#*ridiculously awesome. ❪ crack ❫

[not-neverland06]

you're not her

The 'Worst' Logan x fem!mutant!reader

a/n: really wanted to write for the worst logan so I found a streaming site so I could finally watch the new Deadpool movie (yay pirating) (this is totally hypothetical and a joke to the feds lurking) I was going to just read the wiki plot but I don’t think that was going to cut it Again, using the same superhero name/powers. It’s not an OC I swear, it just makes sense in comic book movies to have some alternate name and I’m not creative enough to come up with multiple different supe names. Summary: You hate him, you really fucking hate him at first. He’s cruel and constantly reminds you that you’ll never be the hero he knew. You’re not her and he’s made that abundantly clear. But what are you supposed to do when he’s suddenly your new roommate and you have no choice but to wake up to his face every day? I feel sad because I don’t think I did the angst justice with this one. But if I keep staring at it trying to fix it, then I’m never going to post it. (This is a long one guys) Angst with a happy ending (because I’m a little bitch) Makeout scenes and smut towards the very end 18+ MDNI

You don’t know how you got here, but you know you’re mad at whoever dragged you into this shit. You don’t think it would be wild to assume it was Wade’s fault. Usually, when something goes wrong in your life it’s on him. 

What you do know; you look like shit. Wade and Wolverine are both standing over you in their awesome ass uniforms and you’re still in your fucking pajamas. How are you supposed to be badass and save the world in pants that have Spiderman’s face plastered all over them?

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Wade,” you growl at him. 

He places his hand daintily on his chest and waves you off, “Save that for the bedroom, pookie.”

You grit your teeth and glare up at him, Wolverine gives him a similarly disgusted look. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you grumble under your breath. You get to your feet and brush yourself off, finally looking around and taking in wherever the fuck he’s dragged you. “Where are we?”

“The void,” Wade responds, voice ridiculously dramatic. You look around and throw your hands up in defeat. 

“What the fuck, Wade? Why did you drag me with you into this?” You look over at the Wolverine beside him. He hasn’t stopped glaring at you both and his claws are out, clearly ready to just eviscerate you. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Okay, wow, language, Flux. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Eat me-”

You’re cut off by the knock-off Wolverine standing a few feet behind you both. “Flux?” He demands, voice so low you almost can’t hear him. Both you and Wade’s heads whip around to face him. Thus far he’s been relatively silent, you nearly started to wonder if he was mute. 

“It’s her X-Man name,” Wade tells him, gushing like it’s some big deal. “Impressive, huh?” You don’t bother correcting him that it was your X-Men name. Can’t exactly call yourself that if they booted you off the team for being a crappy superhero. 

Logan snorts and shakes his head. He stalks towards you and you nearly fall over in your attempt to scramble back from him. “You,” he demands, claws pointed at you threateningly. “You’re Flux?”

Wade hisses, watching as Logan swipes out at you. “Alright, peanut, let’s put the claws away and take a deep grounding breath.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps at Wade. He turns to glare at him and you take the opportunity to scramble behind your friend for protection. At least if he gets stabbed, he’ll heal. “You,” he scoffs and it trails off into a laugh. There’s no humor behind it, he's just a dick. “You are a fucking joke compared to my Flux.”

The ground underneath you rattles, pebbles bouncing off the cracked desert and ricocheting off their boots. Wade quickly moves away from you, shoving you forward so he’s not in the line of fire. “Yeah, well you’re just an alcoholic fuck who could never hold a candle to my Logan.” 

You can feel energy brewing at the tips of your fingers, waves, and waves of hate building up within you. The man across from you feels the shift, the static suddenly permeating the air around you both. You let your power build and build…

The pebbles drop back to the ground and you stumble back from Logan, nose bleeding from overextending yourself. “Shit,” you mutter, wiping at your face with the back of your hand and shaking your head. 

Logan laughs again, it echoes through the stormy sky and you wish you had any control over your powers so you could just send him flying. Or, better yet, turn his bones into liquid and flip him inside out. “Oh,” he lets out a long exhale, glaring at both of you. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” The faux smile drops from his face and he raises his voice just loud enough to make you jump, “Just one big fuckin’ joke!”

You have about five seconds to dive to the side before Logan is lunging at Wade. “Wait, wait, wait we can talk about this!” Wade shouts, but it’s too late, he’s already on the ground getting his head caved in. 

You let out a rough sigh, stumbling off to the side. You’re drained from that shitshow of powers. You barely made a few rocks levitate and you feel like you’re going to pass out. You walk away from the two men and throw yourself on the ground, trying to reorient yourself while they fight like wild animals. 

You can hear them in the background, stabbing and shooting like they’re aiming to kill. Too bad neither of them can die. It’d save you a hell of a headache.  They run past you, Logan’s got his claws buried in Wade’s gut while Wade’s desperately firing off his gun into Logan’s chest. 

Your head rolls weakly to the side and you mutter out a pathetic, “No, stop. Don’t kill each other.” As expected, neither of them listens to you. They keep fighting, showing no signs of stopping. 

There’s a moment of silence after about ten minutes of nothing but grunts and insults. You peak your head up in interest. Logan got his claws posed over Wade’s throat. You wonder if decapitation would actually kill him or if he’d somehow manage to survive that. 

Wade doesn’t seem interested in testing out the theory, “They can fix it!” Wade shouts, “They can fix your timeline. I just need your help saving mine.”

Your eyes widen and you meet Wade’s masked gaze over Logan’s shoulders. The white slits widen and he minutely shakes his head, telling you not to say anything. Like, maybe, that neither of you has any fucking clue if the TVA is capable of even fixing timelines like that. 

You know Wade is desperate when he makes that promise. It’s the only reason he would say something so stupid. It’s a blatant lie, one pulled so far out of Wade’s ass you’re genuinely surprised that Logan can’t smell the bullshit. Whatever happened in his universe must have been horrible for him to ever believe anything that comes out of any Deadpool’s mouth. 

It’s a long moment before Logan finally pulls his claws out of Wade. Your friend slumps forward in relief as Logan stalks away from him. You glare at Wade from where you are on the ground, “That was fucking stupid,” you snipe at him. He gets to his feet, walks over to you, and forcefully yanks you to your feet. 

“Not a goddamn word,” he warns, but you aren’t exactly threatened by him when he's got three holes in his head from Logan’s claws. Still, you hold your hands up and acquiesce, following after him as he chases down Logan. 

Your mind is still fuzzy when you are captured by Cassandra. You're recovering from overextending yourself, eyes blurring and limbs going limp like jello when her army of henchmen circle you all. 

You finally feel yourself starting to come back to your body when you wake up tied to Johnny. “And,” Wade draws the word out, waiting until you lift your head to finish, “there she is! Happy you could join us, princess. Mind turning these ropes into dust for me?”

You groan and let your head slump onto Johnny’s shoulder. He smirks and glances down at you. “Oh fuck off, both of you. I can’t do shit right now and you know it, Wade, I’m drained.” 

Logan is glaring at you, but there’s less hate in his glare and more confusion now. “Can you do anything?”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips screwed up while you try to decide if he’s being an asshole or genuine. “Hard of hearing or something old man? I’m drained,” you reiterate, your tone a little too bitchy. 

Logan narrows his eyes, grunting something foul under his breath. Wade interferes before you can piss each other off anymore. “She had an accident, her brain’s a little broken now. But it’s fine! Whose isn’t?”

You huff and throw yourself back against the cage you’re all being transported in. You feel eyes on the side of your head and slowly look over to see Johnny grinning at you. “Hey, you know I’ve met one of your variants-”

“Don’t give a fuck,” you interrupt. You hear Wade snicker under his mask, giving you an encouraging thumbs up even with his hands bound. You were both a little disappointed it wasn’t Captain America lurking under that cloak. But at least this guy isn’t such a prude he won’t cuss. 

For the next five minutes, you’re on the receiving end of a very enthusiastically vulgar rant about just what a cunt Cassandra Nova is. He’s still not even finished by the time you reach the gates to her lair.

Your eyes widen when you see all the people lurking around the walls. Most of them you recognize as people you’ve put away or killed in your world. But there’s something just minutely different about them than the version you faced in your timeline. Their eye color or outfit is always just slightly off. 

The familiar faces are almost a relief. But there is nothing comforting about knowing you're outnumbered two hundred to four. The cage is tipped over and you go rolling out, you grunt as Johnny’s elbow digs into your ribs. 

Before you can even attempt to shove him off, the ropes are whipped off of you and you’re dragged by an invisible force across the ground. Rocks and sand scrape across your tender skin and bury themselves deep in your pores. You hiss in pain when you finally come to a stop and your body is your own again. 

A groan slips through your parted lips unbidden as you struggle onto your knees. Your pajamas are ripped practically everywhere and you feel like you might as well be naked at this point. You really wished that you at least had a chance to change before you were kidnapped to another universe. 

The woman you presume to be Cassandra Nova is currently fucking Wade’s skull with her freakish telepathy fingers. Johnny’s a pile of guts and bones on the floor and you have no fucking clue where she flung Logan to. 

You get to your feet, shaking your head and reorienting yourself. In a second she’s in front of you, head tilted to the side while she regards you curiously. “Woah,” you jump back, glaring at her outstretched hand. 

“Careful,” Wade warns her breathlessly, still clutching his head. “Flux here has a pathological fear of bald people.”

You nod, “It’s true, you can imagine how strained my relationship with your brother was.” Cassandra circles you, a devious tilt to her lips. Your eyes track her, unwilling to take your gaze off her for even a second. You feel like a rabbit, facing down a fox that’s made its way into your burrow. 

“Curious,” she mutters. “I’ve seen quite a few of you down here before. But,” she chuckles and before you can move her hand is shoving its way into your brain. You scream, there’s an agonizing burn as her fingers probe under your eyes and dig through the deepest part of your subconscious. It feels like someone’s taking a shovel and ripping up your worst traumas. “None of them have been so weak.”

Wonderful, even she wants to insult you. You can feel the way she’s plucking through your thoughts, tossing aside the ones she doesn’t like. Images of your childhood are flashing across your vision. You can no longer see the world around you, it’s like every one of your worst memories is being played on a projector. 

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue and jerks your neck around until you’re looking at something you’ve tried to forget for years. “Here it is. How easy it would be for me to simply unblock those powers of yours.” She smiles, her face appearing before you and blocking out the bloodshed. “It would make this far more entertaining for me, what do you say?”

Your teeth are clenched so tightly you’re surprised they haven’t cracked yet. It’s hard to get the words out when her fingers are still dancing through your skull. “Fuck you,” you finally spit out. She releases you suddenly, and you surge forward with a gasp, clutching at your skull desperately. 

You half expect your brains to begin leaking from your nose and eyes. But nothing happens, despite feeling incredibly violated, everything is still in its proper place. Cassandra walks past you like everything is fine and dandy in the world. “Well, as much as I would love to see those powers of yours in action again, Flux, I’m afraid Alioth must eat.”

Before you can ask what she's talking about there’s a loud rumble. Like thunder cracking through the sky and land, the ground underneath you shakes. Cracks form under your feet and the henchmen around you all start desperately racing for cover. 

You turn around, staring wide-eyed at the purple cloud of death and destruction steadily moving across the sky. A face breaks through the clouds, grinning down at you. Purple lightning hits the ground and the villain next to you explodes into nothing but dust. 

“Shit!” You shout, turning around and running to try and avoid getting zapped up next. There’s no coming back from this one. Once this monster gets you, not even god could save you. 

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your waist, lifting you off your feet. “No time for consent, we’ve got to get the fuck outta here!” Wade shouts in your ear. Logan is standing next to some robot leg, ripping out cords until a jet on the back fires up. Wade leaps onto the boot, wrapping an arm around Logan’s legs as you’re all shot into the sky. 

You’d scream if you weren’t trying not to throw up. You hurtle through the sky at speeds that have your skin nearly ripping off your skull. The rocket on the back of the leg starts to sputter out. The flames flickering out and then back to life. It steadily begins to drop until you’re plummeting headfirst towards the ground. 

Wade wraps himself around you, tossing himself off the boot so he can brace your fall. You hear and feel nearly all of his bones break under your weight. For a moment it feels like you’re laying on warm jello as you try and catch your breath. 

“Nailed it,” he mutters weakly. You’re pretty sure he can’t breathe, a rib having pierced his lung in the fall. A shadow looms over you and you glance up to find Logan glaring down at you. You stare at him apprehensively, half expecting him to unsheathe his claws and just end you right here. 

Instead, to your surprise, he holds a hand out. You look at it with suspicion, glaring back up at him. “Fucks sake,” he mutters. He reaches down, roughly grabbing your hand and jerking you to your feet. You feel the warmth of Wade’s blood on your back and grimace. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, still not entirely trusting of him. 

He purses his lips into a thin line, backing awkwardly away from you. He just nods and starts surveying the land around you. It feels less like trying to figure out where you all landed and more like awkwardly avoiding eye contact. 

The whole interaction leaves you feeling odd. “Well, that was as awkward as two virgins on prom night,” Wade loudly announces as he jumps to his feet. You whip around and send him a dirty look but his attention has already been snagged by something else. Lately, you’ve been considering grounding up Adderall and slipping it into his breakfast, you think it might do him some good. 

What’s got to be the fugliest dog you’ve ever seen in your life bounds towards Wade. He drops to his knees, ripping off his mask and opening his arms wide to the mutt. You grimace, taking a step back when she starts licking his face. “Oh, that’s just wrong.”

Thankfully dogless, you steal Nicepool’s Honda Odyssey - much to Wade’s chagrin. Logan’s in the front seat, Wade beside him. You’re sitting in the back, rubbing your temples and trying to get rid of the raging migraine you’ve had since Cassandra finger blasted your brain. 

You’ve been zoning in and out of the conversation happening in the front seat of the car. But Logan suddenly slams on the brakes and you go hurtling forward. Without even looking at you, both their arms shoot out, blocking you from flying through the windshield. 

Your face scrunches up as you look at both their arms, it feels like being saved by an overbearing soccer mom. “Buckle up, princess,” Wade tells you. He shoves you back into your seat and you look between the two men suspiciously. 

“Did you just say if?” Logan growls, glaring at Wade. Your face drops, finally realizing what you’d missed. 

Wade lets out a weak chuckle, “Slip of the tongue?” Logan growls and the claws come out. Wade raises his hands, “Okay, let’s put a brake on the crazy train. I wasn’t lying it was just an educated,” for the first time in your friendship Wade is actually speechless. You’re shocked by the silence. Until, of course, he runs his mouth again and comes up with the lamest cop-out you’ve ever heard. “It was an educated wish that they could fix your timeline, alright?”

Logan doesn’t give much of a warning except a low growl before he shoves his claws deep into Wade’s thigh. “You motherfucker!”

“Hey!” You shout, jumping forward and ripping Logan’s claws out of Wade’s leg. “Look, we’re trying to save our whole fucking universe. Can you blame him for lying?” You regret opening your mouth pretty much immediately. 

You should have just stayed out of this, it wasn’t any of your business. And if they wanted to be two dumbasses and fucking tear each other apart then so be it. But you never should have drawn attention to yourself. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan shouts at you. It’s so startling, coming from him. You’re still associating him with the man you’d looked up to growing up. Your Wolverine was a hero. He was the reason you wanted to be an X-Man. And they look exactly the same, it’s nearly impossible for you to separate this one from the one you knew. 

But it's easier now. Because the man you’d known would never be so cruel and jaded to the world. Not like this. “Why the fuck are you even here? You’re just some watered-down knockoff of a real hero. You are nothing, you’re worth nothing. It’s a fucking joke that you’re alive and the woman I knew is buried six feet deep. If there was anything right in the world you would be in a grave somewhere crawling with maggots.”

Your eyes water without your permission. You don’t know this man. Yet, he has the face of your greatest hero and the man who you’d grown up hearing stories about. It’s like facing everything you’ve ever wanted to be and having it shout your deepest fears and insecurities back at you. He’s just confirming something you’ve known for years. You never deserved the title of being an X-Man. You never deserved the uniform or anything that came with it. 

Your breaths are coming short and fast, it feels like your lungs are constricting. You worry you won’t be able to get air in but he doesn’t care. No, he keeps going. “You follow this fucking clown around and you contribute nothing to the world. You’re never gonna save your fucking timeline. You can’t even make a few rocks float.” It’s not the words that hurt you next. It’s the way he says it. “You’re pathetic.”

He spits them at you. There’s venom lacing his tone like he’s seen into you and knows there’s nothing in you to offer. For the first time in a long time, you feel seen and you hate it. Because he’s looking past the sarcasm and the faux confidence you carry yourself with. 

He sees the empty husk of a woman you truly are and he’s forcing you to face it with him. It causes you physical pain, to know that everything you’ve ever feared about yourself is true. You don’t have anything to say to him, you can’t. 

Your lips tremble and you feel so fucking small. You can hear your parent's voices in your head, screaming at you and wishing you were never born. They’d rather have a stillborn than a fucked up mutant for a daughter. You see the way even other kids at the school would hide from you. You were made wrong, even as a mutant you were never truly accepted. 

Logan’s face drops ever so slightly at the prolonged silence in the car. Even Wade isn’t speaking, he’s just staring at you both. “I,” he starts, but Wade cuts him off. 

“I’m gonna hurt you now.” Wade’s never been one to let people run over you, even when you might just let yourself fall into the background. You shouldn’t be surprised when he draws a knife and stabs it into Logan’s throat. 

But the arterial spray that follows catches you off guard and suddenly your tears are dried. Instead, you’re throwing open the car door and diving out before one of them crushes you. You make it out of the car just in time, Logan having thrown Wade right where you had been sitting. 

Music starts up in the car as a result of their fighting. Divorced dad rock and the sounds of their, borderline, sexual grunting are your soundtrack for the rest of the night. You curl up at the base of a tree, waiting for them to be done with each other. 

Logan’s words continue to echo through your head. And the longer you linger on what he said the angrier you get. Not necessarily at him, but at yourself. You’ve let yourself linger in self-pity and wallow in regret for so long. 

You look in the mirror and you no longer recognize yourself. He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re a fucking joke. You toss your head back, slamming it against the trunk of the tree hard enough for it to hurt. 

There’s this manic, cloying feeling tugging at your chest. It’s like someone’s sitting on your ribs, crushing you until you can’t breathe anymore. You keep throwing your head back, letting the pain distract you until you feel warm blood leaking down the back of your scalp. 

“Shit,” you hiss, hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull. You wince when you feel the split in your skin. The blood leaks over the tips of your fingers, running through the cracks of your palm. 

You force yourself to relax, to move your head away from the tree. As you go to stand up, possibly to get Wade and Logan to quit their fighting, you notice something odd. The air around you is still, you can no longer hear them grunting or groaning as they rock the Honda. 

Leaves are suspended in the air. They’re not trembling from the breeze, they’re completely frozen. You take a step forward and gasp when you hit something solid. The air in front of you has solidified somehow. 

The realization dawns on you slowly but surely. This is you, you’ve done this. Manipulated everything around you on an atomic level. You’ve turned something you shouldn’t be able to feel into something you can touch. Frozen the world around you. Whatever Cassandra had done inside your head, it had knocked something loose. 

