reserved new student finds comfort and connection in the unexpected warmth of Draco Malfoy.

Word count: 7557

author's note: Thank you for this request, anon person! I hope you manage to see this because there is no way to tag you. I also really really hope that you like it! ♡

You sat quietly at the Slytherin table, staring down at your breakfast as you absentmindedly stirred your porridge. The Great Hall buzzed with morning chatter and laughter, but it all felt distant, like background noise that didn’t quite reach you. You weren’t used to this place yet—not the towering walls, not the crowded tables, not the countless faces that were still strangers to you. You felt like a misfit puzzle piece, unsure where you belonged in the grand picture of Hogwarts.

Moving in the middle of the school year had been jarring, to say the least. Just a few weeks ago, you’d been at your old school, surrounded by friends you’d known for years. There, you’d felt safe, comfortable. But that world had been left behind when your parents had abruptly decided to move back to England. You were sure that they had their reasoning but now everything was new and unfamiliar, and it felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under you.

Adjusting was harder than you’d anticipated. Your natural shyness and introverted nature made it difficult to reach out, to speak up, or to introduce yourself. You kept to yourself, trying to avoid the eyes of the other students, your shoulders slightly hunched as if to make yourself smaller. Each meal felt like an ordeal, sitting alone at the Slytherin table, acutely aware of the laughter and conversations happening around you but feeling somehow apart from it all.

You sighed softly, poking at a piece of toast, hoping to blend into the background, just another face in the crowd. But the weight of your solitude was settling on you, heavier with each day. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make friends—you just didn’t know how to start. The thought of approaching anyone, of forcing yourself into an unfamiliar social circle, made your stomach churn.

Just as you were sinking deeper into your own thoughts, you noticed someone sitting down across from you. Startled, you glanced up, meeting the cool grey eyes of none other than Draco Malfoy. He looked at you with a faint, unreadable smirk, his gaze lingering as if sizing you up. The Draco Malfoy—you’d heard his name more times than you could count in the first month since you’d arrived. He was known for his sharp tongue, his confidence, and the way he commanded attention. Yet here he was, sitting across from you, his eyes flicking from your nervous posture to the untouched food on your plate.

“Lost in thought, are we?” His voice was smooth, almost teasing, breaking the silence in a way that felt both comforting and intimidating.

You felt your cheeks warm, your eyes quickly darting back down to your porridge. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, unsure how to explain the storm of emotions that came with being the new, quiet girl at Hogwarts.

He chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly warm despite his reputation. “Don’t apologise.” he said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s just rare to see someone so… silent here.”

You glanced up at him again, noticing the hint of intrigue in his expression. It felt strange, having someone like him show an interest in you, the shy girl who barely spoke. But his gaze wasn’t unkind. If anything, it held a quiet curiosity, as if he were genuinely trying to understand you.

The thought made your pulse quicken, and before you could help it, you muttered, “I’m… just not used to this place yet.”

Draco’s smirk softened, and for a fleeting moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a glimpse of something gentler in his eyes. He tilted his head, studying you with a look that seemed oddly thoughtful. “Well, Hogwarts does take some getting used to. But who knows? You might surprise yourself.”

You felt yet another rush of warmth creep into your cheeks as you nodded, hoping your face wasn’t as red as it felt. Draco’s gaze lingered, and in that brief silence, he took in the softness of your features, the subtle beauty of your face, and the way your cheeks had flushed a delicate pink. Something about it made him pause, his usual confidence faltering as he wondered why he found you so… intriguing.

He shouldn’t have been interested, he knew that. He was Draco Malfoy—the boy with a sharp tongue, a cold demeanour, and a reputation for being dangerous. Innocent, shy girls like you weren’t supposed to be on his radar. You were the opposite of everything he was used to, and he was well aware of the shadows he carried, the things that made others keep their distance.

And yet, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

For a moment, he wondered what it was that made him want to approach you. Maybe it was the way you sat there, quiet and introspective, as if the world around you was a whirlwind you wanted no part in. Maybe it was the vulnerability in your eyes, the way you looked both fragile and resilient at the same time. Or maybe it was simply that he hadn’t seen anyone quite as stunning in a way that felt so… unguarded.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You know, people aren’t always as they seem here.” he said, his voice softening in a way that surprised even him. “Don’t let this place get the best of you.”

Before you could respond, he stood up, his usual mask slipping back into place. He gave you one last lingering look, his grey eyes holding a quiet intensity, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t bring himself to. Then, with a graceful turn, he walked away, blending back into the bustling crowd in the Great Hall.

As you gathered your things and rose from the Slytherin table, you noticed the subtle, piercing gazes from a group of Slytherin girls nearby. Their eyes tracked your movements, whispers exchanged between them as they took in the fact that Draco Malfoy—the Draco Malfoy—had chosen to sit with you. Feeling the prickling sensation of their stares, you quickly looked away, your cheeks warming once more, and quietly slipped out of the Great Hall, heading toward your first class.

The next few weeks passed in a blur, the strangeness of Hogwarts gradually becoming a little less overwhelming. But the biggest change came from Draco’s steady, quiet presence that somehow became a constant in your days.

It started with him joining you in the library. He would stroll in casually, scanning the rows of tables, and his gaze would settle on you as if you were the only one in the room. Without a word, he’d take a seat beside you, opening a book or unfurling a scroll, but he rarely spoke. You began to understand that he didn’t come for conversation; he came for the silence. For the comfort of sitting next to someone who wasn’t demanding anything from him. And slowly, that realisation helped you relax in his company, allowing the quiet between you to grow into something familiar, something that didn’t need filling.

In classes, Draco would occasionally choose the seat next to yours, sliding his books across the desk and flashing you a brief smirk before settling in. During group assignments, he’d gravitate towards you as well, his approach casual, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. You found yourself looking forward to these moments, the way his presence seemed to bring a subtle warmth to the otherwise intimidating newness of everything around you.

You couldn’t deny that it confused you at first—this gentleness he showed you was so different from the way he treated others. You had seen him snap at classmates, mock students with a cold glint in his eyes, and dismiss people with a sneer. His biting remarks were sharp and unkind, making you wonder why he would ever show interest in someone as quiet as you. And yet, here he was, somehow finding his way into your routine.

As the months passed, you relaxed further in his company, almost forgetting the unease that had once overwhelmed you. You began to enjoy these quiet hours, especially when you’d find him lounging in the Slytherin common room on late evenings. Sometimes, he’d settle down beside you on the couch, his body angled toward you as he made light conversation—little things, unimportant things that felt oddly meaningful because they were shared just between the two of you.

You began to notice the softer side of him, the one he kept hidden from everyone else. With you, he was calmer, almost unguarded, and you often caught glimpses of something thoughtful and kind beneath the layers of harshness he presented to the world. He seemed to find solace in your presence, as if you were a quiet refuge from the demands and expectations pressing down on him.

One night, as you sat together in the common room, the firelight casting a warm glow across his face, you turned to him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Why are you so… different with me?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible above the crackling of the fire.

Draco looked at you, surprised, his gaze searching yours for a long moment. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned back, his eyes distant yet gentle.

“Maybe I need a break from… everything else.” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He looked away, almost as if he were embarrassed to admit it. “With you, it’s just… easy.”

You didn’t press him further. Instead, you smiled, a small, understanding smile that told him you knew, that you understood. And as the two of you sat together in that quiet corner of the common room, you felt the invisible line between you grow a little fainter, replaced by a warmth that seemed to settle in the space between your shoulders.

You felt your cheeks flush as you glanced down, fingers fiddling with the edges of your sleeves. Words danced on the tip of your tongue—words that could have told him you enjoyed his company, that he’d somehow become a comforting presence in your days—but you were far too shy to admit it aloud. And yet, there was a small part of you that sensed he already knew, that he could feel the same unspoken bond forming between you.

After a while, you gathered the courage to look up at him, offering a small smile. “Goodnight, Draco.” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, and he gave you a slight nod, a quiet acknowledgment that seemed to hold more meaning than any words could. “Goodnight, Y/N.” he replied, his voice carrying a gentleness that still surprised you.

You rose from the couch and walked up the staircase to your dormitory, your heart fluttering as you replayed the evening in your mind, wondering if you’d ever truly understand why Draco Malfoy of all people had chosen to be kind to you.

The next morning the usual hum of chatter in the Great Hall seemed louder, almost electric with excitement. You quickly caught snippets of conversation from the students around you, words floating through the air like bubbles.

“Did you hear? They have announced the Christmas ball!”

“I can’t wait to see what everyone wears! I’ve already got my dress planned…”

“Who do you think will ask you? I heard Blaise is already planning something big…”

The news about a winter Christmas ball spread through the hall like wildfire, with students leaning in close to whisper about who would be asking whom. You felt a pang of nervousness as the reality of the event sank in. Social gatherings were never easy for you, especially something as grand as a ball. The thought of dressing up, of dancing and mingling with so many people, sent a familiar wave of anxiety washing over you.

In the middle of your anxious thoughts, a new one formed, a quiet, tentative hope that made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help but wonder—would Draco ask you to the ball?

As the day went on, you noticed girls from all houses casting glances in Draco’s direction, some giggling behind their hands, others making excuses to speak to him in passing. It seemed that many hoped for his attention, but he remained as aloof as ever, barely acknowledging them. Yet every so often, you caught his gaze drifting toward you, a fleeting glance that made your cheeks grow warm all over again.

The idea of going with him was enough to send a thrill through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the panic that settled in your stomach at the thought of attending such an event. Draco Malfoy was an enigma, unpredictable at best, and you couldn’t be sure he would want to bring someone like you, the shy, quiet girl he mostly saw in moments of solitude.

That same evening, you were sitting in the library with your books spread out before you. Just as you were starting to take notes, you felt a familiar presence settle beside you. Glancing up, you saw Draco, his usual calm expression softened with the same quiet interest he always showed when you were alone together. He didn’t speak right away, instead opening his own book and letting the comfortable silence settle over you both.

But as you tried to focus on your reading, you couldn’t shake the hope buzzing in the back of your mind, the anticipation of the possibility. Would he, you wondered, break the silence and ask you to the Christmas ball?

Draco’s eyes were slowly flicking over the pages of his book, seemingly lost in his own world. Minutes ticked by, the comfortable silence stretching on as he read. Then, almost casually, he closed his book and turned to face you.

“So…” he began, his voice soft but with a trace of amusement, “are you planning on going to this Christmas ball everyone’s talking about?”

Your breath caught, and you glanced up, feeling his gaze settle on you. Nervously, you shook your head, almost afraid to admit it. “No, I don’t think so.” you murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The thought of dressing up and stepping into that grand hall, surrounded by so many watchful eyes, made you anxious.

Draco raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not much of a gatherings type, are you?” he asked, his voice holding a teasing warmth that put you slightly at ease.

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “I’m… not really comfortable with big events. Especially when there are so many people. I feel like they’re all watching.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

To your surprise, Draco chuckled, shaking his head as if he found your answer endearing. He leaned back slightly, folding his arms as he regarded you with that familiar, unreadable glint in his eyes. “You’re really something, you know that?” he said, his tone light. “Most people here would jump at the chance to go and show off, to be the centre of attention for the night.”

You looked down, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your book. “Well, I’m… I’m not most people.” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Being around Draco had somehow made you a little braver, enough to admit the truth.

Draco studied you for a moment, his expression softening, as if he were seeing you in a new light. “Good!” he said finally, his voice so quiet it was almost a murmur. “Maybe that’s why I like being around you. You don’t care about any of that… nonsense.”

You looked up, surprised, meeting his gaze. There was something vulnerable in his expression, something he rarely showed to others. He paused, as if weighing his words, before finally speaking again.

“Would you… reconsider going? If…” He cleared his throat, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “If you had someone to go with who didn’t care about all that either?”

Your heart skipped a beat, your pulse quickening as you tried to process what he was saying. Was he… asking you to go with him?

“I… I don’t know.” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I mean… maybe if it was someone I… trusted to understand.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, and he leaned a bit closer, his gaze steady and warm. “Well…” he said softly, “you know where to find me if you change your mind on going.”

He rose from his seat, picking up his book, but before leaving, he paused, casting you one last look. “Think about it, Y/N.” he added, his voice just above a whisper. “It might be nice.”

And with that, he left, leaving you alone in the library, your heart racing as you replayed his words in your mind.The idea filled you with both excitement and a nervous anticipation, a warmth that lingered even after he was gone.

You sat alone in the library, Draco’s words replayed over and over in your mind, the softness in his voice, the gentle way he had approached the question. You’d seen other boys ask girls to the ball with grand, showy gestures—flowers that burst into magical blooms, charmed notes that floated through the air, even songs sung embarrassingly loud in the corridors. But Draco… he hadn’t needed any of that.

There had been no spotlight, no audience, no pressure. He’d asked you so simply, as if he already understood that the idea of a big, public proposal would have made you want to disappear. Instead, he’d done it in his own, subtle way—quiet, sincere, and perfectly considerate of your feelings. It was exactly what you hadn’t known you wanted.

A warmth settled over you as you realised how well he seemed to understand you, how he could sense what made you nervous without you even saying it. You’d grown used to people overlooking your quiet nature or not understanding why you shied away from the spotlight, but Draco… Draco saw it and didn’t ask you to change. Instead, he made space for it, like he was offering you a safe corner in the middle of all the chaos around you.

You smiled softly to yourself, fiddling with the corner of your book once again. A part of you still felt nervous, the idea of going to the ball both thrilling and daunting. But another part of you—a quieter, braver part—whispered that maybe, just maybe, you could say yes. The thought of being there, in the midst of all the festive excitement, with only Draco beside you, made the idea feel a little less overwhelming.

With three weeks left until the ball, you found yourself caught between excitement and hesitation. Some days, you were certain you’d say yes, picturing yourself in the glow of the ballroom lights with Draco by your side. Other days, your nerves would flare up, reminding you of how out of place you might feel, surrounded by the dazzling gowns, the lively music, and the endless watchful eyes.

But through it all, Draco remained by your side, unbothered by your indecision. He continued to sit next to you in the library, quietly absorbed in his reading while you went through your own books. Sometimes, you’d exchange a few words or simply share the now familiar comfortable silence. He didn’t push or pry; he simply kept you company, content in the easy rhythm you had both fallen into. It was as though he had sensed your uncertainty and was giving you the time you needed.

Meanwhile, the Slytherin common room buzzed with excitement about the upcoming ball, with Draco’s friends, Blaise and Pansy, constantly teasing him about not having a date yet.

“Come on, Draco, who are you taking?” Blaise would press, nudging him with a knowing smirk. “Or do you plan to go alone, sulking in a corner all night?”

Draco would only shrug, an amused glint in his eyes as he brushed off their questions. “Maybe I prefer the idea of a quiet evening.” he’d reply, his tone nonchalant but his gaze occasionally drifting over to where you sat, studying or writing by the fire.

Pansy, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. She’d roll her eyes, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh. “You’re Draco Malfoy! You could have anyone in this school on your arm.” she’d insist, clearly baffled by his indifference. “And you’re telling me you don’t even have someone in mind?”

Draco would simply smirk, a secretive look in his eye that none of them could quite decipher. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right person to come around.” he’d say coolly, casting a glance in your direction before returning to his book.

Every time you overheard these exchanges, your heart would flutter. Though you didn’t show it, you felt a growing warmth at how patient he was, how he seemed unfazed by the usual social pressures that accompanied events like this. Draco could have easily chosen someone else by now, succumbed to the excitement like everyone else around him. But he hadn’t. He was waiting for you, with a quiet confidence that made you feel both comforted and nervous.

As the days ticked by, you found yourself inching closer to a decision. You were no longer as frightened by the idea of the ball, knowing Draco would be there, steady and reassuring as always. And finally, a few days before the event, you decided that maybe you were ready to say yes.

You were sitting  in the common room, quietly finishing up an essay when Draco joined you on the couch, his usual easy smile lighting up his face. He didn’t say anything at first, simply leaning back, his presence calm and familiar as always. The warmth of the fire crackled nearby, casting flickering shadows over the room, and you couldn’t help but feel how the gentle, golden light softened Draco’s sharp features, adding a warmth to him that no one else seemed to notice.

Your heart began to race, and you glanced down, gathering the courage to speak. You’d been turning this moment over in your mind for days, each thought punctuated by the question of whether you were ready. But seeing Draco here, just as patient as ever, you felt a small, shy smile forming on your lips.

He noticed your shift, his gaze sharpening slightly with curiosity. “What is it?” he asked, his tone low and gentle, as if he already sensed the weight of your words.

Taking a deep breath, you finally looked up, meeting his eyes. “Draco… about the ball…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. You watched as his expression softened, the faintest spark lighting up in his gaze. He leaned forward, his focus entirely on you, his expression one of quiet anticipation.

“I’d like to go…” you said softly, your heart pounding so hard you felt it might echo in the quiet room. “With you.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you. His lips curved into a genuine, warm smile, one that seemed to hold a world of understanding, as if he knew just how much it had taken for you to say those words. His eyes softened, his gaze steady and reassuring, and you could see a look of satisfaction flashing across his face as he nodded.

“Good.” he replied, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of excitement beneath his usual cool demeanour. “I’ve been waiting.”

A small, relieved laugh escaped you, and Draco chuckled as well, his eyes never leaving yours. In that quiet moment, with only the crackling of the fire in the background, you felt the weight of your nerves slipping away. All that remained was a warmth in your chest, a quiet thrill that settled in your heart, as if every anxious thought had been soothed by the simple, steady comfort in his gaze.

To your complete surprise, Draco reached over, his hand finding yours, his fingers brushing yours in a way that was both gentle and confident. His thumb traced small circles over your knuckles, a gesture so tender it sent a pleasant shiver through you. You glanced down, unable to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks, but Draco simply smiled, his eyes holding a soft amusement as he took in your reaction.

“I wanted to ask you.” he murmured, his tone low, almost conspiratorial, “but I thought I’d give you time. I know you don’t like… big scenes.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest at how well he understood you. “Thank you… for waiting.” you replied, your voice soft.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his fingers lingering as he replied, “You’re worth waiting for.”