You haven’t had this wide a range of control for years. Any attempt to do something like this has been met with nosebleeds and long periods of blacking out. Elation fills you, the hurt from earlier is nearly gone. 

You glance through the wall of air and try to see if you can still see the Odyssey. To your horror, it’s gone. You wave your hands and the air returns to normal. The leaves drift back to the forest floor and you run back to where you’d left the two men. 

There are tire tracks dug deep into the mud. You know Wade wouldn’t willingly leave you behind, not here. You don’t know if Logan’s just kidnapped him or if someone else has. Whoever was driving was clearly in a rush to get out of here. 

You must have missed it all while you were having your meltdown. “Fuck,” you shout, your voice echoing into the branches above. You take in a deep breath and start walking. Hopefully, you can catch up to them before whoever has them does serious damage. 

You make it to a weird cave/hideout area. The Odyssey is parked outside and when you peek through the broken windows you find the interior completely destroyed. There’s blood soaking through every surface, anything and everything has been smashed and bent the wrong way. 

You don’t even know if this is from Wade and Logan or whoever had snatched them. Shaking your head you back up and slink towards the entrance of the den. You can hear shouting inside, it sounds like Wade, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. 

You haven’t seen action for a long time. At least not any that you could actually contribute to. It feels a bit like riding a bike. You’d practiced on your way here, making things around you float or eradicating a few trees into nothing but dust in the wind. But this is different. 

Your friend (and Logan) are inside, possibly being tortured. Maybe even dead. Though, you seriously doubt the universe is going to be that nice to you. You let the energy build in your arms, it’s like a warm tingling feeling. It shoots down to the palms of your hands until you feel static in the air. 

You take a step inside and spot three people. Each of them is decked out in weapons. One of them turns and spots you. “Who is-” 

You don’t let him finish, throwing your hands out and slamming them all into the wall so hard the whole interior shakes. Dirt rains down from the ceilings while their faces contort in pain. You run inside, spotting Logan and Wade. 

You shoot Wade a big grin but he throws his hands up and shouts, “Read the fucking room!” Your brows furrow and he points emphatically at the people you’re holding, “Good guys!”

“Oh shit,” you release them immediately, a guilty look on your face. “I am so sorry.” Logan cackles in the back, doubled over laughing while the three people in front of you brush themselves off. 

You don’t want to be out here with him, but it’s better than being in that cave with the others. Laura walks past you, sending you an uneasy smile. You’d noticed her sitting beside Logan and decided they probably needed a few moments to themselves. 

They were finished now, though, and he had the only bottle of liquor left in the cave with him. You trudge over to him, leaves crunching under your boots. Elektra, after that horrific introduction, had given you a uniform a different Flux had left behind. 

She was long gone, killed by Cassandra years ago, but she’d conveniently been your exact size. The uniform is nearly identical to the one you have buried under your bed. Black leather with a dark purple X going across your chest and matching purple seams. You’d never wanted something ridiculously flashy. Just something that people would see and associate with the X-Men. 

Because that’s all you’d ever wanted to be; a hero. It feels like a pipe dream now. If your pajamas weren’t so destroyed you would have just stayed in them. You don’t feel like you deserve this uniform, not when the woman who’d worn it before you had actually been a hero in her timeline. 

“Don’t want company,” Logan snarks, without even looking back to see who’s coming up to him.

You take a seat on the lawn chair closest to him and snatch the bottle of whiskey from his hands. “Good,” you tilt your head back, downing as much as possible. It burns the whole way and you revel in the slight tickle in the back of your throat. 

“Alright,” Logan mutters. He gently takes the bottle back from you, giving you an aggrieved look when he sees just how much you’ve stolen. He looks back into the fire and sighs, “Look, I’m not interested in hearing about your sob story or why you’re suddenly drinking all my liquor-”

“Gambit’s liquor,” you interrupt, not bothering to look at him. “And I’m not looking to dump my sob story on your lap. I just want to sit in silence and that’s impossible because Wade hasn’t stopped running his mouth since we got here.”

He looks a little surprised by the brusque way you dismiss him, “Alright,” he mutters. He takes another swig from the bottle and you both stare silently into the fire. It’s like that for a while, you don’t bother keeping track of time. 

All you hear is the crackling of the flames. All you can feel is the way your eyes burn from staring into the fire and watching sparks pop off the logs for too long. The breeze rustles the trees, makes the leaves shake free and dance around the logs of the fire. 

He breaks the silence first, to your chagrin. “About what I said,” he clears his throat uncomfortably, still refusing to look at you, “back in the car.”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice low. “Just,” you let out a long breath and shake your head. You finally look over and meet his eyes. He does actually look sorry, but you don’t want to hear it. “Just don’t, I deserved it all right.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives you a firm look that has your jaw snapping shut. “I was wrong, I don’t know you. And if my Flux had ever heard me talking to you like that she would have melted my fucking spine.” He laughs a little and you feel your lips twitch up slightly. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look anything but angry. 

Curiosity loosens your tongue and knocks you out of the dazed stupor you’ve been in. “What was she like?” You ask, tone earnest. “Your Flux, I mean, you make her sound so amazing. I just can’t,” you trail off, but the look on his face tells you he understands your unspoken words. I just can’t see myself as a real hero. 

He groans and leans back on the log he’s resting on. He stretches his legs out in front of him, the liquor bottle placed on the forest floor. You’re surprised, you figured the thing was glued to his hand. 

“Well,” he reaches up and scratches at the scruff of his chin, a wry grin on his face. “She was always giving me shit, never let me get away with anything.” You unconsciously lean forward, drawn into the endearing way he begins to describe this other version of you. 

It’s not ridiculous to assume this variant meant something to him. He’s got a shine to his eye that you haven’t seen in the whole time you’ve been together. His gaze has been empty, closed off to anything and everything. But now, his eyes are crinkling at the corners, there’s an easy smile on his face that you can’t miss. 

“Ah, she was fucking feisty. And strong, she was so strong. She was always a better hero than I was. She lived for that shit,” he trails off and shakes his head. You can see you’re losing him and you don’t want this to end. You’re in your own little bubble right now, getting to pretend there’s a version of you out there somewhere that actually lived up to her potential. 

“Her powers,” you blurt out, desperate for something to stop him from retreating back into his mind. “Did she have, um, good control over them?”

Logan nods, eyes darting down to the bottle of whiskey before flickering back up to meet your gaze again. “Yeah, Charles trained her, she was right up there with Jean. She could have,” he stops and suddenly you feel guilty for making him talk about this. You can see the tears in the corner of his eyes, the way the whites of them go red. “She could have been great.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to pry.” But you did. You were being selfish and forcing him to talk about it even though you knew it would hurt him. 

“Look, kid, she would have liked you. I’ll tell you that much,” he says reluctantly. Like the words hurt to force out. You suppose he isn’t used to being genuine with anyone. 

You shake your head and look down at your hands. “I appreciate the thought, but I doubt it.”

Logan grabs the bottle again, gulping it down like it's water. His words have a slight slur to them as he speaks again. “I think I would know, bub. ‘Sides, you made it into the X-Men, tells me what I need to know.”

You scoff and fix him with a sardonic look, he raises his brows in question and you roll your eyes. “They’ll take fucking anybody. And I still wasn’t good enough for them.”

Logan shakes his head and frowns. “If what I saw in there,” he points back to the den and you feel your cheeks warm as you remember what you’d done, “is any indication, then I’m sure you were plenty good.”

You lean towards him, elbows braced on your knees. He follows suit, leaning so close you almost want to back up. The proximity flusters you slightly but you shake the feeling off. “You don’t even know me and the first real thing you said to me was that I’d be more useful as fertilizer.”

He sighs, face screwing up at your harsh words. He runs a hand over his cheeks and groans, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You lean back in your chair and idly twirl your hand through the air. The leaves around you lift up and flutter through the air above your head. Logan watches and you turn back to him, waiting until his eyes meet yours to speak again. “Yes, you did. And you were right. I’m fucking useless, powers or not.” The leaves drop, a few fluttering into the fire. “We’re irrelevant, Wolverine, two washed-up X-Men who never looked good in the uniform.”

There’s a twinge of hurt on his face but you can’t make yourself feel bad about it. Since he’s such a fan of brutal truth, you’re sure he can handle it. 

You watch as the leaves curl up at the corners, the fire burning them straight through the middle. You get to your feet and move past him. You’re nearly back to the den when he calls, “The suit looks right on you,” over his shoulder.

You pause at the threshold of the door. He’s already drinking again, staring into the fire and watching it burn. You take a few steps towards him, staring at his broad back. “What happened to her, your me?”

Logan looks down at his hands, his ring finger specifically. You wonder at the significance of the movement, what exactly you’d meant to him. “She married me,” he mutters, voice cold and closed off again. 

“Goodnight, Logan,” you whisper, finally walking inside the den. 

You miss the small goodnight he sends back to you, finally turning around only to watch you leave. 

There had been a very clear plan set in place. Get Juggernaut’s helmet, put it on Cassandra, and then kill that psychotic bitch. Which is why you’re so confused when you’re standing knee-deep in guts and watching Logan and Wade leap through a portal above you. 

You don’t have time to feel angry or even hurt that they left without you. Laura is grabbing your arm and you’re both running for your life, trying to escape Alioth again. You run into Cassandra’s lair ducking into one of the rooms and dragging Laura with you. 

You’re both holding your breaths and praying that he’s sated by the others still outside. After a few minutes, the cracks of thunder stop and you risk peeking your head outside. The clouds have retreated back to their usual spot in the middle of the void. 

You take in the carnage of Cassandra’s evil lair. Most everybody is dead. You only have to skirt around a few people to get back to the Odyssey. 

You throw yourself in the driver’s seat and sink back against the bloodstained cushions. You let out a relieved breath and look at Laura, “What do you do to entertain yourself around here?”

You acclimated to the idea of being stuck in the void pretty quickly. There wasn’t exactly a lot waiting for you back home. Besides, Laura was nice enough. You had food, beer, and company. You didn’t really need much else. 

You’re pretty sure if you linger too long on the thought that Wade left you behind you’ll fall into a depression that you’re never going to be able to claw your way out of. So, you forced a smile on your face and played cards. Nothing else to do but wait to die of old age or for Alioth to kill you. 

Of course, your plans had to be ruined. There was an odd rush of air against your back and then a slight whoosh. Laura glanced over your shoulders and her brows furrowed, you turned around to find three armored men waiting behind you. 

“Flux,” the man glanced from you to Laura, “X-23?”

“Laura,” you both correct at the same time. 

The man gives an aggrieved sigh and holds his arm out, “Come with me, please.”

You stand up, energy tingling in the palms of your hands while you regard them suspiciously. Laura comes up behind you, claws out and glaring at them. “Why should we?” You demand. 

Barely a second later you hear the most insufferable voice in the world. “Hiya, peanut!” 

“Wade,” you hiss. You follow the armored men through an oddly shaped portal and find Wade standing beside a shirtless Logan, smiling proudly at you. “You fucking left me,” you hold up your hands and his eyes widen. 

His hands quickly come up, trying to assuage you, “Hold on now-”

You throw him back, his body hurtling into a nearby building and caving in the wall. Logan watches it happen with a small smile, “Been wanting to do that for a while.” 

Once Wade had recovered he filled you in on everything that happened. TVA did a general clean up and then you were standing in front of your apartment door, keys in hand like nothing had happened. 

It was so bizarre, going from a mission to save your timeline and then you’re expected to just go about your life. You stay standing in that hallway for you don’t know how long before you hear someone behind you. 

You jump and drop your keys when Logan clears his throat. “Shit,” you hiss, whirling around and glaring at him while your heart races. He chuckles and bends over to grab your keys for you. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him, covered in blood and in a borrowed shirt. “Uh, Wade doesn’t have enough room at his place. Told me I should come over here.”

You look over his shoulder and see Wade peeking his head out of his doorway. He catches your eye, sending you a thumbs up. You almost smile but then he makes a phallic gesture with his hands, pointing at Logan and humping the air. You glare at him and he quickly backs into his apartment, but not before sending you one last encouraging shit-eating grin. 

You look back at Logan and he’s waiting expectantly for your answer. “Yeah,” you take your keys from him and unlock the door. “I’ve got a spare room but there’s no bed in it right now.” Your eyes widen when you see the mess that is your apartment. 

You quickly rush through, picking up empty take-out boxes and dirty laundry and shoving them into your room. He’s smiling at you when you come back and it's slightly off-putting. “Um,” you gesture towards the couch awkwardly. “You can take the sofa tonight and we’ll look at setting you up with something more permanent tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he hovers by the armrest and you engage in the longest stare-off of your life. Neither of you says anything for a few suffocating moments before he gestures at himself. “Shower?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your stupor and nod your head. “Yeah, right, of course.” You show him down the hall, “Here. I’ll go get you a towel.”

You rush towards your linen closet, leaving him behind in your bathroom. You grab a few clean towels and then figure he might want some clothes as well. You grab some pajamas that Wade’s left over when he’s crashed before. They’ll probably be a bit tighter on Logan, but you wouldn’t mind seeing that. 

You walk back to the bathroom and the thought of knocking doesn’t even run through your head. It should, honestly, but you’re already so thrown off by him even being here. You walk in and immediately gasp and drop the towels. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s standing naked before you. Clothes discarded on the floor behind him. Everything on perfect display. Your eyes land on his abs, noticing a few prominent veins leading down-

You cover your face and turn around. “Sorry,” you mutter again. God, you’re such an idiot. You still haven’t even left. You’d just been shamelessly ogling the man naked and you don’t even have the decency to walk out. 

You really can’t help it though. It’s been such a clusterfuck, the last 72 hours. Your brain is fried and Wade’s little show hasn’t helped you at all.  

You hear Logan laugh behind you. “It’s alright,” he mutters. Something warm ghosts across your arm and you jump slightly. His hand firmly grasps your bicep, gently tugging your palms away from your face. 

You risk a glance over your shoulder and nearly gasp at how close he’s gotten. He's towering over you, something in his face you can’t place. “It’s alright,” he whispers again and you find yourself nodding without really thinking. 

He’s got both hands on your arms now, trailing up and down. The touch is so featherlight you can barely feel it at all. You don’t even realize how he’s gently coaxing you closer until you trip on the towels at your feet. 

You startle, looking down at them and moving to kick them aside. But he stops you, his finger nudging your chip up so you’ll look at him again. There is such blatant want painted across his face that it makes your heart skip a beat. Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps an arm around your waist and drags you closer. 

You can feel all of him. You can feel just how much he wants you. It catches you off guard, this sudden display of attraction. You don’t know where it’s coming from, what’s brought it on. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. You’ve been so lonely for so long. You just want to bask in the fact that he looks absolutely starved for you. 

No man has ever looked at you with such heartbreakingly yearning eyes - like he’s been looking for you his whole life. He dips down, lips ghosting gently over yours. Your breaths mingle together, you can nearly taste him. 

It’s unclear which one of you moves first, who pushes closer to the other. But it doesn’t matter because the second you put real pressure behind the kiss he’s all over you. One of his hands drifts down to your ass, squeezing the flesh there and dragging you closer, grinding his hips into yours. 

You moan at the feeling, your arms wrap around his neck and you press yourself even closer. He groans against your lips at the first swipe of your tongue. You part with a gasp when he picks you up, practically tossing you onto your sink. Your legs spread instinctually, making room for him as he slots himself between them. 

It’s odd, feeling so vulnerable even when he’s the one who's completely naked. It still feels like he’s holding all the power. 

His lips are moving frantically over yours like he’s terrified you’re going to disappear the second he lets go. You can taste something desperate on his tongue. Something deeply rooted inside him that you can’t identify. 

One of your hands drifts from his neck, trailing over the muscles of his chest. Your fingers carve a path down his abs, relishing in how muscular he feels under your palm. Your hand reaches his pelvis, nearly wrapped around him when he jumps back. 

He grabs your wrist in a grip so tight you know there’s going to be a bruise. A pained gasp slips out and he releases you immediately. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, I can’t.” He won’t look at you now, backing up towards the shower and shaking his head. “This was a bad idea, I can’t do this.”

You shake your head, slipping off the sink and hiding your bruised wrist behind your back. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t have moved so fast.”

You feel too ashamed to meet his eye. He kissed you but you feel like you’ve forced yourself on him somehow. It’s a nauseating feeling and you want nothing more than to run back to your room and hide. 

He takes a step towards you, something pained on his face. “Kid-”

You just shake your head, step out of the bathroom, and grab the handle of the door. “Sorry,” you whisper again, closing the door behind you. You lean against the cool wood, trying to catch your breath. 

Your hand drifts up to your lips, still tingling from how desperately he’d kissed you. It doesn’t make any sense. He came on to you, he threw you up on the sink, and made out with you more passionately than any man ever has before. So why are you the one who feels dirty?

You rush down the hall and into your room, slamming the door behind you. You dive under your covers, closing your eyes even though you know you won’t sleep. No, your shoulders are tensed up to your ears and your bones are vibrating with an energy you need to release. 

You’re completely tuned into the other person lurking in your apartment. You can hear as he starts the shower, how he talks quietly to himself sometimes. Then when he gets out you can perfectly picture what he looks like while he’s getting dressed and it only makes you feel worse. 

You listen as he leaves the bathroom and pauses in the hall. You can see it in your mind’s eye, how he stares at your door. He walks towards it and lingers for a minute before cussing quietly and heading back into the living room. 

You suddenly remember that you didn’t lay sheets out on the couch for him. You feel guilty, but there’s not one part of you that will be dragged from this bed and face him. Not now, at least. 

He’s up for a little while longer, getting water. Turning the TV on and off. Rooting through your cabinets looking for booze you know you don’t have. Finally, he settles on the couch. You’re awake for another hour, unable to relax until you’re completely sure he’s asleep. Even as you drift off and your body finally relaxes your mind doesn’t. You keep seeing that stricken look on his face and it makes you sick to your stomach. 

It’s the smell of pancakes that wakes you up. You’re not sure when you finally managed to pass out last night but you know it was late. Which is why you’re so pissed off that you’re being forced to get up at seven in the morning. 

You’re used to being able to sleep in a lot later than that. You’re already in a pissy mood from last night and it only gets worse as you trudge around your room getting ready. You’ve never been more thankful to have snagged one of the rare two-bathroom apartments in the building.

You don’t want to have to share a bathroom with Logan. You don’t even want to use the other one after what happened last night. It’s too embarrassing and painful to think about. The emotional whiplash of feeling so desired and then absolutely hideous is making your head spin. 

You’re sure it was all just a problem on his end, but it really doesn’t make you feel any better. When you can’t stall any longer, and you know that Logan has heard you get up, you slip quietly out of your room. 

The curtains in your living room are open and he’s in the kitchen fucking around with your stove. The news is playing quietly on the TV and you’re astounded about how little he’s done and how much more homely your apartment feels. 

It’s never really been home to you. Not after you were booted from the X-Men. But he’s somehow made it ten times cozier than it ever has been. You almost resent him a little for it. 

“Morning,” he grumbles from the kitchen. “Coffee,” he motions behind him and you see a steaming cup already waiting for you. You silently slip behind him, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and pouring it until you’re sure it’s sweet enough to not actually taste the coffee. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, moving to sit at the table. You keep your eyes trained on the TV, pretending to pay attention to the news so you don’t have to look at him. He bores his eyes into the side of your head until you feel like you’re going to have holes in your temple. 

When you can’t take it anymore you finally look over at him. He doesn’t smile, his face barely even twitches, he just looks back to his pan and continues scrambling some eggs. “Didn’t know you cooked,” you offer up weakly, already growing anxious from the silence. 

It feels wrong, to be walking on eggshells in your own apartment. He grunts and shrugs, “Not really cooking. You had the mix in your pantry,” he tells you brusquely. His tone borders on rude and you scoff. 

The audacity of this man to have an attitude with you in your apartment. He was the one who threw a hissy fit last night. You roll your eyes and go back to the news, all it tells you is that the world is just as depressing as the inside of your apartment is right now. 

You notice out of the corner of your eye the way his shoulders slump forward. He leans against the oven, seeming not to care if he burns himself. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’d just heal. “Sorry,” he mutters. It sounds like it pains him to say the words. 

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath. You take a long sip of your coffee, slurping a little so you have something to fill the atmosphere. 

He puts some food on a plate and brings it over to the table for you. You usually don’t eat breakfast, preferring to just skip the meal and eat a bigger lunch. But it feels too bitchy to say that to him, so you just accept the food with a strained smile. “Thanks.”

He sits across from you, glaring down at your table like it insulted him. You drag your fork against the plate, letting the scrape of metal against porcelain drown out your worries. Finally, he looks at you. “Look, about last night.”

You tense up. You want to interrupt him, to stop him from explaining. You know it’s just going to hurt your feelings, whatever he says. Whether he tells you it was a mistake or he just realized he’s not attracted to you, either way, you’re fucked. But, it’s also kept you up all night so you just shut your mouth and let him speak. 

You keep your gaze trained on your plate, unable to fully face him. He lets out a long sigh and clenches his fork so tight you hear the metal bend. He drops it to the table and clenches and unclenches his fists a few times. 

“I just couldn’t kiss you, not when I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons.”

Your brows furrow in confusion and you finally look up at him. “What?” You demand, disbelief coloring your voice. 

His eyes are boring into yours, an intensity behind the stare that leaves you feeling a little shaken. “You look like her,” he whispers, and the grief is so thick in his voice it makes your throat tighten. He pauses briefly before continuing. “There are,” he clears his throat like he’s trying not to cry. It makes you lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your stomach uncomfortably. 

“There are a few differences, obviously. You’re not a carbon copy. But your mannerisms, your attitudes, you’re so similar. And I,” he shakes his head and gives you one of the most genuinely apologetic looks you’ve ever received. You can tell he really does feel guilty for projecting on you but it doesn’t make you feel any less uncomfortable. “And I just wasn’t doing that for the right reasons. I was pretending you were her and that’s just not fair to you.”

You lean your elbows on the table, head falling into your hands. You let out a rough sigh and groan in irritation. You knew the reason would hurt but you didn’t think it would be this bad. You feel gross, icky under your skin knowing that he was pretending you were another version of yourself. The version of yourself you’ve always wanted to be; the hero. 

But you also feel such a deep sadness and sympathy for him. He’d briefly mentioned that he was married to this other you. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like, to see your dead wife’s face staring at you and she doesn’t even know you. 

“I,” you don’t even know where to begin. You struggle to say anything for a minute and you both just stew in the tense silence. You take in a deep breath and look up at him. You do what you always do, forcing a smile and shrugging it off. “I appreciate the honesty, really.” You stand up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and busying yourself with cleaning up. 

“Clearly,” you snap, your voice crueler than it should be, “It was a mistake. We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?”

Logan sits silently at the table. He looks like there’s more he wants to say but you don’t give him the chance. You can’t take it. You finally thought someone had wanted you for you, flaws and all. You’re a fucking idiot, he barely even knows you. Whatever connection you thought was there was just brought about by your own loneliness. 

“I gotta get ready for work,” you tell his back because he isn’t looking at you now. 

He nods, scraping his fork across the plate as he aggressively cuts into his food. “Right.” You wait for him to say anything else but he doesn’t. 

You walk past him and head back to your room. You don’t even have a job, you don’t have to work. But you still grab your purse and head out of the apartment. Pretending you do just so you don’t have to look at him anymore. 

You really should have let him finish, though. You should have let him keep talking to you. Let him explain how as much as he sees her in you, that’s not why he wants you. He wants you for you. Because as similar as you can be, you’re still a completely different person from who his late wife was. You’re someone strong and incredible and he genuinely wants you. But he can never really let himself be happy. 

It takes a few days for you both to ease up around the other. The incident in the bathroom is never brought up again. You take him shopping for clothes after a few days. It feels wrong to keep giving him Wade’s hand-me-downs. You would have had your friend take him, but you don’t trust Wade’s sense of fashion at all. 

After that and getting lunch together while you were out shopping things got a little easier. You bought him a bed for the spare room because you felt guilty seeing him all cramped up on your tiny couch. 

You don’t initiate any physical contact with each other. The closest you’d gotten was your hands brushing when you both reached for some popcorn at the same time on movie night. But you hadn’t really minded that bad. 

Eventually, he starts to feel like a real roommate and a friend. He lets little pieces of himself slip out. Slowly opens up about his past. You haven’t made any existential discoveries of course. But he tells you stories of what his X-Men were like. 

You try not to dance around the topic of his wife, you don’t want him to think you’re avoiding asking about her. But you also don’t want him to think you’re obsessed with discussing her. 

He’s right, you two weren’t carbon copies of each other at all. You might share a few things in common but the more both you and Logan learn about each other, the more clear it is how different you both are from your variants. 

Sometimes you think he looks at you like he’s really seeing you, not her. But you can never be sure and you don’t want to put much strength behind the thought in case you’re wrong. You hate the idea that when you’re thinking of nothing but him, he’s just seeing her reflection on your face. 

There’s nothing you can do about it but it doesn’t stop the hurt. 

Tonight, at Wade’s suggestion, you’re both up on the roof waiting for a meteor shower that you’re ninety percent sure is never going to happen. You’re also one hundred percent sure that Wade just tricked you out of your apartment so he could have sex in it. He and Vanessa don’t really get a lot of time alone with Blind Al around. You’re already mentally preparing for the absolute fuck storm you’re going to have to clean up after.  

There’s a light nudge on your shoulder and you glance over at Logan. He’s got the whiskey bottle outstretched towards you and you take it from him with a smile. One thing about being his roommate, your alcohol tolerance has skyrocketed. His liver might regenerate, but you’re pretty sure if you keep going down this route yours will give out in a few months. 

“Think this is actually going to happen?” You ask, pointing up toward the clear night sky. 

Logan chuckles and shakes his head. He stretches out in your flimsy lawn chair and you try not to let your gaze be drawn to the sliver of skin peeking out from his shirt. “Probably not, but I don’t mind being out here.”

There’s an unspoken, with you, that makes you smile. You meet his gaze, his eyes soft as he watches you. “Me either.” You lean back in your chair, pulling your legs up onto the seat and huddling under your blanket. “It’s peaceful.”

You drink together in silence for a little while longer. Then you have to tap out, you don’t want your brain getting too foggy. Tonight is nice, you want to remember it tomorrow. To your surprise, he caps the bottle and places it to the side. You don’t mention it but you do feel like you’ve noticed he’s been drinking a little less. The dark circles under his eyes seem to be easing away ever so slightly. 

He looks over at you with an odd light in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably under his stare when it lasts a little longer than it usually does. You chuckle awkwardly, “Do I have something on my face?”

There’s a soft uptick to his lips as he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, looking back out at the night. “You mind if I ask you something?”

Ominous, but whatever. “Sure.”

He still doesn’t look at you and you worry slightly about whatever it is he’s going to ask. He doesn’t ease you into it all, “Wade said your brain was broken?” A laugh springs out of your throat from how brusque that was. He rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ idiot mentioned it in the void, been wonderin’ about it.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. You’re relaxed enough that you don’t mind answering. You don’t want to pop the soft bubble you’ve managed to create around each other. “Here,” you hold your hand out for the whiskey bottle. He gives you an apprehensive look before handing it over. 

You unscrew the cap, “This,” you say and point your hand at the glass. The liquid inside lifts into the air and you freeze it before dropping it back into the bottle with a splash, a simple little party trick. “This used to be enough to put me in a coma for two days. That’s what he meant. Something happened to me and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Logan’s eyes widen and he shakes his head in disbelief. You laugh a little, “I assume your wife never had problems like that?”

There’s always a fond smile when you mention his wife. Whether the memory is bittersweet or not. “She wasn’t perfect, much as I thought so. When she used her powers too much she,” he trails off and looks down at the floor. You frown, ducking your head down so you can catch his gaze. 

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you promise quietly.

But he shakes his head and gives you a weak, tight-lipped smile. “No, I want to. And I don’t want you to think you’re the only Flux who struggled. When she used her powers too much she would deteriorate. Parts of her would just disappear, I don’t even know how to describe it. They were destroying her from the inside out.”

You let out a low whistle, eyes widening slightly. “Well, maybe I didn't get the short end of the stick after all.” It’s quiet and for a moment you worry your humor was ill-timed. 

But he lets out a rough laugh, “No, I guess not.” He takes in a deep breath before looking back up at you. There’s no distant sadness in his eyes like there usually is when you bring her up. It seems to only be a familiar ache now, rather than something fresh and bleeding. “But what happened to you? Why couldn’t you use your powers?”

“Oh,” you look down at your lap, picking at the strings of your pants. It would be unfair to have him talk about his wife and then wimp out when it was your turn. 

“Um, There was this mission. A bunch of kids, mutants, were being held in this warehouse. It was actually pretty normal, just go in, retrieve them, and bring them back to safety. I must have done a dozen of these before, but, I don’t know. Something was this different this time around.”

You can still hear them screaming. In your mind, you hear the way they cried for help. And you see the look on your faces when they realize you can’t save them every time you go to sleep. 

You suck in a sharp breath and almost jump when his hand lands on yours. It’s gentle, he’s barely even touching you and he’s not even acknowledging what he’s doing. But you take his hand in yours and squeeze, it’s nice, grounding. 

“Long story short, they were heavily guarded and I was pretty drained from fighting off the guards. My powers were practically gone by the time we could even get to the kids. And, I don’t know, something must have gotten knocked over or hit the wrong way because smoke was filling the place and everything was on fire. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t breathe, and the kids were blocked off. There was nothing we could do to get to them. Everyone kept screaming at me, telling me to just use my abilities and get them out of there. I couldn’t,” your voice gets thick and you look anywhere but at him. “I,” your mouth hangs open and you don’t know what you could possibly say. 

There’s no excuse for what happened. “I just couldn’t,” you whisper. You sniffle and your eyes flutter rapidly, trying to stop any tears from coming. “Hadn’t been able to use my powers since then. Trauma block or something, I guess,” you dismiss yourself flippantly and shrug. 

Logan just squeezes your hand again. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to comfort you and you’re honestly grateful for the silence. You get so sick of people telling you there was nothing you could have done. Or that the others should have helped you. Because that’s not a fucking excuse. There’s no fixing what happened, no giving those parents their children back. You fucked up and you don’t appreciate people giving you cop-outs. 

You keep your gaze trained steadily on the ground, eyes going blurry while you try to slip into the back of your mind. You don’t get the chance, though. Logan is kneeling in front of you, hands slipping up your arms to cup your face. 

He forces you to look at him, to stay present in the moment with him. “You fucked up,” he tells you. It's so shocking that you can’t help but let out a loud wet laugh. You sniffle and he grins, wiping the tears out from under your eyes. His grip on your cheeks tightens and he makes sure you’re listening as he speaks, “You fucked up, kid. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t try your fucking hardest. And it doesn’t erase all the people you did help.”

Your eyes search him, trying to find any kernel of untruth. Trying to prove to yourself that this isn’t real. That he isn’t real. You don’t deserve this moment of such unwavering trust and faith. This is meant for someone else, for someone who deserves good things in life. 

You’ve never truly believed you deserved happiness or peace like this. But right now you don’t care because he is saying everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. And he actually means it. 

Your hand drifts up, covering his and tilting your head to press a gentle kiss to his palm. It’s tentative, a test, a way to give him an out if doesn’t want this. His grip on you tightens for half a second before he shoots forward and claims your lips with his own. 

It escalates quickly. You practically melt off your chair, straddling his lap while he leans back on the ground. Your hands tug at his hair while he moves desperately over your body. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to do, where he wants to touch you. 

You love how fully his hands engulf you, the tight way they cradle you to his chest. You’ve never felt more secure in someone’s arms than you do right now. He’s got you, and he wants you. For you this time, you can tell. You can tell from the way he holds you that this isn’t a desperation born from grief. It’s something else, something you’re not ready to identify yet. 

His tongue laves across the seam of your lips, silently asking permission. You smile against the kiss, parting your lips and deepening it. He licks into you, tasting you with a low grunt in the back of his throat. You feel your hips start to move of their own volition. Gently grinding down against his lap. You moan when you feel just how bad he wants you. 

You lean back, parting from the kiss and pressing a finger to his chest to keep from following. You chuckle at his eagerness, grinding your hips down again and watching the way he thrusts up to meet your movement. “Didn’t know I was such a good kisser,” you tease. 

But he doesn’t return the joke or play along. His face falls slightly and he pulls further away from you, the look on his face distant. “What?” You whisper. “Do I have bad breath?” You joke, trying to keep the mood light. 

He shakes his head and runs a tired hand over his face. “No,” he mutters. He repeats the word more firmly and finally meets your gaze. “I think I need to take this slow, just because of…”

He trails off but you know what he means. His wife. You don’t know if he’s still projecting her onto you, you felt so sure he wasn’t earlier. But if every time you kiss he’s gonna pull back you’re not sure that you can do this. “Of course,” you mutter with a bite to your voice. It’s hard not to feel a little rejected every time he acts like this. 

You move to get off his lap but his hands clamp down on your hips and he shakes his head again. “You don’t have to get up.”

You hesitate, thighs still hovering over his. You should get up and put as much space between you as possible. But he’s so warm and you want to be held for a little while more. You nod and he looks relieved. You lean back down, pressing your chest against his and letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. 

He wraps a heavy arm around your back, keeping you close while the other reaches up to stroke your hair. It makes you feel small, in a good way. Like you can just relax and he’ll take care of you. 

“Goddamn,” he laughs a little and you sit up. He nods to the sky above and you turn around, gasping. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, “he wasn’t lying.” For once, Wade was telling the truth. Above you, it looks like the sky is falling. Glittering stars dart across the sky, streaks of blue following behind them. You grin, “It’s so beautiful.”

Logan keeps his eyes on you and nods, “Yeah, it is.”

“Ah, look, my favorite fuck buddies.”

”Wade,” you greet tightly. You shove the bottle of wine you brought into his chest and he stumbles back. “Just let us in, you freak.”

He frowns, placing a hand over his heart. “You know, it really hurts when you talk like that. I think we all need to hold hands and have a good old-fashioned jerk circle.”

You roll your eyes and flick his thick forehead. “It’s share circle, dumbass.”

”Not the way I do it,” he moves to the side and lets you both in. “Well, mi casa es su casa, especially since Vanessa and I had rockin’ sex in your bed last week.”

He walks off before you can hit him or even begin to respond to that. “I fucking knew it,” you hiss, glaring at his stupid Hawaiian shirt while he mingles with the rest of the people at the party. 

Logan chuckles behind you, “How did you two ever become friends?”

You roll your eyes and turn to face him. “I moved in next door,” you respond dryly. “This was a nonconsensual friendship because god hates me, clearly.” You shrug your jacket off and he takes it from you, hanging it up on the hook by the door. He comes back, slinging an arm around your shoulder, and leading you towards the kitchen. 

You hear Wade laughing loudly in the background and he grunts, “I’m gonna need a drink for this,” he mutters. You nod your head in agreement. You don’t get very far, though, because without any warning Wade is in front of you. He’s got his ridiculous dog in his arms and shoves her in your face. You grimace and jump back. Logan abandons you and you narrow your eyes at his retreating back. Traitor

Wade says your name with disappointment. “You know, Mary Puppins is a part of my life now. As my best friend, you need to bond with her. I can’t have you two fighting like this.” He shoves the dog into your arms without any warning and you flinch away from her wandering tongue. 

“If this thing licks me, I’m putting her down,” you warn him gravely. 

He gasps and snatches her back. “You are no longer welcome in my home,” he tells you with a snotty huff. You roll your eyes and watch him go. When he’s out of sight your lips curl up in a grin and you glance at Logan. 

He’s by the sink, making himself a drink and taking a deep swig straight out of the bottle. You creep up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smiles, hand coming down to gently hold your arm. “What’re you doing?”

”Come with me,” you whisper. You take his hand and lead him through the apartment. You both skirt around the partygoers, giving them vague greetings and waving them off when they give you odd looks. 

Logan leans down, lips brushing across your ear as he whispers, “Where are we going?” Your knees nearly give out when you hear that low tone of voice of his. You just shake your head and lead him down the hall. You can sniff out Wade’s room from the permeating stench of his axe body spray. 

You throw the door open and drag Logan inside behind you. His nose wrinkles up at the stiff socks littering the floor and the smell. Other than that, it’s relatively clean. You actually thought this would look so much worse. 

“Now,” Logan demands, “are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Well,” you lock the door and turn around with a devious grin. “Seeing as Wade has ruined my favorite sheets, I feel like we need to get him back somehow.” You glance around the room, trying to figure out something of his you want to destroy. 

You don’t hear Logan moving towards you. You’re too busy rooting through Wade’s desk and trying to find something good to shred up.  All you’re seeing is increasingly more disturbing porno mags. He has got a serious problem with pegging. You briefly wonder if you should set up an intervention or something for him. 

You nearly yelp when Logan’s hands grip your shoulders, whipping you around to face him. “I’ve got an idea of what we can do.” That’s your only warning before his lips cover your own. You melt into him immediately, hands fisting his shirt and dragging him closer. He grins against your lips, lifting you and placing you on the edge of Wade’s desk. 

“Mm,” you moan but shove his chest back and shake your head. “Wait,” you hop off the desk and take a seat on Wade’s bed instead. “There’s no point in this if we’re not on the bed.”

Logan shakes his head with an amused huff. He walks towards you but instead of taking a seat on the bed next to you like you'd expected, he kneels before you. Your brows furrow together and you frown. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

He gives you a gentle smile, hands coming up to rub gently over your thighs. The warmth of his palms soothes you almost immediately. “You trust me?” He asks, voice a low rumble against your chest. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. He nods encouragingly and leans forward, kissing you gently. There’s nothing expectant in this kiss. He’s doing it just to be close to you. Then you feel his hands drifting higher, fingers running over the buttons of your jeans. Your lips part, ready to ask him a question. But he just takes the chance to dip his tongue into your mouth, eagerly tasting you. You moan into it, not protesting when he presses you back into the bed. 