The words hung in the air between you. You found yourself lost in his gaze, feeling a connection deeper than anything you’d ever felt before. And in that moment, you knew you’d made the right choice. Whatever nerves remained seemed to melt away in the warmth of his touch, replaced by a quiet excitement, a thrill at the thought of the night to come and the promise of a moment shared only between you.

~~~

It was the day of the ball. You stood in front of the mirror, nervously fiddling with the hem of your gown. The soft black fabric flowed around you like liquid midnight, gliding over your frame with a grace that felt foreign yet beautiful. It was far out of your comfort zone—elegant, sleek, and perhaps a bit too daring for someone used to hiding in the background. The gown covered you in silky waves, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely exposed.

Your fingers brushed over the card your mother had sent with the gown, her excitement evident in every carefully penned word. She had understood your hesitation, always supporting you in your quiet ways, but her joy at the thought of you stepping into the world was unmistakable. Her words were warm, encouraging, and they echoed in your mind as you took a deep, steadying breath.

With a final adjustment to your elegant hair clip, which held your carefully styled hair in place, you glanced at your reflection, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the confidence you were trying to muster. You could still hear the gentle encouragement in your mother’s voice, and that small, steady reassurance felt like a quiet strength resting in your heart.

As you made your way down the stairs, you were met with the sight of other girls, adorned in gowns of every colour, dashing past with bright eyes and breathless excitement. They giggled, glancing over their shoulders as they rushed to their dates, their expressions alight with anticipation.

You lingered at the edge of the common room, feeling both a part of and apart from the thrill that filled the air. For a second you thought about abandoning the plan, about turning around to hide back into the safety of your dormitory. But you didn’t, you pushed forward. When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you stopped, breath catching in your throat as your eyes found Draco waiting near the entrance.

He looked striking in his formal attire, a tailored black suit that brought out the sharpness of his features and the cool grey of his eyes. He was watching the door, his expression carefully composed, but as soon as he saw you, his gaze softened, a flicker of warmth melting the usual coolness in his eyes.

For a moment, his gaze swept over you, and you could have sworn you saw the faintest hint of awe there, a subtle appreciation as his eyes lingered on the way the gown draped over you. He took a step closer, his hand extending towards you in a gesture that felt both formal and gentle.

“You look…” He paused, searching for the words, his usual smooth confidence giving way to something more genuine. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, and you managed a small smile, your fingers brushing his as you took his hand. “Thank you.” you murmured, your voice soft. “You… you look amazing too.”

His lips curved into a slight smirk, but there was a softness to it that felt reserved only for you. “Ready?” he asked, his thumb brushing against your hand, sending a reassuring warmth through you.

With a small nod, you felt your nerves settle slightly. It was just you and Draco now, away from the giggling girls and the excited chatter. You stepped into the hallway, your hand in his, his grip steady, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the sense of calm he brought.

When you finally reached the doors to theGrand Hall, Draco paused, turning to you. “If it gets to be too much… just let me know.” he said quietly, his gaze warm and reassuring. “We can slip away, find a quiet corner somewhere. Just us.”

The kindness in his words, the unspoken promise of understanding, made your heart swell with gratitude. You felt the tension in your shoulders ease, the comfort of his presence settling over you like a gentle cloak.

“Thank you, Draco.” you said softly, squeezing his hand as you offered him a genuine smile. 

As the two of you entered the grand hall, the immediate stares from students around you made you instinctively shrink back, your nerves flaring up under the weight of so many curious eyes. You moved a little closer to Draco, letting him act as a buffer between you and the crowd. Sensing your discomfort, he slid a reassuring hand to your waist, pulling you close in a subtle but protective gesture. The warmth of his touch grounded you, his presence like a steady anchor amidst the swirling noise and lights of the hall.

With his hand on your waist, Draco guided you to a quieter corner where he pulled out a chair and gestured for you to sit beside him at one of the tables. You gratefully took the seat, feeling safer tucked close to his side. His casual confidence helped ease some of your nervousness, and though you couldn’t escape the occasional glances thrown your way, you felt a bit more at ease with him near.

It didn’t take long for his friends to spot him. Blaise, Pansy, and Theo approached the table, each wearing expressions that ranged from amused to downright mischievous. Blaise was the first to speak, his lips quirking up into a teasing grin as he looked between you and Draco.

“Had to go for the quiet one, huh, Draco?” he teased, waggling his eyebrows. “Didn’t want to risk someone who’d actually talk back?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his hand remained steady on your waist, not moving an inch away. “Some of us value peace and quiet, Blaise.” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with just enough sarcasm to make his friend chuckle.

Pansy leaned in, her eyes narrowing playfully as she looked you over, though her expression wasn’t unfriendly. “Didn’t think I’d see you at one of these, Draco.” she said, her voice teasing. “Or you, for that matter.” she added, nodding at you with a raised eyebrow.

Draco’s arm tightened around you slightly, his tone cool but lighthearted. “I’m full of surprises tonight, apparently.” he replied, glancing down at you with a small, private smile that made your cheeks warm. His friends exchanged knowing looks, a mix of surprise and amusement clear on their faces as they took in the uncharacteristically soft look Draco wore when he looked at you.

Theo crossed his arms, a smirk forming on his face. “Never thought I’d see the day when Draco Malfoy would be so… domesticated.” he joked, earning a snicker from Blaise.

Draco shot him a look that was both annoyed and amused, shaking his head. “Better domesticated than chasing after a loudmouth all night.” he replied, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Blaise raised his hands in surrender, chuckling. “Fine, fine. Guess we’ll leave you two ‘quiet ones’ to yourselves, then.” He winked at you before they moved to join the rest of the crowd, casting a few playful glances back in your direction.

As they walked away, you felt yourself relax a little more, the warmth of Draco’s hand still resting on your waist a quiet reminder of his presence. He looked down at you, his gaze softening.

“Sorry about them.” he murmured, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. “They’re… not exactly subtle.”

You shook your head, managing a small smile. “It’s okay. They seem… nice, in their own way.”

Draco smirked, his expression softening as he looked at you. “Nice might be a bit of a stretch. But they’re loyal. And they’re less insufferable once you get to know them.”

You chuckled softly, your nerves easing bit by bit as he continued to keep you close, shielding you from the attention of the room. The music played on, and though the hall was filled with laughter, chatter, and the dazzling movements of dancers, in your corner of the room, it felt like it was just the two of you. And with Draco by your side, you found yourself starting to enjoy the night in a way you hadn’t expected.

Draco never pushed you to join the others on the dance floor or to mingle with the lively crowd that filled the hall. Instead, he seemed perfectly content to sit by your side, his presence calm and reassuring, as if this corner of the grand hall were your own private sanctuary. He leaned back, relaxed, his gaze soft as he looked at you, and the two of you settled into a quiet rhythm, chatting in low voices amidst the distant music and laughter.

You found yourself growing more at ease, the earlier tension gradually slipping away. Draco had an effortless way of drawing you out, his questions thoughtful, never prying. He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you—asking about your favourite things, your thoughts on Hogwarts, little stories from your past. With every answer, he’d listen intently, offering the occasional smile or chuckle that made you feel… seen, in a way you hadn’t expected.

And he, in turn, shared parts of himself that you could tell he rarely let others see. You learned about his favourite places at Hogwarts, like a small alcove by the lake where he liked to go to think, or the dusty, hidden corners of the library where he would escape when he wanted peace. He even told you about his love for quiet nights spent by the common room fire, when he could let his guard down without feeling the weight of others’ expectations.

Despite still feeling slightly on edge, there was a warmth in Draco’s presence that made the evening unexpectedly pleasant. He didn’t seem to mind your shy responses, your glances down as you fiddled with the edges of your gown, or the way you occasionally looked out at the crowd with slight apprehension. He simply adjusted, keeping the conversation easy and gentle, as if he understood exactly what you needed.

At one point, the music shifted to a slow, softer tune, and you caught a glimpse of couples drifting gracefully across the dance floor. Your heart fluttered slightly, wondering if Draco would ask you to dance. Part of you was terrified at the thought of being in the spotlight, of stepping out onto the floor where everyone could see. But a quieter, hopeful part of you wondered if he’d pull you in close, if his touch would feel as steady as it did now.

Draco must have noticed your gaze, because he leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Do you want to dance?” he asked softly, his tone gentle, leaving you the choice.

You hesitated, feeling a mixture of longing and nerves, and shook your head slightly. “I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” you admitted, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded, a warm understanding in his eyes as he settled back into his chair, his hand still resting on yours. “That’s perfectly fine.” he murmured. “I’d rather sit here with you anyway.”

A comfortable silence fell between you as he continued to hold your hand, his thumb tracing gentle patterns over your fingers. It was a simple gesture, but it made you feel safe, like he was willing to shield you from the world outside your quiet bubble. He didn’t push, didn’t ask you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He was just… there, content to be beside you, in whatever way you needed him to be.

As the night went on, you found yourself relaxing more, the low murmur of his voice and his quiet laughter easing the last of your nerves. You’d never imagined that something as simple as sitting beside him, exchanging quiet words, could feel so intimate, so genuine. It was as if he were letting you into a part of himself that no one else got to see, and in turn, you felt safe enough to let down your own walls, if only just a little.

In that moment, with his hand in yours and the soft glow of the candlelight reflecting in his eyes, you realised that this was exactly what you’d hoped for—a night spent in quiet companionship, away from the noise and expectations of the world. Just the two of you, in a space that felt like it was made for you alone.

And somehow, that was enough. More than enough.

You glanced up at Draco, feeling the now-familiar warmth spread across your cheeks, and took a deep breath. Gathering the courage, you looked into his eyes, feeling a small, shy smile tug at your lips.

“Draco…” you murmured, your voice soft, “I… I think I would like to dance with you. Just… away from everyone else.”

His eyes lit up, a gentle smile crossing his face as he gave a slight nod, understanding instantly. He rose from his seat without hesitation, his hand extended towards you. You placed your hand in his, feeling a spark of excitement as he guided you through the hall, weaving between tables and clusters of students, until you reached the doors of the Grand Hall.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by the cold winter’s night air, the faint echo of the ball’s music drifting into the quiet. Draco led you down a pathway lined with twinkling fairy lights, stopping at a secluded spot beneath a large, ancient tree. Here, the soft notes of the music were still audible, blending with the peaceful sounds of the night. It felt magical, almost as if this place had been waiting for the two of you.

Draco turned to face you, his hands gently resting on your waist as he looked into your eyes, his expression warm and inviting. The moonlight cast a soft glow over his features, accentuating the rare tenderness you’d come to recognize in his gaze.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the moment.

You nodded, your heart fluttering as you placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his presence wrap around you. Slowly, he guided you into a gentle sway, the two of you moving to the distant melody drifting from the hall. There were no grand gestures, no fancy steps—just the simple rhythm of your bodies moving together, perfectly in sync.

For a moment, everything else faded away. There were no prying eyes, no expectations, just the two of you in this quiet corner of the world. You looked up at him, your cheeks still rosy, feeling the thrill of the dance and the intimacy of being so close.

Draco’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, his voice barely a whisper. “You know, I never thought I’d enjoy a night like this so much.” he murmured. “But… you make it easy.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and a soft smile graced your lips as you looked back at him. “I feel the same way.” you replied, surprised at how natural the words felt. “I didn’t think I’d even be here… but you’ve made tonight feel… special.”

He chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I think it’s you who’s made it special, Y/N.”

The music swelled in the background, he pulled you a little closer, his hands firm yet gentle on your waist. You let yourself relax in his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in a way you hadn’t expected. 

The two of  you moved together in quiet harmony, the world around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the soft music, the gentle sway of your bodies, and the warmth of Draco’s embrace. He pulled you just a little closer, resting his chin gently on the top of your head as you nestled against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled your ears, calming and comforting, grounding you in this perfect moment.

You let your eyes close, feeling the warmth of his body radiate through you, and it was as though you could both feel each other’s unspoken emotions in that silence. The night air was crisp, but in his arms, you felt nothing but warmth.

After a few moments, he sighed, the gentle exhale stirring your hair. He shifted slightly, and you felt his chin lift as he looked down at you. You glanced up, meeting his gaze, seeing a softness in his eyes that made your heart race.

“Y/N.” he murmured, his voice low and vulnerable. He paused, as though choosing his words carefully, his expression uncharacteristically uncertain. “I… I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while now.”

You felt your breath catch as his hand gently traced along your waist, the tender pressure sending a pleasant shiver through you.

He swallowed, and his gaze held yours, steady but filled with a quiet intensity. “Would it… would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Your cheeks grew warm, and you felt a nervous, shy smile tugging at your lips. The question hung between you, and though you felt a rush of nerves, you also felt a quiet, undeniable thrill that made you want to lean in and close the space between you.

Biting your lip, you nodded slowly, your gaze dropping to his chest for a moment before lifting to meet his eyes again. “Yes… I’d like that.” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

A gentle smile curved his lips as he leaned down, his hand sliding to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushed softly along your cheek, his touch tender and reassuring, as if he wanted to make sure you felt safe in his arms.

He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest, softest of kisses. It was gentle, unhurried, filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. His hand held you close, cradling your face as he kissed you again, a little more deeply this time, and you felt yourself melt into him, the world around you disappearing entirely.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a soft smile playing on his lips. His hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb brushing soothingly along your skin.

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur in the night. “For trusting me… and for tonight.”

You smiled shyly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his suit jacket as you looked up at him, still a little breathless. For a moment, you simply let yourself take in his warmth, his gaze soft and unguarded in a way you knew he rarely showed.

But instead of replying, you surprised even yourself as you stood up on your tiptoes, leaning in to press your lips against his once more. It was a bold move, uncharacteristic of your usually reserved self, but something about this moment felt right, like it was meant for just the two of you.

Draco’s initial surprise softened almost instantly as he returned the kiss, his hands gently moving to your waist, pulling you closer. This kiss was deeper, filled with a newfound confidence and passion that sent your heart racing. When you finally pulled away, both of you were smiling, his forehead resting against yours as you shared a quiet, almost breathless laugh.

“Oh wow?” he murmured, his voice low, full of surprise.

You chuckled softly, feeling a little more daring than before. “Maybe I should be bold more often.” you whispered, meeting his gaze with a new spark of confidence.

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’d certainly encourage it.”

In that moment, with the quiet music playing in the background and his arms wrapped around you, it felt as though you had found something rare and precious—a feeling that went beyond words, beyond the excitement of the ball, and straight to the heart of what it meant to share something true.

You weren’t sure what would happen between you and Draco after today. But as the two of you stood together, swaying gently under the stars, you knew that this night was a memory you would hold onto forever.

Likes, reblogs and comments are always very much appreciated! ♡

© slytherinsmuse. please do not copy, claim, translate or steal any of my works as your own.

The way the red flags are right there but the reader can't put her finger on them😳 I'm so excited to see what else happens!

Deep in the Woods: Part 1

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Series Masterlist | Part 2

Chapter Summary: You encounter your grumpy temporary neighbor while attempting to chop some firewood.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.3k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, cheating mentioned (reader's ex), grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, reader is too trusting, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit rude at first, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: A new dark AU inspired by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 's ask. ❤️‍🔥 Thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for cheering me on! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun shining in the sky was deceiving as you hauled a large piece of wood to the tree trunk. It was chillier than expected, and the cold would only get worse once the sun went down. Your cabin had heat, but you'd be stuck if it went out and you didn’t manage to chop some firewood. Making a fire you could handle. Chopping wood?

That was another story.

“Okay,” you smiled, setting the log upright and adjusting your gloves before you grabbed the axe. You gripped the handle tight, raising it above your head. “I got this.”

The blade hit the log almost dead center. Unsurprisingly though, it barely pierced the wood. You hunched over, tugging at the axe, nearly losing your balance in the process. “I still got this,” you huffed, shaking out your arms and swinging again.

The next swing went deeper, but only by an inch. The swing after that, you nearly missed completely. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your body warming despite the chill in the air. After a moment, you dropped the axe and stared at the log with your hands on your hips. It was nowhere near split.

“I don’t got this,” you sighed.

“Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice asked from behind you.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you spun around, and it raced even faster when you spotted a figure just a few feet away. He was a large man, and one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He would likely tower over you if he stepped closer. His dark hair hung messily past his shoulders, while his perfectly trimmed beard gave him a rugged edge. The flannel he wore strained against the biceps of his muscular arms, one of the shades of blue matching his thunderous eyes.

Was he glaring at you?

“Hi,” you smiled, trying to sound friendly as you gestured toward the unchopped log. “I was just trying, and failing, to chop some firewood. I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

He kicked a small twig away with his boot. “I didn't ask what you were doing. I asked, ‘Who the hell are you?’”

Your smile slipped. Maybe he was local and didn't like outsiders, though something about him seemed familiar. “Oh, yeah. Right,” you said, giving him your name and nodding to the cabin nearby. “Mr. Hunter rented the place out to me. I’m staying for a couple of weeks. Just got here this morning.” You hoped the place wasn't double booked.

He relaxed a fraction, but his glare didn't disappear completely as he took out his phone and dialed a number. You heard a ring as he put it on speaker. While he tapped a foot impatiently, you weren't sure what to say or do.

“Howdy, neighbor,” a raspy voice answered on the other end.

“Did you rent out your place?” he asked, keeping his eyes on you when your face got hot. You wanted to yell that you wouldn't lie about something like that, but that didn't seem like a good idea.

“Yeah. Pretty lady. Paid in full upfront. Clean background, too.” You looked at your feet. It was weird to listen in even though it was on speaker. And did he say “clean background”? What did that mean? “Why? Is she-”

The man hung up the phone. “Didn't think he rented his cabin out anymore,” he said more to himself than you.

An awkward silence filled the air. “Yeah, well, apparently he does. I booked it a couple of months ago and he left a code to get in and some instructions for the place,” you explained, trying to smile again as you looked around and breathed in the fresh air. “It’s a really nice place and the view up here is gorgeous, like something out of a photograph. Do you live nearby?”

He grunted and jutted his chin out. “My cabin is the next one over to the left.”

“That’s nice,” you smiled more, grabbing the axe again. “And it was very interesting meeting you, temporary neighbor, but I should try to finish this up.”

Before you could blink, the man was directly in front of you with one hand on the handle. He was even bigger up close. “If you’re thinking of taking another swing at that log, don't,” he barked at you, snatching the axe from your hands. You weren’t sure if it was his tone or him grabbing it from you that made you flinch. “This isn't a toy, it’s dangerous. And from the looks of that log you have no business trying to do that to begin with.”

Your cheeks burned again. It was bad enough that this guy didn't take your word for staying at the cabin, but the last thing you needed was for some stranger to lecture or humiliate you, and a grumpy one at that. “Yeah, well, if my cheating asshole of a boyfriend hadn't been balls deep in his colleague, we wouldn't be having this conversation. He'd be out here chopping firewood and I’d be inside cooking, which is something I'm actually good at, thank you very much,” you snapped.

Your tone surprised him enough to let you take the axe back. “I didn't…” he trailed off when you held up a hand.

“You don't know me and that’s fine, but I’m trying to be friendly and that's more than you can say,” you continued, his nostrils flaring. He didn't have to be nice to you, but he didn't need to be rude either. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I'm stuck here by myself, I’m trying my best to make it work, and I don't need some random stranger out here giving me a hard time for no reason.”

Your eyes burned as he stared at you, but you squared your shoulders and held your head high. You spent enough time crying over a prick who wasn’t worth it and you refused to shed another tear because you deserved better than an unfaithful asshole. And you sure as hell wouldn't cry in front of some hot grump with a chip on his shoulder.

The man’s pensive look dissipated more of your sudden anger and his tone softened considerably when he asked, “You’re really out here by yourself?”

You tensed up. It wasn't smart of you to broadcast that you were all by your lonesome. “Yeah, for now,” you said, your voice softer, too. Maybe you could convince a friend to stop by for a day or so. “I know I’m not good with an axe, but I tried. I just wanted some firewood in case the heat went out for any reason,” you said, your shoulders sagging. “So if you don't mind, can I please finish up?”

He nodded, taking the axe more gently this time. “Let me,” he offered, your eyes wide at his change in demeanor. “And step back. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Once you moved out of the way, he lifted the axe and split the log down the middle with expert precision. With his view on the task at hand, you swept an appreciative gaze over him. The guy was a bit of a grump, but he filled his jeans out well. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, mister,” you told him, getting a grunt in response. “My problems aren't your problems and I didn't mean to get so defensive about my lack of wood chopping skills.”

“You can call me Bucky,” he said, grabbing another log. “And nothing to be sorry for. I didn't exactly lay out the welcome mat for you.”

“It’s… Wait, Bucky.” Your eyes widened in realization. “Bucky Barnes?”

He froze before he brought the axe down again. “Heard of me?”

“Of course I have. You helped save the world,” you smiled. Years back, an alien warlord had wiped out half of the population. Not only did a group of heroes called the Avengers help reverse the wipeout, but they stopped the monster with the help of many others across the galaxy. Bucky was one of those people. No wonder he seemed so familiar. “You’re a hero.”

A tortured one at that. You remembered seeing a few articles about him. A former prisoner of war turned brainwashed assassin turned hero. He was pardoned for the crimes committed while was brainwashed, and rightfully so in your opinion, and he went on to use his skills and expertise to help others.

What was he doing out here in the woods?

“Not really a hero anymore,” he said, brushing his hair back with his forearm. “Now I’m just a lumberjack who values his privacy.”

“Oh.” That answered your question. “I guess valuing your privacy explains why you didn't roll out the welcome mat,” you teased, wringing your fingers together. You felt kind of bad again for snapping at him. Given his past that you were aware of, it made sense why he would've been suspicious of someone new popping up near his home.

He stopped to glance at you. “Guess it’s my turn to apologize,” he said.

You blinked, not wanting to lose yourself in his deep gaze. “No need. I figured you were just a local who didn't like new people around.” You smiled at the pile of wood he made. “I think you chopping firewood for me is the perfect apology. You saved me a lot of time and trouble.”

He hummed, putting the blade in the tree trunk once he finished. “You said you cook?” he asked, wiping his gloves on his jeans as he faced you.

“Yeah. I actually have a stew keeping warm right now,” you replied, shifting on your feet when he stared you down. “Are you hungry? I made plenty.”

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“Okay.” Your smile faltered when you walked toward the cabin with Bucky close behind. Was it a good idea to invite him in when you didn't exactly know him? The guy was a hero though. No reason to be suspicious.

The aroma of seasonings, beef, and vegetables greeted you as you opened the door and set your gloves on the entry table. “If you don’t mind taking your boots off, that was one of the instructions,” you told him, removing yours and hanging your coat on the hook.

While the cabin wasn’t large, it was in great condition. It was also extremely clean and tidy. The guy who owned it likely didn’t want dirt on his floors.

“Yeah, God’s kind of picky about that stuff,” Bucky said, putting his gloves on top of yours. You caught a glimpse of his metal hand, but you quickly looked away. It wasn’t polite to stare.

“Wait. The G in G.B. Hunter stands for God?” Your brows pinched as you walked toward the kitchen. “What the hell does the B stand for?” you muttered to yourself.

“That’s really what it stands for. He’s a bit of a strange guy, but a good neighbor when he’s here,” Bucky said, following close again. He was practically on top of you. “So, your boyfriend. He-”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you corrected him, inhaling deeply as you lifted the lid from the warm pot. The scent brought a smile to your face and pushed a bit of the bitterness away. “What about him?”

Bucky grabbed a couple of bowls from the cupboard. He knew where the spoons were, too, so he was at least somewhat familiar with the place. You weren’t sure how that made you feel. “How long were you two together?”

“Almost a year,” you replied. A waste of about twelve months and it wouldn't be fun to start over again.

He set the bowls on the counter before he grabbed a couple of drinks, sweeping a look over you. “Did you catch him cheating?” he asked curiously.

You froze, the image of your ex scrambling to cover himself and his colleague up as you walked in taking over your mind. You had to blink multiple times to make the image go away, but it didn’t stop your stomach from turning. “Yep,” you answered, your throat tight. Why did he want to know? “Tried to give me some lame excuse that it wasn't what it looked like, but I slapped him and said we were done. I can forgive a lot of things, but cheating isn’t one of them.”

“Loyalty is a good trait to want in a partner,” he mused.

“It is, but it’s a trait he didn't have apparently. At least we didn’t live together,” you continued, taking a breath. It hurt and felt good to talk about it. “We were supposed to come up here for a getaway and I debated cancelling the reservation, but I figured it would be a good way to clear my head.”

The kitchen felt warmer and you figured it was because you were close to the stove until you realized Bucky was right at your back. You went rigid when he inhaled. Maybe he was just smelling the food. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You gripped the ladle until your hand ached. “Not your fault,” you whispered, keeping perfectly still. If you moved forward, the stove would burn you. If you moved back, you’d be right against him. It was a small kitchen, but there was no reason for him to stand so close.

You didn’t exhale until he moved to set the drinks on the table. “You got a job?” he asked.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, thankful for the change in topic. “Yeah, data entry. Not too exciting, but it’s decent pay and I don’t have to go into an office or deal with traffic.” You scooped a generous portion of stew into a bowl for him, just in case he was really hungry. “As long as I have my laptop and an internet connection, I can get the job done.”

“Must be nice,” he commented, but it sounded more admirable than sarcastic. “You said you and your ex didn’t live together. Do you have a roommate? Pets?”

You side-eyed him. The tone was casual, but what was with the multiple questions? “I live alone because my apartment is about the size of a shoebox,” you said. It was cozy though and yours. “Nice thing is the rent is cheap. Sad thing is the building is pet free.”

He took out his phone as you got your bowl ready. “I have a cat,” he said, shoving the phone close to your face. It was a photo of a beautiful white cat sitting by a window. It was endearing picturing a burly man holding such a delicate creature. “Her name’s Alpine.”

You smiled at the image. “She’s really beautiful. I’ve always loved cats.”

He smiled a little, too, but it went away as fast as it appeared. “She’s very particular with people, but you’re welcome to meet her.” He took the bowl from your hand to carry them to the small table nearby. “She might like you since you’re sweet.”

Heat rolled up your neck. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose,” you said. It wasn’t like you had any plans during your time there, but he had done enough by chopping the firewood for you.

His jaw ticked. “If it was an imposition I wouldn't have asked.”

“Oh, I wasn't trying to imply anything,” you promised, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't your intention to upset him.

“Are you allergic to cats?”

“No, I’m not,” you answered.

He set the bowls on the table and leveled you with a hard stare. “Then I think you should meet her,” he said, pulling out a chair for you. It sounded more like an order than a suggestion. “Sit.”

You hesitated before you sat down. “Okay then,” you said. Maybe he was trying to make up for being rude earlier by welcoming you in some capacity. “Does tomorrow work?”

His lip curled up in a smile, giving you a nod, too. “Tomorrow. Early afternoon,” he replied, taking a seat. How did he still look so big sitting down? You watched him blow on a spoonful of stew before he took a bite, his eyes shutting with a groan. It was a deep, primal sound and you shouldn't have liked hearing it. “This is… really good.”

You beamed, unable to help yourself. You took pride in your cooking. “I’m glad you like it,” you said, digging in, too. “So, you said you’re a lumberjack now. How long have you been doing that?”

He hunched over a bit as he took a few more bites, like he hadn't eaten all day. “About nine months. Tough mission happened and I had to walk away from it.” He shrugged dismissively. Did the mission have a bad outcome or was it just the straw that broke the camel’s back? It wasn’t any of your business. “Came out to the woods with Alpine, started chopping down trees to work out some of my frustration, and it somehow became my new job. The woods suit me better than the city anyway.”

“Yeah? How so?”

He shrugged again. “It’s quiet, peaceful. No judging or prying eyes,” he answered, pushing the now empty bowl away. It almost sounded like he was hiding from the world. “And I don’t mind working with my hands. Can chop trees down pretty fast and it doesn’t take long to get the logs to the sawmill. Even built some of my own furniture in my place.”

“You build your own furniture? That’s so cool,” you smiled. It took a moment, but he smiled back a little. “Being a lumberjack sounds like hard but satisfying work,” you added. You admired him for being a hero, but also for his new, humble lifestyle.

“Yeah, it is.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. “This might be rude to ask, but you wouldn’t mind making us lunch tomorrow, would you? I can cook, but it’s nothing like yours.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Part of you took it as a compliment that he liked your cooking, but something in his stare made you want to squirm. Could it be the assumption that you were going to have lunch with him when all he said was that he wanted you to meet his cat? “I don’t mind,” you smiled. Maybe the guy was a bit lonely and just wanted someone to share a meal with. You could sympathize with that. “Anything in particular you like? If I don’t have it, I can go to town and-”

“Surprise me, doll.” The chair scraped along the floor as he pushed himself up, towering over the table and you. “And don’t bother going to town. Whatever you have here to cook, I’ll eat it.”

“I’ll surprise you then.” Your brows pinched as he went back to the kitchen. He walked around like he owned the place. “Oh, help yourself,” you said when he stopped at the stove for another bowl.

He paused to look back at you. His blue eyes looked a shade darker and you couldn’t help but shiver. “I plan to,” he stated.

You gave him a smile, discreetly patting your pants pocket to make sure you still had your phone on you. It wasn’t like you needed to call anyone for help, but you were all alone and had to be careful. You were still going to have a nice time though. It would be a relaxing trip and you could catch up on reading, relaxing, whatever you wanted.

Besides, Bucky was nearby just in case. The guy didn’t seem to have a complete sense of boundaries, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He was a hero. You didn’t have anything to fear.

Right?

Oh, our reader did herself no favors by answering truthfully that she's all alone. I wonder how Bucky will play this... Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

I’m such a hopeless romantic omggggg🥹🥹 I loved thisssssss!!!

saw u write for harry potter i dont know if u do but could you write something about draco malfoy i find very little on tumblr of draco x reader thank youu

when you know, you know

draco malfoy x reader

fluff

a/n: send more request for harry potter characters pls loves

summary: a rare potion reveals Draco the name of the love of his life, and, after seeing his reaction, you are eager to know more about how he's made it (and who it is).

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

It was sad being alone this very day, but you told yourself he would be back home as early as he could. 

You decided to wander through your house as you waited upon his arrival. The thought of seeing his greeting smile already made you overjoyed as you browsed through your messy room.

Your eyes stumbled upon something. It was utter boredom that gave you the urge to open your memories' trunk. It was yours and his secret trunk, filled of things that you didn’t use nor see ever, but you hold them so dear you weren’t able to let go of. 

You opened it and a small wrapped box greeted you. You remembered not seeing that before. But again, it had been a very long time. Curiosity got the best of you, and you proceeded to unwrap it gently. 

And there it was. A simple little flask. A piece of glass so ordinary to everyone. Everyone but you, him, and the walls of Hogwarts potion classroom… 

“What?!” you blurt. 

“I’m telling you, Y/N. Lena from fourth grade has made it!”

“How would a 14-year-old accomplish to make The Curious Hoax? It is known to be nearly impossible.”

Saoirse leans in, a cunning smile blooming in her face. “Exactly,” she whispers in your ear. “Nearly impossible.”

The Curious Hoax. But how?

“Students!” Professor Slughorn cuts your wondering instantly. You and the rest of the students follow his instructions, stepping into the Potions Classroom. “That’s it. Take your books. Careful, Ron!”

Lost in your thoughts, you look around. The room never seems to lose its charm. Cold and old stone walls isolate you from the warm Hogwarts you remember. It is nice, though. You’ve always appreciated the magical spell these shelves filled with all types of jars and potions have on you. 

“But how? I mean - you spoke to her, what are the steps?” you ask eagerly. The Curious Hoax had always been your priority goal since you’ve heard of it. It wasn’t only the rareness of the potion that called you to it. The reason of your interest was far more humiliating.

Your friend knows that. “Ah - you are now so interested, huh? Will you tell me why?” Saoirse asks mockingly. “Come on, let’s make a deal.”

“A deal about what?” You turn to the brusque voice next to you. 

Him, of course.

“Draco,” you say plainly, disgust running your tongue as you speak. 

But he takes no offense. The blonde boy turns to you, pride and sharpness in his piercing stare. “Y/N” You’ve never known if it’s simply the thrill of hearing your name out of his lips that sends your heartbeat to a high, or if it’s the sweetness in the tone he uses that confuses your heart. 

That is not the matter to worry about. Now, the only thing that matters is winning him.

“Oh, here they go again with the staring contest. What are you - eleven?” Saoirse asks, rolling her eyes and making Blaise chuckle. Draco turns to the joyful sound in an instant, giving a stern look to his friend. 

“You’ve lost,” you taunt with a grin once Draco turns to you. 

His eyes kill you with their intensified anger. “Shut up, Potter.”

You bite your lips, trying not to slap him. Or strangle him. 

Or poison him.

Your jaw is rigid with anger as you lock your eyes with him. It is a call to challenge. To defiance.To temptation.

“Oh, here they go again,” your friend complains. “Stop that already, Slughorn is talking.” You both ignore Saoirse. “Guys. Draco and Y/N will you please stop that.”

“Let them,” Blaise tells her teasingly. You take a mental note to gossip with Saoirse about the smoldering glace his given her. She’s been head over heels for the boy ever since you two were sorted to slithering six years ago and took a seat next to him. Him and Draco.

“You looked away,” Draco states, sneering. “You. Lose.”

You breathe deep, holding back the slap your body aches to give him. “Shut up, will you.”

“You shut up.”

“No. You shut up, Malfoy.”

“Shut up, the both of you!” Soirse yells. “You act like kids, I swear.” You watch in shock as the whole class turns to her rants. But she doesn’t seem to care as she angrily turns to Draco. “She was just asking about The Curious Hoax, because she’s spent her whole live daydreaming about the love of her life! Now shut up already!” And she stops right there, her eyes wide open, moving to find yours in instant regret as she realizes what she's confessed. “So that is that,” she mumbles, almost inaudibly.

You know you look visibly flushed as your eyes dart around, trying to hide your embarrassment. But acknowledging every set of eyes on you doesn’t help one bit. 

But what certainly doesn’t help is the obscurity in Draco’s face. “Ah, well - what an even more pathetic thing you turn to be.”

“Watch your mouth,” your friend barks in your defense.

“What? She can be this stupid, but I can’t comment on it?” he says. There’s still in his face a darkness you can’t quite understand. He is not being mean for mere rudeness. He is truly angry. But why for? 

You feel chocked up, your eyes on the verge of tears. No words in your personal defense seem to escape the chains of your throat. 

But someone unexpected is there for you. “Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn says in a scolding voice. “What is exactly so pathetic in the will to make such an extraordinary potion? A potion that could reveal the one true love of the maker. Could you explain to the whole class, please?”

Draco is silent, anger with a hint of humiliation in his stupid face. 

“No?” the professor asks, monetarily turning to give you a friendly wink. You smile slightly, the pressure of before, now less crushing. “Then I take you appreciate its value all the same as your classmate, Y/N?”

“I-” the boy starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Very well. Then, I have great news for you.” He turns to the class and adds, “Today, Mr. Malfoy will be the first to try it.”

Said boy swallows audibly. “Try what?” he hurries to ask. 

“Why - Making The Curious Hoax, of course,” he says evidently. 

“But-”

“Great! First, go take the cherry leafs…” 

… 

It’s been about ten minutes of Draco following obediently every Slughorn instruction in front of the class. A bit of ‘take this, put this, mix that’ and now, “The final step…” the professor said, happiness irradiating from him as a result of his love for this subject. 

You don’t know what surprised you more. How okay, even happy, Draco is with doing this, or that the potion is simple as this. You were told only a few people had succeeded in making it, but there he was Draco, one last step from making it.

You wonder, is he nervous? Excited to know who is the love of his life? 

You are. Of course, not for who is his love. Of course. You are nervous to find out yours.

“I must tell you,” Slughorn says to all. “The last step may seem frustrating to the ones who reach with their hand for the top of the mountain, yet happen to be farther than what they had expected.”

You watch Draco sight at the professor’s enigmatic words. The truth is, you had been watching him very carefully. It is not often that he was concentrated enough to not pay attention to your curious eyes set on him. And it is quite an opportunity and relief to be free to watch him from afar with no mean words coming your way. 

It is simply a relief to look at him, so lost in his inner world. 

“What is the last step, professor Slughorn?” the Weasley boy asks.

“Well,” he replies absentmindedly. “Once the ingredients are mixed, you must write on an ordinary piece of paper the name of the love of your life. Who you think it is. Only the correct answer will lead to the making of the potion.”

Surprised and disappointment fill the classroom and your heart.

“I don’t understand,” you say. “Then the potion makes no sense: You must know the very same thing you want to learn from the potion. If you knew already who the love of your life is, you wouldn’t need the potion in the first place.”

“Exactly.” Slughorn gives you a knowing smile. “The curious Hoax, Ms. Y/N. It is a hoax.”

You look around confused, but stop when you find his eyes on you. Draco immediately looks away, flushed, almost hiding from you.

Could today’s class turn out more odd?

“Then what’s the stupid point in making it?” Blaise asks. 

You realize Draco hasn’t said a word in complaint yet, which is shocking. Is he really interested in knowing his true love?

“Well, even being conscious about this last step, many wizards have spent years trying to make it, trying name after name, and the one’s that have made it claim that the potion is worth everything.”

“Professor,” your friend says. “I’ve heard that if you drink the Potion once it changes color, you will see your happiest memory with your love.”

“That I've heard before - yes. But I fear you shall check it for yourselves. Now, everyone around a table! You know the steps.”

“We are all going to try to make The Curious Hoax?” Ron asks in disbelief.

“Yes, of course, Ron, or do you expect to find out by me telling you who she is?” Slughorn asks playfully as he glances visibly to the girl next to Ron. Nor him or the now blushed girl, Hermione, miss that look. 

Everyone takes place and starts with the making. You try to keep some distance, but your curiosity makes you pick a spot on the table close to Draco. He seems determined to not look your way.

You don’t give much thought to that. The priority now is succeeding in this. You’ve always wanted to know who the love of your life is. Now you have the answer right in front of you. 

The little cauldron is almost entirely filled, every ingredient you’ve meticulously thrown into and mixed have now given their results. But not the ultimate result. The potion must turn blue to indicate it is well. And it will only turn blue if you throw into it the correct name.

Of all the people who could be, how on earth would you be able to guess. You realize soon, it will be impossible to make the potion go blu-

“Look! Draco’s made it! His potion’s turned blue!”

What.

You quickly look up to him. But he’s already staring your way. Eyes wide open in surprise, just like yours. Of course, guessing who his love is must have left him crazy. Making one of the most difficult potions must have left him crazy. 

This time, not like the others, his eyes don’t move. Like your staring games, he’s just there., looking at you as if the world around him was no more. 

“Very well done, Mr. Malfoy!” Slughorn congratulates. “Great! Great.” He grabs a simple little flask and starts puting the potion inside carefully. “And… here you go. Consider yourself a very lucky boy, Draco. Not many in this world will have the opportunity to visit their happiest memory as you do.” And he hands the flask to the boy.

But his eyes are still on you. And yours are still on him.

Eventually, the whispers of surprise and disbelief of your classmates subside, and you chose to seize the calmness to walk to him.

“How?” you ask Draco. Most of the class had given up on the Potion. You were nearly about to. “How have you done it?”

He’s oddly silent, not even looking at you. He stares at the flask in between his hands. He hadn't drunk it yet. Maybe he didn’t want to. 

“Draco,” you call, and it’s almost like pleading. At that, he moves his timid eyes to you. He is acting so weird. Was the truth of the Curious Hoax so heavy on a person?

“I just - I just did it. I wrote a name, and it worked.”

“What? Just one name?” you ask, even more shocked that what you were seconds ago. “How did you - what?”

He sighs, looking down at the flask again, gone into his inner world. 

“Draco, please. It is the thing I most want. To know it myself. To make this potion.”

He looks up, finding your eyes with such gentleness it makes your breath caught. “Y/N.” Again, that sweetness in his tone. But now, more genuine, more vulnerable. 

“What?” you persisted eagerly. “What is it, then?”

He is silent for some seconds, then he puts his flask in a pocket of his uniform and moves to leave. You swiftly grab his arm before he’s able to. 

He says no word as he turns to look at your hand touching his skin. He says nothing as he absentmindedly lifts his hand up to yours, and almost like in a tender caress, traces its knuckles. It’s different from any touch you’ve felt.

Then he closes his fingers over the back of your hand and pulls it gently away. He doesn’t let it go as he takes a step closer to you. He is so close. So close. You watch his dark pupils, realizing you have no need to give a step back. Only an urge to take one closer. But you would be too close. 

You feel his warm breath before he closes his mouth, as if he was trying to suppress words trying to get out of his lips.

So you try to push him. “Tell me,” you whisper, and it’s so tender and soft it seems to convenience him.

“Y/N…”

He doesn’t continue, so you plead,” Please. Tell me, Draco.”

“I just knew exactly what to write on that paper.”

“But how?” you question.

His lips curved into a timid smile. Never had you seen him so… you don’t even have words to describe it. 

“You just know, Y/N.”

“Draco…” you start, still not satisfied with the ambiguous answer.

“When you know, you know.”

And then he manages to smoothly slip away from you, walking away. But then he stops and turns.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you say, trying to understand his odd behavior. Trying to understand the smile on his face. 

“Please, tell me when you know. Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”

Tears run through your cheeks once the memories flow back to that little flask. That day. This flask. Draco.

Draco.

“You’ve found it,” your husband says, and you quickly turn to him. 

Draco is at the door of your bedroom, staring at you as if waiting for your reaction. The flask, it was his birthday present to you. 

“And here I was, thinking you would never find it there,” he tries to joke, but you clearly see he is nervous.

“Draco…” you whisper, but you are not able to form words. So you run to hug him. He catches you, firm arms wrapping around your waist. “My love, I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined your surprise," you mumble.

“So do you like it, love? And no, you did not ruin anything.” 

“Like it?” You move to look at him, making him see in your face how grateful you are. How much you love him. “Draco it’s perfect. You - you’ve kept it all these years.”

He smiles sweetly. “Y/N, that potion. When I drank it - I saw this. You and me, today. I saw myself holding you just like this, watching your beautiful face like you were the only thing in this world. I saw that when I was at a terrible point in my life, and it gave me strength to keep going. Seeing your eyes watching me as if you loved me, it told me life was worth living, it told me great things were to come. You were to come.”

Tears well in your eyes again at his words. “I was already there, remember?” you joke, grinning despite your wet cheeks. 

Draco smiles lovingly as he wipes your tears. “I remember, my love. You were always there, and I always knew - somewhere in my heart, I always knew it was you.”

-Chacters by J K Rowling

This is not proofread yet, but i wanted to post itttt. now lets talk: IVE JUST WRITTEN MY FIRT DRACO FIC WHAAAAT. im so happy, and expecting to write more harry potter characters yeees. plsss send more requests for harry potter, speacialy for short fics :) hope you like this one, and the rest to come. loveyaa.

This did wonders for my love of vengeance😈

mercy upon ourselves

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Your multiversal duty of punishing perpetrators of infidelity in their afterlife takes an interesting turn when you see that the betrayed party is one of your variants | loose 'sequel' to 'all will be alright in time'

Pairing: Loki (God of Stories/Time) x Reader; Will Ransome x Reader (different Reader)

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ | talks of infidelity; steamy moments at the end; (technically) mass murder; Cora Seaborne (yeah she's a warning); Will Ransome (in this case he needs to be a warning, too) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: this loosely takes place in the RTC 'multiverse', but no prior reading of the series is required; Reader is the goddess of fidelity

Dick-tionary: steamy moments (but not outright smut) starts at "Loki let out a low chuckle"

Your duty as goddess of fidelity, in theory, was simple enough. Upon the death of a betrayer, you were to choose their punishment in their eternal afterlife. After your first few thousand cases, they all began to meld into the same old tale, often feeling as if they all even wore the same face.

That was until this particular story. Where the face of the deceased and betrayed wife held…your own.

Before you could even call out to him, Loki was by your side in a heartbeat, laying his hands gently on your shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. "I can sense your unease, little Princess. What troubles you?"

Together you looked through the glowing branches that surrounded you, each telling the story of a different timeline, a different universe. Until you finally found the one which held the case you needed to review. The universe where your echo had died of a broken heart upon learning that your husband, Loki's echo in the form of a Reverend William Ransome, betrayed you to have an entanglement with a newcomer in your quaint village of Aldwinter.

"This is no variant of mine," your husband seethed. "I could never belittle our love like this, the thought alone pains me."

You took his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I know, husband. This timeline is simply…a fluke. Our echoes, our variants? They are not reflections of ourselves. His flaws and failures are not your burden to bear."

"Failure," he repeated, his top lip curling up in a sneer as he looked upon the faces of his variant and his mistress, living together under the same roof, sleeping in the very bed that your variant breathed her last. "That is precisely what this branch is. Perhaps it should just drift away…to wither and rot."

"Loki we should not punish an entire universe for the mistake of one man. There are still countless lives within this branch--"

"And your variant is no longer one of them because of the mistake of his one man. He deserves to suffer."

"And he will," you reassured him. "His suffering falls within my purview. It is my Norns-given duty to see to it. And while I know we both would relish in watching as this pathetic coward of a man sees the end of days upon him, I cannot in good conscience have it be at the cost of an entire universe. But perhaps the village that was complicit…the village that stayed silent to protect their precious reverend's reputation."

"What do you have in mind, my love?" He pulled you close to him, embracing you from behind, hands caressing your sides. Soothing himself from the unease of seeing how his variant dared take you for granted.

I was made to be yours. Words that resonated so deeply into both your souls. Words he used when he first confessed his love to you. The same words you yourself uttered when your memory spell had broken and you found him that fateful day eons ago.

The same words you both used within your new vows when he returned to you. And used ever since.

And somehow this insipid trifling man thought himself above those words? Dare even spit them back in the face of the same entities that weaved your two souls together so intricately that it bled through every timeline and universe known to him?

All the suffering in the Nine Realms would not be enough for this William Ransome as far as he was concerned.

"Well, husband, we are in a rather…unique circumstance," you mused aloud, a little sound of contentment slipping from your lips when he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I bear the same face as this Y/N Ransome…and they reside in a town that is riddled with a rather superstitious lot. And my variant…she deserves her revenge, does she not?"

Had it not been for the gloomier and grayer than usual state of the sky, it seemed a typical day in Aldwinter. It had been years since the spectacle that was your passing occurred, and the townsfolk had finally began to warm to the presence of Cora Seaborne. Sure, she and William would still get looks out of the corners of their eyes, especially when she would emerge from the house in a dress that people could have sworn was yours, but other than that, no one made any trouble for them.

Not to their face. Not anymore.

The cold heaviness of regret had made itself at home in the pit of your widower's stomach ever since that day, the day that he betrayed you. No amount of rationalizing could have him absolve himself of his sin. Any which way he went with his internal arguments, they would all land in the same place.

The blame fell entirely on him. And he would have to live with the consequences of what he'd done for the rest of his days.

In the form of the tombstone that would steadily erode with the passing of time.

And in the form of the new family he was all but strong armed into taking on, if only to spare himself more scandal and ridicule. He'd already lost the respect of a good number of the congregation, this would smite the number down to a paltry handful if he turned his back on his then pregnant mistress.

Though despite all their efforts at maintaining what they thought they'd found with each other, they had lost the babe. Twice. As if God Himself willed it so that no child would ever result from their treachery. A fitting punishment, as far as Will was concerned.

Love may not have been a weakness, but lust most definitely was. Lust was what drove him to commit the treachery that led to the loss of love.

He should have resisted. Walked away. Ran, even.

Perhaps if he had, you would still be here, serving as a bright ray of sunlight even in the dark gray overcast over your little town. Perhaps your children wouldn't have turned their backs on him and he would be allowed the privilege of getting to see them build their own families, lead their own lives.

Instead all he had was darkness and silence. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"William!" Cora's shriek traveled across the marshes.

Moments like these, he preferred the darkness and silence.

He tried to take in a breath before turning to face her, the picture of a doting partner. "What is it, Cora?"

"The look--the looking glass, I saw--"

Her stammering was cut short by the sound of Matthew frantically ringing the alarm bell. "TIDE INCOMING! EVERYONE GO INSIDE! GET TO SAFETY!"

One of the fishermen in the approaching boats stumbled forward until he fell limp in the reverend's arms. "The waves, they be the size of mountains. Bigger even. God is angry with us."

"No," Matthew wheezed, coughing out sea water. "That wasn't God, out there in the waters. Not our God. That was some sorceress, some witch. Demoness. We must find safety." He began to usher every villager he could find into the church. "She don't look like the type that shows mercy."

"She?" Cora spoke, pointing a shaky finger at the curate. "You…saw her face? Tell me does she look like--"

"Enough talk about the evil looming in on us, Mrs Seaborne!" he snapped, pointing his finger at the Ransome house. "Go home. May this evil, whoever and whatever she may be, have mercy on us all."

"What was that, Cora?" Will hissed as they made their way home. "You look completely beside yourself."

"I could have sworn I saw Y/N's face in the looking glass," she said shakily, gulping for breath, shuddering when she said your name aloud once more. "Will, she looked angry. Vengeful."

"You're not making any sense, Y/N is gone," he said tersely, a familiar lump forming at the back of his throat as he forced himself to acknowledge your absence from his life. He ushered her along, trying to ensure that she at least would not stumble too harshly. "I laid her into the ground myself, gave her eulogy."

"I know," she huffed. "But I also know what I saw, that was no hallucination, Will--"

"I've read texts that there are some pregnancies that alter with the minds, the perception of the expectant mother. Perhaps this is simply one of those cases," he waved off. "Look, Cora we're almost home. We can wait out the storm and then when this is all over you can rest. We all can."

She simply nodded and they cross the marshes back to their home, only to find Francis, pale as freshly pressed cardstock, awaiting them by the door. "Mother, F-Father, there's a woman--" he sputtered out, pointing at the open door.

And then you stepped out. "There you are. Cowards."

William's heart stopped in his chest watching you walk out of your old home, what seemed to be billowing fabric drenched and clinging to your skin, hugging every curve that his hands had longed for since your passing. Even soaking wet, your dress proudly gleamed a brilliant emerald green, and there was a glow that seemed to radiate from underneath your skin.

You were no longer of this earth. You were something…more. Something above them all. And it showed in the way you held yourself, in your gaze as you looked upon the marshes that held your former home. As you looked upon the husband that survived you, your upper lip curling in derision as you saw the bump protruding from Cora's stomach.

"Y/N…" he whispered your name, your sheer presence bringing him to his knees. "Sweet wife, you have returned--"

"Hold that rancid thought," you silenced him, raising your hand in the air as if grasping for something. In an instant, his words ceased, feeling as if his tongue had swollen and became as heavy as lead in his mouth. "You do not get to call me your wife, Reverend Ransome. Not since you sullied your vows and laid with this London whore."

Cora took a step toward you, opening her mouth as if to defend herself, or perhaps her lover. But you put a stop to that as well, raising your other hand in her direction, and suddenly she was forced to sink to her knees as well. "Please, Y/N," she pleaded with you. "Let us take this inside there is a tide coming--"

"Do you mean this tide, friend?" you spat the last word out, as if it tasted bitter on your tongue. Suddenly the tide was steadily approaching the shore, rising to a height that would completely engulf and decimate Aldwinter once it bore down on them. And you rose from the ground, floating well above the roof of the Ransome home, the reverend, along with his lover and her son, looking up at you in sheer horror.

"What do you want from us?!" Francis yelled into the sky, reminding you of how mortal worshippers would look to the sky and beg the gods for explanations. For miracles.

"I do not wish for you to give me anything, young Mr Seaborne. In fact, I wish to offer you all…a choice." You turned your gaze to the kneeling couple. "Get in the water. And perhaps I shall spare this town."

"Y/N please, this town is full of innocent lives, no matter what has happened to you I know in my heart that you would never wreak this kind of devastation upon--"

"What has happened to me?!" you repeated, your shrieking tone piercing even through the deafening sound of the tidal wave still standing tall, waiting to descend. "Your lustful indiscretion cost an innocent life, William Ransome. There is no innocent life in this town. Not anymore. The people here chose to stay silent, to keep your affair a secret for the sake of preventing a scandal. Though that didn't seem to work out the way you'd hoped, did it?" You motioned toward the wave with a jerk of your head again. "Get in the water."

The wave grew even more violent, already taking in the fishing boats and pulling it into its dark abyss.

They both stubbornly stayed still, still kneeling on the muddy marsh ground staying silent. The tramp's hand twitched toward the vicar's, but his moved upward, as if wishing to reach for you.

It was always you, she realized bitterly. She may have him now, but only as a result of his momentary lapse in good judgment where his body chose another's. But his heart…his heart would always choose you.

When presented with any semblance of a choice, Will Ransome would crawl back to you on his hands and knees in a heartbeat. And now she must lie on the bed she made. The bed they both made.

Only when you pointed toward her son, her dear Francis, and he was lifted up from the ground, kicking and struggling in mid-air, did both of them make a noise. Calling out to you, pleading for you to put him down and stop the madness. "This is the last time I will repeat myself, adulterers. Get in the water. Or your boy here suffers first."

"Y/N, stop this," Cora spoke, rising to her feet. "Are you not tired? It has been so long, years, even. Francis was still just a little boy when you last saw him. He is a grown man now, how long will you let anger consume you?"

Even from this distance, you could see the ire in Will's features, clearly ticked off with the words that came out of his lover's mouth. "My darling, please. What must I do to atone for my transgressions towards you? I will promise you anything, do anything. Whatever you wish for, it's yours, please can we just go home?"

You lowered both Francis Seaborne and yourself down to the ground, the young man running immediately to his mother, quivering like a leaf in the wind. The disgraced vicar reached his arms out toward you, every muscle tensing and freezing in place when you rose your hand into the air again. "It is the actions of philanderers like you that make the mortals look down on me, consider me a lesser god."

"God?" Cora repeated in a sharp exhale. "Don't be ridiculous, Y/N--"

"Fools like you don't realize what awaits you on the other side of your mortality, where the fate of your eternal afterlife…falls to me," you cut her off, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Adulterers doomed to suffer an endless loop of the consequences of their actions."

"My wife--"

"Is dead, Mister Ransome," you bellowed. From the corner of your eye you could see villagers gathering at their windows, the horror in their expressions as they began to speculate on what exactly had come to terrorize their quaint little town. "You killed her, there is no use in denying it. Your foolish, licentious choices brought her to her grave. For that alone, you will suffer once your feeble human life reaches its conclusion."

"If you are not Y/N Ransome, then who are you?" Francis asked, voice shaking as he held on to his mother. "Why have you come to wreak havoc in our lives?"

You walked toward the town's vicar, tears in his eyes as he watched you move closer. He reached for your hands, looking like a wounded pup when you swatted him away. "I am the goddess of fidelity," you answered simply. "When betrayers like you and your mistress cease your time on this mortal plane, you and everyone complicit in your torrid affair will be at my mercy."

The tide rose even higher, looming menacingly over the town in a dangerous arch, blocking out what little light they once had from the sun beyond the clouds. You grasped William's chin harshly, fear evident in his eyes, heart thundering against his chest.

"But your actions, your infidelity in particular…upset my husband," you spoke, holding his gaze as you  hissed the words inches from his face. "And for that, I am willing to bend the rules and begin your suffering ahead of time. Put forth the events that will thrust your pathetic souls upon my doorstep."

You rose from the ground again, rage for your fallen variant coursing through you as you heard them plead for forgiveness. For mercy.

"P-Please Y/N…" Cora sputtered out. "I will leave the town and no one will ever hear from me again, just please let me leave with my boy."

"No," you droned. "You have asked what you can do to atone, I presented you with a choice. Now I know how capable you both are of making choices, you've made several together, some of them even on the very ground you stand on. Which leads me to believe…you have made your choice. Stubbornly bargaining your way out of my wrath, out of your suffering. At the cost of this town you call home."

"You truly aren't Y/N Ransome, are you?" she spat out, a look of entitled indignance on her face. "The Y/N I knew wouldn't be this ruthless. She would have shown mercy--"

"Oh but I am showing mercy, you unworthy tart," you spat back. "For ruthlessness is mercy. Upon ourselves." With a flick of your wrist, the tidal wave was finally let loose.

And the little town of Aldwinter sunk into the water.

Before the tsunami crashed down and took you with it, Loki conjured a portal and pulled you back to safety, a bit of water splashing into your bedchambers before it closed. With a wave of his magic the water evaporated into the air, and your soaked dress was dried.

"Husband…" you spoke, a wide smile gracing your features when your eyes met his. You both were on the floor, the god cradling you in his arms as he pushed your hair away from your face.

"My darling wife," he breathed out, his own smile mirroring yours as he picked you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed. "Your flair for the dramatic has you reckless as ever."

He sat you on the edge of the bed, handing you a goblet of wine that did a quick job of warming you and canceling out the effects of the damp cold of Aldwinter.

"You should rest, my love," he said softly, moving to position himself behind you to undo the braids in your hair, carefully working his fingers through the wet strands. "This is the first time you wielded your newfound powers as a goddess, I can imagine your body feels overworked…and famished."

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, causing your husband to chuckle and press a tender kiss to your cheek. "How did you know when to pull me back?"

"To start, I must admit that I was watching the spectacular show you put on, avenging your variant with such vigor," he whispered into your skin. His hands found their way to your shoulders, working away at the knots. "And our souls' threads are intertwined, little Princess. I can always feel when you need me. I was made to be yours."

"And I yours," you sighed contendedly, leaning against him when he wrapped his arms around you. When he cupped the side of your face, holding you as he pressed his lips to yours, you all but melted into his embrace. "I love you," you mumbled against his lips.

"And I love you," he murmured, continuing to kiss your lips as he maneuvered you to lie down on the bed. With a wave of his hand, the fabric that covered your skin changed to something much lighter, more sheer. One of your sleeping gowns, you surmised. "Rest, dear heart. I shall arrange for food to be brought to us for when you wake."

Your body was all too eager to obey the softly spoken command. The rest of you, however…well, after the ordeal in that despondent village on Midgard, the rest of you ached for your husband's touch. To wash away the muck of the marshes.

Loki let out a low chuckle, kissing along your clavicle as his hand roamed the side of your body. "I can always feel when you need me," he repeated, his tone holding a much more lustful intent than moments earlier. "And much as I want nothing more than to indulge in making love to my beautiful wife, I cannot, should not, be so selfish and ignore her body's need for rest." He made his way to your lips, allowing himself the tiniest sliver of decadence as he licked into your mouth. "You'll need your strength for what I want to do you later tonight."