His fingers dip under the waistband of your jeans. You lift your hips to help him tug them the rest of the way down until they’re dropping to the floor quietly. You have a million questions dancing on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find it in yourself to actually voice any of them. You don’t want to break the moment. This is the first time he’s seemed comfortable going further than kissing and some heavy petting. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Your hips jolt as he runs a thumb over the wet spot on your panties. “All this just from kissing?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his tone. You feel your face flush, cheeks warming when you realize he’s never actually seen just how much he affects you. “Relax,” he tells you, squeezing your thighs once before slipping a few lithe fingers under the band of your panties. 

He tugs them down, but the second he sets eyes on you he gets too impatient to take them off the rest of the way. They dangle off one ankle while he lifts your thighs, setting them on his shoulder and dipping down to press a gentle kiss against you. You gasp at the contact, head tilting back while you instinctually grind your hips up against him. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve actually been with anyone and you already know you’re going to cum embarrassingly quick because he fucking devours you. You’ve had boyfriends who liked to eat you out before, but this is something completely different. 

He drags his tongue over you, sucking on your clit like it’s his only true joy in life. You can’t even make noises, your jaw hanging slack while you cant your hips higher. He groans when you grind against his face, shaking his head and flicking his nose across your bud. You nearly come from the sight of him smiling against your cunt alone. You feel it building slowly, and it’s like your powers are swelling up along with your release. 

Wade’s knicknacks are floating off the shelves, some of them rotating in the air, others fluctuating between liquid and solid forms. You can’t control yourself, you’re barely aware of the chaos happening in the room around you. You just feel a warmth at the tips of your toes, swelling over your body, making your skin feel too tight. There’s little to no warning when you cum. He dips his tongue inside you and you let out a long moan, drenching his face. 

The sheets are soaking wet underneath you and you know you’ve ruined his shirt. You’ve never come that hard before and you would reflect on that more if he wasn’t still fucking eating you out. You think your brain is going to melt out of your ears, you're so overwhelmed by all the different sensations.

He dips his tongue into you, dragging out your orgasm and drinking as much of you down as he can. Your hips keep twitching, you’d be thrashing out of his hands if it wasn’t for the near brushing grip he has on your hips. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you reach down, grabbing his hair at the roots and tugging. He groans at the feeling, barely leaning an inch back. “No more,” you whisper, chest heaving. 

He smiles, palms smoothing across the skin of your thighs, “You okay?” 

“Mhm,” you hum weakly. Your head falls back against the bed with a dull thunk and you struggle to catch your breath. “Holy shit, where did you learn to do that?” He doesn’t answer, just laughs. You jump slightly when he presses a tender kiss on your thigh, every part of you oversensitive. 

He moves slowly up your body, hands dragging your shirt up until he’s pulling it over your head. He cups your cheeks, letting you recover while he kisses your cheeks and face. You laugh slightly at the feeling of his beard tickling you. 

You pull back, meeting his gaze for a long drawn-out moment before you lean forward to finally kiss him back. You can feel yourself slowly coming back into your body. Your limbs tingle back to life while you lazily make out with him. 

His hands drift down your chest, squeezing your breasts. You laugh against his lips, arching into his touch. You reach back, unclipping your bra and throwing it off somewhere in the room. In the far reaches of your mind, you make a mental note to take that when you go. You don’t want to think about what Wade would do with it if he found it. 

Logan pulls back from you and your lips tip down at the serious look he wears. Your fingers trace the lines of his face and you tilt your head in question. “What’s wrong?” You whisper. You’re completely naked before him and he’s still clothed, you don’t want him to leave now. 

He can’t keep doing this to you. He can’t keep forcing you into these vulnerable positions and then leaving. There’s only so much rejection you can take before you start to resent him for it. 

He tilts his head down, gaze dragging across your body appreciatively. He’s looking at you like you’re art and it makes you feel like you should be in a museum somewhere. Finally, his hand drags down from your chest, wrapping around your waist and dragging you onto his lap. 

You brace your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He leans towards you, lips trailing lightly across your jaw. “You’re not her,” he whispers against your skin. Your mouth parts, a pained breath slipping through. You try to move back from him. You hadn’t expected something like that, not now, not when you thought you’d made so much progress together. 

To have you naked, vulnerable like this, and then say something like that to you. It was fucking despicable. You shove his shoulders back but he barely moves. You shift, trying to cover yourself and fighting off the urge to cry. Why won’t he let you go? Why does he keep doing this to you? 

He reaches out, snatching up your wrist before you can get far. “I don’t want you to be. I never wanted you to be her, I need you to know that.”

He tries to kiss you but you snatch his jaw in your hand before he can. You let your nails dig in until there’s red blooming under your fingertips. He hisses, but he’s not mad, you can feel how much he enjoys the little pinpricks of pain. 

“No more pulling away,” you warn. “I’m not playing this damn game with you anymore, Logan. You want me, then commit.” You release him with a shove and his pupils dilate with want. You appreciate the gentle way he’s been treating you, but you know you’re both holding back. 

He’s the first partner you’ve been with that can actually take what you give and vice versa. There’s something only mutants understand sometimes. You normally have to hold back, have to make sure you don’t scare a guy off by making the walls shake when you come. 

You push him down onto the bed. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt and running over the grooves of his muscles. You haven’t had a chance to appreciate just how gorgeous his body is before, but nothing is holding you back now. 

You snap your fingers and the buttons rip open, he surges forward catching your lips with his while you both frantically push his shirt off. He throws it off to the side and his fingers fumble with his belt buckle while you trail kisses down his neck. You glance up at him for a second before biting down on a particularly sensitive spot. 

He groans, head rolling back while you grin against his skin. You make your way back to his lips. “Don’t hold back,” you tell him, trailing your hands down to his fists and running over the spots where the claws come out. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts tone apprehensive. You shake your head, shutting him up with a kiss. 

“Don’t. Hold. Back.”

It’s like a switch flipping. Even the way he looks at you changes. You’re not something to be cherished and adored. You feel like a deer pinned by a wolf. He’s got you in his clutches now and there’s a real possibility you might not survive this. 

He stands up, dropping you on the bed and dragging your hips off the edge. He doesn’t kick his jeans off, just lowers them enough for his cock to hang out. You’ll address the fact that he wasn’t wearing boxers later, you’re too worried about what’s hanging between his legs right now. 

You’re no virgin, but goddamn, there’s no way that’s going to fit. 

He laughs, the noise cruel and it makes shivers crawl down your spine. “We’ll make it work, kid.” He spreads your legs and you tilt your hips up, making it easier for him to just sip inside. 

There’s a slight stretch, but you’re already soaked for him. You’ve been waiting for this to happen since you walked in on him naked in your bathroom. “Oh, shit,” you toss your head back, taking in a deep breath while he pushes in. It feels like he’s rearranging your insides, molding you to fit him perfectly. 

You can already feel yourself clenching down, just being so close to him is enough to make that tingle in the tips of your toes start. He leans down, placing your legs over his elbows and rutting into you like a wild animal. There’s nothing gentle or slow about this. 

You’re both so pent-up, tired from the weeks of dancing around each other. Your nails drag up his back, blood following your movement. Your powers are actively surging against him, pain only driving you further into each other’s arms. 

You can hear his breathy grunts and groans in your ears and it’s music to you. Neither of you cares about the party going on just outside the door. You’re loud, skin slapping against skin while you loudly call out his name. 

God, you hope they hear you. Hope they realize just how thoroughly you’re wrecked for each other. You can feel yourself getting closer, hips stuttering against his while you struggle to match his pace. “Come on,” he mutters in your ear. He releases one of your legs to reach down and rub your clit. 

“Fuck,” you groan, reaching up and tugging at his hair while your back bows. It only takes a few more tight circles of his thumb before you’re spasming around him. He’s quick to follow behind you. 

He pins your hips to the bed, dropping your legs while he thrusts faster. He loses his rhythm, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he cums inside you. It’s like a mini death, you feel like you’ve lost time when you finally manage to come back to yourself. 

And when you roll your head to the side you realize just how much damage you’ve done to Wade’s bed. “Shit,” You glance up at the sound of his voice and notice little droplets of blood on your hips. Logan’s claws are out, stuck in the fluff of the bed. 

You force the words out, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Do that often?”

“Not really,” he mutters. The claws retreat and he rubs his fingers over the blood. It’s not bad, you’ve honestly done worse to yourself. It’s like a big paper cut. When the rough pad of his fingers presses against the cut you hiss at the sting, nearly enjoying it. 

“Must be special,” you tell him with a cheeky grin. He shakes his head with a laugh and takes his time pulling out. You hate the loss of him inside you but it's a slight relief. He's larger than any partner you’ve ever had and it’s almost overwhelming to be so full. 

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” He pats your thighs, glancing around for your clothes. 

“Uh, Logan,” he looks up and you glance at his still very hard cock. “I thought you came?”

The smile he gives you is slightly terrifying. Because there’s a promise in it. He’s not getting you dressed for no reason. He’s taking you back to your apartment so you can have more fun where there are less people and fewer reminders of Wade. “Stamina's part of the deal, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you whisper, voice breathless in shock. You wipe the cum off your legs with Wade’s sheets. You feel like you’ve thoroughly gotten revenge on him for destroying your favorite bed set. Maybe, you’ve gone a little farther than revenge, though. 

You feel guilty, looking around the room and seeing everything you destroyed. Once you’re dressed, you wave your hand, putting most things back where they belong. But there’s nothing you can do about the bed. The sheets are soaked with a mixture of yours and Logan’s releases and there are six holes dug deep in the bed from his claws. 

When you step out of the room with Logan, struggling to press down your hair and get it back into place, Blind Al is waiting by the door. She’s doing a line off the back of her hand when you pass by. You think you’ve almost made it scott-free when she yells, “Man, I wish I couldn’t fucking hear,” at you. 

You tense up, shoulders to your ears while you run to the door. Logan laughs, grabbing your coat for you and pressing a hand to your back while he leads you to the apartment. “Weren’t feeling so embarrassed earlier,” he teases. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, dragging him into the apartment to finish what you couldn’t on Wade’s bed. 

You’ve managed to keep any holes out of your bed, you just have to use your powers to keep his at bay. It’s nice, not having to explain why everything around you is levitating to the person you’re having sex with. There were a lot of awkward conversations that came from that. 

You’re lying on Logan’s chest, fingers idly running over the veins in his biceps. “I want to be serious about this,” you tell him. 

His hand pauses from where it’d been stroking your back. You sit up on your elbow so you can get a better look at him. “I mean it, I,” there’s no way to say this without sounding like a complete bitch. You just have to rip the bandaid off. 

You take in a deep breath, “I know that you still miss her,” you say, unwilling to say her name. Logan sits up, looking more serious now. “But I don’t want to be with you if you think that I’m going to turn into her. Or if you think that I’m the last connection you have to her. I’m not her, Logan, and I'm never going to be her.”

You expect anger on his face or regret, maybe. But you don’t expect him to laugh at you. You roll your eyes, lips pursed while you wait for him to finish. He notices the pissy expression on your face and quiets down, but you still see a smile fighting on his lips. 

“I know you’re not her. You could not be more different” he tells you with a slight smirk, like there’s an inside joke you’re missing out on. “I was married to her for a long time and I loved her. But we had our time together. Now, I just want my time with you. You’re not her,” he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “That’s why I want you.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest and have to fight to keep a stupid grin off your face. “Okay,” you whisper. “Good, well as long as we’re on the same page,” you tell him, faux serious. He just rolls his eyes and pulls you back into his arms. 

You’re going to cuddle up beside him when you hear your phone going off like crazy on your nightstand. Your face pinches in confusion and you reach over to grab it. 

Wade

Did you fuckers have sex???

In my bed!!!!

And you didn’t invite me?!

….

Wade

Tell Logan I want his claws in me next

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you mutter, throwing your phone somewhere on the bed. Logan laughs again, drawing you closer. 

a/n: i have a really weird tendency for masochism, idk what that’s about. I just feel like if you were having sex with this man, he’s taking you like a wild animal. also feel like I might be a one-hit wonder. the smut just wasn’t doing it for me this time guys nor was the angst, i’m disappointed in myself

I just don't think I did justice to his character in the movie, I might have made it too OOC/ if I did PLEASE let me know

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus ♡

[feeder86]

Maxed Out!

Those few seconds were pure heaven. Josh’s jaw dropped when he saw his new neighbor step out of his truck and start strutting a little way up the path towards his front door. Out from the corner of his curtains, he gasped at the man’s beautiful face and imposingly strong body; his t-shirt fitting impeccably well, the biceps on full show and the delicious pecs thrusting themselves forwards. Never in his life had he seen a man he had admired quite so much. But then the guy turned, giving Josh a great shot of his tight, muscular glutes and strong thighs on full display in only a pair of tight gym shorts. He was going back to the truck, the passenger door opening where a guy was just getting out as well. Like a gentleman, he went straight to him, took his hand and eased him out.

That was when the moments of bliss ended. Just as Josh was getting over the disappointment that his hunky, new gay neighbor was not single, the image of his boyfriend made his breath catch in his throat. It was a face he hadn’t seen in almost ten years and had dearly hoped he would never see again. He could feel his heart racing and his eyes bulging. It couldn’t be! Nathan? The guy who had made Josh’s high school existence an absolute misery. Fuck! Was he going to be moving in right next door? Josh wouldn’t be able to cope with that. Surely he wasn’t such a bad person that he would be deserving of this?

As if to rub salt in the wound, the beautiful, new, incredibly tall guy stooped down to kiss Nathan on the lips and he wrapped his strapping arm over his shoulders, both of them gazing upon the house they had just purchased. In his shock, Josh hadn’t realised that he had strayed out from behind the curtain, only noticing how exposed he was when the new guy caught his stare and smiled at him, waving politely at Josh through his window. 

Instinctively, Josh threw himself back, filled with embarrassment. He couldn’t let Nathan see him. No way! Everything he had done in life seemed to evaporate: his successful career, his weight loss. He was reduced to being that shy, overweight, 280lbs eighteen year old boy no-one wanted to be friends with.

Josh swallowed. He really had come a long way since those days. Back then, he had been timid and unsure of himself at the all-boys school he attended with Nathan. He hadn’t been able to make friends quite like Nathan could, seemingly effortlessly. And, despite the fact that they were both out about their sexualities, it was only ever Josh who was made fun of for it; alongside his large, round belly and broad, dimpled, under exercised butt. In fact, rather bizarrely, the abuse was usually instigated by Nathan himself, who wanted to position himself as the cool, sporty and fun gay guy of the year group, doing his best to ensure that any homophobic bullying was sent Josh’s way instead. The tactic worked flawlessly. 

Since then, Josh had fully embraced his sexuality and now maintained his low weight for over two years. College had been awesome and everyone in the neighborhood loved him here. So why hide out and pretend that he didn’t have the courage to face his old demons head on? Without even registering what his body was doing, Josh found his feet were suddenly leading him out of the door. It was, once again, that ridiculous side of himself, so desperate to please; the part of him that had made him such a target in high school; that made him open his own front door and smile at them both warmly in greeting,

“Hello!” he sang, wanting so desperately to speak only to the new guy, yet unable to tear his eyes from Nathan as the boy visibly grimaced in recognition of Josh. “Congratulations on the new house!” he smiled, hearing a slight crack in his voice.

As if sensing his lover’s disdain, the handsome, new guy looked down at his boyfriend in amusement. Nathan was being rude, and he knew it, so he unhooked his arm from his shoulder and strolled across the grass to shake Josh’s hand alone. “Nice to meet you,” he smiled in a deep, charming tone that sent a spark of lust through Josh’s whole body. “My name is Max,” he explained, turning back to his boyfriend and pondering. “But something tells me you two already know each other already…” he grinned, as if this scenario was all quite funny to him.

“Yes!” Josh tried to smile; his heart beating a mile a minute and feeling like his whole body had been transported back ten years as he was staring into the eyes of his bully, desperate to get away unharmed. “We were in school together,” he nodded, noticing for the first time that Nathan wasn’t quite as slim as he had been back then. His stomach was slightly thicker, as were his thighs and chest. He had a slight puddle of fat under his chin that should have given Josh confidence, considering all the weight he himself had lost in the last two years to become the slim, healthy-looking, pretty boy at long last. But… it didn’t. Despite being in the best shape of his life, Josh still felt like the fat boy Nathan used to target every day. “It’s lovely to see you again, Nathan!” he tried.

Nathan scowled and huffed. “Sure. You too,” he spat insincerely, averting his eyes back to Max straight away. “Honey, could you get my box from the back of the truck?”he asked.

Max sighed, playfully rolling his eyes at Josh. “Sure thing, Honey,” he called back, ripping off his t-shirt to reveal the incredible, muscular physique underneath as he prepared to set to work unloading.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Josh asked them both, like a glutton for punishment. All he really wanted to do was to get inside and hide away.

Max seemed to look him over; his thin physique and 150lb frame, dressed smartly in a well ironed shirt. “No,” he replied, assessing Josh to be fairly useless for the physical moving and carrying that would be his chore for the next hour. “I’ll be fine,” he smiled, giving him a charming wink.

Nathan waited until Max was out of earshot. It was a tactic Josh remembered well, already bracing himself. “You can stop looking at Max like that,” he grunted at him. “We’re not friends,” he hissed. “You were a prissy little no-body in school and…” he continued, eyeing up and evaluating Josh’s well maintained and impeccably manicured front yard, “...you’re clearly just the same now.”

“Nathan, this is silly…” Josh tried once more, summoning all his resolve. “We’re grown adults.”

“You think because you’ve lost a few pounds I’m going to let you be friends with me?” he laughed, always keeping an eye that Max wasn’t listening. “Go home, Josh. And stay there.”

Reeling, Josh did indeed go inside, cursing himself; imagining what a fool he had made coming out to greet them like that. Why did he have to give Nathan the satisfaction of even trying to be nice to him? Why couldn’t he accept that the guy would never tolerate him? 

The teenager inside of Josh made a grab for control. He opened the cupboards and started whipping up a batch of cookie dough. He ripped open the ice cream and began spooning it into his mouth, knowing that food had been the only true comfort for him back in those dark days of high school. He would have been that way all night, gorging himself, had Kelly from next door not stopped by, knocking on the back door and seeing the mess in the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re making your famous oatmeal cookies for the new neighbors?” she’d assumed, full of smiles. 

Josh nodded, pleased that a plausible excuse had just fallen so easily into his lap. Of course it had been Kelly who had been one of the first to introduce herself to the new couple next door. The woman thrived on the suburban gossip and would actively make it her mission to get around everyone on the street, sharing what she had gleaned from the fresh arrivals.

“They’re such a lovely couple, aren’t they?” Kelly went on. “Nathan works from home, y’know? His family owns a big share in the haulage company over by the docks. That’s probably how he landed a guy like Max! He’s so handsome, isn’t he?” she swooned. “I bet the family are rolling in it!”

Such a thought had crossed Josh’s mind too. Sure, Nathan had always been a good-looking guy, but he wasn’t as slender, nor as athletic as he had once been. Even to the untrained eye, Max seemed more than a little out of his league these days. Then again, Max seemed to be doing pretty well all by himself; his own sizable construction business’ name printed down the side of the two trucks they now had on the driveway. What reason would he have for settling for a slightly chubby guy from a wealthy family when he was clearly already doing well for himself already? 