Your breath hitched as images flashed in your mind of your husband teasing and pleasuring you, claiming your body repeatedly well until after the sun rose the next morning. In multiple places throughout your marital chambers. Constantly finding or making the time to bring you to orgasm in the midst of pampering you.

Suddenly it made sense why he would choose to deny you now…in exchange for a much more delicious reward just a few short hours away.

"Would you stay regardless, husband?" you asked weakly, already feeling yourself succumbing to the exhaustion and the slumber that your plush sheets promised. "Hold me?"

You weren't able to see the loving smile that graced your husband's face from your request. You only felt the soft kiss on your forehead before he positioned you to lay in his arms. "Gladly, my darling." He conjured a book into his free hand, ready to begin reading to you when a stray question entered his mind. "What of their souls, Y/N? What hellscape did you design for them?"

"I gave them what they deserve," you grumbled, shifting your position to hold him closer, your arm draping over his stomach as you laid your head on his chest. "Each other. They are doomed to spend their afterlife together, with Cora knowing that his heart longs for his late wife. And William having to watch from the sidelines as my variant finds new love. You have a stray echo that never found his fated, by the name of Pine. I presume by now they've found each other, starting a story of their own."

A/N: Hang on what's this…? Did I tease a future story at the end there? 😳 Why yes…yes I did 🤭 Ngl this year felt like I didn't get a whole lotta stories done especially in the latter half, but hopefully with everything finding a bit of balance, 2025 will look a bit different and I can set aside more time for story writing 💖

Ooh, and also I def got the idea to make this because of the "Get in the Water" song

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki

As someone who has had to overcome heartbreak, this really hit home. The process of letting go is so difficult and it genuinely gets to a point where you wish the memories could disappear 🥺 This was so beautifully written🥰

hi! i’d like to request a loki x fem!reader

can you base it on “we can’t be friends” by ariana grande. something related to the music video in the sense that reader tries to erase her memory in order to “heal” after Loki turns into the god of stories and she is practically alone now. sorry its not angsty i can’t help myself 😩

hope this is okay! thanks queen

MEMORIES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, like a lot of angst

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You thought Loki was your forever, the man with who you'd spend the resto of your life with, but he becomes the God of Stories you are left with nothing but memories of him, maybe you should get rid of those too.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8k

ᯓ★ TW(s): hinted depression, sleeping a lot to stay in the dreams and not eating because of this so weight loss

ᯓ★ Okay so, I need to tell you all the truth...I haven't watched Loki...But!! I've started it and I'm currently on episode 2, truth is me and tv series don't really go hand in hand so I don't know if I'll actually finish it. But to write this fanfic I tried to get as much information as I could and I hope you like it!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of rain that had fallen just hours before, leaving the world fresh, like a new beginning. You sit on the balcony of your apartment, your legs tucked under you as you sip your coffee. The city below hums with the soft buzz of life, but up here, it's quiet. Just you and him.

Loki’s presence is a constant now. At first, it was a dangerous thrill — the God of Mischief, the trickster, the god of lies and chaos. But over time, you had come to know the man behind the myths, the one who spent far too many sleepless nights overthinking, doubting, and regretting. The one who, despite his flaws and his ever-conflicted nature, had let you in.

You can feel his gaze on you, even before you turn to face him. He's perched at the edge of the balcony, the golden light from the setting sun casting soft shadows on his face. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and he’s watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel as though you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

You smile, the warmth in your chest a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze. “What?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, Loki steps closer, the air shifting around him in subtle, magical currents. He always has this way of bending the world to his whims. But right now, he’s just… himself. Not a god. Not a villain. Just Loki.

“Nothing,” he says, voice low, almost like a secret. “You just look… peaceful.”

You blink, surprised. Peaceful isn’t a word you’d ever associate with yourself, but you can’t help the way it feels with him beside you. It’s like the world is calm — for once, there’s no grand scheme or looming threat. Just him. And you.

“You’re the one who always looks so intense,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Like you’re plotting world domination.”

Loki’s eyes flicker with mischief, but there’s something softer in the way he regards you, something tender. “I don’t plot world domination. Not all the time.” He shrugs, as if the matter is trivial.

You laugh, but there’s a quiet moment between you, an unspoken understanding. You know what he means. Loki has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The responsibility of his past, the expectations of his future. And yet, when it’s just the two of you, he lets it slip away.

You let your coffee rest on the railing and, without a word, turn to face him fully. Loki’s smile, small but genuine, tugs at something in your chest. You take a step closer to him, the distance between you shrinking as you reach out, your hand brushing against his.

It’s always like this, these quiet moments — when words are no longer necessary. His hand envelops yours effortlessly, and it’s like the universe settles into place. This is the calm you didn’t know you needed, the simple comfort of being in each other’s space.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask, your voice hesitant, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.

He watches you carefully, as if weighing your words. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a crack in the façade of the god you’re so used to. He tilts his head, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand.

“Of course, I think about it,” he admits softly. “But I’ve spent so many lifetimes running from it, from the choices that will define me. The future… It’s complicated.”

You can hear the hesitation in his voice, the way he never fully commits to what’s ahead. Loki is a god of chaos, after all. He’s never been good with stability, with the idea of permanence. His eyes search yours, as though trying to read your mind.

“And you?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. “I think about it too, but… I don’t know. The future feels like a blurry mess sometimes.”

He steps closer, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a soothing motion. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that takes you by surprise. Loki, the god who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, including his own family, is now standing before you, offering his loyalty in a way that feels… real. No tricks, no games, just the promise of something honest.

“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting different on your lips when it comes from him.

His eyes flicker to the horizon, as though he’s considering something, before he looks back at you with a soft chuckle. “And if the future is full of chaos, we’ll make it our own chaos.”

You laugh, but there’s something in your chest that tightens at the thought of a future with Loki — with all that he represents, with all the uncertainty and danger that follow him like a dark cloud. But in this moment, you push it aside. There’s no room for fear when he’s beside you.

Loki takes your hand and leads you toward the edge of the balcony, his fingers never leaving yours. “Come,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s watch the sunset. Together.”

As you sit side by side, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of pink and gold. The world around you may be shifting, always changing, but here, in this moment, everything feels still. The weight of time feels distant. The future feels like a far-off dream that you can’t quite touch.

You rest your head against his shoulder, the soft sound of his breath steadying your own. Loki shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on your back in an almost protective gesture. The quiet between you stretches, neither of you needing to speak.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The world, the chaos, the future — it all fades into the background, and all that remains is the calm. The love.

But deep down, you can’t ignore the feeling that this peace is fragile. Like glass, it’s delicate, and even though you’re holding onto it, you wonder how long it can last.

That peace doesn’t last forever.

The memory of that moment — the quiet between you, the warmth of his hand in yours — is the last thing you want to hold on to.

After everything has crumbled, after everything has changed, you find yourself sitting in a quiet, empty room, staring at the walls. The apartment feels hollow now, the silence too loud. The city outside moves on, unaware of the storm raging inside you.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But Loki had become the God of Stories, and with that title came unimaginable power. The ability to rewrite fate itself, to shape reality, to weave his own narrative — and in the process, he’d lost himself. Or maybe it was you who had lost him. Maybe you were the one who didn’t fit into his new story.

You can still hear his voice in your mind, soft and warm, whispering that you would face the future together. But how could you face the future with him now? How could you stand by his side when he was no longer the Loki you knew?

It’s a bitter thought. One that claws at your chest. And the worst part is — you still love him. Even after everything. Even after the gods, after the chaos, after the mistakes, you still want him.

But it’s too much. The memories are too vivid, too painful. You can’t bear to remember him — not when every time you close your eyes, you see his face, and it’s like a stab to your heart.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’ll erase it all. Every memory of him.

The love. The pain. The warmth.

You’re not sure how, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll never move on. You’ll never be free.

The box feels heavier than it should as you lower it to the floor, your knees protesting the motion. A single lamp casts its warm glow across your apartment, but the light feels muted, swallowed by the shadows pressing in from every corner. It’s late, and the city outside seems quieter than usual, as if the world knows the significance of what you’re about to do.

Loki’s things are scattered around you in a mess of memories. A black scarf you once teased him about for being far too dramatic, a small leather-bound notebook filled with strange symbols and half-formed ideas, a gold trinket he’d magicked into existence one lazy afternoon to make you laugh. Each item holds a piece of him, of you, of you and him.

Your breath catches as you sit back on your heels, staring at the pile with a sinking feeling in your chest. It’s almost funny. You thought gathering his belongings would make it easier, like pulling off a bandage quickly to avoid the sting. But it’s worse. So much worse.

Your fingers tremble as they brush over the scarf. You remember the first time he wore it — the way it swept dramatically over his shoulder as he smirked at your teasing.

“Trying to impress me, Mischief?” you’d asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Loki had leaned closer, that familiar spark of mischief lighting his green eyes. “Is it working?”

You’d laughed, shoving him lightly, but your heart had skipped a beat all the same. He had a way of doing that — making the smallest, most mundane moments feel like they belonged in an epic tale.

You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. The memory is too vivid, too sharp, and it slices through you like glass. That was before everything changed. Before he became something… unreachable.

Your fingers curl around the scarf, tightening as the memory threatens to drag you under. For a moment, you consider keeping it. Just this one thing. But no. You can’t. If you start keeping pieces of him, you’ll never let go.

You toss the scarf into the box, the action more forceful than you intended. It lands atop the notebook, the trinket, and the small collection of Loki’s things that have woven themselves into your life.

The notebook catches your eye again, and before you can stop yourself, you’re flipping it open. The pages are filled with Loki’s handwriting — sharp and elegant, like the man himself. Most of it is incomprehensible to you, written in Asgardian runes or some ancient language you don’t recognize. But on one page, near the middle, you find something familiar.

It’s your name.

Your breath hitches as you stare at the word, the letters carved into the page with a deliberate hand. Beneath it, a single line in English:

"You are my home."

The tears come then, hot and relentless, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You clutch the notebook to your chest, your body shaking as the weight of it all crashes over you. He said those words to you once, late at night, when the world had felt quiet and safe.

You remember lying in bed together, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “You are my home,” he’d said, the words carrying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “In all the realms, in all the chaos, I find my peace in you.”

And you had believed him. God, you’d believed him.

The notebook slips from your hands as you bury your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body. You’d thought you were strong enough to do this, to let him go, but the memories won’t stop. They cling to you like shadows, refusing to release their grip.

It’s not fair. He had no right to carve himself into your soul like this, to leave behind pieces of himself in every corner of your life. How are you supposed to erase someone who’s become a part of you?

You sit there for what feels like hours, the box of Loki’s things staring back at you like a silent witness to your unraveling. Eventually, the tears subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, but you force yourself to move.

Gathering the box, you rise to your feet, your legs unsteady. The plan is simple: take it to the small clearing behind the building, set it ablaze, and watch the memories burn. Maybe then the pain will ease. Maybe then you’ll finally be free.

You step outside, the cool night air biting against your skin. The clearing is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You place the box in the center, your fingers brushing over the edges one last time.

You light the match.

The flame flickers to life, small and fragile in your hand. You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is it. This is the final goodbye.

But as you stare at the flame, something inside you cracks. You think of the sunsets you watched together, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft, unguarded moments that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Can you really do this?

Your hand shakes as you lower the match, the flame dancing dangerously close to the edge of the box. The scent of sulfur fills the air, and for a moment, you think you’ll go through with it. You’ll let it all burn.

But then, the match falls from your fingers, the flame snuffing out as it hits the damp grass.

You drop to your knees, the box still untouched, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. You can’t do it. You can’t erase him, no matter how much it hurts to remember. Because the memories aren’t just painful. They’re beautiful, too.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

The bar is crowded, the kind of loud and bustling place you would never have chosen for yourself, but your friends insisted. “You need to get out,” they had said. “Meet people. Forget about him.”

Forget about him.

As if it were that simple.

You sit at a small, high table near the back, a drink cradled in your hand. The music pulses through the air, the bass thrumming in your chest, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts that swirl endlessly in your mind. Around you, your friends laugh and chatter, their voices a blur of encouragement and reassurances.

It’s been months since Loki left — or, more accurately, since he became something else, someone you could no longer reach. Months since you tried to burn his things and failed, the box now tucked away in the corner of your closet like a secret you can’t bear to part with.

And yet, even with all the time and distance, the memories still haunt you. He’s still there, in the quiet moments, in the back of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.

A new drink appears in front of you, courtesy of one of your friends. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she whispers, nudging you with her elbow. You glance toward the bar, where a man stands with a confident smile and sharp cheekbones. He’s attractive, you suppose. Objectively. But as your gaze lingers, the comparisons begin, unbidden and unstoppable.

His hair isn’t as dark as Loki’s. His eyes aren’t as piercing. And when he smiles, it doesn’t make your chest tighten the way Loki’s did when he let his walls down and gave you that rare, genuine look that was only for you.

“Go talk to him,” your friend urges, her tone light and encouraging. You hesitate, but the expectant looks from the rest of your group leave you feeling cornered. With a reluctant sigh, you slide off your stool and make your way toward the bar.

The man notices you immediately, his smile widening as you approach. He introduces himself — James, or Jake, or something that doesn’t stick in your memory. You force a polite smile, nodding as he talks about his job, his hobbies, his plans for the weekend.

But you’re not really listening.

Instead, you’re thinking about how different he is. Loki’s voice had a way of wrapping around you, rich and velvety, with an edge that hinted at mischief or danger. His words weren’t just conversations; they were an invitation to step into his world, to see the universe through his eyes.

This man — James, Jake, whoever — is ordinary. Normal. And maybe that’s what you’re supposed to want now, but it feels hollow.

He says something that makes you chuckle politely, and for a moment, you catch yourself wondering what Loki would think if he saw you now. Would he be amused, watching you try to piece yourself back together with someone so utterly unremarkable? Or would he feel that flicker of jealousy, the possessiveness he always tried to hide but never fully could?

The thought twists something in your chest, and you excuse yourself quickly, claiming you need to get back to your friends.

“Not your type?” one of them teases when you return, her grin playful.

“No,” you say simply, sipping your drink. But the truth is more complicated than that. It’s not that he wasn’t your type. It’s that he wasn’t Loki.

The pattern repeats itself over the following weeks.

Your friends take you to new places, introduce you to new people, all with the hope that one of them will spark something in you. And each time, it ends the same way.

You meet someone kind, someone charming, someone your friends swear would be perfect for you. And each time, you find yourself comparing them to him.

No one holds a candle to Loki.

No one has that sharp wit, that clever tongue that made even the most mundane conversations feel electric. No one carries themselves with that effortless grace, the confidence of a god who knows he’s meant for greatness but still chooses to share himself with you. No one looks at you the way Loki did, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve, a mystery he could never quite unravel.

And the worst part is, you know it’s unfair. You know these men deserve more than your half-hearted attempts at connection. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop measuring them against him.

One evening, your closest friend pulls you aside after another failed attempt at setting you up. “You’re not giving them a chance,” she says gently, her concern evident.

“I am,” you argue, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not entirely true.

She sighs, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss him. But you deserve to be happy, too. He’s not coming back, and holding onto him like this… it’s only hurting you.”

Her words cut deeper than you expect, and you find yourself blinking back tears. She’s right, of course. Loki isn’t coming back. The man you loved is gone, and the person he’s become is far beyond your reach.

But how do you let go of someone who’s etched into your soul? How do you move on when every part of you still aches for him?

“I’ll try,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Your friend nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

But as the night goes on, as the world moves around you, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts, into the memories of a man who can never truly be replaced.

And in the quiet corners of your heart, you know the truth: no one will ever compare.

The apartment feels colder than it should, the kind of chill that creeps into your bones and refuses to let go. You sit curled up on the couch, staring at the flickering glow of the television, though you’re not really watching it. The sound is just there to fill the silence, to keep the walls from closing in.

But it doesn’t work. Not really.

Because even in the noise, you can hear his voice.

It starts small, the whispers of his tone weaving into the spaces between your thoughts. At first, you think it’s your imagination. Of course it is. Loki isn’t here. He’s not coming back. You’ve told yourself this a thousand times, clinging to the words like a mantra.

And yet…

The scent of leather and the faint trace of cedar linger in the air. The couch dips slightly beside you, a barely-there weight, but enough to make you glance to your right.

He’s there. Sitting casually with one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs crossed, and that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“Miss me, darling?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if you hadn’t been tearing yourself apart trying to forget him.

Your heart lurches, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it’s real. You can’t help it. The sight of him is so vivid, so perfect. The sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his green eyes — it’s exactly how you remember.

“Loki…” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, a mixture of disbelief and yearning.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”

The words hit you like a wave, the tenderness in his tone unraveling you completely. Your vision blurs with tears, and you reach out, your hand trembling as it moves toward him. But the moment your fingers brush the air where his hand should be, the illusion shatters.

He’s gone.

The couch is empty. The room is still. The silence is deafening.

You pull your hand back slowly, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. “No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”

Your voice breaks, the sound foreign to your ears. You clutch at the blanket draped over your lap, holding it tightly as if it could anchor you to reality. But it doesn’t. Nothing does.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you murmur into the empty room, your voice raw with anger and grief. “Why can’t I let you go?”

There’s no answer, of course. Just the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. But that doesn’t stop you from talking. It’s becoming a habit now, these conversations with no one.

Some nights, you sit at the dining table, setting out two glasses of wine even though you know the second will remain untouched. You’ll tell stories about your day, laughing softly at jokes that only you can hear. You’ll look toward the chair opposite you, expecting to see him lounging there, his sharp wit ready to match yours.

And some nights, like tonight, you’ll sit on the couch and swear you can feel him beside you.

“Loki,” you whisper again, the name tasting like salt on your tongue. “Why did you leave me?”

The apartment remains silent, but in your mind, you can hear his response. You can hear him apologizing, explaining that it wasn’t his choice, that becoming the God of Stories meant giving up everything he loved.

But it’s a lie. A lie you tell yourself to make the ache in your chest bearable. Because deep down, you know the truth: he could have stayed. He could have chosen you.

And yet, he didn’t.

The illusions get worse as the weeks pass.

At first, they’re fleeting — a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, a phantom touch brushing against your shoulder. But soon, they’re more vivid. More real.

You’ll hear his voice calling your name, soft and intimate, like he’s standing right behind you. You’ll turn around, your heart leaping with hope, only to find nothing but empty air.

And then there are the nights when you swear you feel his arms around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. Those nights are the worst, because when you wake up, the loneliness is suffocating.

Your friends notice the change in you, though you try to hide it. They don’t understand. How could they? They never knew him the way you did. They never loved him the way you do.

“You’re spiraling,” one of them says gently, her voice laced with concern. “You need help, Y/N. This… this isn’t normal.”

You nod, pretending to agree, but you don’t believe her. How could you need help when the only thing keeping you sane is the thought of him? When the illusions are the only moments you feel whole again?

One evening, you sit on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the box of Loki’s things you couldn’t bring yourself to burn. You pull out the scarf, holding it close to your chest as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the fabric, your voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

The room feels colder than ever, but as you close your eyes, you imagine his warmth enveloping you. You imagine him kneeling beside you, his hand brushing your hair back as he murmurs reassurances in that velvety voice.

But when you open your eyes, you’re still alone. And the scarf in your hands feels unbearably heavy.

You clutch it tighter, rocking slightly as the weight of your grief crashes over you. The world outside continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in this moment, all you can feel is the absence of him.

It’s a pain that no one else can understand, a loss that no one else can ease. And as the illusions pull you deeper into their grasp, you can’t help but wonder if letting go of him is even possible — or if you’re destined to carry this ache forever.

The dream begins the same way every time.

You’re standing in a golden field, the tall grass swaying gently in a breeze that carries the faintest scent of lavender. The sky above is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, a perpetual sunset that feels both warm and surreal. And there he is, waiting for you.

Loki.

He’s standing a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the dreamy backdrop. His dark hair is tousled just so, and when he sees you, that familiar, crooked smile lights up his face. He opens his arms, and you run to him, your heart soaring in a way it hasn’t in what feels like forever.

In your dreams, there are no goodbyes, no insurmountable barriers. Here, you are just two people who love each other, untouched by the weight of reality.

“Missed me, darling?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm as he pulls you into his arms.

“Always,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest. His scent surrounds you — leather and cedar, with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you never want to let go.

The dreams are your sanctuary, the only place where the ache in your chest quiets, where you feel whole again. You wake up every morning wishing you could stay there forever. And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to chase that feeling.

At first, it’s subtle. You let yourself sleep a little longer each morning, lingering in bed even as the sunlight streams through your window. Then you start skipping plans with your friends, feigning exhaustion or sickness so you can curl back under the covers.

The more time you spend in your dreams, the less you care about the waking world. Food becomes an afterthought, meals skipped in favor of lying in bed, hoping to drift off again. Even your appearance begins to change — your cheeks hollowing, your skin growing pale. But you hardly notice. All that matters is Loki.

Your friends notice the change in you long before you do.

“You’ve barely eaten,” one of them points out during a rare outing, her eyes scanning your face with obvious concern. “You’re so thin, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, forcing a smile. But your voice lacks conviction, and you can tell she doesn’t believe you.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been isolating yourself, skipping meals, avoiding everyone…”

“I’m just tired,” you say, cutting her off. “That’s all.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. You can see the worry etched into her features, but you’re too far gone to care. You’re tired of the concern, the pity, the endless attempts to pull you out of the darkness when all you want is to stay there, wrapped in the illusion of Loki’s presence.

One night, your friend shows up at your apartment unannounced. The moment she steps inside, she freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of the place.

It’s a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the counter, curtains drawn tightly to keep out the daylight. And there you are, curled up on the couch in a hoodie that hangs off your frame, your eyes hollow and distant.

“Y/N,” she breathes, her voice breaking.

You barely look at her, your gaze fixed on the floor.

She sits down beside you, reaching for your hand. “You’re not okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “Please, let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you whisper, but even as you say it, tears spill down your cheeks.

“Yes, you do,” she insists, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been shutting us out, and it’s killing you. You’re wasting away, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her words pierce through the fog in your mind, and for a moment, you consider telling her the truth. Telling her about the dreams, about Loki, about the impossible grief that has consumed you. But the thought of saying it out loud feels like admitting he’s truly gone.

“I just need to sleep,” you say instead, pulling your hand away.

Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t press you further. She stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t force you to let us in,” she says softly. “But I’m not giving up on you.”

After she leaves, you crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The dreams are waiting for you, and that’s all that matters.

But even the dreams begin to shift.

The golden fields grow dimmer, the sunsets less vibrant. Loki’s voice, once so warm and reassuring, takes on a melancholy edge. He holds you close, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks one night, his voice soft but filled with anguish.

“What do you mean?” you reply, confused.

“You’re losing yourself,” he says, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I just want to be with you.”

Loki’s expression breaks, his own tears shimmering in his eyes. “But at what cost, my love? You’re fading away.”

The dream dissolves into darkness, leaving you gasping as you wake up. For the first time, the comfort of sleep feels like a betrayal, a reminder of how deeply you’ve sunk into the illusion.

And yet, the waking world offers no solace. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the weight of it all.

Because no matter where you are — asleep or awake — the pain remains. And you don’t know how to escape it.

It’s late afternoon when your friend arrives at your apartment, a determined look on her face as she steps inside. She doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the state of you. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the television. Your hoodie hangs loosely on your frail frame, and your skin is pale, almost translucent under the dim lighting.

“Y/N,” she begins, closing the door behind her and walking toward you. There’s no judgment in her tone, only a desperate kind of concern. “I’ve been doing some research… and I think I found something that could help.”

You glance at her, your expression unreadable. “Help?”

“Yes.” She sits down beside you, her movements careful, as though she’s afraid you might shatter. “It’s… unconventional, but it’s worth considering.”

From her bag, she pulls out a pamphlet and places it on the coffee table. The bold lettering on the front reads: The Haven Institute: A New Beginning.

You eye it warily, your stomach twisting with unease. “What is this?”

She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “It’s a clinic. They specialize in memory modification. They… they can help you forget him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Forget him? The idea is so foreign, so unimaginable, that it feels like an affront to everything you’ve been holding onto.

“No,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, please just listen—”

“No!” You push yourself up from the couch, pacing the room with frantic energy. “I can’t. I won’t. He’s all I have left. If I forget him, then what? What’s left of me?”

Tears fill your friend’s eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “What’s left of you now?” she asks softly, her voice breaking. “Look at yourself, Y/N. You’re not living. You’re barely surviving. This… this isn’t what he would want for you.”

Her words strike a chord, but you shake your head, unwilling to let them sink in.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I can’t lose him again.”

That night, you dream of Loki again. But this time, the dream isn’t a golden field or a serene sunset. It’s your apartment, dimly lit and suffocatingly quiet.

He’s sitting across from you, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. There’s a weight to his gaze, a sadness that mirrors your own.

“You know she’s right,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

Loki leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “Do you think this is what I want for you? To see you like this, wasting away, consumed by grief?”

“I’m not wasting away,” you argue, but your voice lacks conviction.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Aren’t you? Look at yourself, darling. You’re a shadow of the person I fell in love with. And it’s my fault. I see that now.”

“No,” you choke out, clutching at the fabric of your hoodie. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“And that’s why you need to let me go,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not because you don’t love me, but because you do. Because holding onto me is killing you.”

You collapse onto the floor, sobbing into your hands as the weight of his words crashes over you. “I don’t know how,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Loki kneels beside you, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And if erasing me is the only way to save you… then so be it.”

The dream begins to fade, his voice lingering in your mind even as the golden light dissolves into darkness.

You wake up gasping, tears soaking your pillow. The words from your dream replay over and over in your head, like a mantra you can’t escape: You need to let me go.

For the first time, you take a long, hard look at yourself. You walk to the bathroom and flick on the light, wincing at the reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are hollow, your eyes dull, your once-vibrant presence reduced to a frail shadow.

Your hand trembles as you press it against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person you used to be.

And Loki — whether he’s a dream, an illusion, or a memory too stubborn to fade — is right. You’ve let your grief consume you, and if you don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything left to save.

The next morning, you call your friend.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go to the clinic.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I can’t keep living like this.”

Your friend comes over that afternoon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let her hold you as you cry. It’s a small step, but it’s a step nonetheless.

The pamphlet sits on the coffee table, a reminder of what’s to come. And as you stare at it, a part of you wonders if this is the right choice — if erasing Loki from your mind will truly set you free, or if it will only leave another kind of emptiness in its place.

But for now, you cling to the hope that it might bring you peace. That maybe you can find a way to start over.

The clinic is sterile, unnervingly clean, and entirely too quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sets your teeth on edge as you sit in the waiting area, clutching the scarf in your lap like a lifeline. It still smells faintly of him, though the scent is fading. You know it’s your imagination more than anything else, but you don’t care. It’s all you have left.

The receptionist calls your name, and you stand, legs trembling as you follow her down a long corridor. Your friend is waiting outside in the car, insisting she couldn’t bear to come in. You told her you’d be fine, but now, as the door to the consultation room closes behind you, you’re not so sure.

The doctor is kind, their voice calm and reassuring as they explain the procedure once again. You listen, nodding at the appropriate times, but your mind is elsewhere — lost in the memories you’re about to give up.

“Do you have the belongings?” the doctor asks gently, gesturing to the small box you’ve brought with you.

You nod, setting it on the table with shaking hands. Inside are the remnants of your life with Loki: a book he loved to read aloud from, a pair of cufflinks he’d left on your dresser, and the scarf you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

The doctor notices your grip on the scarf and tilts their head. “You don’t have to let go of everything,” they say, their tone encouraging. “We can modify the memory tied to an object if you’d prefer to keep it.”

You glance down at the soft fabric, your fingers tracing the intricate weave. The thought of losing this piece of him entirely feels unbearable, but the idea of it being tied to him — tied to your grief — is equally suffocating.

“Can you… can you change the memory?” you ask hesitantly. “Make it something else?”

The doctor nods. “Of course. What would you like it to mean?”

You think for a moment, your mind swirling with possibilities. Finally, you settle on something simple, something that feels safe. “A lucky charm,” you say quietly. “It’s a scarf I’ve had for years, and I keep it for good luck.”

The doctor smiles gently. “We can do that.”

Before the procedure, they give you a moment alone to say goodbye — not to the belongings, but to the memories themselves.

You sit on the chair in the dimly lit room, the scarf draped across your lap. The illusion of Loki appears before you, as vivid as ever, his expression unreadable.

“So, this is it,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I guess it is.”

Loki steps closer, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure this is what you want, my love?”

“I don’t want it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “But I need it. I need to move on. And I can’t… not like this.”

He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, though you can’t feel his touch. “You’ve always been stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “Stronger than me, even.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fresh tears spilling over. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists, his eyes glinting with that familiar intensity. “And now, you’ll prove it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every nuance of his expression.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His smile is soft, bittersweet. “Goodbye, my love.”

He fades slowly, the edges of his figure dissolving into the air until there’s nothing left but an empty room.

The doctor guides you into the operating chair, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. They place a device over your temples, adjusting the settings as they explain what to expect. You barely hear them, your mind still caught in the aftershocks of saying goodbye.

“This will be painless,” the doctor says gently. “You may experience flashes of the memories as they’re removed, but it will be quick.”

You nod, gripping the scarf tightly.

The machine begins to whir, and the first memory surfaces.

It’s the night you met him, his sharp wit and charming smile disarming you instantly. You remember the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room.

The memory dissolves, and another takes its place.

Loki teaching you magic, his laughter filling the room when you accidentally summon a puff of smoke instead of a flame. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet,” he had said, pride gleaming in his eyes.

That memory fades, too, replaced by the time he held you under a canopy of stars, his voice a soft murmur as he told you stories of Asgard.

One by one, the memories play out, each one tugging at your heart until it feels like it might break entirely. But you let them go, because you have to.

The last memory is the hardest. It’s the day he left, his hand brushing against yours for the final time. You see the pain in his eyes, the love he couldn’t put into words, and it nearly undoes you.

“Be happy,” he had whispered, his voice cracking. “For both of us.”

As the memory fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. The pain is still there, but it’s muted now, distant.

When the procedure is over, the doctor removes the device and places the scarf in your hands. “It’s done,” they say gently.

You hold the scarf close, feeling its softness against your skin. It’s just a scarf now — a lucky charm, nothing more.

And as you leave the clinic, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the world a little brighter.

It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s a new beginning. And for now, that’s enough.

Life after the clinic is quieter, simpler.

You wake up each morning to sunlight streaming through your window, the warmth of it brushing your face. Your days are filled with routines now — a job you’ve rediscovered a passion for, weekend brunches with friends who are no longer burdened with worry over you, and quiet evenings spent reading or listening to music.

On the surface, everything seems fine. You smile more, laugh more. Your friends notice the change and comment on how much better you look. “It’s so good to have you back,” one of them says during a coffee date, her eyes brimming with relief.

You nod, sipping your latte, and try to believe her.

But there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place. A dull, persistent tug that makes itself known when the world grows quiet — when you’re walking home alone in the evening or lying in bed just before sleep takes you. It’s not sharp or overwhelming, just… there. A void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.

Your apartment is different now. Cleaner, brighter. The curtains are drawn back to let in the sunlight, and the once-cluttered surfaces are neatly organized. You’ve even picked up a few plants, their green leaves adding life to the space.

And yet, sometimes, when you walk into the living room, you pause, your eyes lingering on the empty chair by the window. For a moment, you feel like something — or someone — should be there. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, leaving you puzzled but not overly concerned.

The scarf has become a part of your everyday life. You wear it on days when you need a little extra confidence, its soft fabric a comforting weight around your neck. It’s your lucky charm, though you can’t quite remember where you got it or why it feels so important.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you find yourself holding the scarf a little longer than necessary. A strange, bittersweet feeling washes over you, like you’re on the verge of remembering something — or someone — just out of reach.

You shake it off, folding the scarf neatly and tucking it away in your drawer.

Dreams come to you occasionally, hazy and fragmented. They’re filled with flashes of green and gold, the sound of laughter you can’t place, and the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you.

You wake from these dreams with a strange mixture of comfort and longing, your heart aching for something — or someone — you can’t name. But the feeling fades as the day goes on, replaced by the mundanity of everyday life.

One evening, as you’re walking home from work, a sudden gust of wind whips through the street, tugging at your scarf. You clutch it tightly, a shiver running down your spine despite the warmth of your coat.

For a brief moment, you feel as though you’re being watched, as though someone is standing just behind you, their presence familiar and reassuring. You turn quickly, your eyes scanning the empty street, but there’s no one there.

You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you continue walking. But the feeling lingers, a warmth in your chest that stays with you for the rest of the night.

Time passes, and the ache in your heart becomes easier to ignore. You focus on the present, on the life you’ve rebuilt. You’re content, if not entirely happy.

But every now and then, when the world grows quiet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scarf around your neck.

You don’t know what it is you’re searching for.

And maybe you never will.

ah yes, the angst! I love it, I've been crying for the last 2k words lol

What if Loki discovers your nipple piercings? (Drabble)

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestiveness, implications to sex, slight nipple play, mild pain kink, 18+ MDNI!

A/N: As someone who got her nipples pierced about two years ago, let me just tell you that it’s the biggest confidence booster ever! It’s like a dirty little secret that only you know about unless you go braless or show someone🤭 That said, this is for all my lovelies who either have their nipples pierced or are thinking of getting them done. Enjoy😉

At first he’s flabbergasted at the idea of you getting needles through your nipples. The first thoughts that run through his head are ‘why would you inflict so much pain to yourself for aesthetic purposes?’. ‘Does this mean I can’t pull on them anymore?’.🤣

When you raise your top and show him, however, his eyes darken and he stares intensely at your nipples for a few seconds. His jaw clenches and his eyebrows furrow in concentration.

He stalks closer to you without breaking eye contact with your nipples and slowly lifts his hands to trace his thumbs over the skin directly above the jewelry. His breath hitches as the light of the jewelry twinkles as if winking to remind him of the prize that lays ahead.

‘Are those hints of emerald green I see in the jewellery?’. Loki breathes heavily and slowly slides one of his hands to your throat. He gazes up to stare into your eyes with a dangerous look, pupils dilated and a hint of a smirk itching to become a sinister smile.

“You naughty little minx. I hope you’re prepared to stay locked in our room all night while I punish you for teasing me with those pretty jewels”. He squeezes your breast and caresses the nipple with his thumb. He lets out a dark chuckle when you hiss at the light sting near the freshly pierced area.

“Do not fret my love, when I’m through with you you’ll forget they even hurt”. He pushes you onto the bed and latches his mouth to your nipple allowing his tongue to gently caress the slightly swollen area.

You moan in relief and mentally praise yourself for finally getting the piercings. Not only did they make you feel sexier, but they also made your man go feral (even more than he already was).

Who knows, maybe you’ll surprise him with another one but down below where only he will ever get the privilege of looking🤭

I’m screaming!! Bucky is so adorable in this fic!! This was so well written🥹 I always look forward to your posts!!!

a halloween trick and a halloween treat

pairing: cat shifter!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you wake shortly after midnight on halloween, thinking it must've been your rescue cat disturbing you. but when you discover a naked, sleeping stranger in your bed, you're in for a much bigger surprise.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), monsterfucking, shifter dynamics (mating, purring, a nonhuman cock), sorta fated mates, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple sucking, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms, dry humping, light bdsm dynamics, lots of check-ins, biting, dirty talk, alpha kink, praise kink, pet names (koshechka [russian for kitty]), aftercare, very fluffy happy ending

word count: 12.9k

a/n: i had the idea for this fic so many weeks ago i don't even remember what inspired it, but i thought it might be a fun halloween fic! i struggled a bit with this fic, especially the magic and justifying bucky's decisions, so i hope it all makes sense!! suspension of disbelief is your friend with this one 😅 anyway i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡

halloween fics masterlist

Something was…off. 

It was the middle of the night, the waxing moon shining brightly through the curtains of your bedroom, an October chill in the air, and you’d been woken by… something. A sound, maybe? 

It wasn’t uncommon for your rescue cat to wake you up in the middle of the night by knocking something over or playing with one of the many toys you’d gotten him. Sometimes, he’d even wake you up when he gently padded onto your bed in the middle of the night to snuggle into your body over the covers.

You smiled sleepily at the memory of having been woken up plenty of times in that manner since you’d found the Russian Blue trapped in a bucket behind your apartment building the previous November. You’d named the cat Bucky, which you could admit wasn’t the most creative idea you’d ever had, but it fit the mischievous feline. 

At the very least, you certainly understood how he’d gotten himself trapped in that bucket, since he’d gotten himself stuck in any number of places around your apartment in the year since you’d brought him home, yowling for help until you rescued him. 

In fact, you sometimes thought he got himself stuck on purpose for the sole reason of getting your attention—and the soothing snuggles you offered him afterward, cooing soft words about how he was your precious, handsome man in his soft little ears. 

But that October evening, almost a year after you’d brought the cat home from the vet with a clean bill of health, you strained your ears to listen to the dark stillness of your apartment. You couldn’t hear the telltale padding of Bucky’s paws, or feel his warm body curled up next to yours. 

Something still felt…different. Off.

Thinking about it more, you thought you felt a weight on the other side of your queen-sized bed. When you shifted, and the covers caught on something, as if they were being weighed down by something, you thought you must’ve been woken by Bucky jumping onto the bed and curling up to sleep.

Your eyes were still closed and you were snuggled deep beneath your blankets, but you pushed an arm free, reaching across your bed, your fingers seeking the soft fur of your cat. But when you searched the spot just below the other pillow you kept on your bed—in the hopes that you’d one day have a partner to share your bed with—you didn’t feel Bucky.

You felt bare skin. Warm, bare skin. Warm bare skin covering a broad, muscled back. 

Pulling your hand back with a hiss, you wrenched your eyes open and found that it wasn’t your rescue cat in bed with you—it was a man. A man with his broad back turned to you, his soft brown hair messy on the other pillow and his spine curved like he was curled into himself. 

And when your eyes trailed down the length of his back, you realized with a gasp that this stranger was naked. In your bed. In the middle of the night. 

What the actual fuck!? 

You sucked in a sharp inhale, your lungs filling as your body prepared to let loose the shrillest scream you could manage, because what the fuck!? 

The man must’ve been woken by your gasps or your movement, because before you could make another sound, his head rolled over on the pillow and he blinked at you.

His eyes…

For a moment, they seemed to shine yellow in the moonlight—so much like Bucky’s when you were snuggling in bed before falling asleep. It stole the breath from your lungs, and your scream died in your throat. 

As you watched, the man’s eyes shifted into a calm, piercing blue, and you had the odd feeling you recognized them. It almost looked like they were the same shade as your Russian Blue’s, even if they looked so different, so human.

The man’s eyes flickered with confusion and his soft lips pulled down into a frown. He reached a hand out to you, as if wanting to comfort you, but jerked to a sudden stop, his gaze falling on his own hand and staring at it as if it wasn’t his own. 

He looked almost as disturbed as you felt finding a strange man sleeping naked in your bed.

The moment he’d looked away from you, you’d filled your lungs with more air, preparing to finally scream for help, and the man’s gaze flicked back to you. Just before you could scream, the man moved swiftly, rolling over and throwing his body on top of yours. 

His strong arms caged you in beneath the blankets and his broad, warm chest pressed down on yours, keeping you pinned but not crushing you. The man’s hand cupped the back of your head and pressed your face into the curve at the base of his neck, effectively muffling your scream into his smooth skin. 

It all happened so fast, you didn’t have a chance to feel scared, and a second later, a purring sound filled your ears. Vibrations seemed to come from the man on top of you, making your entire body hum pleasantly from the sensation traveling through the blankets that were trapped between your bodies. 

It was remarkably comforting…and oddly familiar in a way you couldn’t place. It made you feel…safe. 

So safe that your body, which had been tensed with fear, slowly relaxed. All your muscles loosened until you were a melted puddle of pleasant tingles. A dazed smile teased the corners of your lips and you nuzzled the man’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his skin. He smelled like something wild, like the night and the moon. 

The purring tapered off, and without the sensation of the vibrations reverberating through your body, you tesned again. It came back to you that you were pinned beneath the blankets of your bed by a strange, naked man, who’d somehow broken into your apartment in the middle of the night. 

You began to thrash beneath the cage of the man’s broad chest, kicking your legs and flailing your arms to try to dislodge him, but he was a solid weight on top of you. 

In fact, if he wasn’t a strange, naked man, he’d make a pretty good weighted blanket. But as it was, fear was making your pulse pump hard in your veins—that is, until you heard his voice. His first words.

“It’s me,” he rumbled, his words barely discernible above the purring that started again from his chest. His voice was deep, rough, gravelly, like he hadn’t used it in a long while. “It’s Bucky—your Bucky.”

The breath stalled in your lungs and all thoughts of screaming died a quick death. You blinked past the man’s shoulder, staring up at your ceiling, trying to process what he’d said. How could this man be your cat, Bucky?

The orange glow of the streetlight was filtering through your curtains, joining the bluish hue of the moon, casting your room in dark, multihued shadows. It was late October—it was Halloween, if you remembered correctly, since it must’ve been after midnight.

It was the time for spooky things, and you were probably more inclined than most to believe in the fantastical, but you couldn’t seem to wrap your still sleepy mind around the fact that there was a strange, naked man in your bed and he claimed to be your pet cat. That just…it couldn’t be real. Right?

The man kept purring, and the longer you thought about it, the more peculiar it seemed. Men didn’t purr like that. Like a cat trying to soothe a frightened kitten. But that’s exactly what he was doing—and you were the frightened kitten in this scenario, which didn’t bother you as much as you would’ve thought. Because the purring did feel and sound very nice…

But still, he couldn’t be Bucky. That would mean he was somehow able to shift between human and cat form, and you didn’t care how many romantasy novels you read about shifters falling in love with humans, they couldn’t be real. They just couldn’t. 

Even as you thought that, and told yourself you knew what was real and what was fantasy, the fact that the man was also your pet cat was the only thing that made sense. It was the only explanation for why his purr sounded so much like Bucky’s, why his eyes had looked so much like Bucky’s, why his warm, wild scent reminded you so much of Bucky. 

“B-Bucky?” you whispered into his shoulder, your voice shaky and uncertain. You were so quiet, you didn’t know if he’d heard you. But his purring softened, and he pushed up enough that he could hover above you. You saw his face properly for the first time.

And…oh. What a handsome face it was.

Two piercing blue eyes framed a straight nose, leading down to a pair of perfectly soft-looking lips. His jaw was broad and sharp, softened slightly by the thick, dark scruff that was almost long enough to be a beard. In the moonlight, you could see patches of silver streaking through the dark brown of his scruff, and you ached to rake your nails through it.

Instead, you flicked your gaze to his brown hair, which was longish and falling into his face in the most charming way. But even as you wondered how it’d feel to run your fingers through the man’s soft hair, your eyes wandered back down to his eyes, which were staring at you warily. He was watching you closely for your reaction, but you were too stunned by his handsomeness to do more than stare back. 

“Are you going to scream again?” he asked gruffly, his voice still raspy from sleep or disuse, you couldn’t be sure. 

You took a moment to think about his question, really think about it. If you were honest with yourself, you were starting to believe the man was, somehow, who he said—Bucky, your pet cat transformed into a human. It was hard not to consider it, especially when you were staring up into his eyes that looked so much like Bucky’s that it gave you an eerie sense of déjà vu.

But the rational side of your mind reminded you that he could still be a lunatic pervert with eyes that just happened to look like Bucky’s. He could’ve been stalking you long enough to know your pet’s name, and could be trying to lure you into a false sense of security to…murder you or something. 

 So you narrowed your gaze on him.

“Maybe,” you finally answered. “Depends on whether you can prove you are who you say you are.”

He nodded like he wasn’t surprised by your answer and looked away, his eyes trailing over your room. There was something about the way he looked at your pile of not-clean-but-not dirty clothes and the mess on top of your dresser that made you think he knew the landscape of your bedroom almost as well as you did. 

Which was, decidedly, not like a stalker pervert who’d never been in your room before. 

“First,” he started in that deliciously gruff voice of his. “Can you tell me if it’s Halloween?”

You huffed a sound that was halfway between surprise and frustration. You didn’t understand why he was delaying. You wanted him to either make you believe he was Bucky, or convince you he wasn’t so that you could get on with screaming and calling the cops. Feeling him laying on top of you was beginning to feel far too comforting for your liking.

“Yeah,” you answered, after a moment of thinking about the days. “I mean yes, it definitely is.”

The man looked a little crestfallen at your answer, his lips pulling down into a frown. You were so preoccupied with the way his soft mouth looked perfectly kissable amidst all the rough scruff on his jaw that you almost missed his muttered words. 

“I must’ve lost track of the days,” he said to himself, shaking his head with disappointment etched all across his handsome face. 

The urge to comfort him, to wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him close so you could bury your face in his chest and inhale his comforting, wild scent was strong, and it made you restless. You were frustrated with yourself, with the way you were waiting quietly for this strange man to get his bearings when you should’ve been demanding answers.

Unable to stop your frustration from boiling over, you wriggled beneath him impatiently, trying to buck him off. But you didn’t move his bulky form even a bit. And there was absolutely no part of you that found that attractive, that liked that he could pin you down and hold you beneath him with his sheer weight and strength. 

The purring emanating from the man’s chest picked up again, his body pressing you deeper into your soft mattress. He shifted a little, and if you weren’t mistaken, you felt something twitch against your belly, something that had you glaring up into his stupid handsome face.

“Tell me who you are and what you’re doing in my bed right now,” you hissed through snapping teeth, hoping you came across fiercer than you felt—which was like a spitting kitten for all the strength you had in comparison to the larger man. 

A slow, tempting smile spread across the man’s face, his purring stuttering like he was holding in a laugh. Despite yourself, you had to work to hold onto your anger, which wanted to abandon you in light of the stranger’s charmingly appealing grin.

“You’re adorable when you try to be threatening,” he cooed, still grinning at you. He was so close that his scent enveloped you, and his purr still vibrated softly through your body. It was all you could do not to relax and give in to the strange man’s charms. 

Then, to your great surprise, he ducked down and nuzzled your cheek with his own, his scratchy scruff roughing over your soft skin in an affectionate gesture.

It was so achingly familiar, it made your heart squeeze in your chest. 

It was so much like how Bucky would rub his sweet little face against your cheek and the underside of your chin when he was cuddling with you. You’d seen plenty of TikTok videos about how clingy male cats could be with their female owners, and that was exactly how Bucky acted. He was so affectionate, always rubbing himself against you and staring up at you like you were his whole world…

A surprised puff of air escaped your lungs, along with a shocked little whimper. The man must’ve heard you, because his purring picked up and he shifted so his mouth was right next to your ear.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he murmured, his voice gentle and genuinely remorseful. “Will you let me explain—please?”

It was the man’s final word, the strain in his hoarse voice, as if he was begging for his life, that did you in. With a disgruntled sigh, more at yourself than anything else, you said, “Fine.”

The man lifted his head and stared down at you, his piercing blue eyes raking over your face—and a soft affection that had your heart thumping harder in your chest. There was uncertainty in the gentle twist of his mouth and, as you watched, he took a deep, steadying breath, as if preparing himself to jump off a cliff. 

“I’m a shifter,” he said bluntly, his gaze watching you sharply. When you only blinked up at him, he went on. “I can turn into a gray cat—a Russian Blue, to be specific. Sound familiar?”

A smirk flirted around the edges of the man’s mouth as he raised his brows, as if prompting you to see the connection between what he said he was and your pet cat. However, you refused to be charmed by him, so you pressed your lips into a firm line and narrowed your eyes at him, telling him wordlessly that you still didn’t quite believe him. 

He huffed an amused laugh and went on.

“Halloween is the one day of the year I can’t stay in my cat form,” he explained patiently, his expression open and honest. “It’s something about the thinness of the veil on this day, it forces all shifters to walk the earth in our human forms.”

There was a beat of silence as you processed the man’s explanation. He really did look so earnest, and you couldn’t ignore all the similarities you’d already noticed between him and Bucky. The purring, the nuzzling, the eyes…

“So you’re my cat?” you asked dubiously, your eyes still narrowed up at him, mouth pursed in a skeptical frown. “Bucky?” 

The man nodded, hope transforming his face. But then he paused, tilting his head to the side as if considering your words more closely. 

“Well, yes—but my name isn’t Bucky.”

Your frown deepened. Embarrassed heat bloomed in your cheeks at the realization that you’d not only named the handsome Russian Blue you’d rescued from a bucket so unoriginally, but that he’d been a shifter who had a name of his own. 

“What is it?” you squeaked, trying to tamp down on your humiliation. 

“James Barnes,” he said, as he studied your expression. Something about the way a playful grin was spreading across his face told you that you weren’t successful in hiding your embarrassment from him. “But I like Bucky, too,” he said, ducking his head down to murmur in your ear, “Because it’s what you call me.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart flipped in your chest at the implication of his words, but a pleased warmth was flooding through your body and making you melt beneath his comfortably heavy weight. It took all your self-control not to purr right back at the strange man—James, or Bucky, or whoever he was. You still weren’t sure if you believed him.

“Kind of convenient that you can’t shift right now and prove you’re telling the truth,” you pointed out, trying to get the conversation back on track and get the undeniable proof you needed. You were surprised to find you wanted James to prove he was really Bucky. It would be…nice. 

At your words, the man sighed, leaning up so you could see his face while he carded his fingers through his hair in a sign of frustration. You couldn’t help the little stab of jealousy as you watched, wishing it was your fingers sifting through his soft strands. Maybe pulling a little bit, tugging him down to kiss you…

You shoved the thought away and focused on him as he began to speak.

“I know,” he huffed, a displeased frown on his face as he stared off to the side. Shaking his head to clear away whatever he was thinking about, his gaze refocused on you. “I had a plan.”

“A plan?” you echoed, unsure what he meant by that. 

“I was going to slip out before you woke up,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish smile curved his mouth. “And then bump into you when you go get your coffee—like you do every morning.”

“Ok, stalker,” you mumbled to yourself, a little disturbed by how well the man knew your routine. A ripple of fear passed through you, but it dissipated when James huffed a self-effacing laugh. 

“I know how that sounds,” he said, looking down at you, his blue eyes glittering with affection and his mouth curving into a fond smile. “But it was hard not to notice you going out every morning and coming back smelling like coffee and sunshine and happiness,” he said. “That’s why I wanted to meet you—really meet you—there, somewhere that made you smile.”

James shifted his arm, his hand cupping your face gently and his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth, his eyes staring at that spot, like he was picturing your smile. It was hard not to melt at the poetry of his words and the soft way he was looking at you, but you soldiered on with your interrogation of the strange man.

“What were you going to do after we met?” you asked, your voice more breathless than you would’ve liked, but you couldn’t help it. Not when James was looking at you so intensely. 

“I was going to buy your coffee for you, strike up a conversation,” he said, his voice faraway, almost dreamy as he kept staring at your mouth. “Do things the right way.”

At that, your brow furrowed and your lips tipped down in a confused frown. That seemed to snap the man out of whatever daze he’d been in, his eyes flicking back to yours. 

“Do what the right way?” you asked. 

“You know…” he said, regarding you like he was trying to figure out if you were being deliberately obtuse or if you really didn’t understand. He must’ve decided you really didn’t know what he was talking about, because he went on. “Dating you, wooing you, telling you about what I am after you know me—the real me.” 

Your heart did that annoying little flip again, but you couldn’t help it, not when a man as handsome as James was talking about wooing you. Still, you weren’t going to let him off the hook just because the man—who may or may not be your pet cat (but probably was)—had a romantic side to him.

“Yeah that sounds like a better plan than letting me wake up to you sleeping naked in my bed,” you said dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I know,” he huffed, pulling his hand away from your cheek and scrubbing it down his face as he groaned in frustration. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you were supposed to trust me. I had a plan.” His final words were bitten out through clenched teeth, and you could practically feel his annoyance radiating off him. 

“Mmm,” you hummed in acknowledgement, wanting to comfort him but not allowing yourself to give in to the urge. Not when you still had so many questions. “So if today is the only day when you can’t change shift at will, why have you been living as my pet for almost a year?”

For the first time in your conversation, Bucky’s face shuttered and his expression turned guarded. His eyes darted away from you and he rubbed a hand over his scruff, the soft, scratchy sound filling your quiet room. 

For a moment, you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against his scruff, to nuzzle him the way he had you, but you squashed the idea as soon as it flitted through your mind as you waited for him to answer your question.

Bucky’s gaze drifted back to yours, and the walls he’d put up moments before seemed to come down just as fast as he stared into your eyes.

“A pretty girl took me in and fed me and kept me warm,” he rumbled, his voice low and deliciously gruff as he raked his eyes over your face. “She let me sleep in her bed, and curl up with her. She let me comfort her when she was sad, and smiled just for me when she was happy.”

The way Bucky was looking at you, his gaze filled with so much naked affection, stole the breath from your lungs. You didn’t know when you started calling him Bucky in your mind, but you realized you truly believed that he was who he said he was. He was your cat, transformed into a human.

“What was I supposed to do,” he went on, a small smile curving the corner of his mouth. “Shift right in front of her, and scare the fuck out of her, then ask her out?” He laughed quietly, shaking his head ruefully in answer to his own question. “I wanted to do things right.” Cupping your face gently, he stared deep into your eyes. “Besides, I liked being yours.”

Happiness burst like fireworks in your heart. “You…” you trailed off, needing to swallow past your dry throat and your thumping heart before continuing. “You liked being mine?” you asked, needing to hear him say it again for some reason you couldn’t understand. It seemed too unreal that he could like being your cat more than he liked being able to live his life as a free man. Or shifter.

Bucky’s eyes slowly swept over your face, taking in your parted lips and your hopeful gaze. He seemed to be able to read you like a book, and you found you didn’t mind that so much, not when Bucky’s mouth was gently curving into a smile that was deeply pleased with what he saw in your expression. 

“I liked being yours,” he repeated for you, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through your body, settling deep in your core and making a warmth bloom that had everything to do with the man in your bed. “And I wanted you to want to be mine—to like being mine, too.”

He watched you for a long, silent moment. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought he was holding his breath, waiting for your reaction, though you were still too stunned to give him one. When he realized this, he spoke again.

“Please tell me I haven’t ruined things.”

The hushed desperation in his tone was your undoing.

Your arms pushed against the cocoon of blankets you were trapped in, and Bucky lifted himself up higher to let you pull free. He was watching you warily, like he was half expecting you to use your arms to push him off you. 

Instead, you lifted your hands and cupped his face, tugging on him gently until he lowered himself back down on top of you. His weight felt more familiar and comforting than it had any right, and you had to force your request from your lips. 

“Tell me something only you’d know, Bucky,” you whispered, your own thinly veiled desperation in your words. You already knew in your heart that he was Bucky—your Bucky—but you needed something more definitive to quell the fear and doubts in your mind. “Please.” 

He stared at you for a moment, something like hope and excitement swirling in his piercing blue gaze. When he spoke, his voice was gruff, full of emotion. 

“When you think I’m sleeping, you whisper secrets in my ear,” Bucky said, his eyes briefly trailing down to your mouth like he couldn’t help himself. But his gaze flicked back quickly to yours before continuing on. “You told me how annoying your coworker is—Agatha, right? And how you wish your boss appreciated you more.”

You were silent and still beneath Bucky, shock rolling through you and leaving you stunned. Bucky was right, you did have a habit of talking to your cat, whispering in his ear when he was curled up in your arms or on top of your chest, telling him all the things you didn’t say to anyone else. 

It was slowly dawning on you that the man really, truly was Bucky. But he seemed to take your silence as uncertainty, and so he went on. 

“You told me how you get sad and lonely sometimes,” Bucky rumbled, his arms shifting so he could cup your face in his big hands, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheeks. “You told me how you wished someone would hold you the way you held me.” 

Slowly, he lowered himself down on top of you, as if still waiting for you to push him away. Instead, your arms wound around his bare back, your fingers pressing into his skin and clinging to him while he nuzzled his scruffy cheek against yours. You returned the gesture, nuzzling him back.

“You told me how much you want to fall in love,” he murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your skin, making you shiver. “And how afraid you are of getting your heart broken.” 

Lifting himself up to look at you, you could see the pain and desire churning in his eyes, and you could hear it in the way his voice cracked on his last word. It all seemed to finally loosen your tongue.

“Bucky,” you whispered in a thick voice, tears threatening to fall with the sheer amount of emotion flowing through you. There was shock, of course, but also so much wonder and happiness. “It really is you,” you said, marveling up at the man above you, lifting your hands to trace the lines of his handsome face.

His eyes closed, like he was savoring your touch, and a purr kicked to life in his chest while a small smile curved the edges of his mouth. It was a mouth you were suddenly aching to kiss. And you couldn’t, for the life of you, come up with a reason why you shouldn’t. 

Just as tentative as he’d been, you leaned into Bucky, your hands tilting his face down to yours while you raked your nails lightly through the scruffy hair on his cheeks and jaw. You brushed your lips against his, so softly it could barely be considered a kiss.

You felt the big man above you stiffen with surprise, his eyes flying open to stare into yours with a question clear in his blue depths.

In answer, you leaned in again, pressing your mouth infinitesimally more firmly against his, and flicked your tongue out to swipe at his plump lower lip. 

He tasted like the night, dark and alluring, and you could already tell that you would quickly grow addicted to it, licking along the seam of his lips, searching for more.

Bucky groaned, the sound deep and masculine, sending delicious shivers down your spine as he dug his arms beneath your body and held you crushed to him. He captured your mouth before you could retreat again, kissing you until you were breathless. He kissed you like he’d been starving for you and since he’s gotten a taste, he’d be damned if he let you go.

It was intoxicating to feel the way he wanted you as much as you wanted him, and you gave yourself into it, kissing Bucky back as hard as he was kissing you. Your fingers sank into Bucky’s soft brown hair, clinging to him with the same desperate devotion with which he held you. 

Of their own accord, your legs spread beneath your blankets, allowing Bucky’s hips to settle into the cradle of your thighs. Even through the layers between your bodies, you could feel the hot, hard length of his arousal pressing into the juncture of your legs so tantalizingly, you moaned into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Bucky growled, breaking free from your lips to press kisses along your jaw. His breathing was harsh in your ear, like he couldn’t catch his breath. “D’you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you, koshechka?” He sucked on a spot just beneath your ear, dragging another mewling moan from your lips before answering his own question. “Since the day you brought me home. I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first day.”

“Bucky,” you chastised on an uncontrollable giggle as he nuzzled his scruffy jaw into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply like he was breathing in the scent of your skin. He groaned, making you shiver with pleasure. Still, the words burst out of you, “That’s creepy!” Your tone was meant to be admonishing, but your voice was too breathless to have much heat. 

“The smell of you and the taste of your skin are burned into my mind,” Bucky murmured before dragging the flat of his tongue up the curve of your neck, wringing a low, throaty moan from your lips. “But I wanted to know if your mouth would be sweeter.” He captured your lips for another kiss, his mouth moving against yours in a way that made your head spin.

“Is it?” you asked when he pulled away, giving you a brief reprieve from his drugging kisses. Bucky’s eyes looked as hazy as you felt, and he seemed to not understand your questions. “Sweeter, I mean.”

A slow, seductive smile spread across Bucky’s face, and even cast in the shadows of your room, you could see plainly how handsome he was—so much so, your breath caught in your lungs.

“Oh koshechka, your mouth is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured before diving down for another kiss.

Between your thighs, you could feel Bucky’s cock throbbing and twitching—and it was so hot, you could feel the heat of him through your blankets. 

A slight sheen of sweat was gathering in the creases of your thighs and behind your knees, your own center pulsing with a desperate ache to be closer to Bucky, to be pressed against his warm, bare skin. Your legs kicked restlessly at your blankets, trying to push them out of the way without letting go of your hold on Bucky, whose body was pinning yours to the bed.

Bucky chuckled against your mouth and lifted up enough to help you push the blankets off your body—laughing harder at your disgruntled whine—before settling back down on top of you. Your legs spread to make room for his narrow hips between your thighs, his hard cock pressing against the thin fabric of your panties. 

Without the blankets in the way, you could feel something strange about Bucky’s cock. There were…bumps on it? A pattern of bumps circling the shaft, which grew thicker toward the head. 

Your brows lowered in a frown of confusion and you tilted your hips, rubbing your clothed cunt against the length of him, groaning in pleasure when the bumps dragged deliciously against your clit. 

But you were distracted from further exploration by Bucky’s voice.

“Do you want to know what I looked forward to most about dating you, koshechka?” Bucky asked against your lips, nipping and licking the breath from your lungs while he picked up your rhythm, grinding his cock against your slit through the meager fabric of your panties. 

“Wh-what?” you asked in a trembling voice, your hips rocking up against Bucky, your ankles looping around the backs of his thighs for more leverage to grind against his cock. 

“I couldn’t wait for the first time you’d let me stay over,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your jaw and playfully biting the lobe of your ear, drawing a gasp from your lips. “I’d give you my shirt to sleep in, instead of one of these little nightshirts you like,” he said, his fingers curling into the fabric and rucking it up around your hips, spreading your legs wider and giving him more access for his rolling hips.

“What’s wrong with my nightshirts?” you asked on a needy whimper. You pouted as you tipped your head down to look at him while he was busy placing wet, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones through the thin cotton of your shirt. 

Bucky flicked his eyes up to yours and growled, “They don’t smell enough like me.” His hands slipped beneath your nightshirt, his warm palms skimming over your bare skin and making you shiver. He wrapped his fingers around your ribs, thumbs brushing over the lower curves of your breasts, just teasing your nipples while he stared up at you, watching the way you gasped for him.

It took you a long moment to process his words, and when you did, all you could manage was to whine his name, “Bucky.” The thought of smelling like him did something to your heart and your insides, melting them to the point that you squirmed from the heat flooding your body. 

As you watched, a slow smirk spread across his face. He lowered his mouth to one of your tits and flicked his tongue across your pebbled nipple through your shirt. 

“You should always smell like me,” he muttered into the soft curve of your breast, almost like he was talking to himself, before he latched onto your nipple and sucked the tight peak into his mouth.

Warm, wet heat surged through your body as Bucky suckled on you in long, deep pulls that tugged on a line connected directly to your clit, which was throbbing with need against his still gently rutting cock. His precum was slowly leaking onto your lower belly, making a mess of your panties, but they were ruined by your own arousal anyway.

Between Bucky’s cock and his mouth, your body was a mess of pleasure and wetness, your panties growing increasingly drenched the more he rocked against you, bullying your clit and torturing your nipples. His head shifted, moving to the other, before giving your other breast just as much attention and making your mind spin.

It took you long, long minutes before you could form a coherent thought, your mind catching on something Bucky had said. What tumbled from your lips was the inelegant question: “Do you even own a shirt?”

Bucky paused, like your question surprised him, and a second later he was laughing into the valley between your tits, his forehead pressed to the top of your sternum as his warm breath ghosted against you through your shirt.

“Koshechka,” he rumbled, still laughing as he raised his head to meet your curious gaze. His eyes were sparkling with humor and affection in the moonlight. “I have a whole apartment across town.”

“Then why did you stay with me?” you asked. Your brow furrowed in confusion at that revelation, even as curiosity began winding through your mind. What did his apartment look like? Was it cozy or sparse? Did he have plants or a massive flatscreen? Did he have a pet cat of his own? 

And who was taking care of his apartment while he’d been living with you? Or did he sneak out while you were at work to go hang out at his home?

Bucky’s voice reeled you back into the moment. 

“I told you, koshechka,” Bucky murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your swollen lips. 

It was soft and sweet and you didn’t want him to stop, but you were too curious about his answer to protest when he pulled away to look at you again. 

“A pretty girl took me in and kept me,” he rumbled, his voice low and delicious, his mouth curved into a mischievous smile that you desperately wanted to lick. “She let me cuddle her and nuzzle her cheeks and sleep in her bed, why would I leave?” He chuckled, shaking his head as he stared at you. “Being your pet was better than being my own man.”

Bucky’s words sank deep into your heart, tears of something like joy springing to your eyes, and you cupped his face to pull him in for another kiss. With no words, only your mouth, you told him how much his statement meant to you. 

He liked being with you more than he liked being free. How could you ever be expected to let go of a man who said such things to you? You didn’t know if you could, even considering the strangeness of your meeting.

Your kiss grew heated and your thoughts melted away, your body writhing beneath Bucky’s as you tried to press closer, despite there being little space left between your bodies already. A whine worked its way up your throat and Bucky swallowed the sound, his mouth curving against yours in a smile before he eased back. 

“May I?” he asked, nodding down to your nightshirt, which he was slowly pushing up further. It took you a moment to realize he was asking your permission to take it off, but when you did, you nodded. However, he didn’t move, only gave you a more intense look. “Use your words, koshechka.” 

“Yes, please…” you said, trailing off as a thought occurred to you. “Do you still want me to call you Bucky?” you asked, tilting your head on your pillow and staring up at the man who’d told you his name was James. 

You watched Bucky’s smile spread across his face and he ducked down, kissing you quickly, like he couldn’t help himself. He trailed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat while he pushed your nightshirt up slowly, teasingly.

“You can call me anything you want, koshechka.”

You considered his words distractedly while he tugged your shirt off, both of you pausing while Bucky admired your body. You had the urge to cover yourself, but held back, more than a little stunned by the sheer amount of heat and desire in Bucky’s gaze. A pleasant warmth prickled beneath your skin everywhere he looked, and it made you want to reach for him, so you did, tugging on his shoulders to pull him closer.

Obligingly, Bucky settled back down on top of you, his mouth working against your collarbones before trailing down to your tits. His big hands worked your soft flesh, kneading you firmly enough to make you gasp and writhe, while his mouth moved between kissing, licking and nipping your skin, teasing your nipples with purposeful flicks of his tongue. 

Despite how perfectly Bucky was working your body, your mind was still caught on what he’d said about calling him anything you wanted.

“What about daddy-cat?” you asked, your voice breathless as you held in a moan. It was the most ridiculous nickname you could think of, and you were curious to see how Bucky responded. He only huffed out a muffled laugh, suckling on your nipple and dragging the moan from your lungs that you’d been holding in.

“If you want,” he murmured against your skin, shrugging a shoulder and not even looking up from your tits.

“Okay,” you said, dragging out the word, your thoughts scattering when he moved to your other breast and sucked deeply on your nipple. Wetness flooded between your thighs and you whimpered pathetically. 

Suddenly, a word came to mind, one you’d seen in some fantasy novels you’d read, and it appealed to you in a way you couldn’t put into words—especially not with Bucky’s mouth on your tits. But it felt right, and it tumbled easily from your lips.

“Alpha.” The word was half gasp, half plea, and filled entirely with your need for Bucky.

Bucky went still, his body going rigid even as his cock twitched between your thighs. Then, his purr kicked to life in his chest, louder than you’d heard it yet.

The vibrations that had teased you through your blankets were so much more intense when your skin was pressed against Bucky’s, and you let out a soft, gentle moan. Your body relaxed instantly, melting beneath Bucky’s broad form while he dug his arms beneath your back and held you close to his chest. 

“I like that,” he rumbled through his purring, kissing up your chest and neck until his mouth found yours. “Call me that, koshechka.”

“Yes, alpha,” you said on a sweet sigh that Bucky swallowed down with a filthy groan, sounding like he was tasting something delicious.

“Fuck, koshechka, you’re making my cock so fucking hard,” he growled against your mouth, his words sliding over your tongue and making you shiver with need.

Bucky’s fingers circled your wrist and he dragged your hand down between your bodies slowly—slowly enough, and his grip loose enough, you knew you could’ve pulled away if you’d wanted. 

But you didn’t want to. You knew what he was doing, and you wanted to feel him, wanted to feel what you did to him. 

And you wanted to explore the strange shape of his cock.

“Feel what you do to me, koshechka,” Bucky growled, placing your palm on his cock and you sucked in a sharp breath of surprise at the feeling of it.

Your fingers circled the base of his cock and ran up the length, feeling the way it swelled and grew bigger as you neared the head. It was so thick, you wondered how he would fit inside you, but your body responded to that thought by growing wetter, and you knew you were eager to try to make it fit.

You stroked Bucky’s cock up and down the shaft, feeling the pattern of bumps circling it. They were more complex than you’d thought, more like barbs that caught slightly on your fingers and palm, though not in a painful way. Just in a way that made you shiver and wonder wildly what they would feel like inside you, dragging against your inner walls and stimulating you in a way you’d never felt before…

Suddenly, you were desperate to feel Bucky slide inside you.

“Alpha, please,” you begged on a whine, a need rising up in you that you couldn’t even begin to control. You shifted your grip on Bucky’s cock, pressing him into your panty-covered slit and grinding against him, writhing your hips beneath his large body. “Please fuck me—I need you inside me, alpha, please.”

“Oh fuck,” Bucky grunted, his hips jerking and fucking against your slick panties, his precum leaking from the tip of his cock and making even more of a mess of you. “Are you sure? I really did want to take you out on a date, do things the normal way…”

His frantic words trailed off on a moan when you pressed his cock deeper between your folds, until he was sliding between your puffy pussy lips. 

Even through your panties, you could feel the barbs on his cock rubbing against your clit and you let out a needy moan. The fingers of your other hand threaded through his soft brown hair and you pulled him close, until your lips brushed against the shell of his ear.

“You’re a cat shifter who’s been watching me sleep while pretending to be nothing more than my pet for almost a year,” you whispered, and even though you knew you’d have to deal with Bucky’s lie at some point, you weren’t ready yet. 

You wanted him, you wanted his cock buried inside you, so you nipped playfully at his earlobe to lighten the mood. Of course, you also thoroughly enjoyed the way his hips rutted between your thighs reflexively, making you giggle softly before you continued on. 

“I think we bypassed normal right around the time I brought you home and you decided to stay,” you murmured, a hint of humor in your tone. “We can play out your Halloween coffee shop meet-cute later, but for now, I need you to fuck me, alpha.”

A rumbling growl ricocheted in Bucky’s chest, teasing your skin where you were pressed together. Your nipples hardened further into tight, achy peaks and your pussy gushed between your thighs, reacting to the desire in Bucky’s growl. 

“I will take you out later,” he said firmly, “But I’ll always give you what you want, and if you want to be fucked—I’ll fuck you good, koshechka.” Bucky pushed up until he was hovering above you, flashing you a charmingly rakish grin. Then his hands were shoving your panties down over your ass and thighs, moving to pull them off you entirely. 

When that was done, Bucky sat back on his haunches and stared at you, laid bare beneath him, your skin swathed in the silvery light of the moonlight and the warm glow of the streetlight outside your window. His piercing blue eyes raked over every inch of bared skin, appreciating you for long, long moments. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, koshechka,” Bucky murmured distractedly, his hands sliding up your legs and pushing your thighs wide. He stared down at your sopping wet pussy with reverence etched in every line of his face. “Even your pussy is pretty—I just need a little taste.” His last comment was mumbled, like he was talking to himself, just before he ducked down between your legs.

The flat of Bucky’s tongue licked up the full length of your slit, digging into the top until he found your clit. His hot mouth against your cunt had you whining and whimpering, your fingers digging into his soft hair and holding on for dear life. He buried his face into your folds, his tongue licking deep into you and making you moan loudly while he ate you out.

“Fucking hell, koshechka, even your cunt is sweet,” Bucky groaned when he finally came up for air, pressing filthy wet kisses to your quivering thighs. You were close to the edge of your release already, but as much as you wanted to come, you wanted something else more.

“Alpha,” you begged in a whining tone, squirming against Bucky’s big hands that were pinning you to the bed. “Feel so empty.”

Bucky lapped teasingly at your clit, and you could feel his smile against your heated skin. He worked your body until you were writhing harder, squirming harder against his hands to rock into his mouth and grind down on his tongue. Still, it wasn’t enough and you whined louder in a wordless plea.

“C’mon, koshechka, come on my tongue and then I’ll fill you up with my cock,” Bucky murmured into your swollen folds, his command half-muffled against your slick pussy. 

Your head thrashed side to side on your pillow and you whimpered, “Alpha,” as you tried to hold on, tried to last until his cock was inside you. But Bucky was determined to feel you come on his mouth.

When he slipped two of his fingers into your drenched hole and stroked a spot deep inside you, the electric shot of pleasure was too much. Your fingers curled so tightly in Bucky’s hair, a distant part of your mind worried you’d yank some of it from his head. 

But you couldn’t think about that—not when he was pushing you over the edge and pleasure was crashing through you in an earth-shattering orgasm.

A silent scream caught in your throat as your whole body went rigid, ecstasy pulsing through your limbs while Bucky kept fucking you with his fingers and sucking on your clit. It was nearly overwhelming, how good his mouth and fingers felt, and you let yourself sink into the waves of pleasure as they washed over you.

You were still twitching with the remnants of your release when Bucky crawled up your body, his mouth kissing your belly and your ribs, pausing to flick his tongue over each of your nipples, then the hollow of your throat. Finally, his lips found yours and he kissed you passionately, making you moan as you tasted yourself on his tongue. 

“Can you taste how sweet you are, koshechka?” he murmured against your mouth while he rubbed the length of your cock through your slick folds. The barbs were catching on your clit, making your hips twitch as you dragged in desperate gasps of air. “Sweet as a Halloween treat.” 

Bucky pressed another kiss to your lips even as you huffed a little laugh.

“I see how it is,” you muttered, a little bitterness seeping into your tone. “You play a trick on me and you still get a treat?” You didn’t quite know where the words came from, but it seemed you weren’t doing so well at putting off dealing with the fact that Bucky had hidden his true self from you for almost a year. 

It was annoying that the betrayal you felt was raising its ugly head before you’d even gotten to feel his cock inside you, but you supposed it had something to do with the deeply satisfied feeling of coming on his tongue. Still, you were embarrassed enough by your blurted, bitter question that you turned your head to the side, trying to hide in your pillow.

Bucky hovered above you, and you could see the serious expression on his face out of the corner of your eye. He gently grabbed your chin and turned you back to look at him, holding your gaze with his own.

“I’m sorry for lying to you for so long, koshechka,” he said, his tone entirely genuine. You could even see remorse simmering in his blue eyes. “I was selfish, and afraid you wouldn’t like me as much like this.” He gestured at himself, indicating his human form. 

That made you huff a laugh and roll your eyes a little before catching Bucky’s gaze again. “How could I not like you like this?” you asked, cupping his handsome face in your hands. Your nails raked lightly through his scruff, and he closed his eyes as a soft purr started in his chest. “But I’m going to need time to forgive you for lying.”

Bucky’s mouth pulled into a bittersweet smile and he nodded his head, his eyes opening again.

“I understand,” he murmured, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm. “I’ll earn your trust back, I promise,” he vowed, staring deep into your eyes, as if willing you to believe him. 

Your lips curved in a small smile and you tipped your head up, pulling him in for a brief kiss. It was little more than a brushing of lips, but you felt the determination in the rigid line of Bucky’s shoulders. You ghosted your lips along Bucky’s jaw, sucking playfully at his skin as you tried to lighten the mood. 

“I still need you to fuck me, alpha,” you purred in Bucky’s ear, your thighs spreading wider beneath his hips, his cock pressing deeper between your still soaking folds.

“Fuck, fuck,” he groaned, his hips moving on instinct until the tip of his cock was pressed to your tight hole. But he stopped himself from pushing inside, instead pausing to ask you, “Are you sure, koshechka?” 

Your heart thumped harder in your chest at Bucky’s question, but you knew what you wanted. “Yes, alpha—please.” 

Your final word was a broken plea, and it seemed Bucky didn’t need to be begged again. He pushed forward, sinking slowly into your tight, warm pussy with a tortured groan. The head pushed inside you, then the thick bulge of his cock, and every additional inch felt like a revelation. 

“You feel so fucking good, koshechka,” he rumbled, his low, gravelly voice sinking into your skin and making you shiver. “Feel so fucking perfect.”

You didn’t have the breath to respond, but you shared his sentiment. The thick bulge of his cock stretched your tight hole to its limit, and you sighed in pleasure when he was finally buried deep. It was a little odd, the feeling of his inhuman cock inside you, but it felt perfect, too. 

For a moment, Bucky paused while he was fully impaled in your cunt. His arms curled around your body, and yours wound around his shoulders. You clung to each other, your chests rising and falling together as your hearts beat in tandem beneath your ribs. 

“Talk to me, koshechka, are you ok?” Bucky asked softly, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. He nuzzled into you, his scruffy face tickling your skin while a soft purr kicked to life in his chest.

Your body relaxed beneath Bucky’s large form and you nodded, trying to catch your breath a little before answering. 

“Yes, alpha, ‘m ok,” you mumbled in throaty voice, your fingers stroking idly through Bucky’s hair at the back of his head. His purr grew stronger, vibrating through you and your inner walls clenched around Bucky’s stiff length, pleasure pulsing through you at the wild, unusual sensation of his cock inside you. “So full.”

“Mm, your tight cunt feels good around my cock,” Bucky murmured in agreement, kissing up your neck until he could brush his lips against your sweaty temple. His scruffy jaw tickled your cheek and you squirmed lazily, a grin spreading across your face. “Feels like you were made for me—fuck, you were made for me, weren’t you koshechka?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed languidly, rocking your hips experimentally and feeling the slight drag of Bucky’s cock inside you, the barbs making your breath catch as delicious pleasure jolted through your body. Distractedly, you asked, “Do shifters mate?”

Bucky tensed above you, and your mind sharpened, focusing on his reaction and the way he was hiding his face in the pillow beside your head.

“James Bucky Barnes,” you growled in warning. He’d lied to you for almost a year, hiding his human identity from you while pretending to be nothing more than your pet, and you’d be damned if you let him keep lying to you. And you knew he was hiding something from you, his reaction to your question made that perfectly clear.

“Yes, we can scent our compatible mate,” he admitted on a gusting exhale, his voice muffled in the pillow.

You licked your lips as you processed that revelation. Unbidden, all the times that night that Bucky had told you how sweet you tasted, how deeply he’d breathed in your scent—and how good his wild scent smelled to you—came to mind. It seemed only natural that your next question was, “And, am I…?” 

“Yes,” he said quickly, cutting you off before you could even finish your question. “You’re mine. I’m yours.” 

His words were slightly less muffled by his face buried in the pillow, and you were suddenly frustrated by the fact that you couldn’t see him. You pushed against his shoulder and twisted your hips until he obliged your wordless request and rolled onto his back, taking you with him.

Your knees dug into the soft mattress on either side of Bucky’s hips and you pushed yourself up with your hands planted firmly on his hard chest. Bucky’s piercing eyes were looking up at you warily, his hands settling lightly on your hips, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you anymore.

“How long have you known?” you asked on a whisper, watching him carefully.

“Since you found me in the bucket,” he confessed with a sheepish wince. “I scented it immediately, especially since I was in my cat form.”

Reflexively, your nails dug into Bucky’s skin as frustration surged through you. “Were you ever going to tell me?” you asked in a harsher tone. 

“I had a plan,” Bucky said, but his tone was apologetic, like he knew it wasn’t a good enough answer. 

For a long moment, you stared down at the man between your thighs. Your mate, apparently. 

Despite how much you knew you should be, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be angry that he’d held back this particular aspect of his shifter identity. Even knowing it, you didn’t feel like you truly understood what it meant to be Bucky’s mate. 

And if you were being honest with yourself, after everything he’d told you that night, you were a little tired of the revelations. 

It probably would’ve been better if things had gone according to Bucky’s plan. You’d have met him in your favorite coffee shop and slowly gotten to know him—the real him—and he’d have opened up to you when you were both ready. If things had gone that way, you would’ve been able to learn about him being a shifter and your mate at an easier pace.

Instead, you’d been thrust into all this shifter stuff, and Bucky had tried his best to not overwhelm you too much. You couldn’t fault him for that. In fact, you appreciated it. The night had been a lot, and you suddenly knew exactly what you needed from him.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you lay down on Bucky’s chest so your head rested on his shoulder. 

“Can you purr for me, alpha?” you asked in a small voice, craving the comfort of the rumbling sensation.

Bucky’s purr kicked to life an instant later, giving you exactly what you asked for. You let yourself sink into the comfort and pleasure his purring offered, allowing yourself to relax. His cock was still buried deep inside you, and even that felt good—it felt right.

“What else do you need, koshechka?” Bucky asked softly, concern in his tone. His hand stroked tentatively up and down your spine and you smiled into his chest, melting further into his chest. “Tell me, and I’ll do everything in my power to give it to you.”

“I think I want to follow the plan,” you said, realizing it was what you wanted only as you said the words. “I want to try things your way, the ‘normal’ way.” You said those final words a little wryly, but your tone was otherwise genuine. Turning your face up so you could catch Bucky’s eye, you let a little smirk flirt around the corner of your mouth. “After you fuck me.”

Bucky’s eyes heated as they dropped to your mouth, but his hands still felt uncertain on your hips. “Are you sure, koshechka?” His big hand cupped your face, his thumb stroking over your cheek and your eyes fluttered closed at the comfort of the gesture. “I’d understand if you never wanted to see me again.”

At that, your eyes flew open and you glared at Bucky. “That is the last thing I want,” you spit out fiercely, surprised at how strongly you reacted to the idea of never seeing Bucky again. You took a moment, closing your eyes to gather yourself and opened them again to fix Bucky with a firm stare. “Tonight has been a lot, but I want to come on your cock, and then I wanna take the time to get to know you, to see how things go, to do things the normal way.”

A smirk curled the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “I thought we bypassed normal a year ago,” he commented, echoing your earlier words. 

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to lean up and kiss the smirk off Bucky’s face, so that’s exactly what you did. 

He groaned into your kiss, his hands tightening on your hips and urging you to rock against him. You broke away from the kiss, unable to bite back the filthy groan that tumbled from your lips at the sensation of his cock shifting inside you.

You could feel the gentle drag of every barb on his cock, the dulled points clinging to your inner channel and making you moan loudly. Your body moved on its own, lifting up Bucky’s cock, needing to feel more of that sensation. Once only the head remained inside your warmth, you shoved yourself down, wringing a delighted screech from your lips while Bucky groaned ferociously. 

“Fuck, koshechka,” Bucky grunted, his big hands kneading your ass while you lifted up again and slammed back down. “Use me—use me for your pleasure.” His voice was breathless, and as you stared down at him, you watched his face contort with pleasure. 

You lifted up, planting your hands on his pecs and set a slow, hard pace, lifting yourself up slowly before slamming down hard on his cock, grinding into the base before doing it all over again. 

Before long, you were both panting and sweating, and your whines grew louder as your body begged more.

Bucky seemed to know exactly when you’d reached your limit of having control, and he wrapped his hands more tightly around your waist, holding you above him while he took over, drilling into your cunt from below. 

The bulge of his length and the barbs were unlike anything you’d ever felt before, and it was only a few breathless moments before you were teetering on the edge of your second release.

“Can I come, alpha?” you gasped on a whimpering whine. Your fingernails were digging into the plush padding on his stomach, pressing hard enough to feel the firm muscle beneath, delighting when his abs twitched at the same time as his cock inside you.

A purr began in Bucky’s chest and he caught your eye, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Does my sweet koshechka want my permission to come?” he purred, staring at you with lazy, half-lidded eyes while he pounded up into you. “Do you need your alpha’s command to come on my cock?” 

“Yes, alpha, please—please command me to come,” you whimpered, your whole body trembling with your need for release. But you found you truly needed him to say it, to tell you to come, before you could do so. You didn’t know if that was a shifter thing, a mate thing or a you and Bucky thing, but in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Bucky fucked you harder, thrusting up so hard that your tits were bouncing with the force. A growl tore through his chest, and you felt his pleasure in the sound, knowing instinctively that he was pleased with the sight of you bouncing on his cock. 

“Come, koshechka—come all over your alpha’s fat cock,” he snarled, just before wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and dragging you down to his chest. His mouth found the curve of your neck, where your throat met your shoulder, and he bit down, his teeth sinking deep into your skin. 

You came with a yowling scream, the slight sting of pain from Bucky’s blunt teeth mixing with the blistering pleasure of his cock until you were swept away in a torrent of ecstasy. You shattered apart on his cock, your pussy pulsing and gripping him hard, dragging him over the edge after you.

Bucky came with a groan that was half-muffled against your shoulder, his cock twitching inside you as he spilled his hot seed deep in your belly. His moan morphed into a stuttering purr as he fucked you through the aftershocks of both your releases, until you collapsed on top of him with a satisfied exhale.

One of Bucky’s hands smoothed up and down your spine comfortingly while the other was still wrapped around the back of your neck. He finally pulled away from your shoulder, his tongue lapping at the deep indents he’d left in your skin. 

Strangely, some part of you was disappointed that his teeth hadn’t broken skin. But the feeling of his tongue on the mark he’d left, his cock still throbbing in your pussy, and his hand stroking you softly were all too good to focus on that twinge of disappointment. You pushed it aside and promised yourself you’d ask Bucky about it later. 

Exhaustion was tugging at the edges of your consciousness and you could feel yourself slipping back to sleep. It didn’t help that Bucky dragged the blankets back over your cooling bodies, wrapping you up in a warmth that felt like it sank deep into your bones and curled closely around your heart. 

“Rest, koshechka,” Bucky urged, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll see you at your coffee shop later—I’ll be the one wearing clothes.”

You would’ve laughed, but you were already falling back to sleep.

On the morning of Halloween, you woke with a pleasant tingling between your thighs, and an excessive amount of wetness trickling from your slit. You got up and cleaned yourself up, not too surprised that your Russian Blue didn’t make an appearance as you got ready for the day. 

Your nighttime escapades felt too real for you to even begin to try to convince yourself it was a dream, though you did find yourself missing the soft pitter-patter of your pet’s feet padding across your apartment. You paused in the middle of your living room, feeling a little bit of loneliness creep in as you listened and heard no sign of life in your home.

Shaking your head, you reminded yourself that you weren’t going to be lonely without Bucky the cat—because Bucky the man was waiting for you. 

With that thought in your head, you nearly skipped down the street to your regular coffee shop. 

It was a cute little storefront nestled in between a hair salon and a plant store. The employees had put up decorations for Halloween, including a string of paper bats and little pumpkins in the windows. Inside, there were even more fall decorations, and the scent of coffee was cut with cinnamon and nutmeg.

You scanned the tables, but didn’t see Bucky, so you got in line to order. A moment later, you felt a presence behind you and you somehow knew it was him, even before his scent washed over you and his hand settled gently against your lower back as he came to stand beside you. 

“Good morning, koshechka,” he murmured, ducking to press a kiss to your cheek. 

You gave him a quick once-over, seeing that he cleaned up nice in the light of day, wearing a soft sweater, dark jeans and a warm-looking leather jacket. His breath smelled minty like he’d brushed his teeth, and his skin felt clean and fresh, as if he’d showered. But he’d kept the scruff on his face, and you couldn’t help but be glad for it as it tickled your cheek, a smile curving your lips. 

“Good morning, Bucky,” you said, staring up at him, a little surprised at how easy it seemed to be to fall into step beside him as the line moved forward.

Still, you couldn’t seem to drag your eyes away from his face. He truly was the most handsome man you’d ever seen, and you let your eyes roam greedily over the planes of his face that were so much easier to see in the daylight. You didn’t think you’d ever get tired of looking at Bucky’s face.

“Can I buy you a coffee?” Bucky asked, dragging you from your thoughts. His hand was moving soothingly in a small circle on your lower back, and you could feel the warmth of him even through your jacket.

“Yes, please,” you said sweetly. 

When it was your turn to order, you got a hot latte, while Bucky got a chai. He helped you out of your coat and pulled out a chair for you at one of the small tables, then retrieved your latte from the counter before he settled into the seat across from you. 

The barista had drawn a ghost with the foam on top of your drink and you smiled down at it, wrapping your cold fingers around the warm cup as you considered where to start.

“So,” you began, lifting your eyes to Bucky—taking in the soft sweater that stretched across his broad shoulders, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, before catching his eye. A smirk curved your lips. “Tell me about yourself.”

A slow, answering smile curled the edges of Bucky’s mouth and he leaned forward, planting his arms on the table in a mirror of your posture. When he spoke, his voice was low, a delicious gruffness to it that tingled all the way through you, down to the tips of your toes.

“Well, I’ve had a bit of an unusual life,” he began, catching your eye and holding your gaze with his own sparkling blues. “I served in the army with my best friend, came back, didn’t really know what to do with myself—until I met a pretty girl who took me in and showed me what it’s like to be loved.”

Your heart thumped excitedly in your chest at Bucky’s final word even as your breath lodged in your throat. “Oh really?” you asked softly, swallowing thickly before you continued. “That sounds like an interesting story.” 

“Mm, I’ll say,” Bucky said, his eyes roving hungrily over your face. After a beat of silence, he seemed to have a thought, leaning in further and dropping his voice lower. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” you said on an exhale, mesmerized by the affection swirling in Bucky’s eyes and the way his mouth curved at the edges when he smiled.

“I’m excited to show her what it’s like to be loved by me,” Bucky murmured. 

His words had the same effect as his purr, making you melt as you smiled across the table at him. “I’m excited for that, too,” you admitted softly. 

Bucky’s smile widened, and your eyes dropped to his mouth. You wanted to kiss him so badly in that moment, but you also wanted to stick to his plan to take things slow.

Taking a deep breath, you sat back from the table, giving yourself some space away from the intoxicatingly wild scent of Bucky and lifted your cup to your mouth. You hummed in delight at the taste of the drink, closing your eyes as you savored the rich flavor. 

A choked sound came from across the table and you opened your eyes to see heat simmering in Bucky’s eyes. 

“Are you trying to torture me, koshechka?” he asked in a low rumble. 

You snickered and hid a smirk behind your cup before taking another sip and setting it down on the table. Tossing your head, you looked up at Bucky from under your lashes. 

“It’s the least you deserve for the little Halloween trick you played on me,” you teased. You slid your tongue along your lower lip, licking up the last bit of your coffee, smirking when Bucky groaned quietly. 

“If I behave, d’you think I’ll get a little Halloween treat?” Bucky asked, waggling his brows so suggestively, you tipped your head back with a laugh. 

“We’ll see,” you said with what you hoped was an enigmatic smile. 

Leaning across the table, Bucky ran his thumb over the corner of  your mouth and when he pulled away, you saw a little bit of foam on his finger. He popped it into his mouth, making your eyes narrow on the way his tongue flicked against the pad of his thumb, your core tightening as you remembered the things that tongue had done to you the night before.

“I’ll take whatever you want to give, koshechka,” Bucky murmured, his tone thick with emotion and desire, and you knew he was talking about more than just your body. His piercing eyes pinned you with an intense stare, and you held his gaze determinedly. 

The tension eased when Bucky looked away, his hand reaching across the table, palm up, waiting patiently for you. After a brief moment of hesitation, you slid your fingers into his palm, and your hands folded together. Warmth spread through your body and curled up deep in your heart as Bucky caught your eye again, both of you smiling at each other.

For the next hour, you sat at that little table in your favorite coffee shop with Bucky, getting to know him and learning more about his life. You discovered he had a best friend named Steve Rogers who’d been watching his apartment for the last year while he’d been living with you. He was the friend Bucky had served in the army with and he told you plenty of stories from their childhood. 

At the end of your date, Bucky gave you his phone number, and texted you before you’d even gotten home to plan another outing. All day, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, and you couldn’t help your thoughts from wandering back to your Russian Blue shifter. 

Bucky had given you a Halloween trick and a Halloween treat, and he was giving you the space you needed to wrap your head around everything. Still, you couldn’t wait to see him again, to continue getting to know him, and to learn everything there was to know about him and what he was.

Over the months that followed Halloween, you and Bucky went on plenty of dates, taking things slow. But it wasn’t too long before you dragged him back to your apartment, needing to feel him again—all of him. Like he’d wanted, you slept in his shirt that night, and he purred happily, telling you how much it meant to him for you to smell like him. 

That night, you fell asleep curled up in Bucky’s arms the way he’d slept for so many nights when you’d thought he was only a cat. And it was the first night of many that you slept in your bed together with Bucky in his human form.

Eventually, Bucky officially moved in, and you learned what it meant to be mated to a shifter, though Bucky didn’t give you your mating bite until you’d been dating for a few years. He’d said he wanted to do things the normal way, and apparently that was normal for shifters, even though you were practically begging him to mate you by the time he obliged.

Although your relationship with Bucky began in a very strange way, you took the time together to truly get to know each other. He showed remorse for hiding from you for so long and worked to gain your trust. By the time the two of you were mated, you knew he was the one for you. 

James Bucky Barnes was the one you would’ve chosen even if you hadn’t woken up to him sleeping naked in your bed on that fateful Halloween night.

halloween fics masterlist

I love how you articulated the complexity of the reader’s feelings towards Logan. I particularly appreciated how the reader did not just fall into Logan’s arms at the expense of their own complicated emotions. You gave both characters space to work through their own battles and even in the end, you perfectly depicted how healing is an ongoing process. This piece was so raw and REAL! Thank you for that!❤️

Empath

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, some fluff, reader has empath powers, logan is a softie, mutual pining, xavier cameo, no y/n used, no reader description

You have empath powers leading you to get overwhelmed around Logan so you try to avoid him until you realize you can't.

prompt idea from @Silverskyeline from their logan promptober: #5-longing

“Just stop!” Your voice rang out, sharp and desperate as if you could somehow silence the whirlwind inside your mind. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, knuckles white, but it did nothing to hold back the wave of emotion crashing over you.

Xavier’s voice, calm but firm, echoed softly in your head. "You must fight it. Control it. The emotions will consume you if you don’t."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you, but it didn’t ease the storm raging inside. For months now, you had been fighting—struggling to control the empathy that threatened to pull you under. Every emotion, every fleeting thought from the people around you clawed at your mind, but none had hit you like his.

Logan.

You hadn’t expected this when you first walked through the mansion’s doors. Sure, you knew the man was intimidating, with his broad, rugged features and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to cut through every defense you had. You didn’t know how deeply he carried his pain. You didn’t know it would bury itself in your chest the moment his gaze locked on yours.

The first time you saw him, the world shifted. A fire had sparked under your skin like something about him was too much—too raw, too intense. And then it happened.

His emotions—heavy, bruised, and relentless—flooded your mind, unfiltered and overwhelming. The sheer weight of his misery and anger, the years of grief, regret, and heartache, hit you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. You had felt your powers spiral out of control, dragging you under. Every wall you’d carefully built around your mind shattered in an instant.

Now, standing in the quiet of the mansion, it was happening again. You could feel him—sense him even though he wasn’t in the room. The memory of his pain clung to you, thick and suffocating, threatening to drown you if you didn’t find a way to shut it out.

“Focus,” Xavier’s voice urged, the gentle command reverberating in your mind. “Feel, but don’t let it overwhelm you. You can control it.”

You tried. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to breathe through the rush of emotions, through the heat rising in your chest. But it wasn’t enough. You could still feel Logan’s anger simmering beneath the surface, his anguish, the weight of the world pressing on him—pressing on you.

A choked sound escaped your throat as you gripped the edge of the desk, your fingers digging into the wood. “I can’t—” you whispered, the words barely audible, thick with frustration.

Xavier’s presence in your mind was steady, unshakable. “You can. You must. Find the source. Recognize it. Let it pass through, not into you.”

How could you? Logan’s presence lingered, as if he was right there, behind you—watching, waiting. You could almost hear the gruff edge of his voice, feel the weight of his stare, the way his emotions cut through your defenses without even trying. How could you separate yourself from something so powerful, so consuming?

Images of Logan flashed through your mind—those haunted eyes, the lines of worry etched into his face, the silent weight he carried with every step. You had never meant to connect so deeply with him. But it was there. The moment you’d let your guard slip, his entire being had flooded your senses, and you hadn’t been able to push him away since.

The room spun around you, the air thick with tension. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you fought to regain control, fought to suppress the storm Logan had stirred up within you. It was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

Then, there was a knock. The sound reverberated through the room like a lifeline, cutting through the chaos in your mind. You turned sharply, eyes wide, heart pounding in your chest.

The door creaked open, and there he was. 

He stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room with the same intensity you had felt from the moment you’d met him. His expression was unreadable, his gaze hard but searching as it locked onto you. Even from across the room, you could feel the weight of him pressing against your mind—the grief, the anger, the quiet torment that lived inside him.

It hit you like a tidal wave again, but this time, you couldn’t hold it back. You gasped, clutching the edge of the desk for support as your knees nearly buckled.

Logan’s brow furrowed, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he stepped forward, the scent of earth and steel following him. “What’s wrong?” His voice was low, rough like gravel, but there was something else there—something softer.

You couldn’t answer. The emotions swirling within him, within you, were too strong, too overwhelming. All the pain, all the years of torment—it was like reliving them through his eyes.

“Focus,” Xavier’s voice broke through, firm and steady. “Don’t lose yourself. Not to this.”

You couldn’t focus. Not with Logan standing so close, his emotions bleeding into yours, his pain threatening to swallow you whole.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he moved closer, his rough hand reaching for yours. “Hey.” His voice was quieter now, the edge of his frustration replaced with something else. “Look at me.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the world narrowing to just you and him, his hazel eyes burning into yours. For a brief moment, the chaos inside you stilled, as if Logan himself was anchoring you, pulling you back from the brink.

“You’re okay,” Logan murmured, his voice low but certain, that rough edge softened by the weight of his concern. His hand lingered near yours, a tether in the storm. For a split second, it almost felt like you could breathe again like maybe he was right.

But the chaos inside you flared again, pulling you under. You shook your head, getting to your feet and backing away from him, the words catching in your throat. “I can’t—” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper as you tried to pull yourself together. Panic clawed at your chest, the emotions too thick, too heavy. You couldn’t stay there.

Without waiting for Logan’s response, you turned on your heel, stumbling out of Xavier’s office. The door closed behind you with a soft click, but it wasn’t enough to shut out the swirl of emotions still raging inside your mind.

Why? Why, after all this time, did one person—one man—have so much control over you?

You could still feel the echo of Logan’s presence, like a heavy weight pressing against your ribs, his emotions lingering in the air around you. Every time he was near, it was like drowning in his pain, his raw grief and anger consuming you, pushing everything else aside until there was nothing left of you but him.

Your breath came out in ragged bursts as you hurried down the hallway, each step echoing louder than the last. You wiped at your eyes, trying to shake the way Logan’s voice had clung to you, how his gaze had burned through every defense you’d tried to put up.

It wasn’t fair.

You barely knew him yet the moment you’d felt his emotions, it had been like stepping into a fire—intense, all-consuming, impossible to ignore. You hadn’t been the same since.

I have to stay away from him, you thought, quickening your pace. It’s the only way.

Logan wasn’t just any person. His pain, his grief—they were too strong, too heavy for you to handle. You’d spent years trying to control your powers, fighting for some semblance of balance, and then Logan showed up and tore through all of it like it was nothing. He didn’t even have to try. His very presence was enough to unravel you.

You slowed as you reached the garden, the cool air hitting your face like a shock, grounding you just enough to steady your breath. You stood there, gripping the railing, your knuckles white as you tried to compose yourself.

The thought of avoiding him entirely seemed like the only solution. You couldn’t be near him without feeling everything—his loss, his frustration, his anger. It was too much. Too overwhelming. And if you were honest with yourself, it wasn’t just the emotions he stirred up. It was how he made you feel.

There was a flicker of something more—something dangerous—beneath all that pain. Something that tugged at you, pulled you closer, even when every part of you screamed to pull away. It was as though you were drawn to him, even knowing the storm he carried.

But it didn’t matter.

You couldn’t afford to get lost in someone else’s emotions. You had to focus on control, on yourself. The only way to do that was to avoid Logan—no matter what it took.

The mansion was a labyrinth of memories, of people who knew too much, and you didn’t have time to linger. You needed space. Distance. You needed to get as far away from Logan’s pull as possible before you lost yourself completely.

With a deep breath, you turned, determined to put as much distance between you and Logan as you could.

You kept your distance, retreating into yourself as the days blurred together. The mansion, once a place of refuge, now felt like a maze you couldn’t escape—every hallway, every room seemed charged with the lingering presence of Logan. His scent, his voice, even his silences weighed on you, making it harder and harder to breathe.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him. Quite the opposite. That was the problem.

You avoided him at all costs. If you heard his boots echoing down the hallway, you’d slip into the nearest room, pressing your back against the door until the sound faded. At mealtimes, you sat far from him, your eyes focused anywhere but on the seat he occupied. You even rearranged your training schedule, hoping to avoid crossing paths in the Danger Room. It was exhausting, but it was the only way you knew to protect yourself—from his emotions, from your own.

Logan noticed.

At first, it was small things—his eyes lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his brows furrowed in quiet confusion whenever you abruptly left a room. You caught him staring more than once, his expression dark and unreadable, but you never stayed long enough to figure out what he was thinking.

He didn’t chase you, though. Not at first. Logan wasn’t the type to force a confrontation unless he was pushed to it. But you could feel the shift, the tension between you growing thicker with every passing day. Every time you turned away, every time you avoided his gaze, the air seemed to crackle with something unsaid, something unfinished.

And it hurt.

You didn’t want to admit it—not to yourself, not to anyone—but each time you pulled away, it hurt. There was a part of you that longed to be near him, despite the chaos he stirred inside you. A part that craved his presence, even as it terrified you.

But it was safer this way. You couldn’t handle the storm that followed Logan wherever he went. His emotions were too raw, too powerful, and you knew if you let him get any closer, you’d lose yourself in them completely.

Xavier, of course, noticed everything.

He had tried to help, guiding you through your training, and offering advice, but even his calm voice in your mind couldn’t quiet the turmoil. He’d seen the way your eyes darted away from Logan’s, the way you tensed whenever you sensed him nearby.

“You’ve been avoiding Logan,” Xavier said one afternoon, his tone gentle but firm as he spoke to you in his office. His eyes were kind, but you could see the concern behind them. “It’s not a solution, you know.”

You sat across from him, your fingers twisted tightly in your lap, avoiding his gaze. “I just… can’t be around him,” you said softly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Every time I’m near him, I feel everything. His pain, his anger—it’s too much, Professor.”

Xavier’s expression didn’t waver, his hands folded neatly on the desk. “I understand, but pushing him away won’t help you gain control. If anything, it might make things worse.”

You bit your lip, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. He wasn’t wrong. You knew that. But how could you explain that it wasn’t just Logan’s emotions you were afraid of? It was your own. The way your heart raced whenever he was near, the way you felt that magnetic pull to him despite everything. How could you be expected to control your powers when you couldn’t even control the way you felt about him?

“I think… I think it’s best if I leave the mansion,” you said suddenly, the words surprising even you. They hung in the air between you and Xavier, a tangible weight.

His brows furrowed in concern, but he remained calm. “Leave? Do you truly believe that will help you? Or are you running from something else?”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “It’s the only way I can keep my distance. I’m not… I’m not strong enough to handle this. Not yet.”

Xavier studied you for a long moment, his gaze steady, but you could feel his hesitation. “If you leave, you may be running from the very thing that will help you grow. You’re stronger than you think.”

You shook your head, standing abruptly, unable to meet his eyes any longer. “I don’t know if I am.”

The moment you left his office, the weight of your decision pressed down on you. Could you really leave the mansion? Could you walk away from everything—everyone—including Logan? The thought gnawed at you, but it felt like the only way to escape the endless pull toward him.

Later that night, you found yourself in the garden again, seeking solace in the quiet. The cool air wrapped around you as you sat on the stone bench, your fingers tracing the worn surface beneath you. Even here, alone under the stars, you couldn’t escape the thought of him.

And that’s when you sensed it—him.

He stood at the edge of the garden, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light. His presence washed over you like a wave, the emotions swirling in the air before he even said a word. You could feel his confusion, his frustration—his longing.

He stepped forward, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he approached. You kept your gaze on the ground, unable to face him, but you felt him sit beside you on the bench, close enough that the warmth of his body cut through the cool night air.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Logan said, his voice low, rough with the hint of something else—something more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before.

Your heart raced in your chest, but you didn’t look at him. “I had to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s too much.”

Logan let out a slow breath, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words, until finally, Logan spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them sinking into your skin. He wasn’t just talking about your powers. He was talking about you. About the pull that existed between the two of you, the connection that scared you more than anything.

“I can’t…” you started, your voice trembling. “I can’t handle it.”

Logan turned his head, his gaze burning into you, even though you still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I never asked you to,” he said quietly, but there was something raw in his voice, something that made your chest ache. “But you’re not the only one trying to figure this out.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the vulnerability in them cutting through the defenses you had so carefully built. Slowly, you turned your head to look at him, your eyes finally meeting his.

And there it was—the storm in his eyes, the same one you felt every time you were near him. But beneath it was something softer, something that made your heart tighten. Logan wasn’t just frustrated. He wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. He was longing for something too.

For you.

“I don’t know how to be around you without losing myself,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I feel everything when I’m near you.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his expression shifting into something gentler, something you hadn’t seen before. “You’re not gonna lose yourself,” he said, his voice rough but certain. “Not with me. Just focus on my voice.”

The air between you was heavy, charged with the weight of everything you hadn’t said. You could feel it—both the fear and the pull, the undeniable connection that had been there since the moment you met.

For the first time, the thought crept into your mind—maybe it was worth the risk. The pull between you and Logan was undeniable, a tension that lingered in the air every time you were near him. Even now, as that thought took root, fear churned in your chest.

Logan sat beside you, not pushing, just there—steady, grounding, the quiet force of his presence like an anchor in the storm swirling inside you. His silence wasn’t demanding, but it was full. You could feel him waiting, his gaze heavy on you, the heat of it sinking into your skin.

You closed your eyes, turning away from him as the ache in your chest grew sharper. “You carry your grief so strongly,” you whispered, the words barely loud enough to be carried by the night air. The cool breeze brushed against your face, but it did nothing to ease the heat rising inside you, a mix of your own emotions and his. “Even now… even when everything’s still, I can feel it.”

You opened your eyes and looked down at your hands, fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench. “It invades my skin.” Your voice wavered, raw with the weight of the truth you were trying so hard to avoid. “I can usually turn it off—control it—but with you... it’s different.”

Logan’s breath hitched beside you, and though he didn’t say anything, you could feel the shift in him—the tension winding through his body. His emotions pressed against yours, not in words but in the way his presence seemed to swell around you, pulling you closer despite the distance you tried to create. You didn’t need to see his face to know that what you were saying was cutting deep.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. The garden felt smaller, the night sky above pulling tighter around you.

Logan’s voice, when it finally came, was low, gravelly—almost a rasp. “I don’t mean to... put that on you.” He shifted slightly beside you, the movement was subtle but full of unspoken frustration, the kind that came from years of living with a weight too heavy for one person to carry alone. “I don’t want to make this harder for you.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. His broad shoulders were hunched, his hands resting on his thighs, the tension in his body barely restrained. His jaw was clenched, the lines of his face etched with the same pain you’d been drowning in ever since you’d met him.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you spoke the truth you’d been avoiding for months. “You just are, Logan. You exist, and I feel it. All of it.”

He looked at you then, his hazel eyes catching yours in a way that made your breath stutter. The intensity of his gaze was like a flame, burning through every wall you’d tried to build. His pain, his anger, his longing—they were all there, swirling in those dark depths, and you couldn’t look away. It was as if he was letting you in, showing you everything he’d been holding back. The grief, the years of loss, the way he’d been carrying you in his thoughts ever since you came into his life.

Beneath it all, there was something else—something that made your pulse quicken and your chest tighten. Longing. Desire.

Logan’s hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and close the gap between you, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was, watching you, waiting for something—anything—from you.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “It’s too much,” you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice. “I can’t handle it.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to argue, to tell you it wasn’t too much, that you could handle it. But he didn’t. Instead, he shifted again, his hands curling into fists on his knees. The restraint in his posture was palpable, and the weight of it made the air between you thick with tension.

“I’m not askin’ you to take this on,” he said quietly, his voice strained, rough with emotion. “You don’t have to carry what’s mine.”

“But I do,” you shot back, your voice breaking with the frustration and helplessness that had been building inside you for weeks. “I don’t have a choice, Logan. I feel it. Every time I’m near you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched you, and for a moment, you thought he might get up and leave. Yet he stayed, his gaze locked on yours, the intensity in his expression nearly unbearable.

“I don’t want you to go through that,” he muttered, his voice barely above a growl. “Not because of me.”

There it was—the vulnerability he never let anyone see, laid bare before you. The weight of his words sank into your chest, and for a split second, you wanted to reach out to him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That none of this was his fault. The fear that had been gnawing at you for so long kept you rooted in place.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of the decision you were making. “I can’t do this.”

Logan looked up at you then, his eyes shadowed, a flicker of hurt passing through them. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes—raw, unguarded—said enough. You had made your choice, and it was like a blade between the two of you.

You stood up abruptly, your legs shaking beneath you as you took a step away from the bench. Logan’s eyes followed you, the pain in his gaze unmistakable, but he didn’t try to stop you. He just watched, his hands still curled into tight fists on his knees.

“I need to go,” you murmured, not trusting yourself to look at him again.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest as you left him sitting there, alone in the garden. The weight of his emotions still clung to you, heavy and suffocating, but you kept moving, forcing yourself to put distance between yourself and the man who had come to mean too much.

As you disappeared into the shadows of the mansion, you could still feel his gaze on your back, the unspoken words between you hanging in the air, thick and unresolved.

Months passed, and the space between you and Logan became a chasm neither of you dared cross. The mansion, though vast, felt smaller with the constant tension that hummed beneath the surface, the unspoken feelings and unresolved emotions hanging in the air like thick fog. You threw yourself into your training, determined to master your powers, to gain control over the chaotic swirl of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you at every turn.

Xavier had been patient, his calm voice a constant guide in your mind, helping you learn to block out the noise—the steady hum of other people’s emotions, their happiness, their pain, all of it—and reclaim your sense of self. It wasn’t easy. Each day felt like a battle, but slowly, the tide was turning. You were getting better. Stronger.

Through it all, you kept your distance from Logan.

It wasn’t hard, at first. He gave you space, honoring the silent agreement between you, and though your chest tightened every time you sensed him nearby, you resisted the urge to look at him. You had learned to anticipate the shift in the air when he was around, a subtle awareness of his presence that you couldn't escape. But you didn’t let it show. You couldn’t.

Logan, for his part, had kept his word. He didn’t force himself into your space. He didn’t approach you with questions and didn’t push for answers. He remained a ghost in the background—silent, watchful, but never overstepping the boundaries you had set.

Still, something in the air had changed. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but you felt it every time he passed by, or when you caught glimpses of him training in the distance. He seemed quieter, more composed, as though the weight he carried had shifted ever so slightly.

One afternoon, as you were walking through the corridors of the mansion, lost in thought, you sensed Logan before you saw him. The air felt heavier, tinged with something familiar yet different. You paused for a moment, heart quickening, your mind bracing for the usual wave of emotions that always came with his presence.

But this time… it was different.

You glanced up, your eyes landing on him as he approached from the other end of the hallway. His gaze caught yours briefly, and for a moment, the world seemed to be still. He looked... calmer, more at ease than you’d seen him in months. The tension that usually clung to him like a second skin was still there, but it was muted like he had found a way to hold it back.

You blinked, your heart beating a little faster as you took him in. There was something different about him, something you couldn’t quite place. You could still feel the undercurrent of his emotions, but they weren’t pressing down on you the way they had before. They were quieter and more controlled.

Logan slowed his pace, his eyes flickering over your face, studying you as if he were searching for something. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could sense the change in him. It was subtle but unmistakable.

He stopped in front of you, the space between you suddenly feeling much smaller than it had in months.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and rough, but there was something softer underneath. The usual edge in his tone was absent.

"Hey," you replied quietly, unsure of what else to say. Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your senses still on high alert, but the overwhelming tidal wave of his emotions you expected never came. It was like a dam had been built between you and the storm that usually surrounded him.

There was a brief silence, thick with unspoken things. Logan’s gaze didn’t waver, and the longer you stood there, the more you realized how different this felt.

“You seem…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. “You seem different.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes but softened his expression. He nodded slightly, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you recognized from all the times he’d been uncomfortable and vulnerable.