“I think they’re going to fit right in here,” Kelly nodded. “Nathan’s even coming with us to yoga class on Wednesday!”

Josh’s heart sank. He loved that yoga class, but there was no way he was going if Nathan was there as well. Already the spiteful boy was making a move on all his friends. He considered telling Kelly everything he knew about the real Nathan; their shared history and the bullying. But then everyone would know what a loser he had been back in high school. News like that had a way of spreading like wildfire, twisting and evolving as it passed from person to person. Could Josh handle that? More than ever, he wanted to leave his high school days in the past. Acting as if he didn’t know Nathan seemed like the best thing to do; especially if he didn’t want to be the source of neighborhood gossip.

“They smell great!” Max smiled, looking genuinely delighted at the large container of oatmeal cookies Josh had felt compelled to deliver to him after promising Kelly that he would. He’d hidden behind his curtains for nearly twenty minutes until he was sure that Nathan was inside the house, leaving Max alone in the front yard to unpack the last few boxes for the evening.

“It’s something of a tradition for me to make them when a new neighbor arrives,” Josh smiled meekly, still checking the porch to ensure that Nathan wasn’t about to reappear.

“Yes,” Max smiled back at him. “I’ve already heard about your excellent baking!” he offered charmingly. Clearly Kelly had spent quite some time telling him about all the neighbors.  “Nathan is going to love these. He has quite the sweet tooth, y’know?”

Josh tried to smile back, but just the mention of Nathan’s name was enough to start making him feel as sick as he had back in high school. “Well, make sure you get to taste some as well,” he replied quietly. Back before Josh had gone on his weight loss journey, the recipe he had followed had been his absolute favorite. The cookies were far too nice for the likes of Nathan!

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare!” Max joked. “Nathan is quite the glutton when he gets something sugary!” He looked sideways to check that his boyfriend wasn’t about. “It’s the reason why his ass is a lot wider than you probably remember it in high school!” he chuckled, theatrically masking one side of his mouth so that no one could read his lips.

Josh laughed, taking to Max straight away. Nathan had always been highly strung and awkward, but this guy was as relaxed and as wicked as they came. According to Kelly, they had only been together a few months. Max was the sort of level-headed man who would soon see through Nathan’s false facade. He had the air of a charming bad boy about him; someone who was rarely bettered in a battle of wits.

“Nathan’s always been a very handsome guy,” Josh conceded, not wanting to implicate himself in anything that could be considered unkind in front of Max.

“Oh, yeah, for sure!” Max smiled, nodding in full agreement. “But even handsome guys can overeat…“ he smirked. “Trust me, I doubt any of these cookies will ever see daylight again!”

Josh smiled politely and walked back to his house, his mind whirring away. Nathan would have to be very silly to let his appetite get the better of him and lose a man like Max. Josh had never imagined his old high school bully would get even a little chubby, yet there was no denying that Nathan was starting to let himself go a bit. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. The faster Max got fed up with Nathan’s expanding waistline, the sooner they could all be rid of him - for good!

The following week, Josh’s heart leapt with joy as he saw Max returning home with a full tray of doughnuts. He grinned. offering a silent prayer that Nathan would gorge on the lot and struggle to fit in his pants the next day. Despite the outward appearance of order and harmony within Max and Nathan’s house, it seemed obvious to Josh that the pair’s home must still be upside down after the big move. Why else would Max have come hom with take out every night that week, if not for that? Inside his head, Josh was adding up all the calories and just imagining what impact they may have on nasty old Nathan. Back when Josh was with his ex, he’d been verbally mocked for even looking at foods like that when he still had weight to lose. Yet, there was Max fetching and carrying it all in for him as if he had no idea how much foods like those could influence a guy’s weight when he didn’t work a manual job, like himself.

After skipping yoga for a couple weeks, Josh sensed the other ladies on the street starting to treat him a little differently; their husbands soon following suit. Perhaps it was the obvious extra pounds he was starting to carry on his stomach once more. His tummy had swollen and softened as he consoled himself with his own baking after each intimidating stare from Nathan every time he was unfortunate enough to see him outside. The others on the street were short and impatient, moving away from him as quickly as they could. There were scowls and forgotten invitations to backyard barbecues; clear signs that something was going dramatically wrong. It was happening all over again, just like last time. Nathan had spread his vicious lies and set Josh well within his sights. Josh could just imagine the guy’s smug, satisfied face after each made-up rumour he would tell. Now the neighbors huddled together with Nathan; their backs turned to Josh; an impenetrable wall. Josh watched on, filled with hopelessness, whilst being periodically glanced over at as they continued to discuss him; the outsider.

It was all too much. Josh felt like he had built up a life for himself, only for Nathan to come along and knock it all down. Pretty soon it was only the hapless Max who ever had a friendly smile for him. The ice cream, the cookies, the chocolate, they all called out to him when he came in feeling glum; Josh’s healthy eating regime shattering into a million pieces.

Clothes were tightening, the extra pounds spreading, and a reinflation of Josh’s previously toned body was a seemingly unstoppable process. His butt had always taken the brunt whenever his diet had failed him, but the build up of pure fat felt so much more extreme this time. Josh avoided the mirror, stuck to his loosest fitting outfits and attempted to ride out the winter, assuring himself that all would come right again, once the darkness ended.

It was Spring when Max was cutting the grass in his front yard. With his shirt off, Josh suspected that he wasn’t the only one on the street twitching at the curtains. Even the oldest residents could attest to the fact that there had never been such a handsome, masculine presence on this street. Not that Josh could ever hope to have a man like that now. He’d piled on so much weight over the winter months. He’d felt it all sliding back onto his body, invading his stomach and chest once more. His old t-shirts had come out of the attic, his former pants and jeans. He could feel it under his chin, bloating up his face, jiggling in his love handles and swelling up his butt; 45lbs of pure lard, developed from months of comfort eating due to the quiet isolation he now felt. Dating was out of the question; at least not until he got a grip of himself again. But when would that be?

Max was cleaning the blades of the mower when his miserable boyfriend came trotting out carrying a cool glass of lemonade for him. Wearing loose, unflattering sweatpants, Nathan hovered above his crouching man as if he was utterly oblivious as to how gigantic his butt looked. Winter had been hard on him as well it seemed, Josh smiled. It was completely transformative! Rather than being a little over-padded, Nathan’s butt and love handles had swollen to a width that would make jaws drop. This was a fat boy, without a doubt, having piled on even more than Josh himself. It wasn’t even as if he had become more shapely or especially masculine, but more like a hose had been inserted into his rear and pure blubber pumped in as much as he could take. 

Max’s face lit up upon seeing his boy, rising to his feet, strapping his hands onto that big butt and pulling him in for a kiss. He seemed to revolve Nathan slightly so that his hefty rear could be seen even by those living across the street; the guy’s strong hands genuinely appearing to revel in the size of those lardy glutes.

Nathan laughed and patted the horny boy away, trotting back into the house and inadvertently giving Josh a better look at the rest of his body: that double chin, the puffy arms, the rounded tummy, the larger mounded chest. Just what had the boy been eating whilst he worked from home all these months? He had completely ballooned!

Josh’s attention turned back onto Max: a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he watched Nathan disappear from view. It had been him, Josh realised, as the handsome boy chuckled to himself and crouched back down to clean the lawnmower blades. Barely a night had gone by when Josh hadn’t caught sight of him carrying something tasty in for his lover after a long day at work. He’d enabled it all. Hell, he might as well have had his name tattooed on that oversized rump of Nathan’s. Yet… he was still attracted to the awful boy. What sort of a guy put up with a weight gain like that? Certainly not any of the ones Josh had ever dated; constantly criticising his appearance and making him feel unworthy of their love, he thought bitterly to himself. Yet, there was the completely undeserving Nathan, likely far exceeding 240lbs, and still actively garnering the attention of a man like Max. 

There was no such thing as karma. Life wasn’t fair. People never really got what they deserved. Some guys were just born lucky.

It had been a slip at work that had done it. Josh was laid up on his couch resting his broken ankle and feeling more than a little sorry for himself that May. Whilst he enjoyed the freedom of being single, living alone was not always easy when things weren’t going great. Two weeks into the healing process and already the house looked a mess. He was existing off microwave meals, working from home and moving as little as possible, just as the doctor had ordered. He thought of all the times he had been there to help others on the street when bad luck had befallen them; yet no one had called round to check on him. With his parents gone and brother living so far away, Josh had never felt so isolated in his life. That was, until a large shadow crossed his window as the figure of Max could be seen in his front yard, mowing the grass for him. 

Josh hobbled to the front door and caught his attention, thanking Max for coming to help even when he had not asked. His yard had never looked like such a mess; the beautiful flowers he looked forward to each summer going unnoticed, hidden behind an unruly forest of weeds and grass.  

“Nathan’s away at a friend’s this weekend,” Max explained. “I’ve not got much to do anyway,” he shrugged.

Josh nodded, wondering whether even Max would dare to help him had Nathan been at home. Although he often caught the man in the front yard and exchanged a few simple, friendly words, he had always been keen to keep his guard up. He knew that, as a couple, Nathan would have spoken to him about why he didn’t like Josh. Perhaps they laughed about him behind his back. He could easily imagine that.

“Is there anything else I can do for you whilst I’m here?” Max asked kindly,letting himself in later that afternoon and stepping into Josh’s living area as he tried to get himself upright to greet the strapping man properly.

“No, you’ve already done so much! You’ve been a lifesaver!” Josh smiled. He looked down at his cast, wishing it away so that his life could get back to normal and not rely on others like he was having to right now. “What can I do to thank you?”

Max scratched his head in thought. “Maybe, when you’re better, you could make another batch of those cookies for Nathan?” he considered. “He guzzled the last batch down in no time at all,” he laughed, not hiding an element of mockery within.

Josh paused for a moment, unsure whether there was some sort of punchline coming from Max’s strange humor about his boyfriend’s appetite. “Sure,” he nodded at last. “I can do that.”

“Thanks,” Max smiled, dropping his head slightly and starting to shuffle out. But then he paused, turning back. “This must be pretty nice for you, huh?” he asked. “Nathan was such a bastard to you for being fat in high school, and now he’s the one carrying around all that extra weight? I imagine you feel pretty smug each time you see him?”

Josh stared at him. What sort of a question was that? He started to mumble a reply, realising that he didn’t even know what he was supposed to say. “Well, I’m hardly one to judge,” he finally replied softly. He hadn’t expected anyone to see him that day and his fat stomach wasn’t hidden in the slightest by the old, tight band t-shirt he’d slipped on earlier.

“Go on, admit it!” Max smirked. “You hate his guts!”

Again, Josh struggled to find words. “I wouldn’t say I hated him,” he lied.

“Why not?” Max asked. “He hates you. Loathes you, in fact! You should hear some of the things he’s been going around telling the neighbors.”

Josh frowned. “What’s he been saying?" he asked, immediately outraged. He took a breath, realising that he’d actually rather not know. He couldn’t say he’d ever really understood Max’s boyish humor, but his motives for saying these things eluded Josh. It was almost as if he enjoyed all the drama. “Okay…” he sighed, defeated.

“So, how do you feel about him?” Max pressed, not letting this go.

Not knowing what else to do, Josh shrugged and relented. “Fine. I don’t like him. Okay?“

Grinning with triumph, Max nodded with delight. “Good,” he smirked. “Make sure you channel that when you’re making him those cookies then: a little extra butter here, more sugar in there. Think of all the mean fat jokes he ever made about you,” he stated pointedly. “Make the greedy little piggy pay…”

Afterwards, Josh felt like he had slipped into a strange, alternative reality. Guys didn’t talk like that about their boyfriends; so why had Max spoken about Nathan like he was trying to stir up an old vendetta? Had they argued before he’d gone away that weekend? Was all not as it seemed next door? The whole thing could have been the start of a very scandalous neighborhood discussion had Josh been the type to share with the gossips. Not that anyone was really talking to him right now. As it was, Josh simply pondered it alone, slowly making up a batch of the cookies as Max had asked.

That Sunday, Josh yelled to Max as he headed out to pick Nathan up from the airport. He hobbled back into the kitchen, fetching the container of cookies so that he could hand them to him. The strapping man was waiting in his hallway expectantly, dressed in a smart shirt as if he was going to take Nathan straight out for dinner afterwards. His aftershave smelt enticing and the man’s eyes lit up when he saw the container so filled with cookies. He seemed genuinely thrilled to hold it in his hands.

“I hope there’s plenty of butter in these?” he asked seriously, studying the rise as if he knew what to look for.

Josh nodded, suddenly feeling under scrutiny. “You can look at the recipe,” he replied, unsure why he was so keen to please, even in this bizarre situation.

“That’s alright,” Max chuckled. “I trust you,” he whispered with a wink. “We’ve got his sister’s wedding coming up this month and I want him looking fat as fuck beforehand! He bought a suit for it months ago but… I have a funny feeling it won’t be fitting so well,” he smirked wickedly.

Max turned to leave.

“Do you…” Josh tried to ask, feeling uncomfortable with the way things were going down. “It’s just… I find it so strange. Do you not like Nathan, or something?”

Max looked like he wanted to laugh as he turned around to hold eye contact with Josh once more. “Of course I don’t!” he blasted. “Who the hell could actually like Nathan? Only absolute morons! You and I both know better than most… Nathan is not a good person.”

Whatever answer Josh had been anticipating, that had not been it. 

“Then… Why are you with him?” he asked slowly, as if this was all too complicated for his brain; like he had missed some crucial detail that would tie it all together.

Max checked his watch and shrugged, no longer caring if he was going to be a little late to pick Nathan up. “I’m playing the long game,” he sighed. “Nathan and his family have been throwing their weight around for far too long in this town.” He looked at Josh as if he knew him far better than even he could realise. “Nathan’s father fired my dad when he questioned him about his business affairs; framed him for some corrupt dealings; gave my mom a nervous breakdown. We lost everything. Dad went to prison. I grew up in a trailer park with my grandparents.”

“That’s awful!” Josh tried to sympathise.

“It is what it is,” Max shrugged. “I can’t change the past.” He leaned against the wall, sighing with sadness. “I’m not the type to let bullies get away with things. But that attitude got me in so many fights back in high school, let me tell you!” he chuckled, almost with nostalgia.

Josh admired his fine, muscular body once more. Of course Max could handle himself. He was so built and tall, he wouldn’t need to take shit from anyone. 

“I’ve come across many awful people in my time. Nathan is by far the worst of them all. He dated one of my best friends for almost a year. He had him working to the bone to please him, all the while fucking some guy who lived in their apartment building. He ran up a huge debt in my friend’s name, fleeced a ton of cash off him and walked away with the keys to their apartment. My buddy wrapped his car around a tree and only just escaped with his life. I saw it happening all over again, the whole cycle of cruelty that family is so good at. Only this time, I wasn’t too small to do anything about it.”

Josh nodded sympathetically. None of what he had heard surprised him, but it felt good to listen to someone else highlighting what a piece of work the woman actually was. “But, how?” he asked, still not understanding Max’s plan. “You can’t just be trying to fatten him up so that no one else will have him?” In Josh’s head, it didn’t compute. He couldn’t make the leap from the trauma of the past into the incredibly surreal present day situation going on next door.

“I sure can!” Max chuckled. “He’s a greedy boy. I spotted it in him straight away. It was always bound to happen sooner or later. I’m just speeding the process along…” He could see how sceptical Josh looked. “You know the real Nathan better than most people. He’s not charismatic, especially intelligent, or in any way kind. He’s just a pretty boy from a wealthy family. And he’s played those two cards his entire life, no matter the damage he leaves in his wake. I could tell you so much more about the things he’s done.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should…” Josh tried, hardly bringing himself to say it again “...fatten him up.” He knew, in some bizarre way, that he was possibly the only person Max had confided all of this in.

“Nathan was the one who put the drugs in your brother’s locker in high school, y’know,” Max jumped in. “He did it to spite you because you dared to talk back to him one day. He actually laughed about it when he was telling me how your brother got kicked out of school and your folks shipped him off to some military academy.”

Josh recoiled, knowing the exact and only moment he had dared talk back to Nathan in high school, now realising the devastating consequences it had had. He’d never suspected Nathan capable of planting the drugs back then. Not ever. But it was the reason Josh’s brother had gone into the army afterwards; why he had ended up stepping on that landmine.

“Nathan saw him in his wheelchair when he came here during the holidays,” Max went on. “He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even care.”

“Well, I guess he couldn’t possibly have known…” Josh tried to reason.

“Josh! When are you going to stop letting people push you around?” Max blasted, losing patience with him. “When are you actually going to stand up for yourself? Nathan has been ruining your life for years now and you’ve done absolutely nothing to try and stop him!”

Josh lowered his head. He’d always been such a timid creature, so desperate to please. But Max was right: Nathan was bad to the bone. He couldn’t find the strength to do anything about that in high school, but maybe now he could. “It’s not just the weight gain you’re using to get back at him, is it?” he asked, sensing now how sharp and clever the man before him was; ten steps ahead of everyone else, playing a game none of them even suspected.

Max nodded. “The weight gain is just…karma,” he smirked. “You don’t need to know the rest,” he stated seriously. “Keep your friends close and your enemies…” he rambled ominously. “I want to bring the whole lot of them down. That entire, rotten, corrupt family.”

“I believe you,” Josh smiled, viewing Max as the guardian angel he had always longed for. “I think, If anyone can do this, you can.”

The pair smiled at each other, understanding one another at last.

“I’ll make you some more cookies and treats,” Josh finally sighed. “I’m not saying I necessarily agree with that particular method of how you’re trying to get him back, but…I guess I’m willing to help in any small way I can,” he offered, hardly believing that the words were coming out of his mouth.

Max’s eyebrows rose up high and he chuckled in surprise. “Josh, Josh, Josh…” he tutted mockingly. “Are you serious? Or are you just saying this because you’re upset about everything I just told you?”

Josh swallowed. Max was a knight in shining armour, ready to save him from the most vile creature on Earth. Finally, there was someone willing to take Nathan on. If only he had had an ally like him back in high school. “I’m going to help you,” he stated calmly. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

Once his foot was out of the cast two weeks later, Josh settled to his side of the bargain with enthusiasm. There were so many recipes he hadn’t tried in years given that he’d been losing weight. Now he was getting to have a go at them all, quietly helping his cunning neighbor get his own back on the man he was pretending to be in love with. Max would accept the treats and repackage them so that Nathan would have no idea they were especially baked for him from just next door.

“How was the wedding?” Josh asked Max as he came over to collect the cream cakes Josh had promised him before they left the previous weekend.

Max smirked wickedly, standing just inside the doorway. He had the musk of a strong, capable man after a hard day’s work, a scent which never failed to make every part of Josh tingle. “Awesome!” he nodded in delight. “Just as I predicted, Nathan couldn’t squeeze into his suit properly. He got himself so drunk on champagne that he fell over onto his huge ass for everyone to see, tearing the pants all the way through to the crotch!”

“Oh, I wish I could have seen that!” Josh chuckled, allowing more and more of his wicked side to emerge the longer he had been supporting Max.

“Here,” Max offered, pulling out his cell phone and showing Josh a picture of the tear. He leaned in closer; his strong arm holding the phone up in front of Josh’s face. It was the sort of closeness Josh looked forward to most of all. “His father was furious with him!” Max added, delighted with himself.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Josh smiled.

“So these are the cream cakes you promised, huh?” Max asked, taking the box from Josh. “Beautiful presentation, as always!” he winked.

Josh blushed a little. “Well, I know it’s just the calories you care about. But I can’t help myself. I enjoy making them look nice.”

“No, no… it all helps!” Max countered. “The fat pig can’t stop himself when they look as enticing as these! It makes my job a lot easier. Thank you.”

Chuckling with a little nervousness, Josh could hardly look Max in the eye. There was something about his enjoyment of all of this that really made him swoon for him. If he was being completely honest with himself, his efforts in the kitchen weren’t entirely about getting revenge on Nathan. These moments alone with Max were also a significant highlight. Not only was the man dripping with sex appeal, but when he spoke about how fat and heavy Nathan was getting, the whole thing seemed almost kinky and excitingly naughty.

“Well, to be fair, neither can I,” Josh admitted, trying not to take it all too seriously. “There were a couple more cream cakes in the box before I got a little peckish earlier.” He rubbed his fat stomach, knowing that the extra few pounds he’d added since baking so much for Max was its own cosmic justice for getting mixed up in this whole wicked plan to fatten up his old high school bully. 

Max smiled at him in that cheeky, naughty way that made Josh’s knees want to buckle.

“My ass will soon be as big as Nathan’s!” Josh joked.

“Absolutely!” Max grinned, looking his body up and down like he was checking him out. “You won’t hear any complaints from me about that!”

Josh’s laugh caught in his throat. Was Max being serious with him? It was the most bizarre feeling he had had around him yet. On the one hand, the handsome guy was telling Josh he’d put on a few pounds. Yet, on the other… it definitely felt as if he was flirting at the same time. “I guess I’ll just have to watch what I eat from now on then…” Josh answered, if only to fill the silent void that would likely have followed had he not.

“Nah…” Max grinned. “Not every man wants to date a stick insect,” he winked. “I wouldn’t be doing any of this to Nathan if I didn’t quietly enjoy it.” He lifted a cream cake out of the container and placed it on the side. “For later,” he smiled at him. “For a man who actually deserves it…”

When Josh stood on the scales the next week, he was shocked to see that he was the heaviest he had been in over two years. He rubbed his fat tummy, able to grab full rolls of fat once again now he was 250lbs. His body was familiar and yet very different at the same time. Even at his heaviest, some 30lbs north of this, he had never carried the fat on his glutes like this before. He shook them, hardly comprehending the blubber that rocked and wobbled. But there was an even greater difference to the last time Josh was this size, one that couldn’t be reflected back at him in the mirror: a contentedness that seemed almost inexplicable. So what if he was fat again? Nathan was still considerably fatter. So what if he enjoyed his food? He’d always been a fat boy, no matter how ‘thin’ he had appeared until recently. He’d been a people pleaser for far too long. Now was the time to accept himself for who he truly was. A new Josh had been born.

“I thought I could smell you frying up doughnuts!” Max laughed, letting himself in through the back door, as he was now accustomed to doing. In this neighborhood, tongues would soon start wagging should he be seen to be coming over too often.

“I found a recipe online,” Josh smiled, still with his back to him as he fried. “I’ll put some to the side for you shortly.”

Max had found the recipe printout on the side and he whistled in delight. “Wow… you are quite the bad boy!” he teased. “This is one of the most fattening things I’ve seen you make yet!”

Josh turned, resetting the timer before the latest batch could come out. “I also made some cupcakes earlier,” he pointed to the cooling rack by the refrigerator. “I’ll put some icing on them and you can take some back with you. How long have you got?”

“Twenty minutes or so,” Max shrugged. “Nathan doesn’t know I’m back from the gym yet. He’s in the bathtub.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t get wedged in…” Josh teased, knowing that Max’s wicked sense of humour was rubbing off on him. “What a shame that would be!” he joked.

The man smiled brightly at him; that beautiful face, the wicked twinkle in his eyes. “You know, you’ve really come out of your shell these last few weeks,” Max beamed, admiring every part of him.

Josh ripped one of the fresh, sugar-coated doughnuts in half and put it in his mouth. “I’m just done with giving a crap about what other people think of me. I never realised how good it would feel just to… let it all go.”

Max seemed completely mesmerised by him as Josh ate the second half of the doughnut. He turned back around to pull the last batch out and turned the frier off. It was then that Josh heard him getting up from the stool he was perched on at the breakfast bar and come ever closer. Josh had known for a few days what would happen next; the inevitability of it all; the profound sexual tension. It began with Max’s large hands sliding onto his thicker hips. Max stooped down lower, resting his head on Josh’s shoulder and turned his face in towards his; the hunk’s sweet breath against Josh’s ear. “I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said,” he whispered.

Josh chuckled to himself. It was actually happening! He swivelled, his mouth meeting Max’s as they kissed sweetly and passionately for the first time. They pulled away, looking deeply into the other’s eyes before laughing and going back in for more. Max’s hands began sliding under Josh’s clothes, lifting his t-shirt off, lowering his sweatpants and feeling the fleshy areas of his body that no man had ever appreciated on him before. The sensation made Josh moan, only spurring Max on further as he lustfully consumed him. In no time at all, the clothes covering the lower halves of both their bodies were removed, Max pressing his oversized hardness into an oiled up Josh. He’d lifted the chubby boy up and placed him down upon the table, spreading his thick legs as he held the glutton’s feet aloft. The thrusting was firm, pleasurable and manic. Max pulled out, lifted his shirt off and used his tongue to warm Josh up until he felt ready to scream with enjoyment, before inserting himself back in and going at it once more. Josh felt at his large, doughy nipples as they rocked and jiggled from the motion, laying across the table top. Max too reached out for them, moaning with pure pleasure. The way he touched them was complete eroticism, bringing intense stimulation wherever his large hands went; especially when they started working Josh’s own hardness. 

Josh could tell that Max was having to hold himself back. His enjoyment of his wobbling fat body was absolute. Josh could hardly believe that such a handsome, muscular man was actually making love to him, working so hard to ensure that they could both climax together. The inevitable conclusion, only moments later, was more satisfying than any sexual experience of Josh’s whole life.

Max seemed overcome afterwards, panting furiously. He lifted Josh clean up from the table and kissed him once more. “I’m falling in love with you. You do realise that, right?” he whispered sweetly, letting Josh know that, for him, what they had just done wasn’t only for fun.

Josh beamed, gazing up at the man he admired most in the world. He didn;t need to say anything back. At that moment, both of them just knew.

Having a relationship with another guy’s man was not something Josh had ever thought himself capable of. Then again, none of the men he had clumsily drifted along with since high school had ever been like Max. He was so hardworking and reliable; so handsome and kind. He brought out a side of him that Josh never knew existed, and boosted his confidence like no one had ever even tried to. The man was everything Josh could ever have wished for. But then, he was also still in a sham relationship with the guy Josh despised most in the world.

“No-one likes you here. You know that, right?” hissed an aggressive voice that made Josh jump as he deadheaded the last of the late summer blooms.

“Nathan,” Josh sighed, surprised that he hadn’t even noticed the fat lump coming towards him. Max was clearly working late, otherwise the blubbery bully would never have approached him like this in the evening. “How’re you?”

“You heard me, right?” Nathan battled on, ignoring Josh’s attempt at niceties. “No one likes you here.”

Josh continued with what he was doing. It was the first time he’d spoken to Nathan without his heart beating wildly in his chest. “I am very aware that nobody likes me around here, yes,” he replied calmly, snipping away at the faded flowers.

“You should just sell up and leave,” Nathan continued, getting closer. With his massive weight gain, he had the appearance of being even more intimidating than ever before. 

Josh simply ignored him, continuing with his gardening. With so many windows facing towards his garden, there was no way Nathan would ever risk getting physical with him, as he used to when they were teenagers. However, Nathan still had the mindset of a reckless bully and needed to be treated with the utmost caution. Perhaps it was his weight that was making him feel so discontented this evening and in need of hitting out on Josh. Indeed, it was somewhat amusing to Josh that Nathan hadn’t so far tried to use Josh’s own weight gain to aggravate him. There could be only one reason for that: Nathan was well aware that he had packed on even more lard himself.

“If people don’t like me much around here, it’s because they believe a pack of lies, maliciously spread in order to ruin my reputation,” Josh simply offered in reply. “And if people actually like you, it’s because they believe all the lies you tell them in order to make yourself look better. Either way, I’d much rather be who I am, rather than you.”

“How’s your brother doing?” Nathan snapped back.

Josh took a breath. Nathan was a master at warfare. When he realised that one thing was failing to get a rise out of Josh, he could always flip to the next. It was flawlessly jarring and caught him off-guard each and every time. Josh could sense Nathan’s power growing.

“That’s one sweet wheelchair he uses these days,” the bully taunted.

In an instant, Josh felt all his patience evaporate. The end had officially arrived. There the hose pipe lay next to him. He reached for it swiftly, knowing the gun was set to the most powerful mode after he’d been clearing out the drains. Then a wicked grin filled his face as he squeezed the trigger tightly. A fast flowing jet of ice-cold water flew out, pressing forcefully into Nathan’s large, fat tummy and soaking him in an instant. The man yelled, clearly caught out by Josh’s surprising backbone. He began retreating, but Josh was in no mood to let him off, holding firmly to that hose pipe gun and aiming relentlessly towards the bully. The fat boy began moving faster, charging across his lawn and towards the safety of his own home. Josh simply followed him with the water, even as the obese man slipped and landed heavily on the grass, face-first. Even then, Josh still aimed that hose at the wide, fat rump of the boy who had tormented him for so long. Nathan quickly picked his heavy body back up and ran onto his porch, slamming his front door behind him.

Invigorated, Josh dropped the hosepipe and laughed. Nathan’s yelling had alerted several figures to appear in the windows along the street. Everyone had seen the incident, but what did it matter? Josh drew in a gigantic refreshing breath of air and bowed deeply to all of them. With a reputation as bad as his around here, he had nothing to lose. Perhaps that had been Nathan’s biggest mistake from the start.

“We could forget all about the plan?” Max suggested as a naked, thoroughly satisfied 250lb Josh rested his head against his powerful chest in bed a few weeks later. “We could just sell up and leave here together. Nathan and his family wouldn’t be our problem anymore.”

Josh sighed. Max’s offer was everything he longed for and more. Calling Max his own was a dream he could hardly dare to imagine. Falling in love had felt like the most natural thing in the world and both of them were open about having never experienced anything like it before. With the pair having lost their parents at such a young age, they knew the value of their bond and the importance of cherishing the shared love that they had. But it wasn’t time to give into it just yet. There was too much hurt and trauma to make amends for. 

“Are you getting closer?” Josh asked him. “Whatever case or evidence you’re trying to gather against Nathan’s family?”

Max was quiet. “I think so,” he whispered, intertwining his fingers between Josh’s and admiring his chubby little hands. “The fatter Nathan gets, the more his family seems desperate for me not to leave him. It’s as if they admire me for sticking around. They trust me.”

“Good,” Josh replied. “That’s exactly what we need.”

“So, we’re seeing this one out, all the way to the end?” Max asked him, still quietly hopeful that they could run away together instead.

Josh raised himself up and grabbed the can of spray cream he had kinkily brought into the bedroom with them so that he could lick it off Max’s perfect body. “Of course we are,” he smiled, tilting his head back and pumping the cream down his throat, just like the fat boy inside him had always longed to do. By the time he had finished, he looked down and saw Max’s hardness had been resurrected and amplified tenfold. It was always that greedy, gluttonous, independent side of Josh that the man seemed to admire most. “Besides...” he grinned, starting to stimulate Max’s erection as he climbed on top and grabbed the man’s hands until they rested upon his fleshy love handles, “...I haven’t made that bastard fat enough yet!”

A thoroughly reinvigorated Max growled with lust, flipping the fat boy over and reversing their positions. He reached for the spray cream, grinning from ear to ear as he made love to him for the third time that night, filling Josh’s mouth with fluffy cream, one squirt at a time.

Nathan had started to upset a couple of folks on the street over the next few weeks; his true colours coming through at long last. Josh had thought things were going wrong for Nathan the moment he had tried to get Josh charged for assault and battery after the water hose incident. Despite all the many witnesses in the windows, not one of the neighbors had corroborated Nathan’s claims about the incident. Even Mr Gomez’s security cameras had bizarrely deleted the footage for that entire day. At the time, Josh had simply assumed that Max had called in a couple of favors as he desperately scrambled to discreetly assert some damage control, purely for Josh’s sake. Josh had denied everything to the police, just as Max had advised him to (once he had stopped laughing). However, it seemed once one of Nathan’s lies had been unpicked, more followed as the gossiping neighbors began to compare notes. A re-evaluation had been going on in the street and it seemed as if Josh had suddenly become worthy enough to wave to once more. It was all too little too late in Josh’s opinion, returning only a frosty raised hand in response.

Kelly had tried to muscle her way back into his life, without a word of explanation as to why she had barely spoken a word to Josh in months. She knew she was on thin ice, not daring to comment on how much weight Josh had been piling on in the time that had passed. Instead, she simply launched back into all the tasty bits of gossip Josh had missed out on whilst ostracised; discussing none more so than Nathan.

“I think they’re going to split, him and Max,” Kelly rambled as Josh dug in his winter flowering mix, barely listening to her. “He’s well over three and twenty hundred pounds! They don’t even sleep together anymore!” she whispered. “He lost his job for lying to them. He was trying to poach clients for his family’s business! Derek heard all about it. He said you’ve never heard language like it than when they caught him in the act!”

Josh smirked, having heard all about it from Max over two weeks ago. Kelly was so behind the times!

“He’ll never get another desk job again,” Kelly determined. “He’s just living off poor Max. Although, who the hell knows what he sees in him? Personally, I never liked the man!”

Josh chuckled to himself at the lie, declining the invite to join them in the yoga class that week. That ship had sailed. Even after the neighbors had backed him up with the police, it was likely more about teaching Nathan a lesson than it was about Josh himself. He had seen who his real friends were, and Kelly was not amongst them. Instead, he took himself back inside, excited to get started on a new recipe he had found that morning.

“Something smells nice!” Max whispered later, his hands wrapping around Josh’s thick waist as he stood at the stove. “Your famous chocolate fudge sauce?”

“With extra butter…” Josh teased him back.

“Mmm…” Max mumbled; his hardness pressing into Josh’s large, round rear. “You’re such a bad boy!”

“You know it!” Josh grinned, letting Max’s horny hands travel all over his vast blubbery exterior and into his underwear, warming him up like only Max could. He’d never been as fat as this in his whole life, but life as an average height, 320lb man was suiting him just fine. In Max’s arms he felt sexy and confident; a precious being to be loved and admired. He leaned his  head back into Max’s chest as the man’s hands stimulated his hardness perfectly, making him moan softly as he stirred the sauce.

“And the best part is,” Max whispered, “this fudge mix is all for you. Nathan has gone back to his parents’ place for a few days. That means, he’s going to be there when they’re all arrested tonight. Every last one of them!”

“How?” Josh asked, his face beaming with surprise and shock as he turned to face his lover.

“I finally managed to copy daddy’s hard drive,” Max smirked, raising his big arms over Josh’s shoulders and kissing him sweetly. “There’s stuff on there that implicates them all. Serious stuff!”

“Will they know it was you who passed it onto the police?” Josh asked next, a little concerned.

“Not a chance!” Max grinned triumphantly; his hands now mindlessly rubbing Josh’s giant glutes. “Although, maybe you think I should lay low in your house for a few days, just to be safe, huh?” he joked, clearly aroused by their sudden good fortune. He pulled off his t-shirt and flexed his pecs in the way Josh most enjoyed.

“I like that idea!” Josh smiled back excitedly.

“Oh, yeah?” Max smirked, handling his large glutes and bouncing them in the way that made them wobble the most. “Do you think you’re ready to have a big, strong man around the house all the time? Pampering you as much as he can?” he whispered, kissing his neck passionately.

The fudge sauce was catching on the bottom and burning. Already it was ruined. But what did it matter? Max would never deny him anything he wanted. Josh would whip up some more and consume it in front of him, even as his clothes got ever smaller. Finally, he could be the greedy boy he always was inside, and with a man who had a great track record of keeping his boys well fed. 

Hatred had brought them to each other, but it was love that would keep them together, no matter what came next.

“Have you met the new neighbors?” asked Sandra, watching as Max’s truck pulled into his new driveway.

“I popped over yesterday,” nodded Helen, quietly admiring the strapping Max as he got out of his truck, waving to them politely before reaching back in and grabbing a couple of boxes of pizzas from his passenger seat. “He’s certainly very handsome! And incredibly charming!” she admitted, watching Max’s strong glutes as the muscular man strutted into his new home, ready to surprise his husband.

“The other one seemed very nice too,” Sandra commented next, clearly holding back on something.

“Yes, very sweet,” agreed Helen. “If you like that sort of thing. He manages their construction business, you know. Josh does all the admin from home. Max does all the physical side of things.”

“Perhaps that’s why that one is so…” Sandra hinted.

“Yes, perhaps,” Helen nodded. “Although you do get some men who like that sort of thing,” she added, as if knowingly.

“I don’t doubt it,” Sandra chuckled. “Why else would a strapping man like that marry an enormous boy like that? I’d have a fit if one of my children tried to bring home a fat blob like him!”

“Quite right,” Helen agreed. “He must be at least four hundred pounds!”

“Oh, at least!” Sandra echoed. “Disgusting!” 

“I saw them in their front yard the other night whilst the handsome one was digging up the flower beds. He couldn’t keep his hands off the fat one! I had to close the curtains in the end. No one wants to see that!”

The pair sighed with a muted longing. They’d already made their minds up about Josh. He wasn’t going to be one of them, and they’d certainly let him know that in time. However, they could all quietly envy him for the rest of their days, able to eat whatever he wanted and keep the attention of a man who would never stray. The man who didn’t need their approval, nor the expected, tedious, married, middle class lifestyle the others here had secretly tired of many years earlier.

Bullies could be found everywhere. They came in all shapes and sizes, encrusted within every walk of life and every last neighborhood there had ever been. But inside that house of warmth, love and acceptance, Josh and Max would never fail to outlast them all.

[fear-is-truth]

can u do a quicksilver fic where he has like the biggest crush on readerrr and hes just like really awkward abt it😋😋

peter maximoff was quick of wit and even faster on his feet—forever living up to his alias, “quicksilver”. but when it came to you, it was like his brain short-circuited. you weren’t sure why exactly he suddenly hung around more—leaning against the wall as you passed through the x-mansion, offering a lopsided smile and finger guns whenever you looked his way.

and honestly? it was hard not to notice, especially after the time he zipped over to say hi and tripped flat on his face right in front of you.

today was no different. you were half-heartedly flipping through a magazine in the library when peter sauntered in, casually propping himself against the doorframe. he was practically vibrating in place, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he could barely stand still. his hand shot up to ruffle the back of his head, his silver hair sticking up at odd angles.

“hey,” he blurted out, a little too loud before he cleared his throat, trying again. “you, uh, busy or something?”

you glanced up, quirking an eyebrow.