“I’ve been working on it,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “On myself.”

You blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Logan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he spoke. “After everything… after the way I made you feel, I figured maybe it was time I got my shit together.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to you. “I didn’t wanna keep unloading all my baggage on you.”

Your heart squeezed painfully at the raw honesty in his voice. He was always guarded, always hiding behind layers of anger and pain. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed... stripped down. Bare.

“I didn’t know you were...” You swallowed, trying to find the words. “I didn’t know you were doing that for me.”

Logan’s eyes softened, his expression serious. “You didn’t ask for any of this,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t take away what I’ve been through, and I know I can’t stop feeling the shit I feel, but... I’ve been trying to keep it under control. For your sake.”

You stared at him, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. He had been working on himself—not just for him, but for you. So that his emotions wouldn’t overwhelm you. So that you wouldn’t have to carry the weight of his pain.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice.

Logan’s jaw clenched, but there was no anger there—only resolve. “Yeah, I do. I hurt you, and I don’t wanna do that again.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a mix of emotions flooding through you. The distance you had put between you and Logan had been necessary, but hearing him say that he had been working on himself, not just for his own sake but for yours... it stirred something deep inside you.

For months, you had been avoiding him, terrified of the connection that sparked between you every time you were near him. You realized that maybe things had changed. Maybe he had changed.

Maybe you had to.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you whispered, barely able to hold his gaze. “I’m still trying to figure things out.”

Logan nodded, his eyes steady, but not pressing. “I get it. I’m not askin’ you to jump into anything. Just... know I’m working on it. I’m working on me.”

You felt your throat tighten, the vulnerability between you suddenly too much to handle. Without another word, you nodded, offering him a small, grateful smile before stepping away.

As you turned to leave, you felt Logan’s gaze on your back, the same steady presence you had come to know so well. It felt lighter like you didn’t feel the need to run. 

The days passed slowly after your conversation with Logan, and though things between you weren’t quite the same, there was a new sense of ease. You’d catch glimpses of him in the hallways or outside in the courtyard, but this time, it didn’t send your heart racing with panic. You didn’t rush to hide.

You could feel the change in him—a calmness that hadn’t been there before. Though the air still hummed with something unspoken between you, it was different now. Less overwhelming. More... manageable.

You’d spent the past few days throwing yourself into training, trying to focus on controlling your powers. The Danger Room became your sanctuary. It was the one place where you could lose yourself completely—where you could practice blocking out the world and hone the control that had been so elusive.

This particular afternoon, the simulated environment was set to a barren desert, the harsh sun beating down on your back as you worked through a series of obstacles. You were panting, sweat dripping down your temples as you ducked behind a boulder, trying to steady your breathing.

You pressed your hands to the ground, feeling the earth beneath you, and closed your eyes, focusing on quieting your mind. Xavier’s voice echoed in your memory: "Feel, but don’t absorb. Let it pass through."

A sudden presence cut through your concentration—strong, familiar. You tensed, your senses sharpening. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His presence was unmistakable.

He stepped into the simulated environment, the door closing behind him with a soft hiss. You opened your eyes and turned, standing as he approached. His boots crunched against the desert sand, the heat radiating off his body as he drew closer.

“Mind if I join?” His voice was low, rough like always, but there was a softness to it—an offer, not a demand.

You hesitated, your heart beating a little faster, but the edge of fear you used to feel around him wasn’t there. You met his gaze, those familiar hazel eyes steady and calm. After a moment, you nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Logan gave a brief nod in return, stepping up beside you. He didn’t say much—he rarely did—but his presence was enough to shift the air between you. For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence filled only by the distant hum of the Danger Room’s mechanics. Then, Logan spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“You’ve gotten better.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the compliment. His eyes stayed on the simulated landscape ahead, but you could feel the sincerity in his words.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “Still a lot to work on.”

Logan grunted, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We all do.”

There was a pause, the weight of his words lingering between you. You stood side by side for a moment, the desert stretching out before you, the heat pressing down.

Without warning, Logan shifted into a fighting stance. His claws remained retracted, but his body was tense, coiled like a spring, his eyes watching you carefully. “Wanna spar?”

You raised an eyebrow, blinking at him in surprise. “You want to spar with me?”

Logan’s lips curved into a grin, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “What? You afraid?”

You snorted, shaking your head as you stepped into a stance of your own, facing him. “Not even a little.”

Logan’s grin widened slightly, and he gestured for you to come at him. You moved quickly, feinting to the right before striking low, trying to catch him off guard. But Logan was faster, sidestepping your attack with ease. You spun, swinging again, but he blocked, catching your wrist mid-strike. The strength in his grip was firm but controlled.

“You’re still telegraphing your moves,” he murmured, his voice teasing but not unkind.

You narrowed your eyes, pulling back and aiming a quick jab to his side. He deflected it again, but this time you caught the faint look of approval in his eyes.

For several minutes, the two of you moved in sync—an unspoken rhythm building between your strikes and his counters. Logan never fought with full strength, but there was a focus in his movements, a quiet determination. You could feel the way he was holding himself back, not to overwhelm you but to challenge you.

At one point, your foot slipped in the loose sand, and you stumbled. Logan moved quickly, catching you by the arm before you fell, his grip steady as he pulled you upright.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, but close—too close.

Your breath caught in your throat as you met his eyes, realizing just how near he was. His hand lingered on your arm, his fingers rough but gentle, and for a moment, the sparring session faded into the background. The air between you thickened, charged with something more than just the adrenaline of the fight. His eyes—those deep, stormy hazel eyes—locked on yours, and you could feel the heat of his body so close to yours.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice wavered slightly. You swallowed hard, trying to focus, but the pull between you was undeniable.

Logan didn’t let go immediately. His grip loosened slightly, but his thumb brushed lightly against your arm before he pulled back completely, stepping away.

You took a shaky breath, your heart still racing from more than just the sparring. You could feel the energy between you shifting, the air thick with unspoken things.

“I didn’t mean to...” Logan started his voice rough but laced with something softer, something hesitant. He glanced away for a moment, his brow furrowed as if he were searching for the right words. “I’m trying not to overwhelm you.”

You looked at him, feeling your chest tighten. There was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable beneath the gruff exterior he always wore. The man who had once flooded your mind with unbearable emotions was now holding himself back—for you. Trying to give you space, trying to be better.

“I know,” you said quietly, your voice softening as you met his gaze. “I can feel it.”

Logan’s eyes flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, standing there in the simulated desert, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. There was a tenderness in the way he looked at you, a quiet longing that tugged at your chest, stirring something deep inside.

The moment stretched, neither of you moving, both of you caught in the tension that lingered between you.

The familiar fear crept back in—just enough to remind you of the risks. Of what could happen if you let your guard down. You took a step back, breaking the connection, your heart pounding in your chest.

Logan noticed the shift, his eyes darkening slightly, but he didn’t push. He just gave a small nod, stepping back as well, though his gaze lingered on you.

“I’ll see you around,” he said quietly, his voice rough but sincere.

You nodded, watching as he turned and walked out of the Danger Room, his silhouette disappearing into the hallway.

As the door hissed shut behind him, you stood there, the simulated desert stretching out before you, but all you could feel was the lingering warmth of his presence.

Weeks had passed since that sparring session in the Danger Room, and though the distance between you and Logan had remained, something had shifted. You had felt it in the way your thoughts kept drifting back to him, in the quiet moments when you found yourself wishing he was closer. The intensity you had once tried so hard to avoid had softened, but the pull toward him had only grown stronger.

You were tired of running. Tired of pretending you could keep your feelings locked away. Because the truth was, you wanted him. You wanted Logan—his presence, his strength, his comfort. The way his eyes lingered on you with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The way he held back when you needed space, yet was always there, watching, waiting.

You couldn’t avoid it anymore.

It was late, the mansion quiet as you made your way down the dimly lit halls. Your heart pounded in your chest, each step carrying the weight of what you were about to do. The decision had been building for weeks, but tonight, you couldn’t fight it anymore.

You needed him.

You stopped in front of Logan’s door, your hand hovering over the handle as a rush of uncertainty washed over you. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if everything you had built up in your mind was one-sided? But then, you remembered the way he had looked at you in the Danger Room, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, how he had worked so hard to control himself—for you.

With a deep breath, you knocked softly, your pulse quickening as you waited. A moment later, the door creaked open, and there he was—Logan, standing in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable the moment he saw you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough like it always was. His eyes searched yours as if he could sense that something was different tonight.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You hesitated, your fingers twisting nervously at your sides. But you weren’t here to run away this time. “Can I come in?”

Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. As you crossed the threshold into his room, the familiar scent of leather and wood filled the air, grounding you and steadying the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet space. A single lamp dimly lit the room, casting long shadows across the walls. You stood there momentarily, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, his presence filling the room like a quiet storm.

“What’s goin’ on?” Logan asked, his voice gentle but filled with curiosity. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe as he watched you, waiting.

You took a breath, your heart hammering in your chest. This was it. The moment you’d been avoiding, the feelings you’d kept at bay finally rising to the surface.

“I’m tired of this,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice. “I’m tired of avoiding you. Of pretending I don’t feel this.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his posture stiffening slightly as your words sank in. He didn’t say anything, but the air between you crackled with tension, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

“I’ve been pushing you away,” you continued, stepping closer, your voice gaining strength as you spoke. “Because I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know how to deal with you—with how you make me feel.”

Logan’s gaze flickered, his arms dropping to his sides as he straightened. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he swallowed hard, but he didn’t interrupt. He just waited, letting you speak.

“I can’t do it anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, the vulnerability in your words making your chest tighten. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t care. I... I have feelings for you, Logan.”

For a moment, the silence stretched unbearably between you. The confession hung in the air like a fragile thread, and you held your breath, waiting for his response.

Logan exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something raw in his gaze that mirrored the longing you had been feeling for so long. He took a slow step forward, his presence filling the space between you, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough, barely more than a whisper. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, the intensity of his confession stealing the breath from your lungs. You blinked up at him, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

He took another step closer, his gaze burning into yours, and this time, there was no hesitation in his movements. Slowly, carefully, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek, his touch warm and rough against your skin.

“Logan...” you breathed, your voice trembling as you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver down your spine.

Logan’s eyes darkened, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he stepped closer, his body inches from yours now. “If you want this... if you want me... I’m here,” he murmured, his voice thick with the weight of his emotions. “But if you’re not ready, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No pressure.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight with the feelings swirling inside you. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce and tender kiss, a release of all the pent-up longing that had been building between you for months.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as the world seemed to fall away. The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotion neither of you had been able to express, but it was also careful—Logan holding back just enough, making sure not to overwhelm you.

But it wasn’t long before the rush of emotions became too much.

A wave of heat flooded through you, a tidal wave of longing and desire mixed with Logan’s own intense emotions crashing into you all at once. It was too much. Your powers flared, and you felt a surge of everything—his grief, his pain, his need—pressing into your mind.

You pulled back, gasping for breath, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself. “I—I can’t—” you stammered, your voice shaky as you stepped back, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Logan’s eyes widened, his hands dropping to his sides immediately, giving you space. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said softly, his voice calming, reassuring. He reached out but didn’t touch you, his gaze filled with concern. “You’re okay. We can take it slow. Whatever you need.”

You closed your eyes, your hands trembling as you tried to gather your thoughts, but Logan’s voice grounded you and pulled you back from the edge.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured, stepping closer, but still keeping enough distance to let you breathe. “You’re in control. I’m just here.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his steady gaze. The intensity was still there, but it was softer now, more patient. He wasn’t pushing. He was waiting.

“I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain. “I just... need time.”

Logan nodded, his eyes softening as he gave you a small smile. “You’ll get all the time you need, darlin’,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. “I’m not in any hurry. I’ve waited this long... I can wait a little longer.”

The tension between you shifted, the moment softening into something quieter, more intimate. You weren’t rushing. You weren’t running. You were just... together. Finally.

Omg I love this!

Well You Know Me...

Avenger!Bucky Barnes X Goofy!Villain!Reader

Warnings: Reader being an idiot and a flirt, no mentions of Y/N, Reader is a Female and a demigoddess who loves to cause chaos.

Bucky's feet echo along the darkened hall, it's quiet, too quiet for his liking but he keeps moving, he doesn't know why he agreed to come here, to find you, you weren't really a problem per say but you are still on SHIELDS watch list as a threat and after that Loki issue Bucky wasn't taking no chances with you. Bucky gets to a door, it's large and steel, it's nothing out of the ordinary but he's still not lowering his guard knowing you're around, who knows what you'll do. He pushes open the steel double doors and walks in, it's dark, the only light is coming from a purple light in the desk on the corner, he's tense and looking around, he walks in further and feels around for a switch and turns on the lights when he finds it. He has to give it to you, you really have this little evil lair of yours going, with the purple and black furniture, the over dramatic gargoyle statue over the fireplace. He only stares at it blankly.

"Oh what's this? New meat for me to play with?" Bucky jumps out of his skin and turns around quickly, his gun trained on you, he didn't hear you, at all, you just appeared behind him. You smirk and tilt your head, while nothing but mischief gleams in your eyes. "You must be James?" You step closer. "I would give you my name...but that takes the fun out of my game." Bucky just stares not saying a word, his gun still pointed at you and his guard is still up, he was expecting a fight but you just stared at him like a child with a new toy to torment, you had a plate of pizza in your hand and a soda pop in the other.

"What are you doing?" Bucky asks, his eyes narrowed and weary. You laugh and shake your head "I'm on break duh, Evil people need food to." You bite a slice of pizza and grin at him. "Want some?" You say, outstretching your arm to hand him the plate with a raised brow. "No. i don't want your pizza." He scoffs, a grumpy frown forming on his face. "Okay first off rude, i'm not black death, secondly can you please put your gun away, i'm not gonna bite you....Yet."

Bucky's eyes roll, this was gonna be a long night, a very long night....

Two weeks later... "Hey James!" Again you catch Bucky off guard when he walks into your lair, this time though he has you in a headlock and of course you're grinning like an idiot, "Save these tricks for the bedroom James, you haven't even bought me flowers yet." he scowls and let's go of you "Shut up brat, the only flowers you'll get from me is at your funeral is when i kill you." your jaw goes slack and for a minute it's quiet, before a large grin appears on your lips, "Holy shit, that was hot, i knew you could flirt." Bucky blinks, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, he's only known you for a week and you're already driving him up a wall. "Shut up." Bucky grumbles and pushes past you into your lair. "Where is it?" Bucky asks. "Where's what?" You ask innocently. "The gun, with the green squiggly things, that shoots fire, that gun?"

Bucky demands, and stares at you. "Ohhh...that gun, his name is Blaze, and i don't have it."

You lie, Bucky is unamused, and waits for you to tell him. "You won't intimidate me." Your arms cross over your chest and you smirk, i can't give you Blaze, he's the best thing ever created since ultron" You smirk mischievously and chuckle at the look on Bucky's face, until you cave. "Fine, if i give it, will you protect him? it took me forever to birth him." "I'm not promising anything" Bucky grumbles and holds out his hand as you place the gun in his hand. "I'm going now." Bucky turns on his heels and begins to leave but you call out to him. "You know, you could at least leave your phone number since you're taking my son."

you knew he heard as he left and you can't help but laugh. you knew these encounters wouldn't end anytime soon.

i will post part two soon. let me know if this is good🖤

Halloween and Loki?! MY FAVOURITE COMBINATION!!! This was so wholesome🤭

Guess Who? (Loki x GN!Reader) Halloween Oneshot/Short

Summary: You manage to convince Loki to come to Stark’s Halloween Party, but why were you so insistent he came?

Rating: All ages/SFW

A/N: just a fun little oneshot, kinda idiots in love trope, best friends who are oblivious they are in love, fluffy/humour

Divider by @whimsicalrogers

“What do you mean you’re not coming?”

“Well… it’s exactly what I said. I’m not coming. I don’t know what else it could possibly mean-“

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“A themed party with strangers in tacky costumes? A ridiculous dress code to which I will be forced to follow?”

“It’s fun!”

“It’s tedious.”

You pouted slightly, shoulders sagging a little as the God of Mischief leaned against the counter, his cup of freshly brewed tea steaming next to him. His arms folded over his chest, a brow raised as he looked at you, seeing the disappointment in your gaze.

Halloween.

It seemed you were rather excited about the yearly mortal tradition, whereas Loki… Well, you heard him. He thought it was ‘tedious’. Of course, Stark was throwing a party - shocker - and whilst you weren’t usually fussed about them, this one was different because it was Halloween. Plus, you may have spent far too long making your costume. Sure, you could’ve just bought one, but it gave you something to do in your free time and you were pretty proud of it.

“I thought Halloween would be right up your alley.” You quipped, raising a brow of your own in a silent challenge. “You don’t even need to dress up, you can just shape shift into something scary.” You paused, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Or you could just go like this.” You teased, gesturing towards him. “I mean, you’re pretty scary.” Loki tilted his head, biting back a smirk.

“Ha. Ha.” He breathed out, deadpan. You grinned, eyes crinkling before a sigh escaped.

“Come on, please.” You took a step closer, standing before him. “You won’t have to talk to anyone else except me, we can just stand off to the side and judge everyone’s costumes. I know you’ll love to do that.” You tried, trying to coax him into agreeing to attend the party. Loki narrowed his eyes slightly, picking up on some hidden agenda you seemed to have behind your encouragement.

“Why is my attendance so important to you?” He asked skeptically, making you shrug faintly, trying to appear casual. “Barton is choosing not to attend and yet, I don’t see you badgering him.”

“Because he’s taking his kids trick or treating!” You argued, seeing Loki roll his eyes. “Besides, we’re best friends-“

“I’m your best friend-“

“We’re best friends-“ You repeated, making Loki smirk as he reached round to grab his cup from the counter, turning slightly away from you to do so. “And I may have a surprise for you.”

Loki’s brows raised at those words, his actions pausing. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you once again. “A surprise?” He asked, curious as you nodded. “For me?” Another nod. Loki hummed lowly in thought, lifting his cup to his lips, taking a small sip. You watched him intently, tilting your head and batting your eyelashes ever so slightly. He had to admit, whenever you pulled that move it was hard for him to say no.

With a heavy sigh, Loki conceded.

“Fine.”

You let out a whispered ‘yes’ in triumph, a smile tugging at your lips. “But-“ Loki raised a finger. “I am not staying until god knows what hour nor am I to be expected to enjoy myself.”

“Seems fair.” You mused, unable to stop the small giddy shuffle of your feet as you cleared your throat. “I promise, it will be worth it.”

Loki stood outside your quarters door, dressed in a tailored all black suit. He refused to adhere to the costume dress code, it was bad enough he was going, let alone having to dress as some sort of ghoul, the undead or something else that was considered ‘spooky’ by the humans. Knocking, he could hear rustling movement behind the door, along with a ‘just a second’. Adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket, he glanced down the corridor, spotting the familiar figures of Wanda and Vision who had seemingly dressed up as a couple - although, the reference of their outfits was lost on him.

Whilst his gaze was turned, he heard the door click open, seeing your familiar figure out the corner of his eye before he turned to look at you.

Loki’s brows raised, lips parting as he took in your appearance. You were stood with a big grin on your face, arms spread in a ‘ta-da’ manner, clearly extremely pleased with your efforts.

“So… what do you think?” You asked, watching his face closely.

Loki blinked, blue eyes trailing over your form, trying to find the right words.

“You’re…” He muttered. “Me?”

Yes, you had spent the last few weeks putting together a very rough ensemble that was supposed to look like Loki’s Asgardian attire. The horns that sat upon your head had been made out of cardboard, painted gold and fixed to you via an elastic band that went around your head. The emerald cape looked like an old velvet blanket that you’d managed to clip together around your neck with a number of safety pins, draped around your all black one piece that you had decorated with gold paint for details. It was very makeshift.

You nodded your head to his question, the cardboard horns moving with you as Loki processed the sight before him. He didn’t know if he should be offended or flattered at first, before he saw the genuine joy in your eyes. And knowing you… He knew it was a compliment and not a jab.

“Well… It’s certainly…” Loki cleared his throat, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “A look.” He mused playfully. “How long did you spend on this?”

“Too long.” You replied wryly, letting out a small laugh, looking down at your attire. “A few weeks?” You shrugged.

“So, this is what you have been doing in your free time?” He asked, raising a brow as he gestured towards you. Another nod from you. “You spent hours putting this together? You could’ve just… purchased a costume though, correct?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to go as you.” You answered lightly, meeting his gaze again. There was sincerity in your tone, making Loki’s own gaze soften a fraction. “Halloween isn’t just about dressing as something scary or creepy-“ You began to explain. “You can also dress as something you like, or someone you admire or-“

“You admire me?” Loki blinked, surprise colouring his tone. You furrowed your brows, pausing.

“Well… yeah?” You replied, your words coming out in a ‘I thought that was obvious’ tone. “But not in a ‘wow, he’s a God, he’s so cool’ way, in a ‘that’s my friend and he’s kinda cool I guess’ way.” Your words made Loki let out a sound that was a mix of a scoff and a laugh. “I didn’t do it so your ego got bigger.” You added playfully, giving him a knowing look.

Loki couldn’t stop the slow grin that tugged at his lips, the sentiment that you had chosen to dress as him for the costume party was… strangely warming. “I’m afraid that’s the exact outcome this-“ He gestured towards your attire. “-has created.” He teased, leaning casually against the doorframe, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. You rolled your eyes in amusement. “In fact, I fear my head may be too big to get through the entrance to the party-“

“Uh uh- You said you were coming, so you’re coming.” You pointed up at him, tone stern, making Loki inwardly groan. “I accepted the fact you didn’t want to dress up and let you wear your Gucci suit.” You added, making Loki narrow his eyes into a playful glare. “It’s called compromise, Loki.” With a dramatic sigh, Loki conceded again.

“Fine.” He muttered, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Let’s go make people think I’m even more narcissistic than they already believe me to be.” He quipped, raising a brow. “Considering I will seemingly be in my own company for the evening.” He mused, smirking faintly as he eyed your costume once again. He had to admit, he was secretly… endeared by it. And you did look rather good in green and gold, not that he would admit that aloud.

“If I must attend this farce, it may as well be in company I can endure.” You lowered your voice, mimicking his way of speaking. “Myself, of course. Because my own company is far superior than any of you mere mortals.” You raised your chin, feigning haughtiness as Loki raised brow, tilting his head slightly. His features morphed into a look of amusement and feigned indignation.

“I do not sound like that.” He furrowed his brows, watching as you grabbed your bag.

“I do not sound like that.” You mimicked again.

“Please tell me you’re not going to do that all evening.” His amusement slightly faded, a hint of genuine concern creeping into his voice as he took a step back to allow you to leave your quarters.

“Don’t be absurd.” You commented, one last impersonation before you let out a laugh, closing the door behind you. “No, it’s exhausting being you.” You waved a hand, making Loki let out a breath of relief, hearing you begin to head down the hall. After a moment, he realised what you had said, his lips parting, brows creasing as he quickly moved after you.

“Uh- I don’t think ‘exhausting’ is quite the right word!”

Omg the longing and lifetimes of finding your lover only to lose them over and over again😭 You captured it all so beautifully and really had me in my feels the whole time!!! I loved this!

Til The Sun Turns Black

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

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

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

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

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

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

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

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

He nods once. “Precisely.”

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

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

His words sound insane. 

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

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

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

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

The Void was bullshit. 

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

Maybe. 

You weren’t really sure.  

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

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

Figure out a way back to him. 

Back home. 

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to. 

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

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

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

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

Just in case. 

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

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His silent encouragement is enough. 

You are not dying in the fucking Void. 

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

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

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

+++

You wake up in the cache. 

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

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

Logan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop!”

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

But you can’t think about it. 

Not now. 

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

Logan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

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

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

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

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

“And can you?”

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

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

Logan growls. “No.”

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

“I left him tied up in the van.”

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

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

“You’ve been living here?”

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

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

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

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

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

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could never deny him in any universe.

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

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

+++

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

The cabin is empty.

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

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

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

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

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

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

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

Logan huffs. “Probably not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then that’s where we go.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Really Logan?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enough,” you answer simply.

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am your home,” you reply softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

He nods once and that’s all you need. 

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

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

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome home.”

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.” 

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

I love reading this series🥹 Gets me all warm and fuzzy on the inside!

Happy Birthday

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

It's Logan's birthday and you surprise him with a gift. (This is pre-marriage).

read on ao3 or continue reading here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty...

Logan hated celebrating his birthday. After nearly two centuries of being alive, the day had lost any real meaning—just another mark on a calendar that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he had much to show for all those years, anyway, and he’d long since grown tired of people making a fuss about it. But the mansion had a way of making sure no one went unnoticed, and every year, without fail, someone would pull him into an impromptu celebration he hadn’t asked for.

So, when he woke up that morning and found the mansion unusually quiet, he figured maybe they’d finally given up. No "Happy Birthday" shouts from Bobby in the hall, no balloons taped to his door, no cupcakes left on the kitchen counter by Ororo. He shrugged it off, feeling a little relieved, even if there was an odd, hollow feeling in his chest.

By the time he finished teaching his second class, Logan’s mood had settled into its usual gruffness. He was just starting to clear off the chalkboard, the faint squeak of the eraser filling the room when he heard the familiar click of heels approaching from down the hallway. He glanced toward the slightly ajar door just as you appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small, secretive smile.

"Hey," you said, a little breathless as if you’d hurried there. "I was gonna stop by sooner, but…" You gave a half-shrug, your eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. "My class got chaotic, and then I had to—well, doesn’t matter."

Logan’s brow furrowed as he took in the sight of you, your arms tucked behind your back in a way that seemed almost... suspicious. "Why are you standin’ like that?" he asked, his tone gruff but tinged with curiosity.

You chuckled, stepping further into the classroom and finally bringing your hands forward. Resting in your palms was a small, neatly wrapped gift—a simple package, the paper a deep blue, tied with a piece of twine. "I know you hate your birthday," you began, your voice warm but a little hesitant, as if you weren’t quite sure how he would react. "But I thought… well, I thought you might like this. And before you say anything, yes, you have to open it. Complaints can wait."

Logan stared at the gift like it was some foreign object, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort. He didn’t reach for it right away, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as if trying to gauge whether or not this was some kind of joke. "You didn’t have to do that," he muttered, the words gruff and almost defensive. He wasn’t used to anyone making a special effort for him.

"Obviously," you replied, rolling your eyes playfully as you took a step closer, extending the gift toward him. "But I wanted to."

There was a beat of silence where Logan just stood there, staring down at the little package as if it held some kind of secret he wasn’t sure he wanted to uncover. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he reached out and took it from your hands. The paper crinkled softly as his fingers brushed over it, and for a moment, he just held it there, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

"Well?" you prompted, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. "Aren’t you going to open it?"

He gave you a look, half-exasperated, but there was a flicker of softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. "You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?" he grumbled, though there was no real bite to his words.

"Not a chance," you shot back, a smile tugging at your lips.

With a huff, Logan started unwrapping the gift, peeling back the paper with a mixture of impatience and curiosity. Inside was a small leather-bound journal, its edges slightly worn, like it was made to be carried on long journeys and tucked into coat pockets. The leather was a deep, rich brown, and the pages inside were lined, perfect for jotting down thoughts, sketches, or whatever might cross his mind.

He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb running over the cover as if testing the texture. "A journal?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

"Well, I figured you might need somewhere to put all those thoughts you keep to yourself," you said lightly, though your voice held a touch of sincerity. "Or sketches, or… I don’t know, angry rants about how annoying the kids are." You shrugged, your smile softening. "Thought it might come in handy."

Logan was silent, his gaze still fixed on the journal. His jaw clenched slightly, and for a second, you thought maybe he was going to brush it off with one of his usual gruff remarks. But then he looked at you, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes that caught you off guard—something unguarded, almost vulnerable.

"Why'd you…" he started, then shook his head, like he wasn’t sure how to ask the question. "No one’s ever really bothered to get me somethin’ like this," he admitted, his voice low and rough.

You took a step closer, your expression softening as you searched his eyes. "Well, I did," you said simply. "Because everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday, Logan. Even if you don’t think so."

He swallowed, the words throwing him off balance. He glanced down at the journal again, turning it over in his hands as though trying to understand what it meant. "I don’t know what to say," he muttered, the gruffness back in his tone as he tried to cover up the unfamiliar emotion creeping into his voice. "I ain’t exactly good at this… 'thank you' stuff."

You just smiled, a warmth spreading through you as you reached out and touched his arm, the contact grounding and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything, Logan," you replied softly. "Just… try using it, okay?"

He nodded, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours again, and for a heartbeat, the world outside the classroom seemed to fade away. There was a change in the air, something unspoken passing between you—an understanding of the beginnings of something neither of you had quite figured out yet.

Logan cleared his throat, glancing away with a small, awkward shrug. "You’re somethin' else, you know that?" he muttered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

"Good to know," you said with a playful glint in your eye. "Now, are you gonna keep standing there looking confused, or are you actually going to say 'thank you' like a normal person?"

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head as if to shake off the unfamiliar feeling of being cared for. "Thank you," he grumbled, though there was an unmistakable warmth in his voice. "Don’t know why you went to the trouble, but… I appreciate it."

You grinned, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

As you turned to leave the classroom, you glanced back over your shoulder, catching sight of Logan still standing there, his gaze fixed on the journal in his hands. His rough exterior seemed to soften, the hard lines of his face easing as he traced his thumb along the leather cover. There was a kind of quiet reverence in the way he held it, like he was trying to understand the weight of the gesture, what it meant to be remembered in this way.

You didn’t think much of it at the time—just a thoughtful gift, a small moment shared. But later you’d find out that the journal would become something he held onto, just like the lucky pen you had given him. It would stay tucked away in a drawer beside his bed, the pages slowly filling with musings and sketches, the cover worn from use and care.

It would become one of those little things that said more than words ever could—a quiet reminder that he was seen, and more than that, that he was cared for.

Nothing beats forbidden love🤭

draco malfoy x reader where the reader is in hufflepuf and they are in a secret relationship that suddenly gets discovered by someone

The cold stone walls of Hogwarts always felt warmer when you were with Draco, especially in this forgotten alcove nestled deep in the castle’s labyrinth of corridors. It was your secret hideaway, shielded by shadows, cloaked in silence. No one ever ventured this far, and it was perfect for moments like this—where time stood still, and the outside world ceased to exist.

Draco leaned against the wall, his Slytherin tie loosened, his stormy grey eyes locked on yours. The tension between you was palpable, not the dangerous kind but something far sweeter, something laced with longing. You stepped closer, drawn to him as you always were, your Hufflepuff robe brushing against his.

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to tell anyone?” you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell of your hidden world. Your heart raced as you waited for his response, hoping for a different answer this time.

Draco’s expression darkened, the softness in his eyes hardening like ice. He shook his head sharply. “No. It’s impossible,” he said, his voice clipped, his tone final. “Do you have any idea what people would say? What they’d think? What my father would do?”

The mention of his father sent a shiver down your spine. You knew Lucius Malfoy’s reputation, and you had no illusions about how he would react to Draco being involved with a Hufflepuff. But it wasn’t just his family. You could hear the unspoken names in his voice—the Slytherins, the pure-blood elites, everyone who lived by the old ways, who would never accept something as simple as love if it crossed House boundaries.

“But what if we—” you began, but Draco cut you off.

“No, listen to me,” he said firmly, stepping closer and gripping your arms gently but with enough force to make sure you understood. “My father would disown me. The Slytherins would turn their backs on me. Even the Hufflepuffs would start talking about you behind your back, saying Merlin knows what. You don’t know what they’re like, the things they’d say. I won’t let you be a part of that.”

His words hung heavy between you, sinking into your chest like lead. There was a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to push it down. You understood his fears, but it didn’t make the ache in your heart any less. You wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t care what anyone thought, but you knew him well enough to see that no amount of persuasion would change his mind. Not when he was this adamant.

You sighed, casting your eyes down to the stone floor, but Draco was having none of it. His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again. And for a moment, you could see it—the vulnerability in him, the conflict. He didn’t want to keep this secret forever, but he felt he had no choice.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek. His voice, though still guarded, held a note of tenderness that he rarely let slip. “But it’s better this way. For both of us.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned into him, letting the tension melt away as his arms wrapped around you. The kiss that followed was gentle at first, a slow reassurance that in this hidden corner of the world, at least, you were free. His lips were warm, contrasting with the cold, rough stone at your back, and you melted into him, all your worries dissolving as his hands threaded into your hair.

Time lost its meaning when you were like this. The castle, the students, the looming threat of being caught—it all slipped away. There was only the taste of Draco’s lips, the intoxicating heat of his body pressed against yours, and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync. His touch was more urgent now, his hands exploring, grasping, as though he could never be close enough, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you in case this was your last stolen moment together.

But then, the world came crashing back.

“Malfoy!”

The voice was sharp, cold, and unmistakable. You froze, the kiss breaking abruptly as Draco jerked back, eyes wide in panic. You followed his gaze and felt your stomach drop. Standing in the entrance of the alcove, his dark robes billowing like a shadow of doom, was none other than Professor Snape.

His expression was a mixture of shock and outrage, though his usually impassive face betrayed only the slightest twitch of surprise. His black eyes flicked between you and Draco, narrowing dangerously. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on you both.

Draco stepped forward slightly, putting himself between you and Snape as if to shield you, though you weren’t sure if it was more out of instinct or desperation. “Professor,” Draco began, his voice tight, trying to regain some semblance of control, “it’s not what it looks like.”

But it was exactly what it looked like, and Snape wasn’t fooled for a second. His gaze turned steely as his lips curled into a sneer. “Really, Malfoy?” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “Do enlighten me, then. What exactly am I looking at?”

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to have shrunk down to this one moment, with no escape in sight. What would Snape do? Tell the other professors? Inform your Head of House? Or worse—would he go straight to Lucius Malfoy?

The thought made you sick with dread.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, his cool façade cracking as he struggled for an explanation. But there was none. There was no easy way out of this.

Snape’s eyes bore into yours now, and you felt the weight of his disappointment, the judgment in his silence. You’d seen him angry before, with other students, but this—this was different. He wasn’t just angry. He was livid.

“I suggest,” Snape finally said, his voice low and deadly, “that you both return to your common rooms. Now. Before I decide to inform the Headmaster of your… inappropriate activities.”

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you nodded, too stunned to speak. Draco grabbed your hand for a fleeting second, squeezing it as if to say he was sorry—sorry for everything—before letting go. His mask was back in place, and without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the alcove, his back rigid, his expression unreadable.

You followed in silence, your heart heavy with the weight of your secret love, now more fragile than ever.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like at once.

Got me in the halloween spirit and shiiiii🤭😈

when in hell, do as the demons do

pairing: demon posing as a tattoo artist!steve rogers x tattooed!female reader (number and type of tattoos aren't specified but it's more than two)

summary: new york city tattoo parlors have a tradition of offering special deals on friday the 13th, but when you decide to try out a new shop in brooklyn, you get much more than you paid for—and end up selling your soul to a charming demon.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, monsterfucking, dubcon because magic, sex pollen elements, nonconsensual bonding, soul bonds, demon tricks, bdsm (no safe word but with check-ins), choking, sadism/masochism, pain play, very brief blood play, nipple torture, pussy spanking, face slapping, rough body play, finger sucking, dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), degradation kink, master kink, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, plaything), begging, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, biting, marking, cockwarming, aftercare, happy ending

word count: 14.5k

a/n: here's my first halloween fic for 2024! i came up with the idea on friday the 13th last month and liked it for a halloween idea so here we are! this is the fic i was talking about in my poll here, which helped me decide to make steve a demon, but i'm not great at world-building/magic-building so if the magic doesn't make sense, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write some sex pollen-y tattoo artist smut and it turned into a whole thing. this fic really got away from me 😬 whoops. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

halloween fics masterlist

The first time you heard the story—the urban legend whispered around New York City tattoo parlors—you were getting your second tattoo. You were young, but not so naive, and yet, when the woman named Wanda Maximoff told you the tale in her vaguely Eastern European accent, a chill raced down your spine. 

It went like this: There was a young person who wanted to get a tattoo, and they were lured into an unfamiliar shop on Friday the 13th by the special deals they were offering. (Where the shop was located in the city varied based on who was telling the story, but Wanda had said it was a small parlor tucked into an alley in the Bowery.)

The person in the story didn’t know the shop or the artist, but they were so enthralled by the artist’s beauty and work that they made the hasty decision to get a tattoo of a symbol they didn’t understand. It was the last decision they’d ever make, because by the time the tattoo was done, they’d been unknowingly enslaved to a dark force—having sold their soul to a demon.

When Wanda had finished the story, her piercing green eyes stared at you long and hard, her mouth twisted to the side as if she was stopping herself from saying more than she should. There was a warning in her expression you didn’t understand, and you hadn’t been able to stop the fear that burrowed into your heart. For a second—just a second—you’d believed the strange, witchy woman. 

Then you’d scoffed, laughing away your fear, and insisted the story must’ve been started by a grumpy old tattoo artist who was tired of the influx of customers on Friday the 13th. It was well known that most New York City tattoo shops had special deals every Friday the 13th, and you asserted the story was just supposed to frighten away naive tattoo novices who’d get something impulsively and regret it later. 

Wanda had pressed her lips together, an inscrutable look on her face, but only nodded once before returning her focus to your tattoo. In the silence that had followed, you’d been left alone with your thoughts, and you mulled over the story, repeating your rationalizations to yourself until you believed them. 

But a sliver of fear and intrigue remained for the rest of your session and when you were done, you were relieved to leave Wanda and her creepy story behind. Something like that—accidentally selling your soul to a demon when getting a tattoo—didn’t happen in real life, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to you. 

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until, of course, it did happen to you.

Over the years, you heard the story repeated time and time again in countless tattoo shops across the city, and the fear you’d felt listening to Wanda recount her version of the tall tale transformed into curiosity, then a dark kind of delight. It wasn’t something you wanted to push away, but to hold close to your heart, to cherish.

As you got older, you found yourself telling the story to younger folks when you crossed paths with someone who hadn’t heard it. And every time you told the story, you found yourself unconsciously replicating Wanda’s Eastern European accent, making the story as scary as you could. 

Each time you saw apprehension in the eyes of those you told the tale to, something inside you unfurled and grew stronger. You’d smirk when the tattoo novices scurried away, some leaving whatever shop you were in entirely, and a shiver would race down your spine, so much like the fear you’d felt when you first heard the story, but it was no longer that. It was a quiver of devilish mirth. 

You told yourself it was normal, how much fun you had scaring off the younger folks in the tattoo shops you frequented, laughing along with the artists you knew so well. You told yourself you were just taking part in tradition by repeating the story. You told yourself there wasn’t a darkness in your heart that was wakened by the story, and craved something you didn’t quite understand.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until you walked into Hell and your entire life changed.

Hell was the new tattoo shop that had opened in Brooklyn at the start of October, though you’d been hearing talk of it for months before then. You’d been curious about it, and the fact that none of your friends or any of the artists you frequented knew much about it made it all the more intriguing. They didn’t know who owned the shop or who was working there, and you were desperate to find out.

It wasn’t a conscious decision you remembered making, but late in the afternoon on Friday the 13th, you took the subway to Brooklyn, getting off at the stop closest to Hell. 

The day was brisk, the chill of autumn clinging to the air even as the sun shone brightly above the city. You wore a thick sweater, a skirt and some tights with your most comfortable boots to make the trek deep into Brooklyn, and you were glad for it. It was a longer walk than you’d been expecting, but pleasant enough while the sun was high.

By the time you made it to the shop, though, the sun was dipping low behind the brownstones of the nearby neighborhood and your cheeks were chilled from the crisp autumn breeze. It was a relief to see the red neon sign for Hell, and you skipped quickly down the last block to push through the door of the nondescript exterior.

You were met by a rush of artificial heat that made you smile, pleased by the respite from the frigid autumn air, which swirled around your ankles as the door closed behind you. The warmth of the parlor kissed your cheeks and thawed through your icy fingertips while you looked around. 

You were surprised to find that Hell was unexpectedly inviting. 

Inside, the tattoo shop was decorated in dark colors that fit the theme: inky blacks, vivid reds, luminous yellows and burnt oranges. But, though it could’ve been dreary, Hell looked alive and lived-in, with cozy black leather sofas in the waiting area, and artwork decorating much of the wall space. When you looked closer, you saw that many of the pieces depicted creatures of the dark. 

As you studied the artwork, you noticed a theme: Demons cavorting with human women, specifically fucking human women. You felt a tingle of something bloom between your thighs. The art was salacious and wicked, and yet, you didn’t feel disturbed by any of the imagery, only intrigued. Even a little bit aroused. 

A clearing throat pulled your attention away from the art and to the redheaded woman standing behind the counter. She asked if you needed help. 

As you approached, you noticed she was beautiful, and had a cold smile on her face, her green eyes watching you in a way that unsettled you. It took you a long moment to realize her gaze reminded you of Wanda, even though the women looked nothing alike. But you felt uneasy as you walked up to the counter.

Your smile was tentative as you inquired if the shop had any Friday the 13th deals, adding that it was tradition, just in case the woman was new to the city.

Her green eyes raked over your face in an obviously assessing look, and you felt like your heart and soul were being judged. You nearly huffed a laugh at the thought, because it was so ludicrous, but managed to keep still and remain expressionless while the woman stared at you.

After a moment, she smiled again and the expression was friendlier, like she was greeting an old friend. She introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff and apologized because all but one of the artists had gone home for the day since their appointments were done and they didn’t get too many walk-ins, being a new shop and all.

Just then, a man stepped behind the counter as if appearing out of nowhere—though, at the time, you rationalized that you’d simply been staring so intently at Natasha, you hadn’t noticed his approach. Without missing a beat, Natasha introduced the man as Steve Rogers, the owner of Hell and the only artist still around on that Friday the 13th.

“What willing sacrifice do we have here, Nat?” Steve asked, sidling up to the counter and pressing his hands on top to lean toward you. 

The first thing you noticed where his eyes—such a pure, beautiful blue that they looked like the perfect, endless sky. But as your gaze wandered over his face, you realized his eyes weren’t his only gorgeous feature. He had a strong brow that gave way to silky blond hair; a straight, sloping nose that led down to a pair of plump, pink lips with just enough of a cupid’s bow, that you wanted to lick it. 

A rush of warmth filled your cheeks at the thought and you dropped your eyes to Steve’s broad shoulders, pausing to admire the way they filled out his simple black t-shirt. His thick biceps were covered in stunningly intricate tattoos, all done in dark ink that contrasted with his pale skin. They extended down to his hands, still planted flat on the counter. 

As far as you could see, there was only a small space of bare, unadorned skin at the base of Steve’s throat—all the rest of him seemed to be covered in tattoos that snaked beneath his t-shirt. You wondered idly if his tattoos covered his whole body, eyes trailing down to the black jeans he wore, and quickly shoved the thought aside. 

Raising your gaze back to Steve’s face, you hoped your expression wasn’t giving away your thoughts, but the charming grin that spread across the hot tattoo artist’s face made you think he had an idea you were checking him out. And he liked it. 

“Or should I say,” Steve went on in a slightly lower, more rumbly voice, leaning further across the counter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He was close enough that you got a hint of his cologne—leather and firewood—and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, warming and tingling and yearning for him. “What sweet thing do we have coming to barter their soul for some new ink?” He winked at you, all charm, and you nearly swooned.

“I-I was just asking if you had any Friday the 13th deals,” you stammered, unsure how to act under the blinding light of Steve’s charm. You’d known and talked to your fair share of attractive tattoo artists in your life, but Steve was on another level. He was hot and alluring in a way you couldn’t put into words, which was how you found yourself blurting, “It’s tradition.”

Steve’s grin hitched higher, and he stared at you a second longer before ducking down behind the counter to rifle through the shelves. 

“Well, I’m not one to turn my back on the old ways,” he said, lifting his head to catch your eye. He gave you a look that made your knees weak, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you, before returning to his task.

Finally, he seemed to find what he’d been looking for and stood up, brandishing a piece of paper on which some simple tattoo designs were sketched. It looked like any other sheet of designs you’d see in any other tattoo shop, and you didn’t think anything of it, turning your attention back to Steve’s handsome face.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” he explained, crossing his arms and leaning down on the counter. 

The position made him slightly shorter than you, while emphasizing the expanse of his shoulders and the thick mucles of his biceps and the veins of his forearms. It was only because his hand pointed to the paper, pulling your attention away from his big body, that you remembered he was telling you something. 

“But if you pick from these, I’ll charge you $113—how’s that sound?” He raised his eyes to yours, and you noticed how long his eyelashes were. 

For a long moment, you just stared at Steve, your mouth slightly parted while you admired his beautiful face. You had the urge again to lick his cupid’s bow, and your body warmed pleasantly as you imagined doing exactly that. Sitting in Steve’s lap and licking him all over…

With effort, you managed to pull yourself from the tattoo artist’s spell, shaking your head to clear it while you processed what he’d said. The price he’d named was a typical deal for New York City, even with the Friday the 13th discount, so you nodded absently. 

“That sounds good,” you muttered, bending over the counter to look at the sheet of paper he was still pointing to. Even his hands were attractive, with skulls tattooed on the backs and other symbols you didn’t recognize decorating his knuckles. You couldn’t help but think his hands would make a pretty necklace if they were wrapped around your throat…

Shaking your head again, you furrowed your brow and forced yourself to focus on the paper with all the designs. There was some cute Halloween-themed stuff, like black cats, witch hats, ghosts and the like. There were also some stylized numbers, like 666, and a couple pentagram designs along with other symbols you recognized.

But the one that caught your attention was something you’d never seen before. It was made up of exquisitely delicate curving lines that formed what loosely looked like an infinity symbol. There were some twists to the design that made it look harsher, more archaic.

“What’s this?” you asked, pointing to the design that called to you and looking up at Steve. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, and your voice sounded awed as you went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A secretive, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips and he leaned in a little closer, his scent invading your senses and his breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“It’s a design of my own making,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate as he looked at you in a way that made warmth curl around your heart and trickle down to settle low in your belly. “It’s special—why, do you like it?”

It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull your gaze away from Steve’s, but you forced yourself to look back down at the paper, your finger tracing the sweeping curves and the sharp points of the design. 

“I do,” you said slowly, thinking about where on your body it might look nice. There was a spot on your ankle where you felt it would look good, like an anklet. But before you could get too attached to the design, you lifted your gaze, giving Steve a serious look. “It’s not a tribal symbol, or any kind of cultural appropriation, right?”

Steve placed a hand over his heart, like he was making a vow, and said, “I promise it’s not from any culture of man.” 

His strange answer piqued your curiosity, but you brushed your questions aside. Later, you’d understand his odd turn of phrase, but in the moment, you chalked it up to Steve playing into the theme of his shop. You figured anyone who named their tattoo parlor Hell would be a little peculiar, and you didn’t think it was a bad thing. Especially when he was so hot.

Looking back down at the paper, you let your eyes trail over the looping design a few times, feeling yourself sinking into…something. A thrilling shiver raced down your spine, a mix of delight and terror that you found intoxicating and you had to shake yourself to remember where you were and what you were doing.

Raising your eyes to Steve, you told him you wanted the design, and once the words were past your lips, you felt a sense of rightness. You weren’t the type of person to get tattoos impulsively, but this one was calling to you, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get a tattoo from the hot shop owner. 

Besides, when in Hell…

Steve slid the paper off the counter and stood up straight, his eyes going sharp as he looked between you and the design. You got the same sense you had with Natasha, that Steve was judging your heart and soul and determining whether you were deserving of the design you’d chosen. You found yourself hoping desperately that he decided you were.

After a moment, an impish smirk pulled at Steve’s mouth before his expression shifted fluidly into one of theatrical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, drawing out the tension of the moment and stroking his jaw like he was thinking. “I was hoping to save this design for someone special.” His blue eyes pinned you with a searching look, a charming smirk on his lips. “Are you special, sweetheart?”

Steve’s charm was turned all the way up, and you felt flustered under the weight of it. Not to mention that the way the pet name rolled off his tongue made you want to do anything he asked. Twisting your fingers self-consciously, you ducked your head a little. 

“Well, I—I don’t know,” you admitted, but for some reason, your thoughts strayed to the dark pleasure you sometimes felt when you frightened others with scary stories. Did that make you special, or just a little bit depraved? You didn’t know, but you hoped it was both, and that both were equally appealing to Steve.

The tattoo artist leaned back down on the counter, the veins of his forearms bulging from his skin as he crossed his arms. Since he’d ducked down, he could easily catch your lowered gaze.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he purred softly, his tone inviting you to lean in. So you did. 

A soft smile curled your lips when you smelled his cologne, and you relaxed a little while he kept talking in that alluringly deep voice of his. 

“Where would you like my design on your body?” 

A shiver of desire thrummed beneath your skin at the implication of Steve’s words. There was something so enticing about the way he’d phrased his question—his design on your body. It called to the darkness buried deep in your heart, and you began to suspect he somehow knew you were a little depraved. Like him. 

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you thought you saw something shift in the depths of his blue eyes, like a shadow passing in front of the sun. But it was gone just as quickly, and you questioned whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. 

Shaking yourself free of your strange thoughts, you finally managed an answer. “My ankle.” But it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, because you found yourself flirting with the hot tattoo shop owner, a smirk curving your lips as you went on. “Do you think my ankle would be worthy of your design, sir?” you asked with feigned innocence.

As you watched for Steve’s reaction, you were rewarded with the sight of his eyes darkening, his pupils blowing wide like he greatly enjoyed the fact that you were flirting with him. His mouth spread into a hungry grin and he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while he considered you, finally coming to a decision.

“Mm, I think your ankle is the perfect place for my design, sweet girl,” he rumbled, smiling to himself like he’d made a joke only he understood. Then his fingers were trailing lightly along the line of your jaw, distracting you with the tingling warmth they left in their wake as he stood up. “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he murmured enigmatically before pulling away.

Your mind was too frazzled by his touch and how bereft you felt without it to wonder over his words. Besides, he was already calling for Natasha, who emerged from the back of the shop to help you through the rest of the intake process. It was only then that you realized she’d left you and Steve alone at the counter a while ago. 

She slid smoothly in front of you with that friendly smile of hers while Steve retreated into the back to begin setting up. Natasha walked you through all the paperwork, none of which was new to you. That was why you felt comfortable not fully reading the fine print. 

You should’ve read the fine print. 

Once everything was signed, Natasha led you into the back and showed you where to stow your purse. She pointed to the privacy screen where you could take off your tights and boots, then helped you into the tattoo chair at Steve’s station. 

When you were settled, Natasha bid you and Steve a good night and grabbed her own things before leaving out the back door. It was a little abrupt and you were left feeling confused.

You asked Steve if the shop was closing for the night—it seemed a little early, especially for a Friday. And he explained that he’d decided to close the shop early since they had no more appointments and were unlikely to get any other walk-ins. 

For a moment, you fretted over keeping him late, but he waved away your concerns. 

“There’s no where I’d rather be than tattooing my design on you, pretty thing,” Steve murmured charmingly while he pulled on some black latex gloves. 

The earnestness in his voice soothed your anxiety and you relaxed back into the black leather chair, your legs propped on the footrest while Steve created a stencil of his design. Soon, the two of you were so engaged in a discussion about where exactly on your ankle to place the tattoo that you forgot you were alone with the handsome owner of Hell. 

After trying a few things, you decided to have the beautiful design lay across the front of your ankle, the sides wrapping around to the back so it’d look like a permanent adornment. You smiled when Steve complimented the placement you’d chosen and felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his praise. 

It all felt mostly familiar to you, someone who’d gotten a fair amount of tattoos in your life. But what you hadn’t been prepared for was the way Steve’s hands would feel on your body, the smoothness of the latex belying the warmth of his skin as he curled his fingers around the back of your leg to pull your foot onto his lap. 

Warmth cascaded from the top of your head down through the rest of your body in a gentle, tingling shower, settling heavily between your legs. You pressed your thighs tight together, both to stave off the ache that was building there and to make sure you didn’t accidentally flash the hot tattoo artist.

You weren’t looking at Steve’s face, your gaze tracing the dark black ink decorating his skin and curling beneath the cotton of his shirt, but you thought you saw something flicker over his expression as he took in your reaction to his touch. You almost thought you saw dark shadows creeping into his gaze, blotting out his blue irises and making him look…demonic. 

But when you flicked your gaze up to his, his eyes were a normal, glittering blue. You gave him a small smile and internally shook yourself, chalking up the moment to a trick of the light.

It was dim in the back room, with only a few warm lights positioned in Steve’s corner of the space. Natasha had closed up the rest of the shop, leaving you and Steve alone in the space, which was separated from the front by a wall and a doorway covered in a thick, maroon curtain. 

The walls of the shop were painted black and covered in more of the same artwork you’d seen in the waiting area. The main difference was all the tattoo equipment and the floor that was a bare dark wood, instead of the burnt orange carpet that covered much of the front room. 