“not particularly. why?”

peter shrugged, eyes darting around the room.

“cool, cool. ‘cause, um, i was thinking… maybe you’d wanna do something. with me. or not, y’know, no pressure. i mean, there’s totally other things you could be doing, obviously—like reading that magazine.”

you smirked, closing the magazine with a soft thud. “real smooth, peter.”

“yeah, exactly what i was going for.”

he shifted from foot to foot before, in a blink, zipped across the room to land beside you on the couch, sitting way too close.

“look, i just…” peter hesitated, as if the speedster was searching for the right words—a rarity for him. “you’re not weirded out, right?”

your head tilted slightly, suppressing a smile. “weirded out by what?”

“oh nothing!” his voice cracked as he waved his hands in the air defensively. “not weirded out that i like hanging out with you or anything, because that’d be ridiculous. right?”

he shot you a nervous grin, eyes flicking to yours, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. amused, you held his gaze, before deciding to throw him a lifeline.

“not weird at all, peter. i like hanging out with you too.”

upon hearing your words, his face lit up like a lightbulb. bouncing on the couch seat, he fist-pumped the air triumphantly.

“yes! awesome. so, how about we hang out, like, now? maybe grab a burger? or ice cream? or—whatever you want. i can literally get anything.” he paused abruptly, smile faltering. “just, uh, not pizza.”

“why not?” you tilted your head curiously.

“because you've already got a pizza my heart.”

the laugh burst from your throat before you could stop it, and peter blinked, realising just how bad the line was.

“okay, um. forget i said that,” he muttered, cheeks flushing a dark shade of red as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“sounded way cooler in my head.”

“c’mon peter, that was priceless.”

he winced, shaking his head. “yeah, not exactly my finest moment. but, anyway—still up for hanging out?”

your lips curled into a smile as you leaned in slightly. “you kidding? of course.”

you lowered your voice confidentially and whispered in his ear.

“by the way, if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.“

peter froze, staring at you like you’d just grown an extra head. his silence stretched for a beat before he groaned, eyes scrunching shut in mock agony.

“now that was especially corny.”

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[mrsgucci24]

~The Batmobile Surprise~

Summary: You discover Joe Burrow spent $3 million on a custom Batmobile. Authors Note: Wrote this after finding out about Joe's dream of being batman lmao I was dying laughing writing this one Warnings: major money being spent

You were scrolling through your phone, sipping your coffee, when the headline stopped you dead in your tracks: Joe Burrow Reportedly Drops $3 Million on Custom Batmobile. Your first reaction was disbelief. Surely this was some clickbait nonsense. Joe hadn’t mentioned anything remotely close to this—not even in one of his “out-there” ideas. Yet, as you read the article, complete with details about the custom build and quotes from the designer, it became clear this wasn’t a joke.

“Joe!” you called, setting your mug down and striding into the living room, where he was lounging on the couch, scrolling his phone with the air of someone who absolutely wasn’t worrying about a $3 million Batmobile purchase.

He glanced up, his face a picture of innocence. “Yeah?”

You held up your phone, the headline glaring on the screen. “Care to explain why the entire internet knows you just spent three million dollars on a Batmobile?”

His eyes widened briefly before narrowing in mock defensiveness. “Uh… because it’s awesome?”

You stared at him, your mouth falling open. “Joe, three million dollars. On a car you can’t even drive on the highway!”

“I can drive it,” he countered, sitting up straighter. “Not, like, everywhere, but it’s functional. And come on, it’s the Batmobile! Who wouldn’t want to own that?”

“Normal people, Joe!” you exclaimed, crossing your arms. “Normal people who don’t have three million dollars to blow on a car from a comic book.”

“It’s not just a car,” he said, standing and walking toward you. He rested his hands lightly on your shoulders, his expression shifting to his most convincing smile. “It’s an icon. A piece of history. And, okay, maybe it’s a little ridiculous—but it’s fun.”

You shook your head, trying to stay mad, but his enthusiasm was starting to crack through your frustration. “You could’ve at least told me. I had to find out from some random article. What if I’d seen it while standing in line somewhere and screamed in public?”

“I thought about telling you,” he admitted, his thumbs brushing lightly over your shoulders. “But I wanted it to be a surprise. And… okay, maybe I knew you’d say it was over the top.”

“Over the top?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Joe, this isn’t over the top—it’s over the moon. It’s on another planet.”

He laughed, his grin widening. “Come on, admit it—it’s kinda cool.”

You sighed, finally letting a small smile creep onto your face. “It’s cool in a completely ridiculous way. But what are you even going to do with it?”

“Use it for good,” he said, his voice more serious now. “Charity events, hospital visits… imagine pulling up to a kids’ hospital in the Batmobile. The looks on their faces? Totally worth it.”

That softened you more than anything else could. You could picture it so clearly—Joe stepping out of the Batmobile, making kids’ days in a way only he could. “You’re lucky that’s such a good reason,” you muttered.

“And you’re lucky you get free rides in it,” he teased, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “Just wait until you see it in person. It’s insane.”

You rested your head against his chest, shaking your head with a laugh. “Fine. But if you try to build a Batcave next, we’re having a serious talk.”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Deal. No Batcave… yet.”

[solxamber]

So, reading that fashion disaster reader, I want to ask how would everyone else (seperately, if possible) would react to fashion disaster Yuu and to the Crewel's and Vil's reaction?

thank you for the request! I kept it a little short but if you want anyone's longer, just let me know <3 Characters: All NRC + Staff + Rollo Part 1 with Vil and Crewel here

Riddle Rosehearts:

Before: He’d be mortified, his eye twitching in disbelief. "Rule 203 clearly states: Students must dress with decorum! What…what is this?" He’d try to ban your entire outfit for being an affront to Heartslabyul’s order.

After: Relieved and pleased. "Finally! You’re within the bounds of fashion etiquette. You’re setting a much better example now."

Trey Clover:

Before: Trey would give you a gentle smile, but his eyebrow would twitch. "You look, uh… comfortable? Maybe Vil could give you some tips…"

After: "Wow, you clean up really well. Nice to see you let Vil and Crewel work their magic."

Cater Diamond:

Before: He’d be snapping selfies with you, hashtagging #BoldChoices #FashionDisaster #OMGWhatIsThis. But deep down, even he couldn’t handle it. "You’re killing me, but this is hilarious!"

After: "Now that’s a look that’ll get you trending for the * right reasons! Let’s get another selfie. #FashionGlowUp!"

Ace Trappola:

Before: "What in the seven are you wearing?! Are you trying to blind us all or is this some kind of prank?" He’d mock you endlessly.

After: "You actually look… good? Whoa, Vil really pulled off a miracle."

Deuce Spade:

Before: He wouldn’t know how to approach it politely. "Uh… You sure that’s…right?" He’d second-guess himself but try to support you anyway.

After: "Hey! You look awesome now. Nice job!"

Leona Kingscholar

Before: Leona would look at you, groan, and then roll over to take a nap. "You look ridiculous. Do whatever you want, herbivore. I don’t care."

After: "Huh, didn’t think it was possible, but you’re less of an eyesore now."

Ruggie Bucchi:

Before: He’d laugh until his sides hurt. "Heh, are you doing this on purpose? This is hilarious!"

After: "Vil and Crewel got to you, huh? Well, you definitely don’t look like a clown anymore. Nice upgrade."

Jack Howl:

Before: Jack would be confused. "Why are you dressed like that? Isn’t that… impractical?" He wouldn’t get why anyone would wear such an outfit.

After: He’d nod approvingly. "Now that’s better. More efficient, too."

Azul Ashengrotto:

Before: He’d adjust his glasses, hiding his discomfort behind a business smile. "Perhaps you might be interested in a makeover contract. For a modest fee, of course."

After: "Ah, much better. Consider this an investment in your future…image."

Jade Leech:

Before: Jade would smile his eerie smile, but his eyes would narrow in curiosity. "What a… unique choice. I trust there’s an explanation for this?"

After: "Ah, a significant improvement. You look quite presentable now."

Floyd Leech

Before: Floyd would crack up and nickname you something like "Clownfish." He’d tease you every chance he got. "Hahaha! What kinda sea creature are ya trying to be?"

After: "Boooo, now you’re no fun. You’re too normal now."

Kalim Al-Asim:

Before: Kalim would be completely unbothered. "Wow! That’s such a fun outfit! I love all the colors!" He’d probably compliment you

After: "You look so stylish! Did Vil help? He’s amazing!"

Jamil Viper:

Before: Jamil would pinch the bridge of his nose. "You’re attracting too much attention. Please… just tone it down."

After: He’d breathe a sigh of relief. "Finally. I can look at you without getting a headache."

Rook

Before: "Oh, mon cher! Such daring, such avant-garde!" Rook would dramatically praise your boldness, though it’s unclear whether he genuinely liked it or was just entertained.

After: "Magnifique! You now embody the very essence of beauty and grace!"

Epel Felmier:

Before: He’d be torn between finding it hilarious and hoping Vil didn’t see you like that. "Whoa, what’s that getup? You really don’t care what anyone thinks, do ya?"

After: "Hey, look at you! Now Vil won’t roast us both."

Idia Shroud:

Before: He’d wince and immediately pull up his hoodie, wanting to avoid eye contact. "Uh… Yeah, that’s… something. Did you lose a bet or…?"

After: "I guess Vil��s magic worked. You look like a normal NPC now, congrats."

Ortho Shroud:

Before: "Oh! That’s such a cool outfit! But maybe Vil might have some better ideas?" He’d try to be polite.

After: "Wow! You look so amazing now! Big brother was impressed!"

Malleus Draconia:

Before: Malleus would be unfazed, possibly curious. "You wear strange garments, but I suppose it suits your unique aura." He might think it's some sort of fashion ritual.

After: "You look more refined now, though I did find your previous attire… intriguing."

Lilia Vanrouge:

Before: Lilia would love your odd fashion sense, probably find it nostalgic. "Haha, you remind me of the old days when we wore whatever we could find!"

After: "Ah, you’ve grown into a more elegant butterfly! Though, I will miss your… eccentric flair."

Silver:

Before: Silver would be confused but wouldn’t judge too harshly. "Is this normal fashion? I… don’t really keep up with trends."

After: "You look good now. Vil and Crewel really did a great job."

Sebek Zigvolt:

Before: He’d be outraged. "HOW DARE YOU DRESS LIKE THIS IN THE PRESENCE OF MALLEUS-SAMA?! Have you no shame?!"

After: "Finally, you show some respect! You are no longer an eyesore."

Rollo Flamme:

Before: Rollo would be horrified. "How could you walk around dressed like this? This is an affront to decency and modesty!"

After: Reluctantly approving. "At least now you don’t look like you’ve descended into madness."

Crowley:

Before: Crowley would overreact, saying something like, "Ah! Such tragic attire! Fear not, for I shall personally oversee your rehabilitation, even if it wasn’t my fault to begin with!"

After: "Ah, what a stunning transformation! I knew you had it in you all along, of course."

Mozus Trein:

Before: He’d shake his head, muttering something about the younger generation. "I cannot understand these choices. Please, for the sake of my old eyes, change."

After: "Much better. At least you now resemble a student who takes their education seriously."

Ashton Vargas:

Before: Vargas would shrug it off. "As long as you can run laps, I don’t care what you wear."

After: "Lookin’ sharp! Just don’t let it slow you down on the field."

Sam:

Before: "Well, well, look at you! I have some accessories that might make that outfit pop even more!"

After: "Ah, I see Vil’s had a hand in this. You’ve got the look now!"

Grim:

Before: "Nyahaha! What kinda weird stuff are you wearing?! You look like you got dressed in the dark!"

After: "Wow, you actually look good now! Guess you’re not as hopeless as I thought."

Masterlist

[holylulusworld]

Watermelon Dilemma

Summary: Your alpha wants more pups. You disagree.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, pregnant omega, fun, crack!fic, fluff, implied fluff

A/N: I saw this idea with the melons on Twitter and had to write something about it.

“Sammy, I’m telling you she’ll have more soon. The moment little Dean pops out of my omega, I’ll fill her again,” Dean declares he will have more pups soon.

He’s an alpha-possessed. Since he got you pregnant, he tries to breed the hell out of you. Dean leaves you sore and exhausted more than you can count.

“Dean, give her a break,” Sam laughs when you waddle inside the library, giving Dean a warning glare because he didn’t keep his hands to himself last night.

You’re eight months pregnant and your belly and tits are huge. Your back is hurting, and you can’t see your feet any longer. The last time you tried to shave, you gave up, crying in the showers.

“There she is,” Dean already roams your body with hungry eyes. He purrs low in his throat while walking toward you. His hands reach out for your huge belly to eagerly rub it. “Look at my pretty omega filled with my baby.”

“No way,” you shove against his chest. Hard. “You’ll keep your knot inside your pants tonight. No rodeo for you today, cowboy.”

Dean grins. Last night you tried to buck him off you, but it didn’t work out. You came all over his cock, screaming and whining. “You love it, sweetheart. Me, my cock, and being pregnant with my baby.”

“You won’t breed me again—” You poke your index finger in his chest. “Do you have the slightest how it feels to be pregnant? My feet are swollen. The baby lies on my bladder so I gotta pee all the time. If I drop something, it’s lost forever because I cannot pick it up.”

“Do not forget the cravings!” Dean exclaims. “You ate a pickle with peanut butter last night.” He grins.

“Hey, the cravings are the best thing. At least then I can chase you around the bunker to get me food,” you snicker when his eyes darken. “What?” You point at your belly. “This is your fault, Winchester. The least you can do is get me food!”

“Baby. Sweetheart. Omega,” Dean purrs the words, trying to lure you in. You huff and cross your arms over your chest. Well, you try. Dean’s eyes shoot up to your chest. He licks his lips. “Hmm…I’ll bury my face between those later.”

“Guys, can you just not—” Sam huffs and walks out. He tried to eat lunch and now, his appetite is gone.

“You won’t bury anything between them,” you growl. “They hurt and are heavy. If you knew how it feels having a huge belly and those tits, you’d never want to get pregnant!”

He grins. “I can’t get pregnant, baby,” Dean wiggles his eyebrows. “But I can get you pregnant, sweetheart. I only need to put something big and hard inside your sweet cunt.”

“No,” you huff.

“No?” He whines now. “What can I do to change your mind?”

“How about you walk in my shoes for a day? If you make it through the next twenty-four hours without complaining, you’ll get to breed me again.”

“Walk in your shoes,” he hums. “Okay. What do you want me to do? Eat odd things? Maybe pee all the time. Oh! Can I use that awesome pillow I got for you?”

“I know exactly what to do to let you walk in my shoes…”

“What…?” Sam starts laughing the moment Dean steps out of your shared bedroom. He holds his stomach, wheezing, and snickering.

“Stop laughing, bitch!” Dean grunts. He used quite a few layers of plastic wrap to outfit his belly with a huge watermelon. To match your breasts, he strapped smaller melons to his chest. “I’m a proud pregnant man.”

Sam snorts. “You look ridiculous. What are you doing with the food?”

“Melons, bitch,” Dean slowly walks along the hallways. He rubs his lower back, already feeling the weight of the melons. “Shit, that’s one heavy melon.”

“But—why?” Sam follows his brother to tease him some more. “We eat melons, not wear them as clothes.”

“Y/N told me to walk in her shoes for a day,” Dean mutters. “I’ve got this. I’ll rock those melons and tomorrow, I’ll rock her…” He huffs. “Fuck off, Sammy. I gotta pee.”

Dean walks toward the bathroom, his brother hot on his heels. “Do you need help?” Sam asks, watching his brother rub his back. “You walk like an old man.”

“Dude, I walk like a pregnant woman. Now if you’d kindly fuck off,” jerking his head toward his brother Dean gives Sam the stinky eye. “I’m warning you. Do not mess with a pregnant woman.”

Sam laughs but backpaddles the moment Dean growls at him. “Fine, have it your way…”

“Fuck, no,” Dean looks at the floor, cursing himself for dropping the remote control. Now he tries to pick it up but can't reach it. The melons won’t let him crouch down, or even bend over far enough to grab the remote control. “What the fuck!!!”

“Got a problem, alpha?” You snicker watching Dean struggle to pick the remote control up. “Aw, I thought you’ve got this, alpha.”

“That’s not funny,” he grumbles while kicking the remote control toward the bed. “I’ll get you, little bitch!”

You snicker, but hand Dean your gripping aid to grab the remote control. His eyes widen and he gasps.

“Where did you get this magical tool?” He looks at the gripping aid like it’s a wonder. Dean hums and tugs the gripping aid under his arm. “If you’d excuse me now. I’m going to go back to the bathroom.”

Smirking you watch Dean slowly walk out of the room. “You dropped the toilet paper, didn’t you, alpha?”

Dean happily grabs a beer out of the fridge. He’s about to open it when you slap the back of his head. “No alcohol for you. Remember, you’re pregnant. No sushi. No alcohol.”

“No alcohol?” Dean hiccups. He longingly looks at the beer in the fridge, wondering if he can grab one before you slap him again.

“Did you think a big belly and big boobs are all it takes to know how it feels to walk in my shoes?”

“No—” he huffs and closes the fridge. “I’ll get me a pickle and peanut butter.” Dean waddles toward the cupboard, stretching to reach the higher shelf. He grunts because the melon painfully presses into his belly. “Fuck, that hurts.”

You giggle. “See,” you slap his ass. “That’s the reason I need you to grab things from the cupboard for me.”

“You only want to watch my ass while I grab all the pickles for you,” he chuckles. “Right?” Dean looks over his shoulder. “Sweetheart is something wrong. You look a little flustered.”

“Hmm…” You glance at Dean’s ass, licking your lips. “I don’t know, alpha. You look deliciously.”

“What?” Dean slowly turns around only to end up pressed against the cupboard. “Y/N? What has gotten into you?” He whines when you cup his crotch. “Baby?”

“Yeah, definitely worth getting bred again,” you purr low in your throat. Dean cocks a brow. “How about you get on our bed and present for me, sweetheart?”

“Hahaha…you’re very funny, baby,” he eyes you warily while slowly moving away from you.

“What? Don’t you want me to breed you while feeling like a whale? I know your bladder is full again, but I need to shove my knot into you before helping you onto the toilet.”

“Baby…I,” Dean sighs deeply. He drops his gaze and shakes his head. “I’m sorry for being a horny idiot. It’s just, that seeing you all swollen with our baby makes me so feral for you.”

“If you get rid of the melons and grab the pickles for me, you’re allowed to massage my feet tonight.”

“Only your feet?” Back to being his horny self Dean grins. “I can massage your back too, or shoulders, or your breasts…”

Tags in reblog.

[aziraphales-library]

hey mods!!! I loveeee your taste in fics, you awesome ppl always have amazing ones on hand!! I was wondering if you knew any fics where Aziraphale and Crowley are just absolutely silly and ridiculous lol, it’s soo cute!! Thx for all the fics, and have a nice dayyy

Hi! You might like to check out our #humour, #humor, and #crack tags for silly fics. Here are some more silly ones for you...