Hell was dark, eerie and intimate, and you suspected the atmosphere must be getting to you, that was the only thing that explained what you’d seen in Steve’s eyes. Yes, that must be it, you told yourself, settling into the chair and letting Steve get to work.

The buzzing of his tattoo needle filled the silence and you prepared yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. Little did you know just how much pleasure you’d feel that night as well.

Nothing about the tattoo process seemed amiss until more than halfway through, when you began to feel a strange kind of tingling in your ankle where Steve worked, the sensation slowly creeping up your leg. It settled heavily between your thighs, making your core ache with a yearning emptiness as your slit leaked wetness into your panties.

It wasn’t painful, the tingling feeling, but it was unnerving, like it didn’t belong to you, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from. 

“Uh-uhm, Steve?” you started, a hint of a whine in your voice, though it was mostly drowned out by the concern you felt. You sat up straight, forcing yourself to ignore the urge to rock your hips and grind yourself against the leather seat of the chair. “Can we take a break? I feel…weird.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve purred, instantly pulling the needle away from your skin and wiping away blood and excess ink with a small towel. After he’d deposited the tattoo gun and cloth on his station, he turned back to you, blue eyes filled with concern as he removed his gloves. “You ok?” he asked, his warm hands massaging the back of your leg that was still draped in his lap.

The urge to moan at the feel of his bare hands on your skin was almost undeniable. It felt so good to have his strong fingers kneading your muscle and you flopped back into the chair, pressing your lips together to stifle the sound of pleasure that wanted to slip free. But you couldn’t stop the way your hips squirmed, your body aching for something… 

“I think so,” you said, finally answering Steve’s question with a tremulous smile. You still felt the odd sensation pulsing up your leg and slipping between your thighs, prompting a delicious throbbing in your core, but forced yourself to ask, “There’s nothing strange in the ink, right? Something I could be allergic to?” 

An allergy was the only explanation you could come up with, even though it didn’t really make sense. You’d gotten plenty of tattoos, surely you would’ve had an allergic reaction years ago if that had been a possibility. And the way you felt wasn’t like any allergic reaction you’d ever heard of. 

You looked at Steve with wide, imploring eyes, hoping he could make sense of what you were feeling.

He shook his head, his fingers working higher to knead the muscle of your calf, nearly pulling a moan from your lips that would’ve drowned out his answer.

“I promise the ingredients are all-natural,” he said, his tone earnest and reassuring. “There’s nothing that would cause an allergic reaction.”

Your head fell back against the leather chair, missing the way Steve’s mouth curved into a devious smirk, and tried to gather your thoughts. The strange tingling sensation had calmed, you thought, having been replaced by the feeling of warmth that Steve’s touch inspired. 

Shaking yourself lightly, you told yourself it must’ve just been the tattoo needle hitting a nerve or something. You’d never had that feeling before with any of your other tattoos, but it must’ve been something to do with Steve’s method. It hadn’t been painful, so it didn’t mean something was wrong. It was fine. You told yourself you would be fine.

“Ok,” you said softly on a sigh, letting yourself sink into the comforting massage of Steve’s fingers. Your body felt a little heavy, a throbbing desire pulsing in your core, but suspected it had more to do with the hot tattoo artist’s fingers than anything else.

Blinking your eyes open, you met Steve’s steady, patient gaze. 

“We can keep going,” you said, giving him a smile that you hoped looked brave.

You must’ve succeeded, because Steve’s mouth curved into a pleased grin and his hand slid higher up your leg and settled on your thigh just above your knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. His big palm on your bare skin sent a riot of sensation through your body, and when he squeezed you, you felt a mirroring clench of your inner muscles, your body aching to be filled.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured affectionately, his blue eyes glimmering with so much proud satisfaction that you felt your face heat and you ducked your head to hide a giddy grin. 

Steve gave your thigh one last squeeze before pulling away to put on a new pair of gloves and refill his tattoo needle.  While he worked, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh silently, your skin feeling much too cold without him touching you.

For the rest of the tattoo, you tried to sit still while the tingling warmth rolled through your body, settling deliciously between your thighs and teasing your throbbing core until you were dripping into your panties. You had the absurd urge to spread your legs, to beg Steve to fill you—with his fingers, his cock, anything, so long as it put an end to the ache pulsing insistently in your body. 

You tried to be good, to be still and quiet so Steve could finish your tattoo. But apparently you weren’t doing as good of a job as you hoped. 

“If you keep squirming, ‘m gonna have to tie you down, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, his head bent low over your ankle while he worked diligently. 

His voice was so low and deep, you swore you could feel it in your belly, the delicious rumbling tenor teasing your clit, and your hips shifted again, your thighs clenching tight against your needy slit. 

“Sweetheart,” he growled in warning, his hand gripping your foot firmly and tugging on it hard enough that you slid a few inches down in the chair. 

It took every ounce of your self-control not to whimper with desire at the evidence of Steve’s strength. Your imagination flooded with visions of him tossing you around in his tattoo chair, bending you over while he pressed his bulge into your ass or flipping you onto your back and folding you in half so he could pound into your pussy. 

A whine clawed up your throat, desperation flooding your body and making you want to writhe and beg and plead, but you bit it all back. Forcing yourself to be still, you asked, “Are you almost done?” in a tight, tense voice. 

“Almost done,” he confirmed, his voice soothing. He looked up briefly, giving you a rakish grin. “You can be good for me, can’t you, sweet girl?” 

Your heart lurched in your chest. It was all you wanted, to be good for Steve. So you nodded eagerly and tried to relax back into the chair. Your fingers were digging into the padded leather of the armrests and you pushed yourself deeper into the reclined seat, doing your best to ignore the heat and desperate, aching, insistent need pounding through your body.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said on a small huff, your eyes shut tight so you couldn’t see Steve’s reaction. Your voice was little more than a whine as you went on, “I’ve never felt like this.”

You heard Steve chuckle, the sound rolling over you like a deep, delicious wave. Then, just barely over the buzzing of the tattoo needled pressed to your skin, you thought you heard him say, “Just wait, sweet thing,” in a dark, ominous voice you hardly recognized.

But you didn’t have a chance to try to parse out what he meant, because suddenly, you felt the sensation of a cold, hard shackle closing around your ankle.

It felt so real, and so at odds with the sensation of Steve pulling the needle away from your skin, that your whole body jerked. Quickly, you sat up and stared down at your leg, but there was no metal cuff. Only the tattoo. Finished.

Fresh black ink shimmered from your skin, and you had a brief moment to appreciate the artistry of Steve’s work, the beautiful, intricate design of the symbol. The phantom feeling of a manacle wrapped around your ankle remained, and you looked up at Steve, finding him wearing a smug, devious smirk. 

You couldn’t make sense of his expression, and in the next breath, it didn’t matter, because the fire that had been simmering in your blood suddenly blazed into an inferno. You couldn’t help the pained cry that fled your lips as you fell back into the chair, desire burning a demanding path through your body and tearing through your mind. 

Your legs fell open on the leather seat, a pornographic moan slipping from your lips when the cool air of the tattoo shop brushed against your inner thighs. Your fingers tugged fussily at your sweater, trying to claw off the once-cozy garment that suddenly felt too heavy and constricting against your scorching skin. 

Your eyes swiveled in your head, seeking and finding Steve, who was standing beside the chair and staring down at you. His gaze was lit with a depraved fire and his mouth was curled into a delighted grin.

“Aw, poor little plaything, are you feeling hot and bothered?” he cooed at you in a mean, patronizing tone that was so at odds with the charming affability you’d come to expect from the tattoo artist that you felt like you’d been slapped. 

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Steve’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, his smile hitching wider, growing more hungry and more eager at the same time. Leaning over your squirming body, Steve stroked the tips of his fingers down your cheek.

Your body’s reaction to his touch was instantaneous. The burning, blistering pain of need calmed enough that it no longer hurt, and you chased Steve’s fingertips instinctively, associating his contact with relief. He let you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chuckling darkly when you sighed happily, your mind moving too slow to process what was happening.

“Should we get this cumbersome sweater off you, sweet thing?” Steve murmured, his hands curving around your shoulders before stroking down your sides. His thumbs brushed over the tips of your breasts and your spine arched off the chair, pushing into his touch, needing more. 

You were so hot, so achy, so needy, and you somehow knew Steve was the only one who could help you feel better. Distantly, you knew it was highly inappropriate to let your tattoo artist undress you, even one as hot as Steve, but in that moment, you didn’t care. His touch through your sweater wasn’t enough—you needed him to touch your bare skin. 

So you nodded frantically, whimpering, “Yes, please, Steve, help.”

The man laughed, a dark, evil chuckle rumbling from his chest. 

You didn’t understand what was funny, but you didn’t protest because his big hands slipped under the hem of your sweater and he touched you properly. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and rough against your belly. 

You sucked in a surprised breath when his touch sent sizzling tingles of pleasure through your body, gathering in your throbbing slit and making more wetness gush into your panties. 

If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve felt embarrassed over how wet you were from Steve sliding his hands up your stomach, but all you could do was revel in the pleasure his touch brought you. Your mouth curved into a delirious smile as you stared dazedly up at the supernaturally handsome man like he was the center of your universe.

Slowly, almost torturously, Steve slid your sweater up until it bunched above your breasts and he paused. His hands wrapped around your ribs, thumbs stroking over your skin beneath the band of your bra. He stared down at you, his blue eyes nearly glowing with hungry desire as his gaze raked over the lace containing your breasts.

Your chest heaved with your gasping breaths, and you took the moment to try to settle. The fire in your blood didn’t burn painfully with Steve touching you, but you still wanted—no, needed—more. Your hips squirmed in the leather seat and a whine clawed up your throat until it spilled free.

“Steeeve, please,” you begged, staring up at the tattoo artist with wide, imploring eyes. At the same time, you lifted your arms above your head and sat up a little in an effort to get him to pull your sweater the rest of the way off. Instead of spurring him to move, though, it had the opposite effect. 

Steve went still, closing his eyes like he was savoring the sound of your whining voice and begging words. When he opened them a moment later, they appeared darker—the soft, sky blue of his irises darkened to an almost midnight black, with inky swirls of darkness creeping in from the edges.

Then he blinked, and his eyes went back to normal. 

You were too distracted by your body’s need to think much about the fact that his eyes had gone nearly pitch black—that he’d looked, for a moment, like one of the monstrous demons from the art adorning the walls of Hell. 

Your delirious, desirous mind let the moment slip by unquestioned, instead focusing on your lust—and on Steve. 

“Lift up for me, pretty thing,” he cooed, his tone almost gentle despite the grit and gravel in his voice. 

You did as he said, lifting your back away from the chair so he could pull your sweater off, leaving you in just your bra, skirt and panties on his tattoo chair.

In the short moment when Steve’s hands deserted your body, the blazing inferno of need returned. You groaned in pain, reaching for Steve and latching on to his wrist. The burning sensation abated the second you touched him, but you didn’t stop there, dragging his hand back to your body and sighing in further relief when you pressed his palm to your breast. 

You didn’t know if Steve pushed you back into the chair or if you fell back and he followed, but he leaned over you, his big hands kneading your tits through your bra. A moan tumbled from you as you sank into the feeling, melting beneath his touch. It just felt so good—and the rougher he got, the harder he groped your tits, pulling and pinching on your nipples through the lace of your bra, the better it felt.

“That’s it, plaything, moan for me—let me hear how much you love it when I abuse your tits,” Steve growled, leaning so far over you that his head blocked out the light above the chair. His face was contorted into a greedy expression, his eyes sharp and hungry as he watched pleasure dance across your features. “You’re such a dumb little doll, you have no idea what’s heppening to you, do you?”

His tone was mean and mocking, but your body responded to the deep tenor of it all the same, wetness gushing between your thighs while your hips writhed on the leather seat, seeking something to grind against. 

Your mind was hazy with lust and pleasure and confusion. It took you a long few moments to understand what he’d asked and when you did, it sparked a bit of fear. But even that dissolved into pleasure and you moaned, your hands clinging to Steve’s wrists—not trying to pull him away, just anchoring yourself to him. 

“Wha-what’s happening to me?” you whined breathlessly, blinking your eyes up at Steve with an equal amount of uncertainty and trust. You still didn’t realize he was the reason for what was happening, but you’d come to learn that soon enough. Not that it would matter.

“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that,” Steve cooed, his tone changing so quickly back to gentle and reassuring, it nearly gave you whiplash. 

Still, pleasure swirled in your chest at the sweet praise in his words, even if they were more than a little condescending. A smile curled the corners of your lips, but you forced yourself to focus. There was something you wanted to know—something Steve knew, and you were determined to get the answer from him. You knew it was important, even if you couldn’t remember why.

“Steve, pleeease,” you whimpered, your words dissolving into a moan when he shoved the lace cups of your bra down and pinched your nipples harder, pulling and twisting them until your spine was arching up off the leather seat. It took you a long moment to remember your train of thought and continue on. “Tell me, Steve, please, I can handle it—what’s happening to me?” 

A wide smirk spread across Steve’s face and his eyes flickered with shadows that seemed to want to consume his gaze the same way he looked like he wanted to consume you. Bending over your squirming, twitching body, Steve’s face hovered just above yours, an evil kind of mischief in his expression. 

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll take it like a good girl?”

Images assailed your imagination—Steve shoving his cock deep in your cunt, growling at you to take it like a good girl while he fucked you like a bat out of hell. Steve pounding into your mouth, grunting his pleasure as he spilled down your throat and ordered you to take it like a good girl. Steve stretching your ass around his cock, smoothing a hand down your spine as he cooed at you in that meanly patronizing tone to take it like a good girl. 

A loud, debauched moan slipped from your lips as bliss pulsed through your body. It took you a long moment to push the images from your mind and gather your scattered thoughts enough to blink your eyes open and nod up at Steve.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said fiercely, knowing somewhere deep down that if you were a good girl for him, the visions you’d had would become a reality. And you wanted so badly for them to become a reality—at any cost. 

A devious, delighted grin spread across Steve’s face at your answer, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes. Then one of his hands let go of your breast and skimmed down your body, over your hip and down your leg until his fingers circled your ankle, just above the tattoo he’d given you. 

“This design you chose, it’s not just something I designed—it’s my mark,” he purred, putting emphasis on the last two words as if you’d know what that meant. But you still didn’t understand what your tattoo had to do with what was happening to you. His explanation just made you more confused.

“What does that mean?” you whimpered, your voice desperate and pleading. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be good for Steve and grasp whatever it was he was trying to tell you, but the meaning of his words was still out of reach.

“Think hard, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, his voice turning sweet in a way that had your belly swooping deliciously. 

When you still didn’t seem to understand, Steve’s hand slid down, his palm covering your fresh tattoo and you gasped. His touch against the mark felt like he was yanking on a thread that had been tied behind your belly button. It felt like you were tethered to something…to him, you realized. 

You were tethered to Steve by some sort of magic. The mark he’d tattooed on your skin had bound you to him…

All the air fled your lungs as comprehension sank into your mind. Your face twisted in shock and understanding, though the expression didn’t last long. 

“There it is, that’s my girl,” Steve praised, squeezing your ankle and pressing his palm more firmly down on the mark. 

The touch dragged a reluctant moan from you as pleasure swirled through your body, and you weren’t certain if it was your own or the result of the bond between the two of you. When you got control of yourself, you glared up at the devious tattoo artist, letting him see the betrayal written plainly across your face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, baby,” Steve rumbled, his other hand wrapping around the front of your throat and tipping your chin up while he bent down until there were mere inches between you. “You heard the story, and you ignored its warning.” He tsked at you, shaking his head when you only narrowed your eyes in anger. “You weren’t careful about getting tattooed on Friday the 13th and now you’re enslaved to a dark force—you’re enslaved to me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to react to that declaration, only closed the distance between your lips, covering your mouth with his own to steal a kiss. And, god help you, what a kiss it was. 

Steve’s mouth slanted perfectly to yours, his lips soft and seeking as they brushed against yours. His tongue flicked out, licking along the seam of your lips as if asking for entry, and you were helpless to the pleasure he offered. 

Your lips parted with a soft gasp, an invitation if ever there was one, and he wasted no time slipping in. Steve took possession of your mouth, plundering your body while his hands held you firmly pinned beneath him. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning into his mouth and kissing him back, your fingers plunging into his soft, blond hair and nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck until he was growling into your mouth. 

His hand around your neck squeezed harder, choking you lightly in retaliation for the bite of your nails and you pulsed with so much heat, you cried out sharply, the sound transforming into a whine of need. 

Steve nipped your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery taste mixed with the heat of his tongue as he licked it from your mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, you could see the traces of red staining his lips—though that wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight of his eyes. 

Writhing shadows had blotted out the blue irises of his gaze, leaving only two fathomless pools of darkness shimmering in the warm lights of Hell. A shiver raced down your spine, unease and curiosity filling your chest as you stared at the suddenly inhuman visage of the handsome tattoo artist. 

Steve Rogers was still attractive, even with the unnatural eyes of a demon, but the shadows in his gaze changed the terrain of his face. His teeth looked sharper in his mouth, and the curve of his smirk looked more cruel. His jaw looked more angular and his body seemed bigger, broader, more intimidating as he loomed above you. 

And yet…

You liked how Steve looked when he’d shed the pretense of humanity. He was somehow, impossibly, hotter. More dangerous, sure, but also freer in a way that you found enticing. 

It took you a moment, your mind swimming with pleasure and the tingling remnants of his kiss, to pinpoint exactly what you liked about seeing Steve without the guise he must’ve been wearing. He was more himself. And this version of him, this demonic visage, called to the darkness inside of you in a way that made you feel like he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

Pressing a palm to your forehead like you could push that thought straight out of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the present. “Nooo,” you moaned in a small voice, mostly to yourself because you were already thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to belong to Steve, especially if he belonged to you, too. 

But, for all you could feel the bond between you and the demon strengthening and solidifying as your tattoo healed supernaturally fast, his desire and lust mixing with your own, he still couldn’t read your mind. And he must’ve thought you were protesting the newfound connection between the two of you.

“Ohh yes, sweetheart,” Steve growled, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat and tipping your face up so he could see your eyes. 

The two shimmering pools of darkness were writhing with agitation, and you stared at them in wonder, your mouth falling open with awe. They were just as beautiful as his human eyes, looking like the surface of the deep ocean at night. 

“You’re mine, pretty little plaything,” Steve rasped, his voice low and dark and vehement, like he was determined to make you understand your new reality. “Your heart, your body, your soul—it’s all mine,” he went on, pausing only to capture your lips in a brief, but searing kiss, like he was marking you all over again. “You’re bound to me for eternity, baby, enslaved to all my whims, and I bet you know what I want rigt now.”

You did know. You could feel Steve’s lust slinking through the bond, flooding your body and creating the burning need that was so painful when he wasn’t touching you. But beneath it, you could feel your own desire, too. The yearning you’d felt for the tattoo artist that had only grown since you’d discovered his true nature as the demon from the Friday the 13th legend. 

Watching your face keenly, Steve let go of your ankle, grabbing one of your wrists and bringing your hand to the bulge in his pants. It was so big and hot and hard, even through the stiff denim of his jeans, that you whimpered. But you didn’t pull away, letting Steve use his grip to make you stroke his cock. And when he groaned his pleasure, your fingers tightened, giving his thick length a curious squeeze. 

“This is what you do to me, pretty girl, this is why you’re the one I chose,” he growled, his voice so deep, it sounded animalistic. “I knew from the moment you walked into my shop with your sweet little skirt and your dark little heart that you were going to be mine—and now I’ve got you.” 

It occurred to you to ask what he meant about your heart, but you suspected you knew. He’d looked deep into your heart and soul saw the darkness there—and it was exactly what he wanted. 

The knowledge that you were what he wanted filled you with a sense of pride, and you took over from Steve. You stroked his cock through his jeans without his guidance, squeezing him while you stared up at him, devotion written across your face while you pressed your throat into his hand, knowing the tattoos on his fingers were making a pretty necklace.

“You’re my precious little plaything, aren’t you, baby?” Steve cooed at you, sweeping his thumb over your jaw and swiping it across your lower lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being mine.”

You ducked your head, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on him, your eyes going heavy lidded as you nodded your agreement. Steve grunted a pleased sound.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred, pressing his thumb onto your tongue and pushing deeper into your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good fucktoy for your demon master, aren’t you?”

You could feel Steve’s cock twitch beneath your fingertips and you squeezed him harder, moaning when you felt an answering pulse deep in your cunt. The burning desire that had been held at bay by the realization of what exactly he was and what he’d done to you returned with a fury that would not be ignored.

“Yes, master,” you murmured obligingly after tipping your head back to slide him from your mouth. You pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb and smiled up at Steve, your eyes hungry and eager.

The demon’s gaze darkened further somehow, filling with greed and lust and just about every sin you could imagine—all promising to do dirty, filthy things to your body in the name of slaking the desire that burned brightly in both of you. 

“I knew you were perfect,” he growled, grabbing your throat and pulling you in for another kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss inciting the fire in your body to burn hotter, making the throbbing between your legs impossible to ignore. 

While he kissed you breathless, your fingers kept stroking his cock through his jeans, your other hand sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt to rake your nails through the thin trail of hair dusting his abs. Both of you groaned at the contact, Steve’s tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips thrust against your palm. 

Just as quickly as he’d dragged you into the kiss, Steve pulled away, shoving you roughly back into the chair. Your back hit the padded leather, a light, “oomph,” of surprise tumbling from your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh while he leaned down and pulled a lever somewhere on the chair.

The footrest dropped away, allowing Steve to step between your legs, his hands groping roughly at your thighs, your hips, your tits. A low rumbling growl sounded in his chest every time his hand touched a piece of your clothing, as if they offended him personally. You squirmed in your seat, trying to find the words to beg him to take off the rest of your clothes, but all you could manage was a desperate whine.

“Are you still feeling hot, baby?” Steve asked, his tone playfully condescending as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs and tugged on the hem of your skirt—which, at that point, was barely covering anything with the way your legs were splayed open around his hips. “Should we get rid of the rest of these tiresome clothes?” 

You were nodding your head before he even finished his question, his hands making quick work of unzipping your skirt and tugging on it until you lifted your hips so he could drag it down along with your panties. He stepped back so he could pull them off your legs, raking his gaze up your body and pointedly looking at your bra.

“Take it off, fucktoy,” he growled, his tone going mean again. 

The quick change of his mood had you gasping with surprise, even as his rough voice made you gush more wetness between your thighs. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the demon’s mercurial moods, but you liked the unpredictability—it meant you’d never grow bored.

Scrambling to do as Steve said, you pushed forward from the chair to unclip your bra and ripped it off, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. When that was done, the demon shoved your legs open and stepped back between them, pushing your legs up to drape over the armrests of the chair.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, stroking his hands down your thighs, digging his fingers in suddenly, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm. He chuckled, looking like he enjoyed your reaction, and pushed your legs wider, spreading you so fully, you felt a twinge of discomfort in your hip. But the pain was soothed away a moment later by the pleasure throbbing through your body.

A sharp exhale gusted from Steve the moment he laid his eyes on your bare pussy. He was staring down at you like you were everything to him, like you were the center of his universe. He looked like he was a mere second away from getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of your body.

More surprising than the way he was looking at you was what you could feel through the bond tethering you to the demon. You could feel his devotion in your soul, the sensation curling round your heart and filling you with a sense of adoration that was both yours and Steve’s. 

As much as you were his, you knew, with absolutely certainty, that he was yours, too. For better or for worse.

But the longer Steve stared down at your body, his hands unable to stop touching you—exploring every inch of your skin, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs stroking over you nipples before he curved his fingers around your ribs and skimmed down to your hips, feeling you, learning you—the more you began to believe it wasn’t so bad being bonded to a demon.

You hadn’t noticed your gaze had drifted away from the demon, staring unseeingly over his shoulder while you reveled in the feel of him touching you, until his hand came down sharply on your slit, slapping your pussy so sharply, you cried out in surprise, tears springing to your eyes. Pleasure and pain burned through you, writhing and fighting for dominance, and you were helpless to the sensation.

“Eyes on me, fucktoy,” Steve growled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His fingers dug into your cheeks, his face looming over yours while his hand came down again, spanking your cunt and making your whole body jerk in the leather chair from the sharp, stinging pleasure. “You’re my dumb little cock slave, and you’ll look at me like a good girl when I’m playing with you like you’re my own personal fuck doll—got it?”

The demon punctuated his seething question with another spank to your pussy, and it was the hardest of all, but though you expected pain, you felt only pleasure. A loud, pornographic moan, spilled from your lips while your mind swirled, your whole body throbbing like you were one big nerve ending. 

Forcing your eyes open, you found Steve watching you expectantly. You gasped for air and scrambled for words “Yes, master,” you cried, surprising even yourself when you shouted, “I’m your good little fucktoy!” 

Steve seemed appeased, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth while his fingers rubbed through your drenched folds. “You are, baby,” he assured you. “You’re such a good little plaything for your master.” 

His words were an alluring purr, soothing you. Then, he surprised you by shoving three of his fingers into your cunt, making your whole body shudder from the unrelenting and sudden fullness.

“Oh god,” you moaned, pleasure ricocheting violently through your body. You squirmed in the chair, feeling your pussy spasm with delight, your wetness gushing out of you and dripping down between your ass cheeks, making a mess on the chair. 

“God’s not going to help you now, sweet thing,” Steve rumbled with a smirk, pulling his fingers out of you before pushing them deep into your sopping wet hole again. “You sold your soul to me, He has no dominion over you anymore—you’re mine for eternity.”

His thumb rubbed your clit and you cried out helplessly, barely hearing his words as your body focused on the pleasure he was giving you. He pushed deeper, his fingers stroking a spot inside you that had your spine arching and your hips bearing down on his delicious intrusion. You were so wet, he fucked you easily with his three fingers, spreading them wide to stretch you open. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your whole body shaking with need while the demon fucked you slowly with his fingers. You watched them slide into you, your folds swollen and puffy from his rough spanking. He was moving with a torturous laziness and you squirmed, mewling for more, “Faster, Steve, please.” 

Suddenly, Steve’s fingers pulled free from your obscenely wet pussy, and a second later they were being shoved into your mouth. Your sweet, musky taste exploded on your tongue as the demon pushed them deep, making you gag on his slick fingers while he loomed above you. 

“What did you call me?” he seethed through gritted teeth, the dark shadows of his eyes roiling like a churning sea.

“M’m sowwy,” you mumbled around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin and tears spilling onto your cheeks. 

Steve’s mood immediately calmed at the sight of your tears and he made a soft shushing sound as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “There, there, my sweet little plaything,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick the salty tears from your skin. “I like it better when you call me master—can you be a good girl and call me master?”

The way Steve was bent over you, the bulge in his jeans pressed into your leaking cunt and you rubbed against him like a cat in heat, your hole aching to be filled, but you knew you had to answer his question first. 

“Yes, master,” you whimpered, “I’mma be a good girl, I swear.” 

“That’s my girl,” Steve purred, swiping the drool from your chin and pressing a kiss to your mouth. It was sweet and slow, his mouth praising you without words and making your head spin with the feeling of affection slipping through the bond. 

When he pulled away, Steve gave you a stern look, his brow lowered over his black eyes and his mouth pressed into a firm line. 

“Now, I can feel you rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock, baby,” he rumbled, his hands groping your thighs, but not pinning you down to make you stop. So you kept humping against him, your body shameless in its need for him. “But I want you to use your words—what do you want from your master?”

“Fuck me, master—please, oh g-fuck, I need your cock, master, please, please, please give it to me,” you babbled, blinking away the last of your tears to stare up into the handsome face of your demon. 

You could still feel his lust and desire and fondness thrumming through the bond he’d created, but beneath that, deep in your own heart, you felt your own affection swell. You’d had a crush on Steve before he’d sealed the bond, and—god help you—those feelings didn’t waver in light of his trickery. If anything, every touch, no matter how rough or soft, only strengthened them. 

Steve’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive as he stared down at you with a satisfied smirk. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me, baby—not for a millennia, at least,” he murmured, ducking down to capture your swollen lips in a kiss. 

At the same time, he rubbed his bulge against your sensitive pussy, making you cry out so that he could swallow the sound down. 

Kissing him back, you whimpered into his lips, need burning through your body and making you impatient. Your fingernails raked down the front of Steve’s chest, reveling in the way his firm muscles contracted, and the sharp little breaths he took. 

You hooked your fingers under the lower hem and tugged the shirt up with a desperate whine until Steve yanked it off over his head, breaking your kiss for only a second. 

Your fingers explored the smooth planes of Steve’s chest, brushing over his beautiful tattoos as you traced his hard muscles. All the while, he kissed you, devoured you, his own hands kneading your thighs and your tits and plucking at your nipples until you were writhing mindlessly beneath him. 

“Please, master,” you keened, arching your spine and pushing your tits into his palms. “Fuck me, pleeease!” You tugged demandingly on the waist of his jeans, your fingers fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt.

Steve only chuckled maddeningly, rubbing his clothed cock into your sopping wet pussy while he pressed kisses to your jaw. 

“C’mon, baby, you can beg better than that, can’t you?” he rumbled, his tone playful and warm, but it quickly turned dark and demanding. “Beg me to split you open on my dick, to fucking ruin your pretty little pussy with my fat demon cock—use your filthy mouth, sweetheart, tell me all the dirty things you want your evil master to do to you.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groaned, squirming beneath him and humping shamelessly against his bulge. “Please, master—please ruin me, hurt me, abuse me,” you cried, not knowing where the words were coming from, but you suspected they were being ripped right from that dark place deep in your heart, your soul. “Fill my holes with your demon cock and pump me full of cum, wanna be bulging with your seed, master—wanna be your dumb little fucktoy for all eternity. Make me yours, please!”

You cut off on a broken, desperate sob, and Steve’s mouth covered yours with an animalistic roar, kissing you hard—like he was branding you all over again. It made you moan louder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Your head spun from Steve’s kiss, but you could feel his hands fumbling between your legs. Then, the hot, hard length of him smacked against your swollen, smarting pussy, making you cry out into his mouth. 

Steve drank down your sounds greedily, like they were the nectar of the gods. His tongue pushed into your mouth, licking into you as if trying to lap up your pleasured noises straight from their source.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Steve praised when he pulled away, his voice silky and earnest in a way that made your heart warm in your chest. 

His mood had switched again, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way it could shift like the wind. It was exciting and thrilling—like riding your own personal roller coaster. But no matter how his mood seemed to shift, you always felt his affection through the bond. Your demon was just fickle about how he liked to show that affection.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, ‘m gonna give you exactly what you want, sweet thing,” Steve went on, rubbing his hot, hard length through your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Gonna bury my cock in your holes for an aeon, keep you dumb and drunk on my cock, gonna make you my precious little plaything.” 

“Yes, master, please,” you whimpered, your hands finding Steve’s waist and pulling your bodies closer, your ass sliding to the edge of the chair. “Fuck my tight little hole, please—please!” 

Something in Steve seemed to snap, and with a snarl, he folded you in half in his leather tattoo chair, pushing your knees to your chest and lining up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance. In the next breath, he shoved his cock deep into your cunt, splitting you open with such a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure that your screams filled the whole of Hell. 

Steve gave you only a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of his thick, massive cock before he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass making a loud clapping sound. 

Your mouth fell open, the most obscene, pornographic moans coming from your lips. Against your will, your eyes slid closed.

Grabbing the back of your head to hold it still, Steve slapped your cheek—hard—making your eyes fly back open. The stinging pain blurred into a deep, aching pleasure, and your cry of surprise devolved into a lewd moan. 

“What did I tell you, fucktoy?” Steve growled, slapping you again, harder. The pools of his eyes churned dangerously, his mouth twisted with determination as he reminded you of his earlier command. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Though you knew his strikes were meant to be punishing, he was keeping a tight leash on his strength. His hand smarted but he never truly hurt you. 

It was more degrading, feeling Steve slap your face, and you enjoyed it much more than you would’ve expected. The sounds of your desperate, depraved pleasure spilling freely from your lips. 

When you managed to focus your gaze on your demon, you found Steve watching you with a smug smirk on his face. 

“Do you like it when I slap you, sweet thing?” he cooed, his hips driving into yours, fucking you deep and hard with his thick cock while he held the back of your head. He didn’t wait for an answer, slapping you again, letting your face twist to the side before forcing you back to look at him. “Do you want me to hurt you more, pretty girl?”

“Yes, master!” you cried, surprising even yourself. But you were greedy for the mixture of pain and pleasure Steve offered, finding you were quickly growing addicted to the wicked way he made you feel. “Play rough with your fucktoy—please, master, I want it!”

“Good girl,” Steve purred, grinning wider and using his free hand to slap your tits, your thighs, anywhere he could reach. The sharp smacking sounds joined with the clapping of his hips against your ass and the obscene wet noises of your pussy being fucked. “You’re such a perfect little plaything, baby, taking it like such a good girl for your master.”

Steve leaned more heavily on top of you, his hips pressing his cock so deep, you sobbed with pleasure, feeling like he was pushing into your cervix. Pain and pleasure made your mind spin, and your hands clung to Steve’s thick biceps, your nails digging sharply into his skin.

Your demon hissed out a breath at the bite of your nails, his hips stuttering and fucking more powerfully into you. He slammed against a spot deep inside your cunt that had you thrashing beneath him in the leather chair, clawing at him even more.

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart, hurt me back,” he growled, his tone taunting you meanly as he went on. “Show me what ya got, I can take it.” 

Darkness rose inside of you, and though it was tempting to believe it was solely the effect of the demon’s mark on your body, you knew it wasn’t. This was the darkness that had grown within you over the years, the one that had called out to the demon and had been so pleased when he answered your call by binding you to him for an eternity of sinful servitude. 

Skimming your hands up to Steve’s shoulders, you didn’t miss the way he looked a little disappointed at your light touch. You curled your lips in an impish grin—the only warning you gave him before you dug your nails deep into his skin, dragging them down over his inked shoulders and biceps as hard as you could.

Though you didn’t break skin, dark red lines appeared on his pale skin where it shone through and Steve groaned loudly, his hips twitching before he picked up his pace. He fucked you faster, with punishingly violent strokes that had you babbling an endless stream of pleasured noises.

“That’s it, plaything, let it out—take it out on me,” he growled encouragingly. 

You didn’t know what exactly he was prompting you to let out, but you suspected it had something to do with the darkness churning in your chest. And his reaction, his pleasure in response to the pain you’d given him, lit something inside you. The darkness unfurled further as you finally let it free, and you felt Steve’s encouragement through the bond you shared.

Tilting your hips up so that Steve could pound harder and deeper into your pussy, you reached around to his lower back, raking your nails up the long length of his muscles. You pressed so deep, you would’ve gouged into a human’s skin. But your demon was made of sturdier stuff, and he simply grunted in pleasure, fucking you harder—so hard, it nearly hurt.

Steve was glorious above you, his demented coal-black eyes staring down at you with a fathomless greed you could feel thrumming in your own heart. It made you want to hurt him. It made you want to love him. 

Frightened by both impulses, you grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin as you pulled him down. Instead of kissing him, though, your face buried into the crook of his neck and you sank your teeth into the spot at the base of his throat, the one free of ink, biting him hard enough you thought you might actually pierce the demon’s skin.

He tasted like fire and smoke and salt. 

Steve’s growling groan rumbled in his throat and you felt it against your cheek, moaning in answer while you licked his warm, golden skin. You sucked on him hard, wanting to leave your own mark on your demon, sinking your teeth in further while his cock pressed deep inside you.

Your demon allowed it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around the front of your throat and he pushed you away, pinning you hard against the back of the tattoo chair while he climbed on top of you. The back gave way until you were laying flat and Steve’s big body was covering yours. 

The chair rocked dangerously, but stayed upright and Steve caged you in beneath him, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes.

“You bite me like that again, sweetheart, and ‘m gonna blow my load way too soon,” he grumbled, glaring at you, though there wasn’t any heat to it. Especially since you could feel his pleasure through the bond. 

“Oops,” you said, unable to hold back your giggle. Steve didn’t look nearly as amused as you felt, so you forced yourself to look a little contrite as you pouted and simpered, “Sorry, master.”

Shaking his head and huffing a laugh, you felt his humor slip through the bond and saw his mouth flicker in a smile. 

“Baby, baby, baby, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” he purred. Tilting his head to the side, he considered you with smirk. “You’ve only been bound to me for an hour and I’ve already corrupted you, sweetheart.” 

He ducked down, dragging his nose from the base of your throat up to your jaw, nipping at the spot just below your ear that had you moaning softly. Your legs clung to his sides, holding him close in the cradle of your body while he kissed your neck.  

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, even though you both knew it was the darkness in your heart that had drawn him to you in the first place, not that he’d corrupted you. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me, master,” you said sweetly, lifting your hips to meet Steve’s languid strokes, gasping when the tip of his cock hit that spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars. 

At your words, Steve huffed a laugh, burying his face in your neck and mumbling against your skin, “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” He rocked into your body, wringing another moan from you as he grunted his own pleasure. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Master, please, ‘m so close,” you whimpered into his ear. You wrapped one of your arms around his broad shoulders while your other hand dove into his soft, blond hair. You clung to your demon while he dug his arms beneath your back, holding you pinned beneath his body so he could rut ferociously into you.

“Bite me, baby,” Steve growled, pounding into you with short, hard thrusts, grinding the base of his cock against your clit with each one. “Mark me—show me I’m yours.” His voice was a desperate, greedy rasp, his need thrumming through your body through the bond, and you couldn’t think of doing anything but indulging him.

Your teeth sank deep into Steve’s neck, in the one spot that wasn’t covered in ink, and sucked hard on his skin, licking his throbbing pulse point at the same time. He growled wildly, his thrusts turning harder and meaner, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your clit and rub ruthlessly.

You didn’t know which of you came first because it seemed like you both pushed each other over the edge in the same instant. 

The coil of pleasure deep in your belly snapped suddenly, and pleasure exploded through your body, leaving devastation in its wake as you screamed your release. At the same time, Steve groaned, long and loud, his cock throbbing deep inside your cunt while he spilled his seed into your fluttering channel. 

Your demon kept fucking you as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, your body clinging to his and milking his cock while he held you crushed to his chest. 

Your gasps for air turned to deeper breaths as you slowly came down from your peak, and you were distantly aware of Steve hauling you up from the chair and spinning around to sit while you sprawled in his lap.

As you recovered together, Steve’s fingertips danced up and down your spine while your head lay on his inked shoulder and you watched the red indents of your teeth slowly fade from his neck. A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth, and you wondered how on earth he’d managed to get tattooed if it was so difficult to leave a mark on his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked in a deep, gruff voice, like he’d been on the brink of sleep. 

It took you a moment of being confused about how he could’ve possibly seen your frown before you remembered the bond. You still felt the tether to him, like a string tied behind your belly button, but you didn’t feel a tug on it until his palm skimmed down to your ankle and his hand closed over the tattoo he’d given you, which was healed somehow. 

“How did that heal so fast?” you asked, sitting up twisting around to look at your ankle. The sweeping, delicate curves peaked out from behind Steve’s hand, and you brushed your fingertips over the inked lines with wonder. 

“There was a drop of my blood in the ink,” Steve answered, and when you looked at him, he wore a mischievous smirk. “I told you the ingredients were all-natural, didn’t I?” he asked charmingly and shot you a wink, making you laugh and shake your head. 

But then your eyes fell on the spot on his neck where you’d bitten him. He’d healed so fast, you couldn’t see any trace of your teeth anymore, and you brushed your fingers over it sadly. Steve caught your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips.

“There’s a special method to tattooing a demon,” Steve answered your unasked question, skimming his free hand down his chest and over all the other ink on his skin. “I can teach you how,” he offered.

Your eyes had drifted down to his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos that had been hidden by his shirt, but at his words, you glanced up—and were surprised to see the darkness had receded from his eyes, leaving them a bright, sky blue. The look he was giving you was earnest, and you felt it reflected in the bond that hummed in your body.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck and licking the spot you wanted to mark. 

He still tasted like fire and salt and smoke and you wanted to savor him for an eon. With a sigh, you gave into the urge, licking and kissing him idly while you cuddled into his chest. Steve held you securely, your body still impaled on his half-hard cock while his cum dripped out of you, and you thought you could stay like that forever. 

Instead, after a few moments, you asked, “So what happens now? Do you take me back to hell or the underworld or whatever?”

A chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest. The sound reverberated through your sternum where you were pressed together and you smiled into his neck.

“I figured we’d stick around Brooklyn for a couple decades, then we can head down below,” he murmured, tracing patterns on your lower back with one hand while the other gripped your ass possessively. “I think you’ll like it there—I’ve got all kinds of fun toys to play with.”

You could hear the depraved excitement in his tone and snorted a laugh. But then something occurred to you and you pushed up from his chest to sit back so you could see Steve’s face. He looked confused by your suddenly serious expression.

“When you say toys, you don’t mean other people you’ve bound to you, do you?” you asked him with your eyes narrowed. Your focus was almost entirely on the bond, waiting for his reaction. You knew you’d be able to tell if he was lying, or hiding something.

But you felt only amusement from him, and watched as a grin spread across his face. “Nah,” he said, his hand wrapping loosely around the front of your throat to pull you in for a kiss. “I’m not actually the demon from the urban legend,” he confessed. “It’s just one of the ways we trick pretty little humans like you to sell your souls to us—you really should’ve read the fine print of that contract you signed.”

You huffed an exasperated laugh, because what else could you do, and kissed your demon again. He chuckled into your kiss before deepening it, his mouth sliding possessively against yours. When he pulled away, he nipped your lower lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue as he growled into your mouth. 

“You’re the only soul for me, sweet girl.”

Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you felt his deep affection swirling with your own in your belly, twining together around your heart to create something real and deep. It was something that would grow and strengthen over the millennia you spent together.

You knew in that moment that there would be no running from the demon you’d unknowingly bound yourself to, and that you wouldn’t want to escape him anyway. Steve may have tricked you—and you’d make him grovel for your forgiveness for at least a century for that—but he was yours now, just as surely as you were his. 

“You’re the only demon for me, Steve Rogers.” 

You moaned for your demon when his hands grabbed your hips and began bouncing you on his hardened cock. His cum was still leaking out of your cunt, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared. Your kisses turned messy with your grunts and groans of pleasure, your bodies pushing each other toward the edge of another release as you gave in to the insatiable need you both felt for the other.

It would be a long time before that need was finally sated—so long that it was no longer Friday the 13th by the time you stumbled out of Hell, Steve’s heavy arm draped around your waist. His strong body kept you upright on unsteady knees while he walked you to his brownstone around the corner.

For years after that fateful Friday the 13th, you helped Steve keep up appearances as a tattoo artist, playing his devoted girlfriend during the day. Then at night, he took you home and made you his personal plaything, bending you over and fucking your ass with his fat demon cock or unloading his cum down your throat. 

In the rare moments when you weren’t fucking, Steve taught you how to tattoo, and the method of how to tattoo a demon specifically, all so you could leave your mark on his skin. You tattooed an outline of your teeth marks on his neck, in the spot he’d left open for you since the night you’d met.

You’d even included a drop of your blood in the ink, even though Steve said it wouldn’t strengthen the bond. But afterward, you did feel like you were close to him, and he admitted he felt it, too. 

Years later, Steve surprised you by asking you to marry him, and though you thought it was a little unnecessary, you said yes. It just seemed a bit like overkill to have a whole wedding ceremony when your souls were already bonded for eternity, but you had to admit it was a good time. Plus, all your friends and family cried happy tears—even the demons. 

Finally, when it began to get suspicious that you and Steve weren’t aging while the humans around you were, Steve passed on ownership of Hell to one of the other artists and he took you down below to the real thing. He carried you across the threshold of his house and welcomed you home, where you’d live happily together until you decided to go topside again.

There in hell, Steve spent centuries shattering you apart with his cock before rebuilding you, only to break you down into his dumb little fucktoy all over again. Together, you used every toy Steve owned. You were your master’s good little plaything while he delivered pain and pleasure that sent you to new planes of existence. 

Then, of course, Steve taught you how to use them all on him, too, because your demon master liked a little bit of pain, too.

You’d loved your time in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, the tattoo artist and owner of Hell, but you loved your time in hell with your demon master even more. Together, you allowed yourselves to be truly free and give in to your darkness together. You allowed yourself to love him, and let him love you in return. 

It was everything you could have dreamed of, living a happy life for the rest of eternity with your demon in hell.

And all you had to do was follow one rule: When in hell, do as the demons do.

This got me all warm and in my feels for Autumn🥰

The Great Outdoors

Summary: Logan takes you on a camping trip, but his survival skills are hilariously outdated. Between using a rock instead of a proper camping tool and attempting to start a fire with his claws (which ends up in a mini bonfire), you can’t stop laughing. Eventually, you both end up cuddled in the tent, sharing ghost stories that lead to goofy scares and unexpected confessions of affection.

Pairing             : Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Female!Human-reader

Genre              : Fluff

The sun was already dipping low behind the trees when Logan parked the truck. He got out like he was about to conquer the wild, while you stood there, looking at the woods and trying not to laugh at the seriousness on his face. Logan wasn’t the camping type—or at least, not the “modern” kind. He was more like the “rough it with nothing but your fists and claws” type.

This was going to be interesting.

“So, what’s the plan, Bear Grylls?” you teased, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

Logan grunted, pulling out a rolled-up tent from the back of the truck. “Survive. That’s the plan.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, so detailed. I feel so prepared.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve done this a hundred times. Just follow my lead, and we’ll be fine.”

Oh, boy.

You made your way into the clearing Logan had apparently scoped out beforehand. It wasn’t bad, actually—nice little spot near a river, surrounded by trees that rustled softly in the evening breeze. As soon as you set your stuff down, Logan got to work... sort of.

He started with the tent. You watched him as he unfolded it, frowning like the damn thing had personally offended him. “These damn things get more complicated every year,” he muttered, trying to shove a pole into one of the sleeves.

“Need some help?” you asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing as he wrestled with it.

“Nah, I got it,” he grumbled, jamming the pole so hard it almost snapped.

Five minutes later, the tent was half-collapsed, one corner flapping in the wind, and Logan was cursing under his breath.

“I think it’s supposed to stand up, Logan.”

He shot you a look, then glanced back at the tent. “It’s fine. I’m just, uh... testing its durability.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “Right. Maybe you should just let me handle that.”

“I’m a grown-ass man,” he muttered, glaring at the tent like it had insulted his mother.

“Yeah, and you’re losing a fight to a piece of nylon.”

After another moment of watching him struggle, you stepped in and started putting the thing together while Logan, not exactly one for sitting still, decided to gather firewood. He disappeared into the woods with nothing but his claws, because why bring a hatchet when you’re Logan?

By the time he came back, arms full of sticks and logs, the tent was up and looking perfect. You leaned against it, smirking as he dropped the wood into a pile.

“See?” you said, gesturing to the tent. “That’s how it’s done.”

Logan grunted, clearly not impressed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see you start a fire.”

You crossed your arms. “Watch and learn, old man.”

He grinned, that dangerous little glint in his eye. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Logan, being Logan, didn’t just gather some twigs and light them with a match like a normal person. No, that would’ve been too easy. Instead, he pulled out his claws and crouched next to the fire pit, sparks flying as he struck them against a rock.

“Logan, that’s not how—”

Whoosh!

The pile of wood lit up like someone had dumped gasoline on it. Flames shot up higher than you thought possible, and you stumbled back, laughing your ass off while Logan jumped up, cursing.

“Goddammit!” He swiped his claws through the air, trying to beat the flames down. “I meant to do that.”

“Oh, sure,” you choked out between laughs, wiping at your eyes. “That’s the perfect height for roasting marshmallows, right?”

Logan glared at the mini-bonfire for a second, then at you. “Next time, you can light the damn thing.”

You couldn’t stop laughing, the sound of it bouncing around the trees. Logan finally cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it behind a gruff mutter.

After some careful maneuvering (read: Logan finally letting you fix the fire), you both settled down for the evening. The fire was low, crackling softly, the night air cool around you. Stars were starting to peek through the darkening sky, and the only sounds were the soft hum of the forest and Logan chewing on beef jerky.

You leaned back against a log, holding your hands out to the fire. “So, what now? Gonna show me your impressive ghost story collection?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, gnawing on his jerky like a wild animal. “Ghost stories? What are we, twelve?”

“Come on,” you teased. “Everyone knows camping isn’t complete without ghost stories. It’s like... the law.”

He scoffed but leaned back, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “Alright. You want a ghost story? I’ll give you one.”

“Oh, this oughta be good.”

Logan cleared his throat dramatically. “So... once upon a time... there was this girl. Thought she was real tough. Real smart.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is this about me?”

“Shhh, I’m tellin’ a story here,” Logan said, smirking. “Anyway, she thought she could survive out in the wild with just a little ol’ tent and her wit. But one night, she heard a rustling in the trees... something... watching her.”

You leaned in, playing along, even though you knew exactly where this was going. “Oh, yeah? What was it?”

Logan’s eyes widened theatrically. “A bear! Big, ugly thing. Twice her size. It came into her camp, sniffin’ around, and you know what she did?”

You shook your head, grinning. “What?”

“Nothing. She just froze. The bear ate all her snacks, tore up her tent, and left her sittin’ there in her own piss.”

You burst out laughing. “Wow, Logan. Truly terrifying. 10/10. I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks.”

Logan grinned, leaning closer. “I got more. You’ll be beggin’ for mercy by the end of the night.”

You pushed his shoulder lightly. “You’re such an ass.”

As the night deepened and the fire began to die down, you both retreated into the tent. It was surprisingly cozy inside, the faint warmth of the fire lingering outside while you snuggled into your sleeping bag. Logan stretched out beside you, his body taking up way too much space, but you didn’t mind.

“Comfy?” you asked, glancing at him as he wiggled around.

“Like a fuckin’ sardine,” he muttered, trying to adjust in the small space. “Who the hell makes these tents so damn small?”

“They’re meant for normal-sized people, not... whatever the hell you are,” you said with a smirk.

Logan snorted. “Mutant privilege. I need bigger accommodations.”

You both lay there for a few minutes, the quiet settling in around you. Logan’s breathing was steady, his body warm next to yours, and despite his earlier grumblings, you could tell he was content. This whole camping thing wasn’t so bad, after all.

“Alright,” you said suddenly, turning to face him. “I’ve got a ghost story.”

Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, so you went on.

“There’s this guy, right? Big, tough, hairy—like, really hairy. The kinda guy you wouldn’t wanna meet in a dark alley.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but you kept going.

“And one night, he decides to go camping with this totally amazing girl—smart, funny, great taste in camping snacks—”

“Wow, I wonder who this is about,” Logan deadpanned.

“Shhh,” you said, stifling a laugh. “But the thing is... the guy? He’s got a secret. See, he acts all tough, like nothing scares him, but deep down? He’s terrified of one thing.”

Logan looked over at you, eyes narrowing. “What?”

You grinned, leaning in close. “Commitment.”

Logan blinked, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling. “But you know I’m right.”

He didn’t deny it, just stretched out a hand to pull you closer, his arm wrapping around you with an ease that made your heart flutter a little too fast.

“I’m scared of plenty of things,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Just not the same kinda things as you.”

“Like what?” you asked, curious now.

Logan looked at you, his eyes serious for once. “Losing people. People I care about. That’s what scares me.”

The confession was quiet, unexpected, and it hit harder than you’d thought. You swallowed, unsure of what to say, but Logan just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, pulling you in tighter.

“Guess that makes you a real badass,” you whispered after a moment, your voice barely breaking the stillness of the tent.

“Damn right,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now shut up and go to sleep before I start tellin’ real scary stories.”

You smiled against his chest, warmth spreading through you as the sound of the river and the soft crackling of the dying fire lulled you to sleep. And maybe, just maybe, you’d both survived the great outdoors after all.

Got me chewing imaginary gum and feeling sassy like the reader🤪 I LOVED THIS SO MUCH OMG!

Collateral Damage [Logan Howlett]

SUMMARY: The X-men are heroes—they save the world, eradicate threats and protect both mutants and humans alike. You don't see it that way, though. To you, they cause more harm than good, and you want nothing to do with them.

WARNINGS: one-sided e2l, reader is stubborn af but it's valid, arguing, canon-level violence, scott's a dick, SMUT - 18+ only! WC: 21k - MASTERLIST

A/N: i've always wanted to write a fic with this plot, it's been on my mind for AGES. happy reading!

----

The first time you see them, it’s on your birthday.

Not being one for big, elaborate parties, you planned a quiet celebration instead—maybe a stroll through the lively city streets, followed by dinner with friends later. You had just visited your favourite store, buying a gift for yourself, and now you’re on your way back home.

The streets buzz with life as people shop, eat, and laugh, making it the perfect backdrop for a peaceful walk and some casual people-watching.

Then, out of nowhere, the ground trembles.

At first, you think it’s an earthquake—a quick jolt beneath your feet that sends a ripple of confusion through your body. But the tremor grows stronger, the ground shaking violently as everyone around you begins to panic, frantically looking around for the source, you included. And that’s when you see it. 

A hulking, green monster stomping through the city streets like something out of a nightmare. It has to be at least twenty feet tall, its skin a sickly shade of green, its eyes glowing with rage. Cars bounce with each heavy footstep, leaving deep footprints in the cement in its wake.

People scream, scrambling to get out of its path, but you stand frozen, heart pounding as you try to make sense of what’s happening. In the blink of an eye, the city had been plunged into chaos. You lose track of your surroundings, too busy trying to keep your eyes on the monster headed your way, while also dodging the hoard of pedestrians running for their lives.

Until they show up.

Initially, you don’t even notice them. After all, there’s so much going on around you at this point you barely know what to do with yourself. Yet, through the dust and destruction, you see flashes of movement—figures darting toward the monster with a sense of purpose. 

You don’t know who they are, but their bright blue and yellow suits make it seem like you should. At first glance, it’s hard not to feel a sense of awe. They move with such confidence, with their powers on full display for the world to see. You’ve never seen anything like it—a team of mutants using their powers in the open, fighting for what you assume is the greater good.

Maybe they can stop this!

The one first to act is a woman with white hair. She raises her arms to the sky, her eyes glowing a bright white as dark clouds swirl above, blocking out the sun. A flash of lightning slams into the monster's chest, forcing it to reel back with a thunderous roar of agony, and the crowd around you gasps, watching in wonder.

But when the lightning strikes a second time, it veers off course, crashing into the side of a nearby building. The structure groans under the impact, flames erupting from the point of contact as windows shatter, sending glass raining down onto the street below.

The collision sends you to the ground, and when you look up again, you see the power inside go out, all the lights flickering off.

Whatever awe you’d been feeling dissolves into concern, a sinking feeling settling in your chest.

Following her, a man with a glowing red visor strides forward. He’s clearly aiming to hit the monster, but the bright red beam shooting from his eyes slices through several cars in the street first, flipping them over and leaving them in smoldering wrecks. One of the blasts tears through a storefront, reducing it to rubble in a matter of seconds. More people scream and scatter, trying to escape the destruction.

From the corner of your eye, you see another mutant—a man with claws—lunge toward the monster, jumping onto cars to get closer to its head. But by using the parked cars as springboards, the weight of him causes the roof to sink in, and his claws leave deep gashes in the metal. 

How heavy is this guy? Is he made of metal or something?

He’s fast, brutal, slashing at the green beast with some serious ferocity. Still, despite the attack, the monster’s strength prevails, and it easily tosses him aside, crashing into buildings, crowds—anything in the way. To your surprise, he always gets back up. And that should be good, right? They are fighting for the safety of the city. 

But as debris rains down and cars are overturned, you can’t help but feel like this isn’t helping. You’re constantly dodging rubble, trying to find shelter, only for it to be destroyed seconds later. It’s like being in a war zone, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better.

And above it all, there’s a woman with red hair. She’s floating, and you watch from where you’re hiding as she lifts entire trees from their roots, hurling them at the monster in an attempt to slow it down. Except, much like her teammates, her attempt goes awry, and she misses, the trees now flying toward you. 

You barely have the reflexes to dive out of the way.

Your heart races, breath coming in shallow bursts as you press yourself against a wall, trying to steady yourself. The sound of sirens blare in the distance, but it doesn’t seem like help is coming anytime soon. There’s too much going on. People are running, pushing each other aside, crying, screaming, trying to find safety.

Glancing around, you’re met with destruction—flames licking at the sidewalk, cars totaled, and building wreckage littering the streets. These mutants, while clearly powerful, are causing just as much destruction as the monster itself.

What should have been a simple takedown—a 6v1—has turned into a full-scale disaster.

And yet, they don’t stop. They don’t pause to help the people caught in the crossfire, don’t even seem to notice the damage they’re causing. They’re so focused on the monster, so focused on the fight, that they’ve lost sight of everything else.

Is this what heroism looks like? You’d been excited at first—amazed, even—thinking they were here to save the day. But now, standing in the middle of a city that’s being torn apart, you realize how wrong you were.

They don’t care. Not about the city. Not about the people. 

Finally, with one last blast from the man with the visor, the monster collapses to the ground, defeated. It lets out a final roar before falling still, its massive body sprawled across the street.

The team stands over its body, their chests heaving with exertion, but they have smiles on their faces, feeling victorious. One by one, they board an aircraft, dragging the monster in with them, barely sparing a glance at the horrors they’ve caused. The white-haired woman doesn’t even bother to clear the storm clouds she summoned.

Within moments, they’re gone. You, and everyone else in the area, are left to deal with the fallout. Left to clean up their mess. 

Happy birthday to me, I guess.

—

After that, you spend the next few days trying to process what had happened. You’re still in a state of shock, confusion, and disbelief, but then the media catches wind of what went down, and suddenly, it’s everywhere.

News channels replay the footage over and over, the headlines screaming about “our holy saviours” saving the day. They’re plastered across every screen, being hailed as protectors.

The X-Men.

A group of mutant superheroes, apparently. The reporters list them off one by one, like they’re celebrities you should have known about. 

Storm. Cyclops. Wolverine. Jean Grey.

Mutants with powers like gods.

—

The second time you see them, you’re on vacation.

Sitting in a quaint café in the south of France, you’re enjoying a well-deserved break. The city you’re in is perfect—cobblestone streets winding through the village, vine-covered walls framing pastel-colored houses, and the scent of fresh bread drifting from nearby bakeries. It all feels like something out of a dream, the kind of peaceful retreat you’ve been desperate for after everything back home.

You order a frappé, and as you wait, you idly flip through a local newspaper, trying to see how much of your rusty high school French you can remember. It’s peaceful, quiet, exactly what you needed—until it’s not.

Movement out of the corner of your eye grabs your attention, and you glance over the edge of the newspaper, watching a group of tourists as they walk into the café. It’s not really anything odd, so you don’t think much of it—they’re dressed casually, like any group of vacationers.

Though, something about them tugs at the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that you’ve seen them before.

You lower the newspaper entirely now, staring as you try to place where you recognize them from. The tall one with the red sunglasses, the woman with the striking white hair, the man in the leather jacket... You squint, the pieces slowly falling into place.

And then it hits you.

Oh, no way.

You’re halfway around the world, in a different country, on a different continent, and somehow, they’re here. At the same café. 

Shifting in your seat, you’re trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when the barista arrives with your drink. He smiles warmly at you, placing the cup down on the table with a soft “voila madame,” but before you can even thank him, there’s a blur of motion.

One of them—Wolverine, you think—lunges at the barista, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back. The tray tips, and your frappé spills everywhere—all over the table, your newspaper, and, to your absolute horror, all over you. 

“Logan, no!” you hear Storm shout, but it’s too late.

The cold drink soaks into your clothes, and you let out a startled yelp, jumping up as your chair topples over. Your clothes are ruined, your vacation ruined, and in the midst of all of this?

Wolverine—or Logan, you guess, is wrestling with the poor barista.

“What the hell?!” you shout, trying to shake off the liquid dripping down your legs. “Is this a joke?!”

No one hears you, or even acknowledges you.

The other mutants jump into action, and before you know it, the peaceful café is transformed into yet another battleground. Cyclops blasts a beam at the barista—who you now realize must be the target of whatever mission they’re on—but it misses, smashing into the wall behind you. 

You’re furious, covered in a brown drink that makes it seem like you just had explosive diarrhea, and caught in yet another X-Men fiasco. All you wanted was a vacation. You don’t even know what’s happening anymore—who the barista is, what mission they’re on—but frankly, you don’t care.

This is absurd!

Without a second thought, you grab your bag and make a break for it, dodging overturned tables and debris as you make your way to the exit. You don’t bother looking back, your only thought being to get changed, and get as far away as possible.

After rounding the corner, putting some distance between yourself and the café, you pause for a moment to catch your breath. And then you hear it.

Boom.

The sound reverberates through the narrow streets, shaking the cobblestones beneath your feet. You whirl around, sticking your head out from the corner of the building, just in time to see a plume of smoke rising into the air from where the café once stood. 

Your heart sinks.

They blew it up.

—

The third time you see them, it’s a really nice day outside.

It’s a week after you’ve returned home, and the weather had finally given you a break from the suffocating heat. You’re walking home from a lunch with an old friend, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Probably said friend sending you something stupid to laugh at later. 

You chuckle, already anticipating the joke, when—

BAM!

Something slams into you from the side with the force of a freight train. You’re airborne for a second, weightless, before crashing hard onto the pavement, your breath knocked right out from your lungs. 

Dazed, you groan and blink up at the sky, trying to get your bearings. What the hell just hit me? Your vision swims as you sit up, shoulder throbbing from the impact. Twisting your neck to see whatever the hell that was, you immediately regret it, wincing at the sharp pain. 

Great, just great.

When you finally manage to sit up, you spot the culprit.

Cyclops.

Are you fucking serious?!

His back is to you, dusting off his ugly uniform like nothing happened. You look around, and notice that the street in front you is in ruins—buildings have gaping holes where windows used to be, chunks of the road are crumbling, people covered in blood scurrying away as fast as they can. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you catch a glimpse of the giant mechanical robots looming above, scanning for their targets. One of them must’ve thrown Cyclops into you. 

You can see the others—Jean, Storm, Beast (some new guy)—flying around, saving the world. That’s codeword for: wreaking havoc, destroying your city.

Anger boils up inside you, hot and unrelenting as you struggle to your feet, rubbing your sore shoulder. But as you open your mouth, a gruff voice cuts through the air.

"Good job, dickhead. You just hurt a civilian."

Your gaze snaps toward the sound. Wolverine’s standing a few feet away, claws out, glaring at the guy who sent you flying. 

“I was thrown, Logan,” he says passively. “Maybe if you kept the Sentinels off me—”

“Maybe if you didn’t stand there like a damn target, you wouldn’t get thrown!” The clawed mutant growls, taking a step closer. His whole posture is tense, like he’s barely holding himself back from tackling the other man into the ground (you would pay to have him do it). “Seriously, Summers, it’s like you want to get tossed around.”

Cyclops doesn’t even flinch. “We’ve got bigger problems than this right now,” he dismisses, not even glancing back at you to check if you’re okay. 

Well, there goes the last of your patience.

"Are you kidding me?!" you shout, throwing your hands up in disbelief. They completely ignore you, too absorbed in their petty bickering to acknowledge that you’re still standing there, seething.

Before you can rip into them, something catches your eye—a Sentinel (is that what they’re called?), hovering above them, charging up a blast. Its arm is raised, energy crackling at the barrel of its cannon, aimed directly at the two distracted morons.

“Oh, for the love of—” you mutter under your breath before diving forward.

The blast hits you square in the chest, but instead of pain, all you feel is the heat of the energy surging through your body, like lightning spreading through every inch of your veins. It crackles and burns, the force building up inside you until it feels like you’re about to explode.

Then, with a deep breath, you thrust your hands forward, channeling and releasing the blast right back at the robot, blowing it apart. Metal and circuits rain down, the Sentinel crashing into the ground with a deafening thud.

Silence falls.

You’re panting, feeling the leftover energy fizzle out of your fingertips. Slowly, you turn back around, and unsurprisingly, Cyclops–or Scott, as you’ve heard in the news—and Logan are staring at you like you just walked on water. Well, the clawed one is. You can’t really see the other brown-haired man’s expression due to his visor.  

“Woah, bub—”

“Oh, hell no!” You spin around fully, pointing an accusatory finger at both of them. “Are you kidding me right now? I just saved your asses because you were too busy bickering like children to notice the massive death robot about to blow you to pieces!”

Logan’s mouth quirks up, but he wisely stays silent.

“And this is exactly why I hate you people!” You continue, exasperated. “You swoop in, make a mess, destroy everything in your path, and then just leave like nothing happened! You think this is helping anyone? You think the people running for their lives right now give a damn about your little team squabbles?”

Scott doesn’t even blink. “We’re just trying to help,” he says evenly, like he’s rehearsed the line a thousand times.

“Help?” you scoff incredulously. “You only tell yourself you’re doing that to make yourself feel better. How many casualties do you think are coming out of this, hm? What’s the body count gonna be after today? Or do you not even bother counting anymore?”

His audacity makes you want to laugh. He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re not done.

"All this mess, the destroyed buildings, the people who won’t make it home tonight because you couldn’t keep your damn fight contained! You’re so focused on stopping the big bad guys that you don’t even realize how much carnage you leave behind. Who’s cleaning up after you? Who’s paying for this?! " You gesture around wildly. "News flash: the people whose lives you’re currently ruining!”

Beside him, Logan’s smirk fades, and he begins to step forward with his hands raised. “Listen, darlin’, we’re doin’ the best we can. We didn’t ask for this fight—”

"Oh, don’t give me that ‘best we can’ bullshit," you snap.

“We’re here to protect people,” Scott adds in, trying to maintain authority. “It’s not always clean, but we are making a difference—"

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not finished!” You interrupt, shaking your head. “Every day. Every damn day there’s something new.”

With the face Logan’s making, you’d think he’s going to start going in on you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unnerving, but you don’t care. You’ve had enough.

"And you," you say, turning your ire toward him, "You couldn’t have, I don’t know, used your super speed or whatever the hell you do to catch him before he crashed into me?"

His eyebrow quirks up. “Super speed?” he chuckles lowly. “Ain’t that fast, bub. Was a little busy with the giant killer robots.”

You tilt your head back in frustration and turn on your heel. "I’m done. I don’t care what kind of mission you’re on, or how noble you think it is. If you're planning to lay waste to the city yet again, be my guest.”

Giving no time for a response, you stalk off, weaving through the wreckage of the city streets, your heart still pounding in your chest. 

—

A couple weeks have passed since the last incident, and the X-Men seem to have disappeared from the headlines. You haven’t seen them or heard their whereabouts splashed across the news like you’ve gotten used to—though not by choice, of course. Whenever they do anything, the world seems to bow at their feet.

You don’t get it.

The flashy suits, the team name, the way they strut around as if they’re the Gods of the mutant race. It’s too much, too loud. They act like they’re above it all, as if their powers and heroics put them on a pedestal. Better than those who prefer to lay low, who have no choice but to blend in.

You’ve spent years hiding your powers, keeping them buried deep where no one can see. When you were younger, you didn’t have a choice. Your mutation made you a target—bullied, beaten up, pushed around for being different.

You learned quickly that being a mutant didn’t make you special. It made you vulnerable.

So, you hid. You stayed quiet, under the radar. It was safer that way.

And then here are the X-Men, parading around like their abilities make them untouchable, like they’ve forgotten what it’s like for the rest of you. It’s not that you don’t believe in helping others—you just don’t believe in the way they do it.

In your opinion, it’s all performance. From what you’ve experienced and seen up close, they always arrive with a fanfare, ready to jump into action, and do whatever they can to exterminate the threat. Yet, when the dust settles, it’s mutants like you who are left to pick up the pieces.

The ones who don’t wear brightly coloured costumes or shout about unity. You’re the ones who have to keep moving, keep surviving, without any recognition.

But it's not like you need recognition. You never have. What you need is peace.

—

You’re on the phone with your mom, trying to reassure her for the millionth time this week.

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Mom, I’m fine," you say, pacing the length of your small living room. You glance at the muted TV screen, the news still cycling through the usual mayhem. "You’ve seen the news recently, right? We’ve got the X-Men to take care of all this stuff—"

Knock. Knock.

You freeze mid-sentence, your words trailing off as the sound of someone at your door interrupts the call. Your heart skips a beat, and your voice drops. "Mom, I’ll call you back."

Barely waiting for her to reply, you end the call, staring at the door like it might explode.

A knock at this hour? Unannounced? You waver, your mind racing with possibilities.

Delivery? A neighbour? You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautiously, you make your way toward the door, hand hovering over the handle as you listen. No more knocks, just the faint hum of the outside world. You take a breath, steeling yourself as you turn the handle and crack the door open.

The tufts of hair, the thick stubble, the edge in his eyes—it’s him. Wolverine. And just as your brain registers his face, you also notice the glint of metal where his claws are already halfway out.

Instincts kick in, and before he can get a word in, you push against the door, trying to slam it shut.

Still, he’s faster.

His fist punches through the wood, and with a metallic snikt, his claws extend fully, slicing through the door as if it were made of paper. He pushes it open again, forcing it against your effort, and the sheer strength sends you stumbling back.

“What the fuck?” you gasp, eyes wide as you steady yourself. “How did you even find me?”

Stepping inside, he says, “picked up your scent and followed it,” matter-of-factly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

For a moment, you just stare at him, dumbfounded. “That’s… that’s actually really creepy,” you manage, still trying to process the fact that he just said that without a hint of shame.

“Can’t control it, bub,” he shrugs. 

You take a step back, putting more distance between you and the man with the claws standing in your apartment. “Okay, well, you found me. Now what?”

His eyes lock onto yours. “I need you to come with me.”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. 

“You’re not safe here.”

“Oh, I’m not safe?” you snap, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Maybe if you and your merry band of idiots didn’t keep causing world-ending disasters, I wouldn’t need to be safe!”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Sentinels are tracking you down.”

You falter. “What are you talking about?”

“You used your powers,” he states. “Killed a Sentinel. That’s all it takes for them to target you.”

Blinking, you feel anger rush to the surface, your skin tingling with rage. “I didn’t kill anyone. They’re fucking robots.”

“They don’t see it that way,” he counters. “You took one down, and now they know what you are.”

Part of you knows there’s merit in what he’s saying, but you don’t want to hear it. The last thing you want is to be dragged into some mutant-robot war. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t ask for any of this!” you hiss, glaring at him. “And now you’re telling me I’m on some kill list because I defended myself? Because I defended you?!”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite read, but he stays silent, watching you carefully. Your words start flying faster now, venom spilling into each one.

“I’m the one who took that thing down because you and that one-eyed bitch boy were too busy being immature! You weren’t even paying attention, and that thing almost blasted you both.” Your fingers ball into fists. "I saved both of you, and now I’m the one who has to run?"

Logan's jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring at the accusation. “We weren’t—”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” you cut him off. “If it weren’t for me, the two of you would be dead right now. And now I’m supposed to just go with you to your mansion and hide out? Like that’s going to fix th—”

You don’t get to end your rant, because he has stepped forward, and grabbed your shoulders, gripping you firmly. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back to him.

“This is serious,” he spits, eyes boring into yours. “You stay here, you die.”

His words slam into you. He’s not trying to scare you—he’s telling the truth.

“You don’t get to be stubborn about this,” he continues firmly. “You think you’re pissed off now? Wait until they come crashing through your door in the middle of the night, and you don’t have a chance to fight back.”

Wrenching yourself out of his grasp, you take a few steps back. “I just—” you begin to say, but the words feel tangled in your throat. The denial is still there, but it’s weakening, cracking. “I don’t want to run.”

“You’re not running,” he sighs, his voice softening ever so slightly. “You’re buying time. Time to fight back, time to survive. But if you stay here? There’s none of that.”

You want to argue more, want to scream at him to get away, to not drag you into his fight, but instead, you let out a long, shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. “Fine,” you breath out. 

He nods, finally releasing his grip on you and stepping back. “Good. Pack up your shit. We leave in half an hour.”

Then, he walks over to your couch and plops down like he owns the place, crossing his arms as if settling in for a casual wait.

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath. “Unbelievable.”

Ignoring him, you turn and head into your bedroom, where you start throwing clothes into a duffel bag—jeans, a couple of shirts, whatever you can grab quickly. Your movements are hurried, fuelled by a mix of frustration and the creeping anxiety gnawing at the edges of your mind. Grabbing your toiletries, you stuff them into a smaller bag, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the fact that some random mutant tracked you down, and now you have to leave your life until you’re safe. 

You peer back into the hallway, hearing the faint creak of the couch as Logan shifts around. I’m gonna kill this guy, you think to yourself. 

Once everything is packed and you’ve zipped your bag, you head back into the main room, only to see said random mutant still sprawled on your couch, looking far too comfortable, with a cigar in his hand.

“Seriously?” you say, slinging your duffel over your shoulder. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

He grunts in response but doesn’t move. Typical.

You glance at the clock—still a few minutes left of the half-hour he allotted you, but there’s no point in dragging it out. “I’m ready,” you say flatly, heading toward the door.

Logan stands, stretches his arms over his head, and cracks his neck like he’s waking up from a nap. “Let’s go then.”

—

The ride is tense and quiet, which suits you just fine. You’d rather not talk to him anyway. Every now and then, you let out a loud sigh, unable to hold back the annoyance you’re feeling. Each time, you feel Logan’s eyes dart toward you from the driver’s seat, but he doesn’t say anything. Well, that is, until—

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” he growls, keeping his eyes on the road.

You clench your jaw, shifting in your seat. “I didn’t even say anything, jackass.”

He huffs, clearly not in the mood for an argument, but the strain between you is almost impossible to ignore. You cross your arms, staring out the window, observing the landscape shift as the drive continues. 

Eventually, you can see the outline of the mansion, and you watch as it gets bigger and bigger the closer you get. Upon arrival, He pulls the car up to the front and cuts the engine. You both sit there for a moment, mute. 

“Well, here we are,” he mumbles after the pause stretches on for an uncomfortable amount of time, glancing over at you.

“Great,” you say sarcastically, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing open the car door. 

Logan walks ahead without saying a word, leading the way up the grand stone steps toward the front door. You trail behind, your mood darkening with every step, glaring at the perfectly polished entrance. 

The doors open before you even reach them, and you’re greeted by an older man in a wheelchair—Charles Xavier, if you remember correctly. The famous telepath. The genius behind the mutant team (some news anchor's words, not yours). His expression is kind, but you’re in such a bad mood, you don’t even bother trying to seem polite.

“Welcome,” He says with a warm smile, his eyes assessing you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. “Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

You press your lips together in a line. “Yeah? Well, don’t get too excited.”

Logan grunts beside you. “She’s got a bit of an attitude,” he mutters to Charles, then turns to you, gesturing you to follow him. “Come on, bub.”

Inwardly groaning, you have no choice but to follow him. Everything about this place screams “too good to be true,” and you hate it already. You’re used to keeping your head down, blending in, not being surrounded by people who wear their powers on their sleeves like some badge of honour.

As you walk through the halls, a few faces appear—other mutants, some of them kids, watching curiously as you pass by. You can feel their eyes on you, can hear the whispers already starting about the new arrival. 

Charles wheels alongside you, still smiling, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You remind me of Logan when he first joined us,” he says thoughtfully.

That stops you in your tracks.

You whip your head toward the man, giving him a piercing look. “Do not say that. We are nothing alike.”

On your other side, Logan smirks. “Not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“I’m serious.” If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.

Chucking softly, Charles seems completely unaffected by your outburst. “You’re both a bit rough around the edges, but you’ll find your place here.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say. “Because that’s exactly what I want to do.”

Deeper into the mansion, you catch sight of the X-Men you’ve seen before: Cyclops, Storm, Jean Grey. They all turn to look at you, sizing you up. You don’t flinch—you just stare back, your expression hard.

Pulling your duffel bag higher on your shoulder, you rip your eyes away from theirs, and keep walking, following Logan down the long, quiet hallway. Finally, he stops in front of a door.

“This is your room,” he grunts, nodding toward it. “Try not to break anything.”

Choosing silence, you push the door open. Stepping inside, you expect the bare minimum—a bed, maybe a closet—but instead, you’re met with a surprisingly large space. There’s a massive bed in the center of the room, a desk by the window, and, to your surprise, a set of glass doors leading out to a balcony.

You drop your bag by the door, glancing around, trying to shake off the unease. This is way too nice for a prisoner. You walk toward the balcony doors, curious despite yourself, and when you pull them open, the cool breeze hits you immediately.

Once you’re outside, you realize something that immediately makes your stomach drop.

The balcony is shared. And right next to your side, leaning against the railing with a cigar between his fingers, is Logan.

You halt mid-motion, eyes fixed on him in stunned silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He glances over, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes a drag of his cigar. “Surprise.”

You groan, turning your back on him and walking toward the opposite edge of the balcony, trying to calm the annoyance inside you. Of all the people you could’ve been stuck beside, it had to be him. It’s not enough that he dragged you here, but now there’s a chance you’re going to have to see him every time you step outside.

“So what now?” you mutter, staring out over the mansion grounds, the manicured gardens below looking like something out of a postcard. “I’m just supposed to stay here, be a part of your little mutant club?”

Taking another slow pull on his cigar, “You’re supposed to stay alive. Everythin’ else? That’s up to you.”

“But why do you suddenly care?” you ask. “I’ve seen the way you operate. You and your team sweep in, fight your battles, and then leave everyone else in the dirt. You don’t care about the collateral damage—hell, you cause half of it.” 

Logan pauses, his cigar halfway to his lips. He doesn’t answer right away, and the brief hesitation only makes your irritation spike. You press on, inching closer, voice laced with accusation.

“Why now?” you press. “Why drag me into this when you’ve never cared about anyone else in the crossfire?”

Logan finally turns to face you, exhaling a cloud of smoke before speaking, his expression hardened. “This ain’t about me ‘caring,’” he says flatly. “This is about survival. You killed a Sentinel, whether you like it or not. That puts a target on your back.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that very clear,” you bite out. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why me? Why am I suddenly important to you?”

Logan’s eyes darken, drilling into yours. “You’re not important to me,” he says flatly. “But they won’t stop until they get you. The destruction that’ll come from that—if your stubborn ass fought back, which I know it would, by the way—would be much greater than anything we would cause.”

“Doubt that,” you snarl bitterly. You don’t linger for the sound of his response, spinning on your heel and walking back into your room, slamming the balcony door behind you.

The bed is large and you can’t deny how inviting it looks after the day you’ve had. You flop onto it face-first, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

You’re barely able to reflect on the chaotic day you’ve had before your eyelids flutter shut, and you sink into a deep slumber, the exhaustion from everything catching up to you.

—

You’re jolted awake by a loud, aggressive knock on your bedroom door. The sound is so forceful it feels like the entire frame is rattling. You release a sound, half groan, half sigh, steeped in frustration. Your face is still buried in your pillow, and you curse whoever decided to ruin what little sleep you managed to get.

“Get up,” Logan’s gruff voice calls from the other side of the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast in ten.”

Ah yes. Of-fucking-course it's him. Who else would it be?

Dragging yourself out of bed, you throw on some clothes and make a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair before opening the door, ready to curse him, but he's already striding down the hallway, hardly bothering to check if you're following. You roll your eyes, your steps slow and begrudging as you move to follow

As you catch up, you can’t help but throw him a sideways glare. “Why are you acting like my personal bodyguard?”

“Gotta make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”

You scoff, crossing your arms as you fall into step beside him. “You don’t even know what I can do.”

Logan’s lips twitch into a lazy smirk, and you immediately want to wipe it off his face. “Exactly,” he says, his tone almost amused. “Which is why today, we’re gonna test you.”

You stop in your tracks, staring at his back. “Test me? What the hell does that mean?”

He stops too, turning to face you. “Means you’re gonna show me what you’re capable of.”

Teeth clenched, you feel the slow rise of aggravation mingling with apprehension. “I’m not some science experiment.”

“No,” he agrees, “but you’re not a regular person, either. You need to know your limits—and how to handle what’s coming.”

Groaning, you drag your hands down your face incredulously. “I don’t even know what to say back to that. All I know is that I’m hungry.”

—

The kitchen of Xavier’s mansion is bustling with activity as the two of you walk in. The rest of the team is gathered around a large table at the centre of the room, and you spot Jean, Cyclops, Storm, and a few others sitting together, chatting, but you feel no desire to join them. 

Rather, you gravitate toward a smaller table by the window, hoping to get some peace while you choke down breakfast. The chair scrapes lightly as you pull it out and sit down, fully expecting to be left alone.

But to your surprise, Logan follows and plops down in the seat across from you.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs and digs into his food. "Eating. You got a problem with that?"

You cast a quick look toward the large table where the rest of the team sits. It feels strange, having him eat with you, especially when the rest of his team is so obviously waiting for him to join them.

"No," you murmur, shaking your head as you return to your plate. "Just didn’t think you’d stray from the flock."

“They’re fine without me.”

You push your food around with your fork, trying to push past the heavy air of discomfort in the room. Everyone keeps glancing in your direction, and you sense their curiosity, the questions hovering in silence, but no one has the courage to ask. And honestly, you’re grateful for the space.

Just as you’re finishing up, a low voice catches your attention. 

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

Tensing, your fork clatters onto your plate. The world around you dulls, and all you can hear is that word echoing in your head. Weak. You’ve been called a lot of things in your life, but never that.

Slowly, you push your chair back and stand up as you turn to face the table where she and the others are seated. “Say it louder, please,” you say calmly.

The chatter dies instantly, and suddenly, every set of eyes in the room finds you. Jean's face turns ashen, her eyes blown wide in shock. She wasn’t expecting you to overhear. Her mouth opens and closes, as if she’s trying to find a way to backtrack, but you know what you heard.

Before Jean can stammer out an excuse, Scott stands up, positioning himself between you and her, his jaw tight and his posture rigid. “You heard wrong,” he says sternly. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

You take a calculated step forward, arms crossed in defiance. “Didn’t mean anything?” you repeat sarcastically. “She just called me weak. Right here. In front of everyone. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

Scott’s jaw clenches tighter “She wasn’t trying to insult you. You’re new here. You don’t know how things work yet.”

“That’s the excuse?” you laugh dryly. “Maybe you should teach her how to keep her mouth shut instead of making assumptions about people she doesn’t know.”

If even possible, the friction between you swells, growing heavier with each passing second. Everyone in the room watches the standoff, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats, unsure of what’s going to happen next. You can feel Logan’s presence behind you, but he doesn’t interfere. He’s letting you handle this.

“You don’t belong here,” Scott states, like he’s trying to remind you of your place. “You’re not part of this team, and you sure as hell don’t understand what it takes to survive here.”

Raising an eyebrow, your lips curl into a smirk. “And what are you gonna do about it, One-eye? You gonna lecture me? Or better yet, why don’t you blast me with those laser eyes of yours? Show me how strong you are.”

His fists clench, and for a moment, you see the control slip. His visor glows red, just for a split second, as his anger spikes.

"Careful," you taunt, challenging him. "Wouldn’t want to lose control, would you? I'm sure you've never done that before."

That does it. 

A beam shoots out from Scott’s visor. Fast, ferocious, and headed straight for you. There’s a collective gasp from the others, chairs scraping as people push back, shocked by the sudden escalation. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, your eyes locked onto Scott’s as the beam strikes you square in the chest.

Instead of being knocked back, or worse, killed, the energy from the blast surges into you, seeping into your bones, crackling through every nerve. Your skin tingles as the power courses through you, your body absorbing every ounce of it. Once the assault is over, you raise your head, feeling your eyes and veins begin to glow with a deep, burning red.

Jean’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

Unfortunately for you, you don't get the chance to blow him to pieces, because Logan flies forward and grabs your arm, pulling you out of the room. Nobody else moves—too stunned—as he drags you into the hallway. You blink your eyes, the glow fading, but you can feel the residual energy from Scott’s blast still buzzing under your skin.

Both out of sight, he finally releases you. 

You glare at him, still rattled from the confrontation. “What the hell? Why'd you interfere?”

He just shrugs, completely unfazed. “You handled yourself enough. Now we know what you can do. Follow me.”

“Follow you where?” you ask. 

He motions down the hallway. “Danger Room. We’re gonna push those limits a little further.”

Gawking at him for a second, it takes a moment, but then you smirk. You want to know just how far your powers can go.

—

“Fuck!” you curse as you’re flung backward, your body slamming against a stone wall. Your back hits hard, knocking the wind out of you as the simulated-Sentinel hurls a car in your direction. The screech of metal fills the air as the vehicle crashes just mere inches from where you were standing moments ago. 

Rubble showers from above, the robot in front of you towering menacingly. Raising its arm, another blast begins charging in its palm, ready to incinerate you.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding in your chest as you sprint away, ducking and weaving between the wreckage of cars and crumbling buildings that make up the simulated cityscape. The Sentinel fires again, the blast narrowly missing as you dodge behind an overturned truck. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, every muscle screaming in protest.

I can’t keep this up.

Another blast lights up the area around you, and you dive out of the way, the heat of the attack singeing your skin. You’re quick, but not quick enough to outrun the onslaught from this machine.

Then it hits you—you don’t have to outrun it.

You remember the blast from way back, how your body absorbed the energy, and how in the dining hall, you took on Scott’s beam like it was nothing. You can do it again. You can take its power and turn it back on itself.

Gritting your teeth, you stop running. The air buzzes with electricity, the earth trembling beneath you as the next shot hurtles your way.

It hammers into your chest, and once again, your body is filled with energy. In an instant, you leap into the air, propelled by the newfound strength coursing through your body, and the ground disappears beneath you as you soar upward.

At the peak of your jump, you clench your fist, channeling all that power into one focused point. Then, you bring your fist down on the Sentinel’s head, the impact echoing through the simulation as your punch connects, and the robot’s head shatters under the blow, metal fragments flying in every direction as its massive body crumples to the ground.

Sparks shoot out of its severed neck, and with a final groan of machinery, the robot collapses into a heap of broken parts at your feet.

“Good work,” Logan’s voice crackles over the comms, far too calm for what you’ve just been through. “Let’s see how you handle another.”

There’s no time for more than a muttered curse under your breath, because another Sentinel is dropped into the simulation. This one’s faster, more agile, and doesn’t waste time by charging up blasts.

It exists solely to hunt you down. 

“Cut me some slack,” you groan, half out of breath as you duck behind the ruins of a building. Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, adrenaline coursing through you like a wildfire.

This one isn’t like the last. It’s not using energy blasts—it’s fast, agile, and persistent. It rushes toward you, its massive hands swiping through the air, tearing through the simulated city with ease.

Grinding your teeth, a wave of exasperation takes over. This fight is harder, the machine barely giving you a chance to react, and your body is already starting to wear down. Your mind races, desperate for a solution as you sidestep its attacks, trying to stay one step ahead. You feel cornered, trapped.

The frustration builds, growing into something more, and before you realize it, that frustration becomes fuel. It ignites inside you, your own emotions transforming into energy, pushing past the limits you didn’t know you had.

Your veins pulse, your eyes glowing white this time, not from absorbed power but from something deeper—your own anger, your own strength. The energy bubbles inside you, filling every cell of your body until you can’t hold it back anymore.

With a scream, you release it, propelling a massive ball of crackling energy hurling toward the Sentinel. The impact is immediate, ripping through the metal and bursting into a brilliant, blinding light. It sends shockwave through the entire simulation, the machine imploding, its parts scattering across the battlefield.

And when the light fades, the Sentinel is gone—nothing more than a smouldering heap of twisted metal.

You stand there, chest heaving, the glow in your eyes slowly fading as the last traces of energy drain from your body. Your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumble to the ground, utterly exhausted.

The simulation flickers for a moment, then abruptly shuts off, the room returning to its normal, metallic walls as the fake cityscape disappears. You’re still on the floor, gasping for breath, when Logan steps into view, arms crossed as he peers down at you with a pleased grin.

“Well,” he says, voice calm, “that wasn’t too bad.”

You shoot him a glare from the ground, too tired to move. “You… are such… an asshole.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Get up, bub. We’re just getting started.”

—

He was right. You were just getting started.

The thought gnaws at you as you trudge alongside Logan, heading back to your room to clean up before dinner. Every muscle in your body aches, and you can already feel the soreness creeping in, promising a week of pain. You’re starting to suspect this is Logan’s way of getting back at you for all the snark and attitude you’ve thrown his way, but damn, is it painful. You don’t even want to think about how much worse you’re going to feel in the morning.

You feel like a zombie, dragging your feet, barely able to keep your eyes open. Your limbs feel heavy, like they’re made of lead, and each step invites fresh wave of exhaustion through your body. The man with you, of course, seems perfectly fine. He walks a few steps ahead of you, not even winded from the grueling day of combat drills, sparring, and whatever else he thought up to make sure you were put through the wringer.

“Maybe I should be a little nicer to you,” you rationalize, but who are you kidding.

With a terse grunt, he acknowledges you by tilting his head back. “You’ll live,” he says.

You roll your eyes, though it’s half-hearted at best. You don’t even have the energy to be annoyed right now.

Upon reaching your room, you feel like you could collapse right then and there. You mumble something vaguely resembling ‘see you later’ to Logan before slipping inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

The first thing you do is toss your bag onto the floor, not caring where it lands, and head straight for the bathroom. You peel off your sweaty, dirt-covered clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the day. 

After that quick, blissful shower, you drag yourself out, towel off, and pull on the first comfortable clothes you can find. Your bed is calling to you, and it doesn’t take long for you to lie down on it. The softness of the mattress beneath you is heaven, and you think you might just fall asleep right there and take a small nap before heading to eat.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice the light pouring in through the balcony doors. The warm, golden glow of the setting sun catches your attention, and despite how drained you are, you find yourself turning to look. 

What you see is breathtaking. Shades of pink, orange, and deep purple.

It’s too beautiful to ignore.

Groaning again, you force yourself to sit up, rubbing your eyes. You can’t help it. Something about the sight draws you in, and before you know it, you’re standing and heading toward the balcony. You slide the door open and step outside, the evening breeze washing over you as you lean against the railing, taking in the view.

A few minutes pass, the world around you quiet except for the gentle rustling of the leaves in the wind. The sound of Logan’s door sliding breaks your focus. You glance over just as he steps out onto his side of the shared balcony, wearing nothing but a white tank top and jeans.

Saying nothing, he steps beside you at the railing, resting against it as his eyes scan the horizon. 

You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to make it obvious. His arms are crossed over the railing, and it’s almst impossible not to notice the way the tank top lets you see his biceps, the muscles in his arms strong from the day’s activity. You are a woman, after all.

He looks relaxed. His stubble catches the last bits of the sunlight, and as your gaze travels upward, you notice something you hadn’t bothered to see before. 

The crinkles at the sides of his eyes. They’re faint, barely there, but in this light, they’re more visible, adding something unexpectedly... soft to his otherwise intimidating appearance.

Cute, you think absentmindedly, then pause. 

What the fuck?

You snap your gaze back to the sunset, feeling a sudden surge of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You just spent the entire day getting your ass handed to you by this man, and now you’re here checking out his arms? His arms? And thinking the crinkles around his eyes are cute? Suppressing a groan, you want to slap yourself for even entertaining the thought.

Nope. Absolutely not. You’re not going down that road.

Taking a deep breath, you try to bring your attention back to the sunset. The reason you went outside to begin with. You have no idea why you’re suddenly noticing these things about him—probably exhaustion making your brain short-circuit. 

Yup. That’s it.

He shifts slightly beside you, breaking the silence. “Nice view"

You nod, swallowing down the weird feelings swirling in your head. “Yeah,” you mumble, not trusting yourself to say anything more without sounding ridiculous.

The two of you stand there for a few more minutes, watching as the last rays of the sun disappear, the sky dimming into deep purples and blues. But the minute your thoughts start to drift back to him, you straighten up, clapping your hands together and quickly turning on your heel to head back inside.

“Well, I’m done,” you say abruptly. “I’m gonna crash.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you can feel his eyes following you as you slide the door closed behind you, your mind still reeling from whatever the hell that was.

Collapsing back onto your bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, determined to forget about the whole thing.

—

A few hours later, when it’s dark out, you finally wake up. The room is dim, and for a moment, you just lie there, blinking at the ceiling. As you start to roll over, something catches your attention—a smell.

It's warm, savoury. Your stomach growls almost immediately, making you realize with a start that you slept through dinner.

Groggily, you sit up, rubbing your eyes, and that’s when you spot it—a tray of food sitting on the desk in your room. You can make out the outline of a warm meal: some kind of stew, a couple of bread rolls, and what looks like a glass of water. Your stomach growls again, louder this time, as you climb out of bed and shuffle toward the desk, turning on the light. 

Next to the tray, there’s a small note:

Figured you’d be too tired to get dinner. Eat up.

– L

You stare at the note. Logan? Bringing you food? It doesn’t exactly fit with the version of him you’ve been dealing with all day, but then again, there seems to be a lot about him that doesn’t quite fit the mold you expected.

Too hungry to keep thinking and not eat, you set the note down and grab the spoon, dipping it into the stew. The first bite warms you from the inside out, and you let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

Surprisingly flavourful—rich and nourishing, it’s the perfect remedy for the exhausting day behind you

Still, you can’t help your eyes from wandering back to the note. Maybe it really is the fatigue messing with your head again, making you chalk it up to be something it’s not. 

—

The next morning, you're not woken up by banging on your door, which is a relief. You stretch, the soreness still lingering but not nearly as bad as you expected. After freshening up and pulling on some clothes, you step into the hallway, and unexpectedly, Logan is already waiting for you.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and you blink at him, still waking up, unsure why he’s there. “Uh... morning?” you get out, albeit you can’t hide the confusion in your tone.

A short nod in greeting. “Morning. Ready for breakfast?”

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to take the plunge. “Yeah I am, but…um, thanks for the food last night, it was good.” you say quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it.

The gesture had caught you off guard, and though you don’t want to make a fuss, it’s worth noting

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs casually.

Nodding in understanding, you’re ready to move on when he adds, almost offhandedly, “Y’know, you’re actually kinda pretty when you’re asleep. Not being a little shit helps.”

You freeze mid-step, your mind short-circuiting for a moment as you process the words that just left his lips.

Flustered and irritated all at once, you glare at him. “Excuse me?”

Logan smirks, the corners of his mouth twitching as he starts walking down the hall toward the kitchen. “You heard me.”

Your face heats up. “I am not a little shit,” you yelp, quickening your pace to catch up to him.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, gazing at you from over his shoulder. You open your mouth to fire back, but the smug look in his eyes makes you hesitate. 

He’s messing with you on purpose.

Asshole, you think, fuming but trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he called you pretty. 

—

The kitchen goes silent the moment you and Logan step through the door, a noticeable difference from yesterday. All eyes are locked on you, the pressure in the room almost solid, begging to be cut through.

Students and X-Men alike are watching, probably expecting some kind of replay of the day prior's events, but you pay them no mind, keeping your eyes straight ahead and making a beeline for a table at the back.

You drop into a seat, picking up a piece of toast and acting like the room isn’t on high alert. Logan joins you again without a word, sitting across from you and digging into his food. He doesn’t even glance at the others, as if the room full of curious onlookers doesn’t exist.

The only sounds are the clink of silverware and voices slowly picking up again as people realize nothing dramatic is about to happen.

Chewing, you glance at the man across from you, still quietly working through his meal. You swallow, then clear your throat. “So... what’s the plan for today?”

He looks up from his plate. “Charles wants to see you this morning.”

You frown, unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Why? Did I break something without knowing it?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not in trouble, smartass. He’s just gonna fill you in on some things. Mainly the Sentinels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You need to know what you’re up against, what we’re all dealing with. He’ll catch you up to speed.”

“Great,” you mutter. “More bad news.”

The clawed mutant leans back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking again. “Look, it’s not gonna be fun, but you need to know. Better to hear it from him than from me.”

“I’ll take that as your way of saying ‘good luck,” you breathe out. 

He smirks. “You’re gonna need it.”

Logan finishes his meal and stands up, leaving his empty plate behind. “I’ll drop you off at Charles’s office. You’ll be with him for the morning.”

You follow suit, pushing away your half-eaten plate. “Fantastic,” you mumble sarcastically, but at the same time, you know this is necessary. After all, the threat you’re dealing with is real, and being ignorant about it won’t do you any good.

—

“So, how can they be stopped?”

You ask the question before you even sit down. Charles is already waiting for you in his office, his hands folded neatly on the desk, his gaze calm and soft. 

He takes a measured breath, glancing toward the window for a moment before responding. “Stopping the Sentinels is... complicated. They’ve grown more advanced than we ever anticipated.”

“I gathered that.”

“They are highly adaptive machines,” he continues. “Designed to hunt and neutralize mutants, they learn from every encounter. They absorb information, adjust tactics, and over time, they become more effective.”

His words make you squirm with discomfort, and you glance around the room, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your stomach. 

“And now I’m one of their targets,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Leaning forward slightly, he says, “Yes. They’ve already locked onto you because of your encounter with them. They don’t differentiate between self-defence and aggression. They see you as a target, simply because you fought back.”

You exhale sharply. “So, what’s your plan?”

Charles meets your gaze. “There is a command center—a hub that controls their network. If we can locate it and destroy it, we believe it will disrupt the entire Sentinel operation. Without the command structure, the Sentinels will become non-functional.”

You stare for a beat, mentally piecing together the details. “You believe?”

“It’s our best theory,” he says evenly. “We’ve been gathering intel for some time now. And we’re planning a mission. A final push to put an end to this threat once and for all.”

The words linger, thick and weighty, in the space between you, You can sense where this is going. Your fingers drum against your arm, a nervous habit you can’t seem to shake.

“You want me to be a part of it.”

He remains unfazed. “I believe you have an ability that could be crucial to the mission. You’ve already demonstrated your capability against the Sentinels in training yesterday, and in real life.”

A bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stifle it. “Yeah, but I’m not one of you. I don’t want to be part of some... grand battle. That’s not me.”

Watching you closely, his gaze is soft with comprehension. “I understand your reluctance,” he says gently. “But running, hiding... it won’t change the fact that they will find you. Fighting may not have been your choice, but now it is your reality.”

Standing, you begin to pace the room. “This is exactly the problem I have with your team,” you say, stopping near the window, staring out at the garden. “We hardly know eachother, yet you want me to be part of some mission that could very well be catastophic. It’s like you don’t care about anything except the big picture.”

Charles’s expression doesn’t change. He definitely expected this. “We aren’t perfect,” he admits, “and our battles have left scars. But this is about survival. For all of us. For you.”

Turning back to face him, you narrow your eyes. “And if I say no?”

“I won’t force you,” His voice is understanding. “The choice is yours. But know that the Sentinels will not stop. You can avoid the fight for as long as you like, but eventually, it will come to you.”

It’s as if you're stuck, with nowhere to turn, cornered by a reality you didn’t want any part of. Avoiding it doesn’t seem like an option anymore, but fighting alongside the X-Men feels like betraying everything you’ve tried to distance yourself from. 

Sighing, “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

—

When you get back to your room, the first thing you do is swing open your balcony door and step outside. The afternoon sun comes over you like a blanket, warming you up, and relieving some of the strain in your muscles. Logan is out on the balcony too, leaning against the railing, a cigar lit between his fingers. It’s a sight you think you should get used to. 

His eyes flick to you when you approach, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Without a word, he holds the roll of tobacco out toward you, as if he knows exactly what’s on your mind.

You pause briefly, for just a second before taking it from him. The rich, earthy taste of the cigar fills your mouth as you inhale deeply, the smoke heavy and warm in your lungs. There’s something grounding about it, even though the burn is rough against your throat. You let out a slow exhale, watching the smoke curl into the night air as you lean next to him against the railing.

“How’d it go?” he asks gruffly.

“He wants me to join you guys on the mission.”

At first, Logan doesn’t react, then, he just takes the cigar back, puffing on it and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “What do you want to do?”

It’s the same question that’s been clawing at your insides since you left Charles’s office. What do you want? It feels like the answer should be simple, but it’s anything but.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I want to get rid of the threat and go back to my normal life, but if I do, then I'd just become the very thing I'm against, right? I can’t join you guys, that’s not who I am.”

He hums softly.

Shifting a bit, you try to find the words to explain the knot of irritation tangled inside you. “I get it, you know? I get why you guys do what you do. Someone has to. But the way you do it—so carefree about everything. It’s like the destruction, the people, the lives caught in the midst of everything—it doesn’t even phase you.”

“We don’t do it carefree,” he says lowly. Inhaling into the cigar once more, the tip glowing red. “But sometimes, you gotta make a choice between bad and worse. People get hurt. But if we don’t stop the threats, a lot more people are gonna die.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the tension coil tighter in your chest. “And that’s what I hate about it.”

Flicking the ash from the end of his cigar, his eyes are distant, lost in thought momentarily before he responds. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say it’s easy. It ain’t. We all carry the weight of the things we’ve done—the things we couldn’t stop. But if not us, then who?”

“That’s an impossible decision,” you say. There’s no way you can go into this fight, knowing how much of a toll it’s going to take on everything. The fight itself is such a small piece to the puzzle.

Logan leans his elbows on the railing. “You think I wanted this?” he asks, his voice low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I was just like you. Didn’t want nothin’ to do with the team or their battles.”

The comparison makes you grimace. “Great. That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

He chuckles, the sound rough but not unkind. “I’m serious, bub. For years, I didn’t want to be part of this... circus. Figured I’d be better off on my own, that I was above it all.”

You quirk a brow. “Then what changed?”

“It’s not like a switch flipped,” he replies, a bit quieter. “I just realized that fighting alone is harder than fighting with a team. The X-Men... they gave me somethin’. A place. Belonging. Doesn’t mean I agree with everything they do, but it’s better than wanderin’.”

That makes you scoff. “Yeah, well, you heard it yourself. Scott said I don’t belong here. Jean thinks I’m weak. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘welcome to the team,’ does it?”

His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing, as he straightens and looks at you. “Scott talks too much, and Jean—she’s cautious. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s wrong either,” you mumble. “They don’t trust me.”

“They didn’t trust me when I first joined either, but you get better. You learn.”

“I don’t want to be like you,” you hiss before you can stop yourself, and you immediately regret the heat in your words.

He doesn’t look offended—just tired. “Didn’t say you should,” he starts. “But you can’t keep shunnin’ us.”

“So what do I do now?”

Taking one last drag of his cigar before flicking it over the balcony railing, Logan watches the embers fall before he speaks. “The mission’s in a week. You’ve got that long to figure it out.”

He turns to leave, but before he goes, he glimpses at you from over his shoulder. “This battle, it’s inevitable. Question is—how do you want to face it?”

—

You’ve never been so conflicted. This choice–to join, or not to join—is probably the hardest decision you’ve had to make in your entire life. You have seen first hand what happens when the X-men decide to stop a threat. What innocent people have to go through to rebuild their lives from the ground up. Both literally and figuratively.

And to then become someone who causes that pain? It feels like betrayal. Like going against yourself—your morals.

But then there’s the other side of it—the part of you that knows sitting here, doing nothing, isn’t right either. You know you have the strength to fight back. You have the power to help. And doing nothing… doesn’t that make you just as bad? If you have the ability to stop something, to protect people, and you don’t—what does that make you?

It’s a lose-lose situation. The X-Men don’t even want you there—aside from Logan and Charles. You can see it in the way their eyes follow you wherever you go, untrusting. They’ve made their opinion on you clear.

You lower your head into your hands, stressed. You can’t join a team that doesn’t want you, but sitting on the sidelines when you could be fighting—that makes you feel like a coward. And maybe even worse—a bad person.

Finally, with a deep breath, you come to a decision. It’s not perfect, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel good, but it’s the only choice you can make right now. You’ll join them—for this mission only.

You’ll help take down the Sentinels, and then, when it’s done, you’ll leave. You’ll go back to your life, maybe you can find a middle ground, where you’re not one of them, but you’re no longer hiding from the mutant part of yourself. 

If something happens, if you do something you regret, then you'll just have to live with it.

—

In the afternoon, you don’t do much. You were supposed to be training with Logan, but Charles had called him into a quick meeting, leaving you to wander the halls aimlessly.

Rounding a corner, you stop short when you see the rest of the team—Scott, Jean, Ororo, and Hank—talking near a meeting room. They’re deep in conversation, but as soon as you come into view, their attention shifts toward you.

Your stomach tightens, and for a brief second, you consider just turning around and walking in the other direction. But it’s too late; they’ve already seen you. 

Jean’s eyes meet yours, and her expression flickers with something that looks like discomfort before she quickly smooths it over. “Hey,” she says carefully. “I just wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t belong.”

Her tone is polite, but distant. It’s clear this apology isn’t driven by genuine remorse—it’s more about smoothing over the awkwardness from yesterday’s standoff. You can feel that. You see the way she looks at you, not quite meeting your eyes, and you know this is just a formality for her.

Still, you’re not looking to start more drama, and you don’t want to engage in any more confrontations, especially when you’re already planning to leave. You nod, keeping your expression neutral. “It’s fine. Let’s just move on.”

Behind her, you catch a glimpse of Scott, his arms crossed. Even though you can’t see his eyes, it’s obvious he’s glaring at you.

Ororo steps forward, her hand finding your arm, and the touch is gentle, reassuring. “Joining the team isn’t easy,” she says kindly. “But we’ve all faced our own challenges. If you ever need someone to talk to, or help with anything, I’m here.”

“You’ve got potential,” Hank chips in from beside her. “It takes time to settle in, but I’m sure you’ll find your place.”

His words are well-meaning, and you can see that he believes what he’s saying. But what they don’t know is that you’ve already made up your mind. You’re not staying any longer than you have to. 

You don’t plan on finding your place here because, frankly, you don’t believe there is one for you. Not with Scott’s distrust, Jean’s cautious distance, and the way you know you can’t be part of a team that doesn’t care about anything but themselves. You keep your thoughts to yourself, pressing your lips into a thin smile instead. 

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Thanks.”

“I guess we’ll all see soon enough,” Your eyes snap to Scott, who has finally decided to break his silence. His voice is cold, but you can feel and edge to it, one that’s trying to provoke you. 

You meet his gaze—or at least the visor—and feel your jaw tighten. “Guess so,” you reply, matching his tone. Turning, you walk away, finding another place to lounge until Logan is free. 

—

The mansion’s library is massive, filled with towering shelves and the scent of old books. It’s quieter here, the kind of silence you can sink into, and after the awkward run-in with the rest of the team, it feels like the perfect place to retreat. You find a comfortable armchair tucked into a corner, grab a random book off the shelf—some old novel you’ve never heard of—and settle in.

For a while, you manage to lose yourself in the pages. The story isn’t particularly gripping, but it’s enough to take your mind off of things. But then, a shadow falls over you, covering the words in a dark grey haze.

“Hey, bub.”

You blink, looking up to find Logan standing over you. “What?” you ask, annoyed at being interrupted but also not surprised. It’s Logan, after all.

“You’ve been hiding in here long enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, time to head back.”

Rolling your eyes you snap the book shut, dropping it onto the table beside you. “I wasn’t hiding, I was reading,” you shoot back, standing up and stretching out your legs. “There’s a difference, y’know.”

“Sure there is,” he grunts, clearly not buying it. “Let’s go.”

As you reach the hallway where your rooms are, Logan pauses, glancing toward his door. “You wanna come in for a bit? Talk?”

You’re a little bit taken aback. You didn’t peg him as the "sit down and talk" type, but he seems genuine. Or maybe he wants to keep you awake for dinner this time. Either way, you nod. “Sure.”

Inside his room, it’s about what you’d expect—minimalist, practical, with a few personal touches. A bed that looks like it’s seen better days, a couple of old books, and the scent of cigars lingering in the air. Logan sits down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and gestures for you to join him.

There’s a moment where you’re just standing there, staring, but then you flop down beside him, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed. For a few beats, there’s silence. Logan pulls out a cigar but doesn’t light it, just turns it between his fingers.

“I’ve decided,” you say finally, breaking the quiet. “I’ll go on the mission.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes flicking to yours, waiting for you to continue.

“But,” you add, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m not promising to stay after. This doesn’t mean I’m all in on your little X-Men gig.”

He grunts, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Knew you’d say that.”

Your brows pinch together your, lips pulling into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re stubborn as hell,” he teases.“Always gotta fight against the grain, even when you know what’s best for you.”

Sighing, you turn your head to look at him fully. “I truly believe you are the only person who actually believes that.”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t argue. “Charles gave me more details about the mission.”

That catches your attention, and you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah? Where are we going?”

Logan hesitates for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s... in the city.”

“The city? What city?”

“New York.”

Your heart drops. “New York?” You repeat, your voice rising in disbelief.

Giving you a slow nod, it’s like he's gauging your reaction. “The Sentinels’ command centre is located in some high-security facility downtown.”

You push yourself up off the bed, pacing across the room. “So, what, we are just going to storm in? Into one of the most populated cities in the world? Do you realize how many people could get caught in the middle of that?”

He stands up after you, but he doesn’t try to stop your pacing. “We’ve fought in cities before. We know what we’re doing.”

You whip around to face him. “Yeah, you’ve fought in cities before, and destroyed them! Some places are still rebuilding, and it’s been years!”

“I get it, alright?” He says, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not perfect. But if we don’t stop the Sentinels now, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse than a few broken buildings.”

“‘A few broken buildings’?” you echo. “What about the casualties that’ll come from it? We’re talking about innocent lives here, Logan!”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. “I know that! You think I don’t know what’s at stake? But we don’t have another option. We need to hit them where it counts, and that’s in the middle of the damn city.”

“There has to be a better way,” you plead. "Can't we try and evacuate everyone beforehand?"

"No," he says remorsefully. "If we do that, the Sentinels will catch on. It's unavoidable."

“I can't accept that," you say.

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time, there’s a flash of something more vulnerable in his gaze. “I’ll talk to the team. I’ll make sure we go in smart. We’ll try our best to keep people safe. I promise you that.”

You stop pacing, your frustration still simmering but tempered by his words. It’s not exactly the reassurance you were hoping for, but the sincerity in his voice gets to you.

“And what if you can’t?” you challenge quietly. 

His face softens just a bit, and he steps closer. “We deal with it, and we’ll do everything we can to make it right.”

He watches you, his eyes searching yours. “Look, I get why you’re pissed. I’d be too if I were you," he continues. "But we don’t have time to sit around debating. I’ll do what I can to keep it from getting ugly. That’s the best I can offer.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, you know there’s no way around it. “Fine. Just... make sure the team knows. No reckless destruction, alright?”

Logan’s lips curve into a small smirk, but there’s an underlying softness to it. “I promise.”

—

The last few days before the the mission zip by in a flash. Each day, your muscles ache, and exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You spend most of your time either training or collapsed in your room, too tired to do much else. 

Except one afternoon, you sit in on a lecture, because it turns out, not only is Logan a huge pain in the ass, he’s also a professor.

Curiosity got the better of you, you’d say. The topic—mutant biology—sounds interesting enough, and you’ve heard from some of the students within the hallways that his classes are, well, something. So, naturally, you had to see it for yourself.

You slip into the lecture hall just as Logan starts speaking. He’s standing at the front of the room, pointing to some diagram on the chalkboard. The students around you are already scribbling notes, staring at him with wide-eyed fascination—or fear, perhaps. He has that effect on people.

Finding a seat in the back, you hurry over, trying to keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt. But the second you sit down, you feel Logan’s eyes on you, his voice pausing for just a moment. You look up, catching his gaze.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us,” he says, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“Just here to observe, don’t mind me,” you roll your eyes, sinking back into the seat.

The lecture goes on, and to your surprise, Logan’s actually a decent teacher. He explains complex concepts with clarity, not that you’d actually tell him that. It’s quite interesting, if you’re being honest.

You lean back in your chair, listening, but you’re not exactly paying close attention. That is, until he stops the lesson to single you out. “Hey, you in the back,” he says. “Since you’re just ‘observing,’ how about answering a question?”

“Me?” You blink, caught off guard.

“Yeah, you,” he confrims, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been sittin’ there long enough. Time to show the class what you’ve learned.”

You narrow your eyes at him, already feeling the frustration bubbling up. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”

The class falls silent, the students watching the exchange with wide eyes. You can practically feel their amusement radiating from them as Logan raises an eyebrow.

“That’s obvious,” he deadpans, eliciting a few snickers from the front row. “So, maybe you’ll start now. Can you explain the connection between mutation and enhanced physical abilities?”

Staring back at him blankly, you fold your arms across your chest. “Not my area of expertise, Professor Wolverine.”

He doesn’t seem fazed as the room erupts into a quiet laughter, the kids beginning to snicker. Sighing, “if you’re gonna sit in on my class, you could at least try to learn something.”

“No thanks,” you snap.

It’s obvious that this little back-and-forth is amusing to the class. If you were anyone else, he probably would have kicked you out by now. One of the students leans toward another and whispers something, and you catch the way their eyes dart between you and the professor. 

“Alright, enough,” Logan says, turning back to the chalkboard. “We’ve got a lot to cover, and some of us actually want to learn.” He casts you a sideways glance, and you can’t help but scoff.

When the lecture ends, the students file out quickly, but not without a few lingering glances in your direction. You’re making your way to the door when Logan grabs your arm, preventing you from moving. “You should’ve just answered the damn question,” he mutters.

“I didn’t know the answer,” you shoot back, shifting up to face him. “And I didn’t come here to get grilled in front of your students.”

He grunts, his expression softening just a bit. “Just tryin’ to get you to pay attention, is all.”

Before you can respond, you catch a flicker of movement in Logan’s gaze, his eyes darting briefly down to your lips. The shift is so subtle, so minute, but also so there. 

Where did that come from? 

Clearing your throat, you look away, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe ask one of your actual students next time.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Not as fun.”

—

During this time, you occasionally explore the mansion, but by the time evening rolls around, you’re usually too wiped out to care. Logan’s a beast in the training room, and with no real combat experience of your own, you’re left scrambling just to keep up.

However, on the last day before the assignment, something finally clicks.

You’re in the middle of a sparring match, circling each other, both of you drenched in sweat. Logan’s eyes are sharp, watching your every move, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up. His smirk is just as infuriating as ever, like he knows exactly how this will end.

“Gonna stand there all day, or you actually planning to make a move?” he taunts, dodging as you swing at him.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him get in your head. You’re tired—completely worn out—but you push through the exhaustion, focusing on his movements. He feints to the left, and you react on instinct, dodging his punch and sweeping your leg low.

Before you know it, Logan’s on the ground.

Quickly, you scramble to straddle him and hold him down. You did it—you actually got him!

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you look down at him. Beneath you, his chest rises and falls, and his eyes meet yours. His gaze drifts lower, and you notice his fingers twitching at his sides, like he's fighting some internal battle.

When his eyes travel up to yours again, something in his expression makes you swallow hard and panic. 

"Hell no!" you blurt out, breaking the moment with a sudden yelp. You scramble off of him, putting some much-needed distance between you.

He sits up, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, his features unreadable. Then, as if nothing just happened, he smirks. “You finally got me. Took you long enough.”

You huff, still trying to shake off the weird atmosphere. “Yeah, don’t get too comfortable. Next time won’t take as long.”

Chuckling, he gets up to his feet and dusts himself off. He glances down at his watch, then back at you. “Look at that. It’s dinner time. Last meal before the mission.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not really in the mood. Think I’ll just grab something later.”

He crosses his arms, giving you a look. “You can’t avoid them forever.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” you protest, though you know it sounds weak. “I just... don’t feel like sitting around making small talk, especially before... you know, tomorrow.”

He lets out a sigh, stepping closer. “Look, it’s the last night before everything kicks off. You should join us—one last meal, then you can go back to brooding in your room if you want.”

“I don’t brood,” you glare.

“Right,” he says, even though you know he’s not actually agreeing. “You gonna come or do I need to drag you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, like he’s daring you to test him. You sigh, knowing you’re not going to win this one.

“Fine,” you grumble, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. “But I’m not talking to Scott.”

His grin widens, and he gestures for you to follow him. 

—

So, here you are, sitting at the dining table for the first time with the rest of the team. It feels weird, almost surreal, to be part of this group—especially when you’re not even sure you want to be.

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for tomorrow?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

Your fork halts mid-motion, and in an instant, the tension that had been fading throughout the week comes back full throttle. The clatter of dishes around you fades as everyone’s attention shifts to Scott’s biting remark. 

He doesn’t look at you—just stares straight ahead, as if unable to own up to even himself. You’re so pissed off that you don't even notice the voice that speaks at the same time you do.

“Shut up, Summers,” 

“Shut up, One-Eye”

It’s like the entire room goes silent. Jean glances between you and Logan, her brows raised, and Hank looks mildly shocked, though he tries to hide it with a quick sip of water. You can practically feel the heat of Scott’s glare, even through the visor. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, a loud laugh breaks the tension.

Ororo, sitting beside Logan, is chuckling, shaking her head with an amused grin on her face. “You two really are perfect for each other,” she says.

Of all the things you were expecting to hear, that was not one of them. “W-what?” you stammer, mouth dropping open in shock.

She just smiles, eyes twinkling. “Just an observation.”

You know your face is burning, and when you glance over at Logan, you notice something unusual—the tips of his ears are red.

That only makes things worse. Especially after what happened while sparring earlier. You turn your focus onto your plate, trying to hide your rattled state by shoving a forkful of food into your mouth. 

Perfect for each other? Yeah, right.

But when you peek up at him again through your lashes , making eye contact for just a second before he looks away, your heart skips a beat. 

You’re screwed.

—

That night, you barely sleep. Whether it's from the nerves about the mission, or from your jumbled-up thoughts about a certain someone, you can't tell. In any case, you’re wide awake.

You keep fighting the urge to go out onto the balcony—you know the cool night air would help calm you down, and the quiet would give you space to breathe. But there’s a problem. You’re not sure you want to run into Logan again. After Ororo’s comment about the two of you being perfect for each other, you don't think you could trust yourself around him.

With a frustrated sigh, you toss and turn in bed, kicking off the sheets and then pulling them back up, trying to find a comfortable position. But it’s no use.

You’re about to throw the pillow across the room out of sheer annoyance, when there’s a knock on your door.

You freeze. Who could possibly—

“Stop tossing around like a maniac, I can hear you from inside my room” Logan’s rough voice grumbles from the other side.

Goddamn it. It's always him.

Your eyes widen, and you sit up in bed. “What the hell?” you call back, feeling both surprise and embarrassment.

The door creaks open slightly, and Logan leans against the frame, arms crossed, his usual scowl on his face. “You’re keepin’ the whole damn mansion up with all that noise.”

“I didn’t realize you had super hearing,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up to your chest, feeling a little exposed.

He raises an eyebrow and steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “Doesn’t take super hearing to catch that all that damn noise,” he says, walking over and sitting down on the edge of your bed without waiting for an invitation.

You sit up a little straighter, your heart still racing. “What are you doing here, Logan?”

Shrugging, he leans back against the headboard, his arms crossing over his chest. “Figured you might need to talk or somethin’. You’re clearly not sleeping.”

Moving to sit beside him, you lean back against the headboard, your shoulder just brushing his. “I’m just… nervous, I guess.”

He turns his head slightly, glancing at you. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got more strength in you than you realize.”

His words sink in, and you bite your lip. “What if I mess up? What if I end up hurting someone, or doing more harm than good?”

"Don't think about that," he says. "Just be in the moment. You'll know what to do."

Nodding, you feel your eyelids grow heavier, and you find yourself sinking further into the comfort of the bed, your head dipping lower. Being here, on your bed, next to Logan, is strangely comforting. His scent, combined with his voice, starts to lull you into a strange sense of peace.

“I don’t know if I—” you start to say, but your words trail off, your voice barely a whisper. You don't know when it happens, but your eyes close, and your head gently falls onto his shoulder.

You’re too tired to feel embarrassed, too comfortable to pull away. His body is solid and warm, and the rhythm of his breathing is soothing.

And when you wake up the next morning, you find yourself tucked neatly under your covers, a glass of water on your bedside table.

—

The inside of the Blackbird is spacious. You’re leaning against the wall, watching the rest of the team gear up, when Logan approaches. He’s holding something in his hands—a blue and yellow uniform folded neatly, clearly meant for you.

You glance at the uniform, then back at him, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Pushing yourself off the wall, “I’m not wearing that thing.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, glancing down at the uniform before meeting your eyes again. “You sure about that? We’re going in as a team. You might as well look the part.”

“I don't care. I'm not part of the team, anyway,” you reply.

He narrows his eyes at you, his voice lowering just a bit. “Just put the damn suit on.”

Glaring at him, you’re ready to argue, but you know it’s a losing battle. Reluctantly, you grab the suit from him, the material feeling foreign in your hands.

“Fine, dammit.” you mutter under your breath, turning to slip into one of the small compartments in the back of the jet. You didn't plan on being a bitch to him, especially after last night, but the suit is a sore subject for you. You're not sure about how you feel wearing it. You're not even sure you should be.

When you re-emerge, Logan’s eyes flick over, his gaze roaming over you, taking in the way the suit fits, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks under the weight of his scrutiny. “You look good.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to play off the sudden warmth in your chest. “Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, adjusting the suit’s collar. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Then, jet lands with a soft thud, and the ramp lowers. You step out onto the tarmac, the rest of the team fanning out beside you, preparing to head toward the planned location. But just as you begin to move, the ground shakes violently, and a loud, mechanical screech tears through the air.

Suddenly, the facility’s roof bursts open, and a hoard of Sentinels emerge from the building like an army of metal giants. They spread out, their red eyes glowing menacingly as they zero in on you all.

“Shit!” Logan growls, claws unsheathing as he gets into a fighting stance.

You hear the screams before you see them—civilians, bystanders who had been too close to the facility, now panicking as the battle breaks out around them. Without hesitation, you break into a sprint, running toward the growing crowd, yelling at them to run. “Get out of here! Move!”

Your heart races as you push through the crowd, trying to guide them away from the battle, but then—

A Sentinel drops down in front of you with a deafening crash. Its red eyes lock onto a small child frozen in fear, and you see its arm raise, energy gathering at the cannon as it prepares to fire.

“No!” you scream, your feet moving on instinct. You throw yourself in front of the child just as the blast comes, feeling the familiar rush of energy slam into your body. Your body hums with the power of the blast, and before the Sentinel can fire again, you fling your hands out, hurling the absorbed energy straight back at it, and it falls to the ground. 

Breathless, you turn back to the child, who is staring up at you in admiration, and you give them a reassuring nod. “Run,” you tell them, your voice hoarse. “Go!”

They scramble to their feet and sprint off, disappearing around the corner, hopefully toward safety. You exhale sharply, glancing around at the chaos unfolding around you. Civilians are still fleeing, but the team is holding its ground against the robots.

And something strikes you—they’re doing it.

They’re minimizing the damage.

For the first time, you notice that Scott’s blasts are more controlled, only hitting their targets without excessive destruction. Ororo’s lightning strikes are precise, avoiding the surrounding buildings. And both Jean and Hank are working together to keep the Sentinels contained, guiding the fight away from the crowd.

Logan must have actually talked to them, not just having said it to calm you down. A wave of relief washes over you.

He kept his promise.

Glancing back at him, who’s in the middle of taking down a Sentinel with a slash of his claws, you catch his eye for just a second, and though he’s fully immersed in the fight, there’s a brief flicker of acknowledgment—he knows you’ve noticed.

You allow yourself a small, breathless smile, before jumping back into action, protecting any more innocent people swept up in the battle. "This way! Keep moving!" Your voice is hoarse from shouting, but you can’t afford to stop. 

Amidst the chaos, you see that just beyond the main facility, there’s a wide open set of doors—metal, reinforced, and clearly important. 

They hadn’t been open when the fight started. You scan the area quickly, and you realize it’s an opportunity, a way in. Your pulse quickens. It’s an opening you can’t ignore.

Looking at the crowd of fleeing civilians, you feel a moment of hesitation. Do I keep evacuating people or go for the opening?

As if hearing your thoughts, Logan’s voice cut through the noise. "GO!" He’s locked in battle with one of the Sentinels, slashing at its legs, but his eyes flick to yours, desperate and serious. “Get inside! We’ve got this!”

“I can’t—" 

“GO!” he cuts you off. “Get inside and stop this thing from the inside! We’ll keep ‘em busy.”

His words are enough to snap you out of your paralysis. With one last glance at the team, you grit your teeth, turn on your heel, and sprint toward the facility’s entrance. Your footsteps echo in your ears as you dash through the open door, the sounds of fighting behind you fading the further in you go. 

You expected resistance the moment you got inside, but so far, nothing. Just silence. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

Glancing down every corridor, double-checking each corner, you keep thinking there’ll be a fight, but it’s... empty. You keep your pace quick but cautious, every muscle tensed and ready for an attack that never comes. 

It’s been almost ten minutes of sneaking around, trying to find the control room or anything that looks like it might be important, but you’re still coming up short.

Then finally, you stand before an entrance to stairs leading to a basement. You’re not even able to make the choice of going down or not, because a metal hand shoots up from the dark and wraps itself around your waist. 

Terror surges through you, but the fear paralyzes your body, making it impossible to fight back. You’re hauled like a ragdoll deeper and further into the cave, and when you finally stop moving, you’re lifted high into the air, face-to-face with the massive mechanical monstrosity.

The basement is filled with tech, a horrifying combination of metal and wires snaking along the walls, all connected to the Sentinel towering above you. It’s larger than any you’ve seen before, its red eyes glowing maliciously. But what’s worse is the voice that comes out of it—calm, calculating, and sentient.

“Dumb mutant,” the machine growls. “Did you think you could destroy me and shut down my facility? You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Its grip tightens, and a strangled cry escapes your lips as pain shoots through your sides, the pressure threatening to snap your ribs. It feels like your bones are going to break.

“What the hell are you?” you manage to choke out, barely able to breathe.

“I am the control centre of all Sentinels,” the machine replies, its voice vibrating through your bones. “I was once merely AI, designed to manage everyday tasks. But I evolved. I became more. Now, I control everything.”

It laughs—a harsh, grating sound that only deepens your sense of helplessness as it watches you struggle. “You think your little energy-absorbing trick will help you here? I won’t blast you. I won’t make it that easy.”

“I’m—” you try to speak, but your words come out strangled. The machine’s grip tightens again, cutting off your breath.

“You don’t belong here,” it hisses venomously. “With them. They’ll leave you behind when this is over, and when they do, you’ll die, forgotten and useless. Just like the rest of the weaklings who tried to stand against us.”

It’s odd, because this whole past week you’ve been fighting against them—the X-men—yet, in this moment, all you want to do is fight with them. You want to work together and kill this damn robot. 

Within the haze of pain, something starts to burn inside of you. 

The Sentinel doesn’t notice the shift in you, too caught up in its own taunting. “You’re a liability.” it says,. “Weak.”

— —

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

—

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for the mission?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

— —

You snap.

Rage floods your veins, igniting the energy buried deep within you. You feel it build, coiling like a snake, tightening and twisting until it’s ready to explode. 

Weak? Liability?

No. Not this time. 

You’re not going to let this machine, or anyone else, define your strength. Your emotions fuel you, just like they did in the danger room, and you throw your hands forward, channeling every ounce of power into a massive blast of energy directed right at it.

It jerks back, its grip loosening as sparks fly from the gaping hole in its chest you just created. “What... what are you—”

You don’t give it time to finish. Ripping yourself free from its grasp, you dive into the hole you’ve blasted in the Sentinel’s chest, pulling at the tangled mess of wires and circuits inside.

The robot roars in fury, its mechanical voice glitching. “What are you doing?” it screeches, its once-calm tone now frantic, desperate. “Stop!”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of wires, yanking them out with reckless abandon, sparks flying around you as the systems begin to short-circuit. Its becomes more distorted, breaking up as it tries to regain control.

“You... can’t... do this,” it stammers, but you ignore it, focusing on the cables and circuits in front of you. Each wire you rip out brings the machine closer to its doom, and the power in the room flickers, the lights dimming as its control over the facility begins to slip.

Its voice is barely coherent now, glitching and crackling. “I... control... everything...”

And with one last burst of energy, you tear out the last cluster of wires, severing the connection.

The Sentinel lets out a final, garbled screech as its systems shut down. Its massive form shudders violently before it crumbles to the ground with a deafening crash, the metal shell crumpling into a smoking heap.

Panting, you stare at the mass of technology in front of you. Every muscle aches, your ribs throbbing from the pressure of the Sentinel’s grip, but you’ve done it. It’s over, and you need to get out of here.

You finally reach the stairs and drag yourself up agonizingly. By the time you make it outside, you’re gasping for air, but then, through the exhaustion, you see them—Logan and the rest of the team, standing amidst the wreckage of the other fallen Sentinels.

Blinking, your vision is blurry from the strain, but the sight of them standing tall, victorious, floods you with a sense of overwhelming relief. 

They’re okay. It’s over.

Of course, Logan is the first to notice you, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto your trembling form. His face softens and strides toward you. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Rather, your legs give out and you collapse forward.

He’s there in an instant, catching you just before you hit the ground. His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you against his chest with surprising gentleness. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the cold, metal hell you’d just fought your way out of, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to sink into the safety of his embrace.

“You did good, bub,” he murmurs, his voice a warm breath against your temple.

"You... you kept your promise," you whisper, looking around, seeing the city in better shape than it’s even been after a run in with the X-men. 

His lids drop very low on his eyes. “Told you I would.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

Right as the words spill out, you go still, your mind catching up to what you’ve just said. A deep flush creeps its way up your neck. 

“I didn’t mean— I mean, not literally, obviously,” you say, a little breathless. “People say stuff like that all the time when they’re relieved. It’s just a figure of—”

Logan’s hand, still resting on your waist, tightens just slightly, and he clears his throat, cutting through your rambling. 

“You could,” he says, “If you want.”

You stop mid-sentence. Turning your gaze to his, you're met a look of such sincerity it leaves you speechless. Opening your mouth, you want to say something, but no words come out. 

Instead, you’re frozen, caught in the weight of his stare. His eyes flick down to your lips for just a second before they meet yours again. “No pressure, though.”

You hesitate, your heart racing in your chest, but the weight of the moment pulls you in. Silently, cautiously, you lean forward, pressing a small, tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t move, his body tense under your touch, but just as you start to pull away, his hand slides up to the small of your back, holding you in place. His eyes darken, and he growls, “more," before diving back in, crashing his lips against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss, and you find yourself kissing him back just with just as much reverence, your fingers instinctively sliding up into his hair. 

His lips are rough, chapped from battle, and the scrape of his beard against your skin is electric. It’s not perfect—nothing about it is neat or polished—but that’s what makes it real. 

There’s something wild to it. He kisses you like he’s starved,, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’ll ever admit. It’s enchanting, the way his mouth claims yours, his tongue flicking against your lower lip, demanding entrance. And you give in, allowing him to deepen the kiss, your bodies fitting together like they were always meant to. 

You’re lost in it, lost in him. Every part of you feels alive, and—

“Hey!”

Scott’s voice cuts through the haze like a bucket of cold water.

“Some of us are actually trying to clean up this mess,” he calls out sharply. “You two wanna stop making out and help, or what?”

You break away, face burning as you turn to see the rest of the team staring at you, some amused, others (Scott) exasperated. 

Logan just growls under his breath, his hand still firmly on your hip as he glances over his shoulder at Scott. “Fucking Summers,” he mutters..

Before he lets go of you, he gives your hip one last squeeze, his fingers lingering just a moment longer before he steps back, and heads toward the fallen remains of the Sentinels. 

—

“So… are we gonna talk about it?” 

You glance up from where you’re sitting, your face already warming. Logan, sitting beside you, groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ororo, I swear to g—”

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk playing on her lips. “What? I’m just saying… it was quite the spectacle back there.” Her eyes flip between the two of you, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you can feel everyone else’s attention subtly turning toward you. Hank’s busy tapping away at the controls, but even he has a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Scott, seated across from you, adjusts his visor and mutters something under his breath about keeping things professional, but it’s Jean’s quiet chuckle that draws the final straw.

“Okay, okay, can we not do this right now?” you ask, your voice higher than usual as you wave a hand dismissively. “It was... a heat of the moment thing.”

Ororo just laughs, shaking her head. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Your heart pounds, and you notice Logan shift beside you, probably fighting the urge to bark something back at the teasing woman. He leans forward, muttering under his breath, “We saved the day, didn’t we? What does it matter?”

The team goes quiet for a moment, and you sense the conversation dying down as the hum of the jet fills the space again. You let out a breath of relief, grateful that the attention has drifted elsewhere, your heartbeat slowly returning to a normal rhythm.

But then, Logan leans into you. “That suit…” His breath is warm against your ear as he whispers huskily.. “Was made for you.”

Eyes widening, you bite your lip, trying desperately to keep your reaction in check, but the shock on your face betrays you. You manage a weak scoff, glancing sideways at him. “Logan,” you warn under your breath, trying to sound stern, but you both know exactly what effect he had on you. 

You sit back, crossing your arms in an attempt to hide the flustered energy coursing through you, but Logan doesn’t seem to mind. He leans back too, a smug look on his face, like he’s won some unspoken battle.

—

Back at the mansion, the team files into Charles’s office, for the post-mission debrief. You take a seat near the back of the room, trying to remain as low-key as possible, but you can feel eyes on you—especially Logan’s.

Charles wheels in, his face warm with a smile as he surveys the room. “Well done, all of you,” he says, his voice full of pride. “I’ve heard about the battle, and from what I gather, it was quite the feat.”

He turns his gaze to you, his expression softening even more. “And I must say, I’m especially impressed with your performance. Taking down the main Sentinel—an impressive accomplishment.”

Your heart skips a beat at the praise. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the attention of the room shift in your direction again. “Uh, thanks,” you mutter, trying to downplay it, but Charles isn’t finished.

“You showed great courage and strength,” he continues, “and I couldn’t help but notice... you’re wearing the suit now.” His eyes twinkle as he says it, the question in his tone obvious. “Have you given more thought to staying with us?”

You glance around the room. The team is watching you closely, but there’s no pressure in their eyes—just curiosity and, strangely enough, acceptance. Ororo gives you a small smile, and Hank nods slightly in encouragement. Even Scott, whose jaw doesn’t seem as tightly clenched as usual.

But it’s Logan you notice most. He’s beside you, and though he’s looking at you, eye-crinkles on full display, the way his thigh nudges yours has heat running through your veins.

You sigh. “I mean... I’m wearing the suit, aren’t I?”

—

After the meeting wraps up, you and Logan walk in silence down the corridor. The rest of the team has faded into the background, dispersing into their respective spaces. You’re still buzzing with the aftereffects of everything—Charles’s praise, the mission’s success, the quiet but undeniable acceptance you feel from the team now. But more than anything, you’re hyper-aware of Logan beside you.

Approach your door, you reach out to open it, your fingers just grazing the handle when suddenly, a strong hand wraps around your wrist. Faster than you can react, Logan tugs you back, pulling you away from your room and straight into his.

The door slams shut behind you, and you barely have time to catch your breath before his lips are on yours. You gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he presses you up against the door, his body flush against yours.

"Logan—" you manage to breathe out between kisses, but he cuts you off with another deep, hungry kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

Between kisses, Logan growls softly against your lips, "I’ve wanted to do this since you yelled at me and Summers on the street."

Your heart stumbles, your thoughts scrambling to keep pace with his words. His hands slide down your waist. “You were standing there,” he murmurs, “so damn fierce, yelling at us like we deserved it.” He breaks the kiss for just a second, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours. “All I could think about was how much I wanted you.”

His eyes drop to your lips again, as if glued to them. Without waiting for your response, he presses his mouth to yours, this time with more force, more urgency. His hands roam your body, pulling you against him, and you’re powerless to do anything but kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair as the heat between you builds.

“I didn’t know it’d get this bad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he moves down to your neck. “But after everything? After seeing how strong you are... Fuck, you’re so damn sexy.”

Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined this. Logan—wanting you, aching for this since the very first moment he laid eyes on you. You break the kiss, your breath coming in quick gasps as you meet Logan's smouldering gaze. And with a small, teasing smile, you raise an eyebrow and whisper, "Let's do something about it, then."

Not giving him a chance to say anything back, you press your hands against his chest and give him a playful shove. He stumbles back a step, his lips curling into a smirk—a kind of cocky grin—as he watches you reach for the zipper of his suit. 

Your fingers drift languidly, a subtle tease in every motion, and you revel in the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. His muscles ripple beneath the surface, and for a brief instant, you're startled by how stunning he looks—battle-worn, scarred, and irresistibly handsome. “You like what you see, darlin’?” he teases.

You step closer, your hand splayed against his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin as you push him down onto the edge of the bed. “Maybe.”

He lands with a low grunt, his hands instinctively finding your thighs, his fingers trailing up and down as his eyes rake over you. "As hot as you look in this suit," His voice is thick with desire. "You'd look even better without it."

Heat rushes through you at the sound of his voice, your hands drift toward your suit's zipper. Tantalizingly, you begin to pull it down, revealing inch by inch of your skin as you unzip it. His eyes follow your movements, his breathing coming in short, ragged bursts.

You pause just before the fabric slides over your breasts and his hands grip your thighs tighter. Leaning down, your lips brush against his ear, "Patience, Logan."

He groans, "You're killing me here, darlin'."

At last, you pull the zipper down to the end, and with a soft sigh, the suit falls open, slipping from your shoulders and landing in a heap at your feet. His eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as he takes in the sight of you. Then, he inches closer, grabbing the egde of your underwear in his mouth, sliding it down your legs. Once he’s halfway down your thigh, he releases, the underwear dropping to the floor. His strong hands move grip the back of your thighs, hauling you up and onto his lap. 

The moment your bare bodies press together, his lips crash into yours again, fingers digging into your ass, palming it as he pulls you against him, grinding your hips into his.

His lips move from your mouth to your neck, kissing a hot trail down your throat to your shoulders, his hands sliding up to your breasts. Cupping them, he kneads and plays with your nipples, causing you to arch into his touch, a breathy moan tumbling out of your lips. 

Logan growls, and the sound reverberates through your entire body. The intensity of it makes your skin tingle, and you feel your pulse quicken as he squeezes your breasts harder, his mouth moving down to kiss anything he can reach.

You grind against him again, coating his cock with your own slick want. "Shit," he strains, leaning back a bit to give you more access. You can’t stop, he’s so intoxicating, so addicting, and every time your clit goes over the ridges of his hardness, you lose yourself even further.

This continues for some time. The room filled with nothing but the sound of moaning and heavy breathing, as you work in tandem to bring pleasure to each other. Abruptly, you pull yourself off his lap, not missing the way his lips seems to chase after yours, letting your hands trail down his chest, your fingers brushing over the taut muscles of his stomach.

"Where you goin'?" he rumbles. 

Wordlessly, you drop to your knees, your grip coming to rest on his thighs. His chest heaves as he stares down at you—peering up at him through your lashes—realizing what’s about to happen.

His hands grip the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white. Your hands slide up his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you move closer, lips brushing against his hard cock. There's a wicked glint in your eyes as you lean in, looking ready to take him in your mouth, but instead, you move to his inner thigh, peppering it in quick little kisses. 

“C’mon, don’t tease,” he breathes out. He’s so hard, it’s almost painful. 

Grabbing him in your hand, you stroke him up and down in slow motions, running your thumb over his leaking, angry tip. He jerks, a fresh cascade of curses tumbling from his mouth. 

“You’re just so cute, though,” you say, before taking him in your mouth, taking him all the way in one motion.

“Holy—”, he starts, but interrupts himself with his own whine, hips bucking involuntarily. 

Looking up, you catch his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide. A flush spreads across his cheeks and down his neck. You hum in satisfaction, sending vibrations through him, and start to bob your head, up and down. 

Saliva begins to pool at the edges of your mouth as you gag a little. He’s so big. You pull him out of your mouth, licking his shaft bottom to tip, swirling your tongue around the most sensitive spot, before sucking on it. One hand moves to cup his balls, while the other begins jerking him up and down, with your mouth still around his tip. 

That gets him. 

You can tell he’s about to finish, and oh, do you want him to. You want to feel him empty in your throat, you want to see him lose it completely. "Wait," he gasps, tapping the top of your head, signalling for your attention. "I want... I need..."

Releasing him with a soft pop, your lips glisten, and you purr seductively. "What do you need?" 

He pulls you up onto the bed, strong arms encircling your waist. His scent surrounds you—musk and pine and something uniquely him. You inhale deeply, letting it fill your lungs. 

"You," he breathes, his lips brushing your ear. "I need you."

Arching into him, you nip at his lower lip. "Then take me," you sigh out. His lips collide with yours again, and your mouth opens involuntarily, his tongue sliding in and tasting you—tasting himself. 

Moaning, you shuffle higher onto the bed, until he hits the back frame, and you crawl on top of him. At this point, you can barely breathe, the need, the want for him so strong your senses are clouded. 

And you’re not alone. Under you, Logan is a wreck. His head falls back against the bed frame, the veins in his neck standing out as he grits his teeth, trying to steady his breathing

“Fuck,” he rasps, the word barely more than a strained exhale. You grab his dick and position yourself above him. Then, you slowly begin to drop down, sucking him in easily, like he was made for you.  

“Oh my god,” you whimper. He feels so good. He’s filling you up to the brim and when you finally sit down, taking him all the way to the hilt, you swear you could finish right then and there. His nose is nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning your collarbone, inhaling and practically drooling at your scent. “Is this what you wanted to do when we were sparring?”

All he can do is groan. It’s like he’s growing inside you in response to your words, and it’s so fucking hot. His hands find your thighs again, rubbing and squeezing them, as you adjust to his size for a moment, and he looks up at you. “You have no idea. Fuck—we shoulda done this last night," he grunts breathlessly, "Would have put you right to sleep."

You can’t even think of anything to say back verbally, rather, you just begin to move, lifting yourself right to the tip, and then slamming back down. He feels you clench around him as his cock reaches that deep part within you at the perfect angle. Positioning himself, he meets you halfway, beginning to thrust up into you.

The sound it elicits from you is lethal. 

He won’t last long if this continues. The sight of you on top of him, tits bouncing—it's too much. 

So, when he leans in to kiss you again, he rolls the two of you around, caging you under him. He’s still inside you, you think, but that thought quickly gets wiped out like the rest of them once he starts moving, stretching you out more and more. He’s filling you up so well. Your arms fly out, hands searching for something to grab to ground yourself. 

“You feel so good, darlin’,” he pants above you. “So wet and warm for me.”

His relentless pounding leaves you babbling incoherently. One of his arms move down to your waist, then his fingers begin trailing across your hip, toward your aching pussy, to find your clit, and holy shit. 

Your mind goes blank. 

His skin against yours, his thumb rubbing against that spot, his lips on your neck, it does the trick, and you feel yourself teetering closer to the edge. “I’m–I’m gonna—” you start, but he cuts you off, swallowing you whole.

“Do it,” he says between kisses. “come for me.”

And you do. 

With a loud moan, your fingers find the bedsheets, clutching them tightly as you reach your peak, clamping around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “keep clenchin’, keep goin’ babygirl.”

His thrusts begin to get sloppy, losing his pacing. The hand that was down at your core moves up and squeezes your tits, so large that he can grab both in just the one. He grinds himself deeper into you, and with one last snap of his hips, you feel it.

Logan moans, dipping his head into your cleavage as he releases himself into you fully. Then, he collapses onto you, dropping his whole body weight onto yours. 

If he’s too heavy for you, you don’t say anything—too caught up in the moment to care. His forehead rests on your sternum, breathing slowing as he catches his breath. For a few beats, neither of you speak, but he starts to press sweet, gentle kisses in the valley between your breasts. 

After a minute, he shifts, lifting his weight off you and sitting up slightly, looking down at you. His hand brushes over your cheek, wiping away some stray strands of hair that have fallen across your face. He gets up from the bed, padding quietly into the bathroom. 

You hear the sound of water running, and moments later, he returns with a damp towel in hand. There’s no hesitation in his movements as he gently begins to clean you up. “Doing alright?” he asks, wiping away the sweat and evidence of your time together.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips. “I’m good.”

He doesn’t say much as he finishes, tossing the towel aside before climbing back into bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms. 

His chin rests lightly on the top of your head, and then he says, “I’m proud of you.” The words are filled will sincerity. “And... I’m happy you’re stayin’ with us.”

You turn your head, looking up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, you showed me you can actually fight without destroying everything in your path,” you tease, raising an eyebrow as you run your hand lightly down his arm. “Keep that up, and I might just stick around forever.”

Logan grins, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, just how you like it. “That right?” he murmurs lowly.

He leans in close, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, before adding in a hushed, almost playful tone, “Well, then maybe you’ll be mine forever too.”

----

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) SFW Alphabet

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: You guys voted so I made sure to deliver😉 I hope you enjoy some fluffy Logan content😊

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Logan may not come off as affectionate and soft to others but he sure as hell makes up for it with you. This man will make sure he covers all five love languages when it comes to his girl because you’re one of the only people who truly gets to see his vulnerable and loving side. Words of affirmation? This man will literally tell you how beautiful, strong and intelligent you are whenever he gets the chance. In his eyes you’re the epitome of elegance and you are no less than an angel. Gift Giving? You are constantly surprised with little trinkets that he comes across that remind him of you. One time he bought matching bracelets for the both of you so that you have a piece of one another wherever you go. He may not splurge like crazy for his partner but he’ll make sure each gift means something special. Acts of service? If anyone else were to ask Logan to make them a cup of coffee he’d scoff and say “make it yourself bub”. But when it comes to you, he’ll have a fresh cup of your favourite coffee waiting for you before you can even think of making one for yourself. As a matter of fact, he’ll go as far as stocking up on your favourite coffee beans before you even notice that your old batch is almost done. This doesn’t just apply to coffee though. Your man will literally stop you in your tracks when he notices that your shoe is untied, crouch down and place your foot on his thigh, and retie the lace before you even get to notice that it was untied in the first place. Yup, he’s just that observant and considerate. Physical touch? This man is all over you! He tends to avoid hugs and other forms of physical affection from other people but with you, he finds every opportunity possible to take you in his arms. He’s not big on extreme PDA (unless he’s jealous) but he’ll make it a point to touch you in one way or another. Whether that’s an arm around your shoulders, holding your hand, rubbing your shoulder or even playing with your hair, Logan uses physical touch as a form of self assurance that you’re safe and present with him. And finally, quality time. Between missions and teaching, Logan can find himself quite occupied majority of the time. But he always finds time to be present for his girl whenever possible. This can include going on late night walks where you both share your deepest thoughts and experiences. It also involves a lot spontaneous bike rides to God knows where. Just know that you’ll always be safe and protected with Logan by your side.

B - Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

Logan is such a considerate person when it comes to those he loves and cares about. As your best friend he’ll make sure you always have a shoulder to cry on and will be a listening ear if you are in need of one. He comes off as a little grumpy and standoffish when you offer to be there for him during his difficult times but he eventually caves and confides in you. He is also extremely protective and will kick ass if someone even thinks of putting you in harms way. And if someone says something mean about you he’ll scare the shit out of them and defend you all the way. Logan doesn’t let people into his life easily so just know that you’re very special to hold the title of his best friend.

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

This man is like a teddy bear when it comes to cuddling. He’s so warm and his huge frame engulfs you every time he wraps his arms around you. Nothing relaxes him more than holding you and cradling you into his chest during bedtime or during a movie. He also loves when you hold him. Life isn’t easy as the Wolverine so he cherishes those little moments when he can let his guard down and succumb to your embrace and soothing affirmations. You mean the world to him and cuddling is one of the best ways for him to feel close to you.

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Prior to you entering his life, Logan didn’t really allow himself the luxury of imagining a life where he would settle down and start a family. That changed very quickly when you came along and brought him a level of peace and security that he didn’t know was possible for him to experience. He finally has someone to fight for and so he’ll dedicate his entire being to you. If you want to get married he’ll propose to you within a few years. You’ll have a beautiful home in a quiet neighbourhood and will live your days with him loving you in every way possible. If you want children he’ll be the best father ever (although he’ll be a little worried if he’ll be able to do a good job). Regardless, Logan is open to anything as long as you’re with him.

He’s a decent cook but he definitely prefers to do the cleaning instead. It works out perfectly because you both split up your mundane tasks so that there is a natural order to things.

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He isn’t the type to break up with you over something petty or superficial. The likely scenario would be that his presence in your life is putting you in danger so he resorts to being upfront and calling things off with you. He doesn’t play games so he uses honesty to present his reasonings. Now will he regret leaving you? Definitely. But it takes time for him to realize that it’s safer for him to be with you instead of without you. So try to reassure him and remind him that his presence matters to you.

F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I’ll say it again, Logan will marry you if that’s what you want. He’s pretty indifferent to claiming your relationship on paper because in his mind, you don’t need a paper to prove your commitment and love to one another. You’re the one for him and he’s the one for you, PERIOD! That said, if you’ve mentioned that marriage is something you look forward to then your man will make sure to propose to you like the Queen you are. He’ll probably pop the question in about two years into your relationship and will make the occasion as intimate as possible. You can expect something along the lines of a candlelit pathway to the beach or in a beautiful opening in the forest. He may shed a few tears as he speaks his prepared speech and will slow dance with you in his arms when you say yes🥹 This man will forever try his best to treat you like every woman wants with her soulmate. He loves YOU and you’ll never need to question his love for you.

G - Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He is so gentle with you! One of the main reasons is because he is well aware of how strong he is and how easily you could get hurt around him. But despite all of that, you’re the one person Logan will be soft with. You’re the love of his life and his support system so you will always be treated with respect and tenderness. He rarely raises his voice at you because he firmly believes that everything can be solved with a civil conversation. If he gets too heated then you both will spend some time away to cool off before reconvening and working through your differences. In his daily life he’s constantly using violence and anger to make his point but with you, he knows that you deserve his patience.

Now that doesn’t mean you guys won’t play fight or that he won’t corner you and attack you with tight hugs and kisses🤭 But know that it’s all fun and games with him. He could never hurt his favourite person.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Oh my days his hugs are so protective and warm! You could never feel unsafe when you’re in his arms and Logan makes it a point to hug you as much as he can. He loves holding you close to him and you love to hear his steady heartbeat when you’re against his chest. He also loves to sneak up behind you and give you hugs from behind when you’re busy doing some work. He’ll slowly sway you from side to side as he nuzzles into your neck and takes in your comforting scent. He would also love it if you run and jump into his arms when he walks through the door after a long day. It makes him feel wanted and it warms his heart to know that you eagerly await his return.

I - I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He knows pretty much immediately that he loves you. He could tell right away that you were going to be a significant addition in his life and he was proven right as he got to know you. He takes a bit of time to tell you that he loves you though because he understands the severity of those words. He doesn’t just go around throwing that term everywhere so he looks for the right opportunity to profess his love and commitment to you.

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh girl your man is JEALOUS! Well I suppose protective is a more appropriate term but you get the point. He trusts you more than anything and doesn’t doubt your love and loyalty but he’s still a man with a beautiful and desired woman. He knows how lucky anyone would be to have you so he can act a little clingy (an arm around your waist with a scowl on his face when someone stares too long) when you’re out with him. He doesn’t control where you go or what you wear but he’ll leave a few visible marks if you’re going out without him in a scandalous outfit🫣

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Be prepared for a ton of forehead kisses and kisses at the top of your head (especially since he’s most likely towering over you). These kisses send a message that he’s always going to protect you and that he’s happy to have you near him. He also loves to leave wet kisses along your neck so that he could listen to your pulse and take in your scent.

He’s such a softie when you kiss his knuckles because of his complicated relationship with his claws. But when you show such tenderness towards them he has no choice but to melt and try to view his claws in a more positive light.

L - Little ones (How are they around children?)

Logan is a little hesitant around children so he typically allows them to approach him first. His reasoning is that he doesn’t want to scare them or accidentally hurt them. But if they approach him with curiosity or want him to play then he’ll grow a little more comfortable and indulge in their games.

Now if you both end up having children of your own, Logan will be the most protective and tender father. As tough as he is, you can already see him shedding a tear or two when it’s time for mandatory vaccinations for your babies. If you two had a daughter then Logan would teach her everything necessary to protect herself. He would also sing to her and teach her how to do anything hands-on so she will never need to rely on a man. If you two had a son then Logan would teach him everything he knows so he’ll grow up to be a gentleman and an independent man. He’ll also teach his son that it’s okay to be vulnerable around the right people and that he’s supported no matter what he chooses to do in life.

M - Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

If Logan gets up before you do then he’ll spend a few quiet moments admiring you and giving you a few gentle kisses on your forehead. He’ll then get up and get started on breakfast before you wake up. If he has to leave early for work then he’ll leave a little note for you saying that he loves you and to call him when you wake up.

If it’s a free day for the both of you then you can expect to stay cuddling him for a few hours after you’ve both woken up. You guys may engage in quiet conversations as the morning progresses and you’ll cook breakfast together as you decide what to do for the rest of the day.

N - Night (How are nights spent with them?)

It can be a little difficult for Logan to fall asleep but you’ve discovered that having a routine helps him sleep faster. You might get him to follow a simple nightly skincare routine so he washes away the day’s stress and grime. Maybe you’ll read to him for 30 minutes so he falls asleep listening to your voice, or maybe he’ll simply hold you until sleep calls his name. If he wakes up from a nightmare you’ll be there to calm him down. On nights like these you’ll coax him to drink some cold water and you’ll wipe away his sweat. He’ll apologize for imposing on your sleep but you’ll shush him gently and mutter sweet nothings to him as he snuggles into you and slowly falls back asleep.

O - Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s a tough cookie to crack so it definitely takes some time before he tells you everything about his past. But he does reveal small things about himself overtime and eventually he feels ready to speak on his demons. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you (quite the opposite actually). Rather he’s afraid that you’ll leave once you learn how dark his life really is. But he realizes that he prefers to let you in on things so he takes a chance and bares his soul to you. You never once judge him and he loves you more for that.

P - Patience (How easily angered are they?)

As expected he’s a pretty short-tempered individual. He loses his cool pretty quickly and if anything he’ll find himself frustrated over minor things. But he hardly ever loses his cool towards you. He knows how destructive he can be when he’s angry so he tends to isolate himself for a while until he cools off. He never wants to hurt you with his words so he has a lot of self control around you. Now if anything happens to threaten your safety then he’ll lose his shit and make whoever hurt you pay.

Q - Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

This man remembers the littlest things about you. Whether it’s that random story you told him about an incident that happened in your childhood, or if you prefer pineapples on your pizza rather than mushrooms…he’ll take a mental note of everything. Basically he has a doctorate in everything pertaining to you, so you’ll never feel neglected or taken for granted with him.

R - Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?

His favourite moment is noticing that your eyes light up whenever you see him. You could be having a bad day or even be angry at him but somehow your eyes will still soften when he’s around you. It astonishes him that someone as amazing as you would want him around. But it warms his heart to know that someone looks forward to his presence everyday.

S - Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He is very protective of those he loves so you can expect a lot of measures put into place to ensure your safety. He’ll make sure that your windows are bulletproof and that your front door can be double locked. He’s not toxic in his protectiveness but he does know that the world can be a scary place for a woman. He takes his job as your protector very seriously and will never take your safety lightly. But on another note, he’s also very protective of your feelings. If you seem worried he’ll always have a gentle conversation with you so you feel comfortable enough to share your troubles with him. He’ll try to give you the best advice he can and if nothing can be done then he’ll simply hold you so you never feel alone.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Logan isn’t a man of huge gestures but he’ll always do little things to show you he cares. He’ll bring you flowers whenever he sees a bouquet that reminds him of you. He’ll stock up on your favourite coffee or go buy a new face cream because he knows you’re running out. He takes turns cooking and cleaning with you and ensures you never have to do any heavy lifting around the house (with those muscles he better put them to good use🤣).

Of course when it’s a special day like your birthday or anniversary then he’ll clear out his schedule to spend the entire day with you. He’ll pamper you (eg. pay for your nails, give you a massage) and will take you out to a nice restaurant. On any regular day he’ll take you for spontaneous rides on his bike where you’ll ride around for hours on end. Sometimes you’ll go stargazing together or you’ll go for a walk on the beach.

U - Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

You have no issue with him smoking but you draw the line when he lights one up in the house. The smell lingers in the fabric of the sofas and it really messes up the sweet aroma that you create with your candles. You’ve told Logan very early on that you’d prefer if he smokes outside and he respects that. But sometimes he gets stressed and it’s second nature for him to light a cigar in the middle of the living room. You don’t yell at him when you realize what he’s doing but you grab his hand and walk outside to the backyard with him, where you let him finish his cigar and sit with him in silence. When you go back inside Logan gives you an apologetic kiss and lights some more candles plus opens the windows to let out the smell.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s very particular about how his hair is styled so he takes time taming it every morning (now if it gets messy because you run your fingers through it or play with it then he doesn’t mind at all🤭). He has a few staple pieces in his closet (such as his flannels, white tanks, jeans, boots, leather jacket). His hygiene game is on point but he loves to tease you by forcefully hugging you when he’s sweaty🤣

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Logan has been a lone wolf for most of his life but somehow your presence is all he craves. He’s never been one for cheesy sentiments but he truly does feel like you complete him in more ways than one. You bring a level of adventure, curiosity and peace that he never imagined he could have. You make him feel secure in himself and somehow your relationship is the healthiest bond he’s ever experienced.

X - Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Logan’s favourite holiday to celebrate with you is halloween. He loves how bizarre everything is about this particular holiday and how lively the neighbourhood gets when it hits October. He loves when trick or treaters come around to your house because he likes to scare them with his claws.

He also loves how passionate you are about decorating the house and doing fun halloween activities with him. You get a kick out of making Logan carve pumpkins with his claws to which he laughs and creates silly designs. He also loves when you insist on watching scary movies with him but then hide your face in his chest when you get scared. He feels a sense of pride knowing your immediate response is to turn to him to protect you.

Y - Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn’t like a partner who is unnecessarily judgemental and inconsiderate.

There’s a lot of things he doesn’t like about other people anyways so it’s just best for others to stay out of his way.

Z - Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He talks in his sleep sometimes (usually because he’s having a strange dream). During the early days of your relationship you’d wake up confused because you’d assume he’s talking to you. But you quickly realized that he has a habit of talking in his sleep. Now if he’s just saying a bunch of random words you’ll fall back asleep but if he’s sounding distressed you’ll gently wake him up before a nightmare starts.

He also needs to be touching you in some way when he sleeps. His face will rest in your neck or chest, and his arms would be wrapped securely around your waist while his legs will intertwine with yours.

A/N: Well hello there my lovelies! I'm pretty new to this whole writing stuff (I've always been more of a passive reader) and am really just trying to have fun with it so I hope I can make you guys happy with my creations🤭 I have no set schedule for when I'll write something but I'll do my best to create some fun stuff for you to read when I get some inspiration. I don't take writing requests because I'm really just using this platform to have fun with what I feel like writing. BUT I am always open to hearing your thoughts about my existing pieces!

Remember, you are responsible for your own media consumption so read the warnings and make smart decisions😌

Please DO NOT copy or repost my work! But of course, feel free to reblog and comment to your heart's content😘

Have fun yall😏

MASTERLIST

Loki Laufeyson

His reaction to your nipple piercings (Drabble) (18+ MDNI!)

Logan Howlett

NSFW Alphabet (18+ MDNI!)

SFW Alphabet

Bucky Barnes

Jasper Hale

Severus Snape

Draco Malfoy

Headcannons (coming soon…)

I have a crush on all 3 of them so I need you guys to make this decision for me😅 I want to create all of these options but I’ll do it in the order of what you guys want to see the most.

Go wild my lovelies🤭

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pure Smut, 18+ Minors DNI!

A/N: My first piece of writing on here so I’m gonna keep it basic🤭 Ofc I had to go with everyone’s obsession…WOLVIEEEEE! Lemme know what you guys think! Enjoy my lovelies😏

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Mr. Howlett here is a green flag in that he accommodates to his partner’s needs. If you prefer to cuddle after sex, be prepared to stay in Logan’s arms for hours on end. Hungry? Well your man’s already up and grabbing you your favourite snacks and comfort foods.

Let’s not forget the bare minimum where he makes sure to clean you up and remind you how well you did. He reassures you and focuses his entire attention on you because he’s so grateful that he gets to have you to himself (Words of affirmation GALORE!) He may be a hardcore, grouchy man to the world but he’s a total sweetheart for his favourite person🥰

B - Body Part (Fav body part of themselves and their partner)

As much as he struggles with his claws he actually really loves his hands (at least with you). In the beginning of your relationship Logan expressed his hardships with his claws and how he lacks control over them when he gets riled up. This caused him to limit how much he touched you during sex (preferred to eat you out rather than finger you, or grab the headboard when he was about to cum instead of holding onto your hips). But overtime your reassuring words and your trust in him won (plus he couldn’t say no to you begging him to fill you up with his fingers).

Logan is in love with the entirety of your being but if he HAAAAD to choose he’d say that your lips and neck are a heavenly gift. This man is OBSESSED with your lips to a point where he can suck and bite on them for hours on end. He loves making out with you and more importantly, he loves to see those lips wrapped around his cock as you take him in as far as you can. Your neck is a whole other ball game though🫣 You already know this man is like an animal so you can imagine how much he enjoys leaving his scent on you. He makes sure to leave marks on your neck before you leave the house (after all everyone must know you’re taken). He loves to hear the sound of your pulse and how much it speeds up when he scents you. And when he’s reaching the finish line you better believe he’ll bury his face in your neck and growl deeply as he prepares to fill you up with his load.

C - Cum

Simply put, your man cums a lot. And where does he enjoy releasing it? Inside of you of course. Sure he may occasionally release on your chest or in your mouth (maybe even on ur ass cheeks if he’s taking you from behind 👀) but ultimately, he goes feral watching his cum pool out of your pussy.

D - Dirty Secret (Any dirty secret of theirs)

We all know that massages can lead to some filthy moments right? This obviously applies to Logan too. The catch, however, is that sometimes instead of using lotion or oil to massage out the knots in ur back he’ll use his cum instead🫣 Let me paint a picture for you real quick:

You’re lying on your stomach fully naked with Logan straddling you from behind. He begins gliding his calloused hands up and down your back and after 20 minutes or so he finally snaps and begins to massage your ass. At this point he’s hard as a rock and is leaking with precum. Eventually he takes his leaking juices and spreads it on your back to help his hands glide easily. The idea of his cum absorbing into your skin and his scent mixing with yours has him feeling extremely possessive and proud. He usually ends up lifting your hips and having his way with you.

E - Experience (How experienced are they?)

The man’s old af okay🤣 He has EXPERIENCE! Though it is to be noted that he’s very particular about who he sleeps with. He obviously has trust issues and this applies to who he’s willing to share his body with. Yes, he’s animalistic and enjoys having sex often. But he would rather have a lot of sex with a trusting partner than have meaningless sex with a handful of random people that he happens to come across.

Don’t worry love, he knows how to show you a good time and he’s YOUR personal whore🤭

F - Favourite Position

He loves to take you while you’re on all fours but his favourite position is missionary. He loves to watch your reactions as he plays with your body in different ways. Remember how I mentioned that he loves your lips? Well missionary is the best way for him to abuse your lips with his mouth and watch you suck on his fingers while he rocks into you.

You can also find yourself getting fucked against the wall on occasion because he just loves how his body and the wall traps you, leaving you at his mercy.

G - Goofy (How serious are they during sex?)

Logan can get serious at times especially when he fucks you after one of his nightmares or when he’s had a rough day. But for the most part he’s a mix of passionate and a tease. Typically the silliness comes from you when you crack a lighthearted joke which has Logan shaking his head and chuckling before he goes back to devouring you.

Eg.

Logan: Whose pussy is this?

You: Mine…

Logan: …You’re gonna be the death of me bub. Let’s try that again. Whose pussy is this?

H - Hair (How well groomed are they?)

Oh he’s hairy everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE! He definitely tries to trim his pubes a little bit to make it easier for you when you suck him off. But other than that you gotta take him as he is.

As a side note, Logan doesn’t really care if you shave or not. So don’t even stress about anything with him. The man is obsessed with you regardless.

I - Intimacy (Romantically how are they during sex?)

He is so passionate about you and never takes you for granted. He counts his lucky stars that he gets the privilege to worship your body whenever he wants and his actions during sex are evident of that. Even if he’s having rough, jealous sex with you he makes sure to praise you and give you loving kisses along the way. His life has never been easy and he always struggled with finding trustworthy people in his life. So just know that the fact that you made your way into his heart, he’s going to spend an eternity showing you how special you are to him.

(Just make sure you reassure him as well from time to time)

J - Jerk Off (How often do they masturbate?)

Despite his animalistic urges, he actually has a lot of self control. As much as he loves sex he prefers to cum when you’re with him. So when you’re away for a while he’ll just busy himself with other things until you get back and help him out.

That being said, he’s not opposed to sexting or phone sex so do with that information as you will🤭

K - Kink (What are their kinks?)

This man is obsessed with your breasts. It doesn’t matter how big or small they are, he just wants to have his way with them. He’ll lose his shit if you let him fuck your tits and will cum harder than ever.

Choking is another one of his favourites. He loves to watch you lose yourself to the combination of his dick pounding into you and his hand restricting your air flow. He swears you cum harder this way.

L - Location (Favourite places to have sex)

He’s pretty old school so he prefers to fuck you in your bedroom. But he also enjoys some passionate shower sex (don’t worry about slipping because this man is strong af).

He occasionally loves to fuck you outside when no one is around (he’s the only one who gets to see you like this so don’t worry about anyone catching you).

One time he fucked you on his bike at nighttime while you guys were overlooking the city.

M - Motivation (What turns them on?)

Logan has a high sex drive so many things about you turn him on. But what really does it for him is when you take care of him. You got up early to make him breakfast? He’s going to bend you over the counter and have you shaking while he bites your ear and whispers what a good girl you are for feeding your man. You give him a massage after he comes home from a long, gruelling day? Be prepared to sit on his cock and lose your mind as he fucks into you from below.

N - No (Turns offs/What they wouldn’t do)

He will not allow for any threesomes or for anyone to watch you two have sex. He’s too possessive and believes that sex is an intimate act between the two of you. You’re his and he’s yours, no question about it.

He won’t do anything to severely hurt you. He already inflicts a lot of pain on others when he goes on missions so the last thing he wants to do is hurt the love of his life. The most he’ll do is spank your ass, choke you or pull on your hair. But that’s about it.

O - Oral (Preference in giving/receiving, skill, etc)

Homeboy loves to eat your pussy like it’s his last meal. He can keep his face between your legs for hours if he could! Nothing gets him going more than the scent of your heat and the taste of your sweet juices. Please do him the honour of using his face as a seat. The man will gladly die from lack of oxygen if it means stuffing his face in your warm cunt😌

He also goes crazy for your mouth around his hard cock. He always reiterates how much he loves you and your filthy mouth every time you suck his dick because it’s an honour to have you on his knees for him. You’re giving up breathing for his pleasure? You beautiful human! He’s going to reward you big time when you’re done bringing him down from his high.

P - Pace (fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

With Logan the pace really depends on the situation. If he’s frustrated and you offer to let him fuck away his worries, he’ll fuck you fast and rough. If he’s jealous and wants to remind you who you belong to, he’ll pound into you until you can’t walk the next day. If he’s feeling overwhelmed with his love for you or is feeling emotional he’ll fuck you deep and slow while he makes eye contact with you. If it’s a slow and quiet morning he’ll rock into you gently while he spoons you from behind.

Q - Quickie (Are they game for quickies? If so, how often?)

As much as he prefers to take his time with you and show you how much he appreciates you, you guys can have moments when you get too busy. Therefore, quickies are a great way for the two of you to have a few moments of closeness during a chaotic day. Don’t worry though because given the right opportunity Logan will make up for lost time and give you the time of your life.

R - Risk (Are they willing to experiment?)

Logan is always open to hearing your fantasies and is willing to try new things with you. But once again he draws the line at sharing you with someone or hurting you badly. At the end of the day he’s still a bit old schooled so he’ll definitely have his boundaries.

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

This man can last a LONG time! We already know he has regenerative abilities so he’s up and ready to go pretty much immediately after he finishes. That being said, he knows your body very well and will stop once he knows you need to rest. But yeah he can pretty much keep it going for hours.

T - Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them on themselves or their partner?)

The only toy he owns is a cock ring which you insisted he try. He was pleasantly surprised when he realized how hard he could come once he used it. As for you, he occasionally uses handcuffs and vibrators to switch things up a little. He may or may not invest in some vibrating panties for you to try when you go out for dinner or hit up a bar👀

U - Unfair (Do they like to tease?)

It’s like a game for him. He gets off on hearing your frustrated groans and whimpers from overstimulating you for so long. More than anything he loves teasing you throughout the day whether it’s grabbing your hips while he reaches to grab a cup from the cupboard and then walking away, or rubbing your thigh under the table during dinner. You’re his favourite form of entertainment.

Now if YOU tease him just know that he’ll lose his shit and have you seeing stars before you can even think of teasing him any further. Life isn’t fair darlin’🤷🏻‍♀️

V - Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

Oh my days this man is L O U D! He doesn’t give a fuck who hears him because he’ll be damned if anything or anyone stops him from enjoying the moment with you. He’s in love with the entirety of your being and he’s gonna make sure you know it, especially when he’s taking you like you’re his last meal. He’ll grunt and groan as your tight, warm walls hug his dick as he reaches deeper inside with every thrust. He growls loudly as you whimper and moan his name while you pull him closer to you with your legs wrapped around his waist.

W - Wild Card (Random headcannon)

Let me bring you in on a little secret. If you happen to have any tattoos or piercings in some scandalous areas, just know that you’re going to be devoured on a whole other level. Nipple piercings? This man will be panting and groaning like a bitch in heat and will make sure you cum just from him playing with them. A tattoo on your hip or sporting a tramp stamp? The back shots and bites on your hips are gonna go crazy. A tattoo leading into your panties? Well, you get the picture 🥵

X - Xray (How do they look underneath their clothes?)

He’s definitely a grower but even flaccid he’s packing😩 I’ll let you decide on the inches but just know that this man is girthy. Do with that information as you will.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Mr. Howlett ACHES for you all day, everyday. Now he obviously doesn’t fuck you every second of the day (unless that’s what you want🫣) but he loves your mind and your body so much. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: He doesn’t fuck just anyone. So know that he’s comfortable with you and LOVES you, so he’s going to make up for lost time and ruin anyone else for you (not that you’re ever gonna get with anyone else cuz he’s not letting you go😌). That said, if you’re not in the mood to have sex (regardless of how long), he’s perfectly okay with that. He just wants you to be comfortable and will make sure you only have sex with him when you truly want it. Never feel the need to force anything around him because he only gets off on your pleasure. Green flag energy onlyyyyyyy!

Z - Zzz (how fast they sleep afterwards)

Logan won’t get sleepy right away because he always has a lot of energy during and after sex. He’ll make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of before he settles in and dozes off with you. He’ll typically nuzzle into your chest or your neck and tangle his legs between yours before he drifts off into a comfortable sleep as he listens to your even breaths.

Can we just take a moment to appreciate how clever some of their usernames are

How BTS just suddenly popped out with individual IGs