You're Telling Me a Shrimp Fried This Rice? by absolutely_obsessed (G)

"A 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘱?" "Oh, yes." "The little..." Crowley lifted his hand up and held his pointed finger and thumb about three inches apart, "little buggers in the ocean?" "The very same," Aziraphale confirmed. "𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 that?" "Quite right, my dear." "𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺?" Crowley asked, 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 baffled. "Really."

Fighting A Duck For My Pants And Winning by ineffablefool (T)

"Missed connection. You were the angel sitting on this park bench, I was the demon fighting a duck for my pants and losing. If you saw me, please call me. (PS. I got them back - let’s hang out!)" (Based on a Tumblr prompt. Human!Crowley is a disaster, but fortunately the very pretty angel he disaster'd in front of appears to think that's endearing.)

Dear Raphael by asideofourown (T)

The thing was, even after Crowley Fell, Heaven forgot to delete his login to their system. The only half interesting thing he had ever found in Heaven’s archives was their newspaper, even though it was a dreadfully dull rag. But even then, Crowley was never inspired to truly interfere with the Celestial Observer’s contents until the late 1600s, when advice columns were invented on Earth. As always, brilliant inspiration struck him like… like whatever inspiration strikes like. So Crowley resolved to meddle, just as a side project. Maybe if he got enough angels heated at each other, he could report it as a victory to Hell. Anyway, Dagon had always liked gossip, and the Celestial Observer’s new advice column was a ready source of that. It was pure genius. [Crowley, demon of Hell, becomes Heaven's foremost advice columnist]

"And I Would Never Say 'Pickle'!" by SanSanFanFan (G)

What if they hadn't been able to switch back again?

You Know the Answer (So Scream It Out Loud) by his_infinitevariety (G)

“Between us we have 12,000 years’ first-hand knowledge of all of human history. I think we can manage a few silly quiz shows.” This is apparently what happens when Crowley convinces Aziraphale to watch a bunch of British quiz shows with him.

Haunt Your Own House, Thank You by musegnome (E)

The line had at last dwindled to almost nothing when Aziraphale looked up with his best plastic customer-service smile and saw sunglasses. “Hi,” said Crowley with a grin. “Someone told me I needed to order something if I didn’t want to get tossed out on my ass.” “An excellent suggestion on Someone’s part.” Aziraphale’s exhaustion melted suddenly away. “What can I get you?” The grin turned wicked. “I want a footlong.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Don’t we all.”   (Or: The story of how Crowley, and Ouija boards, got banned from Subway. Inspired by the famous Ouija Boards and Seances are Not Allowed at the Subway photo.)

- Mod D

[razorblade180]

Union

In the midst of going over blueprints for their future home, Jaune’s concentration gets interrupted by flowing petals. He cracks a smile before turning around to see Ruby completely obscured by her cloak.

Jaune:Have you come for my soul?

Ruby:Might as well. Already have your heart.

Jaune:Heh, then I kindly ask for you wait. Your payment will be paid in full down the aisle.

Ruby:How stingy. I’ve already given you both of mine; and a little extra~

Jaune:*red* How was work, you gremlin?

Ruby:Patrol duty was fine. Starting to think crooks know my schedule.

Jaune:Or you threw most in jail.

Ruby:Organized crime calls for chaotic heroism. Anywho, house plans going well?

Jaune:More or less. If all goes well then we’ll be living outside Vacou before our anniversary.

Ruby:Always thinking ahead. Meanwhile I’m struggling with awesome vows.

Jaune:You brought a world together. I’m sure you’ll think of something.

Ruby:Feelings are a little harder than a battle cry or call to arms. Speaking of feelings, I have a little something for you.

Jaune:*looks at cloak* Is that so~

Ruby:*blushes* It’s not what you think! Not this time. This gift is way better!

Jaune:I don’t know Rubes. Last gift that started like this was pretty amazing. *smiles*

Ruby:Just close your eyes and hold your hands out!

The knight chuckles as he does what he’s told. Immediately something weighted and cool to the touch lands in hands. Jaune opens his eyes and stars at a white scabbard. Somehow, this took him by surprise. It had his symbol in the middle and was surrounded by red thorns.

The grip of the hilt was this dark blue with a spiral of fierce red that went up and outlined the golden hand guard that was modeled in the shape of his symbol. He pulled out the gift from the scabbard to reveal cold, shining white steel that had its double edge and tip run red like hilt. If Jaune was being honest, he’s never seen a sword look more like a work of fantasy. Ruby stood right in front of him and put her left hand in the hilt, showing that his symbol had subtle thorn and rose engravings that matched her gold and red on her engagement ring.

The accomplished and proud Huntress then took a step back and started twiddling her thumbs while swaying, finding it hard to meet Jaune’s gaze; so she pulled her hood over her head. At this point it probably matched her face.

Ruby Rose:So uh yeah, that’s a Ruby Rose Original.

Jaune:You made this!?

Ruby:*nods* I’ll be honest. I spent so long shopping for wedding bands with Weiss helping. I’m still definitely getting one! But none of them really… felt like they were saying how I feel. There’s not a moment I want you feel like you’re fighting alone; even when we’re far apart. With this, I’m always by your side ready to help. The scabbard is a shield too but if I’m being honest I’m still a rookie when it comes to that kind of smithing. Consider this my own form of engagement to you.

Jaune:Ruby this is…I don’t even know what to say.

Ruby:*trembly* I uh..it’s fine if you treat this as a ceremonial blade too. After all…there’s history in Crocea Mors and I don’t want to step on that or make you feel like you have to stop wielding it because of m-

Two hands gentle hands pull back her hood and reveal teary, anxious eyes. Honestly, Ruby felt so ridiculous right now. All this effort into a heart felt token of affection and yet anxiety gripped her mind on how he’d take the jester. His thumbs run across her cheeks to catch a few stray tears.

Jaune:Hey, talk to me. What’s with the tears? This is an amazing.

Ruby:I just…Crocea Mors is its own vow. It has been for years and I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty or nervous but I do. Gods, it’s so dumb hehe. Pyrrha would totally give me an earful for being so-

Jaune:Thoughtful? *smiles*

Ruby:..Heh, yeah. Yeah she would.

Jaune:Well, I don’t know if your beautiful brain and smithing skills have noticed, but you’ve really gotten good at knowing my style.

He briefly lets go of her and grabs his sword along with the new gift. Jaune pulls out both and puts them against one another. Yeah the hilt is different but it’s wide enough to work. Without hesitation, Jaune took the scabbard of Crocea Mors and slid it on the new sword easily; right down to the satisfying click in place that took Ruby by surprise.

Jaune:If you really feel guilty, then I can do this! Not gonna lie, I’d feel like shit getting that scabbard dirty in the future. It’s my first Ruby Rose original! Also gives you time to hyper fixate on shield crafting. As for the blade, I know this bad boy will keep me safe and sou-

Once again, petals flowed. Each one danced around him while the rose itself pressed her lips against his with gratitude and overflowing joy that dispelled fears like magic.

Ruby:Jaune Arc, you truly are my fairytale ending. My happily ever after.

Jaune:Hehe, And you said your vows would be hard? C’mere.

He pulled his loving fiancée into a deeper kiss before matching her smile. She was right. This present was the best.

Jaune:Does this engagement sword have a name?

Ruby:The deepest part of my soul wants to call it Bloody Moon but that doesn’t inspire luck as wedding gift.

Jaune:I kinda like what you said a few moments ago.

Ruby:Oh, so Ever After?

Jaune: Tale’s End

Ruby:That’s so- damn I’m marrying the right person. That’s such I good name! When our house is done I think my first order of business is mounting the scabbard with Crocea Mors somewhere nice and proud. Gonna need your height though.

Jaune:Naturally. And who knows. Maybe it’ll protect the both of us in a new way someday?

xxxxxxx

Several years later

Jaune:Alright squirt, ready for your first real sword sparring!?

A foolish question for a young girl waiting to dives out the front door and slide across a sand dune into a wide battle stance, her grin in full bloom with Crocea Mor ready to aid her first step towards greatness.

Carmine:Born ready!

Ruby:Do your best! Show him who’s boss!

Carmine:Ha! With this by my side, I might as well be invincible.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you WIP excerpt behind the cut, as promised, friends; 7k of kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit. (and non-chrono link for anyone on the app.)

Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. He’s “just” found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. It’s not an unusual reaction. 

It’s a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Tim’s been involved in solving turned out to be cases of “I met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyone”. 

Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboy’s file, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most people’s less pragmatic sides. 

Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever. 

“He showed you?” Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboy’s face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit. 

“He, uh, saw mine first,” he says. “Kinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.”

“It’s fairly noticeable as a mark,” Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. “And Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.” 

“Sure it was,” Leech says, his face souring. “So then you won’t mind showin’ yours to–” 

“Shut up, Dad!” Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dog’s kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite. 

Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though. 

And as for Tana Moon . . . 

“You’re a tourist?” Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. She’s taller than him. She’s also taller than Superboy, because she’s a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable? 

. . . admittedly she’s also taller than Leech and he’s a middle-aged man, but that’s not the point here. If Tim has to “no comment” this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isn’t even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact. 

“Yes,” he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given she’s a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter. 

Even if it is legally salvage. 

“I’m just in town for the day,” he continues. “I needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.” 

“Sure,” Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who doesn’t.” 

“He’s from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!” Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird. 

“Well, that’s a Gotham thing, probably,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). “We’re used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.” 

“You did awesome,” Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesn’t get it. 

Well, maybe Superboy’s just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering. 

“It was nothing, just a little light crowd control,” Tim tries, assuming that’s what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. “Nobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.” 

Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it. 

Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head. 

Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. That’s what Tim is. A civilian! Who’s normal! Very, very normal! 

Normal. 

He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Krypto’s head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off. 

Ew. 

“‘Light crowd control’,” Moon echoes. That’s what Tim said, yeah, so he’s not sure why she’s repeating it. Well–reporter, again, so It’s probably a trap. 

It’s almost definitely a trap, actually. 

Really definitely it’s a trap. 

“Sorry to just show up like this, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but he’s still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And he’ll just ignore Leech while he’s at it, too. 

“I invited you, man!” Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. “We’re gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.” 

“You came to Hawaii to ‘get away’ and didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Moon says skeptically. 

“Yup,” Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression he’s ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught. 

Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesn’t fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on. 

She frowns. 

“C’mon, man,” Superboy says cheerfully, apparently–and fortunately–oblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Tim’s arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with. 

The steps manage not to collapse–possibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim can’t help suspecting–and Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store. 

Admittedly Tim’s upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and there’s random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and it’s just . . . it doesn’t look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesn’t know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week. 

Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isn’t particularly optimistic on that one, honestly. 

Superboy’s room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Tim’s bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so he’s not gonna judge. Anyway, that’s Superboy’s personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures. 

Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too. 

Tim isn’t judging, just–well, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what he’s judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics. 

Fuck that guy, seriously. 

“You want trunks or a speedo?” Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates. 

“Trunks,” he says quickly. “Please.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts. 

Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, that’s pretty much it, yeah. 

Fuck, that’s depressing, Tim thinks. 

Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway. 

He also wonders if he’s gonna die if he wears Superboy’s clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah. 

Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Tim’s hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboy’s apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal. 

“Take a look, see what’s good,” Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Tim’s just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point. 

“So you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?” he says wryly. 

“C’mon, man, it’s Hawaii,” Superboy says with a sheepish grin. “And I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?” 

“I guess it wouldn’t be, no,” Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboy’s ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since it’s right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboy’s bed. Which is stupid, even if they aren’t platonics. They’ve just met; it’s not like anything’s gonna happen. 

. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless and–

Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all. 

He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as he’s laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The room’s a mess, yeah, but it’s Superboy’s mess. It’s still rude to just drop shit wherever. 

The paper isn’t as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . .

Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. It’s a little kid’s drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in and–

Superboy’s suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Tim’s confused, for a moment. What’s he embarrassed about? It’s obviously not anything he’d have drawn himself. It’s probably just something a fan or a neighbor’s kid gave him, or . . . 

Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much of the crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboy’s room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur would’ve bothered programming their custom-designed “Superman” with anything resembling art skills. 

So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didn’t program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldn’t he.

And given Superboy’s cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . .

“Gift from a fan?” Tim “assumes” with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious. 

“Uh–yeah!” Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. “Yeah, just–you know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroom’s through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.” 

“Thanks,” Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. It’s just a lot of paper, especially if Superboy’s upset with the results.

He wonders why the guy draws so much, if he’s that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe it’s a rebellion thing, since it’s something Cadmus didn’t want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboy’s situation. Or maybe he’s just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing. 

Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. That’s an option too. 

Probably a less likely one, though, given that it’s Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just it’s a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesn’t seem like there’s much there for him to “like”, either.

Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed. 

He’s definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Just–definitely, yeah. 

The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but he’s realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmate’s one of the people wearing it. 

Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, he’s probably the least respectful S-wearer there is. 

Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring that’s beach-friendly enough. He should’ve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didn’t think to. 

Seriously. He didn’t think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii. 

This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah. 

Soulmate thing, he guesses.

Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides he’s being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboy’s changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. It’s not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And there’s definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were. 

Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever. 

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. “And for the loan.” 

Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up. 

“Uh–sure, yeah!” he says quickly. “No problem, man. Anytime.” 

“‘Anytime’ seems pretty open, as an offer,” Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red. 

“Oh, uh–you know what I mean!” he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Well–that'd be the TTK, Tim guesses. 

It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all. 

“I do, yeah,” he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? “Are we good to go, then?” 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. “All good, dude! Let's head out.” 

“Sure,” Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. They’re almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isn’t any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Like–that they’re at least roughly on the same page there, he means. 

Unless he’s just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didn’t even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Tim’s just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows platonic soulmates altogether. 

He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. It’s not like he really knows how he’d feel about having a brother. Dick’s the closest thing to one he’s ever had, and that’s just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . . 

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure having a brother wouldn’t in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like. 

So–maybe he isn’t straight, or maybe Superboy’s not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe he’s just really, really bad at having a soulmate.

Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Tim’s not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman. 

One or the other, probably.

. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman. 

“Wanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?” Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little body’s wagging with it. He’s a weird-looking little mutt, but he’s really friendly, apparently. “Krypto, oh my god, get off him.” 

“I don't mind,” Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over. 

Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly. 

“We can go wherever,” he says. “You're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?” 

“‘Alone’?” Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of “platonic” at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . “Uh–yeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!” 

Yeah, Superboy really isn’t selling the “platonic” idea here either. 

Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen? 

. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasn’t ruled out the “maybe Superboy’s just trans” option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else. 

This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting he’s experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. He’s not complaining, exactly, because admittedly it’s actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is admittedly still in flux and the relationship’s “romantic" vs "platonic” status is still unclear. It’s still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work. 

And Superboy’s about as far from a “normal person” as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Tim’s end. 

Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy would’ve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Tim’s pretty sure it was the right choice. 

Hopefully it was, anyway. 

“Cool,” Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didn’t just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, it’d make sense, right? 

Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy manager’s sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense. 

Huh. That’s . . . a thought, he guesses. 

Not a thought he’d really had yet. 

Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses. 

Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy is–well, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called “Asia”, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . . 

Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he could–

Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority. 

Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe. 

Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute. 

Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway. 

Tim’s trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe. 

At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else. 

“Down, you little shit, Jesus!” Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “He is cute.” 

“Whatever,” Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog. 

“You gonna go swim, or just hang out?” Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again. 

“Oh, we’re–” Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off. 

“Want some company?” Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looks–conflicted, momentarily, and then awkward. 

“Um, well–Tim’s only in town for today, so . . . next time?” he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly? 

How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Well–no, she’d graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, she’s gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six. 

That’s . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too.

In retrospect, that seems like something someone should’ve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so it’s fine, right? Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? 

Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastard’s credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but he’ll make it worse. He’ll find a way. 

. . . though he’ll wait until he’s sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesn’t actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesn’t deserve that particular fallout. 

“It’d be nice to get to know each other later, I’m sure,” Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably. 

He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none. 

Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Krypto’s ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased. 

“I’m sure,” she “agrees” frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them. 

“Cool!” he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuck’s sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit! 

Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe that’s for the best. 

If nothing else, Superman could’ve taught him a bit of “bless your heart”, but apparently that’s not a thing either. 

Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesn’t even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batman’s emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isn’t habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway? 

That’s going to be a weird experience, yeah. 

“Ready to go?” Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little. 

Or a lot.

“Lead the way,” he says, smiling at him. He’s flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighter–which should not be physically possible, but apparently is–and reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. It’s totally overkill and not even slightly necessary. 

Tim isn’t complaining, just–well–

It’s really flustering. 

“Air Superboy up, up, and away!” Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the others’ heads. His face is way too close to Tim’s face. 

Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, he’s pretty sure. 

“Do I get an in-flight meal?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. It’s another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe. 

Somehow. 

Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag. 

“This isn’t waterproof,” he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again. 

“I’m not gonna drop you, dude,” he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboy’s sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption. 

He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboy’s bare chest and arms like this, even if he’s still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while they’re both wet seems a lot worse. 

Yeah. Definitely worse. 

Tim should’ve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that. 

Jesus. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboy’s neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that he’s not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water. 

Well. Less worried, anyway. 

Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboy’s shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore. 

Definitely camera next time.

“Definitely holding you to that, actually,” he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse. 

Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway. 

They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together they’re standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Tim’s own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . . 

Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird. 

He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesn’t look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboy’s eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face. 

“The water’s really warm,” he observes, glancing down at it. “Is that normal?” 

It’s probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself. 

Maybe global warming or something, though.

“I mean, feels normal to me?” Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as “water”, legally speaking, but that’s not the point. 

“It’s pretty out here,” he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. He’s pretty sure it’s more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesn’t exactly make it less flattering. 

Or flustering. 

“I mean, it’s Hawaii, man!” Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. “‘Course it’s gonna be pretty!” 

Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isn’t stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by the island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,” Tim says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly. 

Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly. 

“Guess you’d just have to come back, then,” Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. It’s–weird, a little, looking up at him like this. 

Well, not weird, just . . . yeah. 

Something like that. 

“Guess so,” Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboy’s friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis he’s been having since breaking into the other’s file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe. 

Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination. 

Kissing him, maybe. 

He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. They’re on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Tim’s stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . . 

He could kiss him. That’s all. 

“I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, right?” Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back. 

“The tourism industry seems to think so,” Tim says wryly, and wonders what the “normal civilian who didn’t come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin with” thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. He’s a vigilante that’s just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved. 

eSuperboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. He’s selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldn’t even be legal, given Superboy isn’t even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no one’s ever let Superboy realize that. 

Tim really doesn’t love that that’s a thing, to put it mildly. 

Actually, he just fucking hates it. 

Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk. 

God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even? 

No wonder he’s gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh.

“So, uh–this seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but what’s your name?” he asks, because it’s occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when he’s off-duty. He knows he doesn’t have a secret identity, of course, but there’s no way his friends just call him “Superboy”. Well–maybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you don’t feel like we’re there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.” 

Robin knows Superboy doesn’t have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldn’t act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, so–

“Naw, it’s fine, I don’t even have one,” Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is. 

“You don’t . . . have one?” he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. “Like–not at all?” 

“Yeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,” Superboy says. “Oh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing. So, you know, you can call me whatever.” 

Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones. 

Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping. 

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Um–sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?” 

“I’m a clone, man,” Superboy says, looking amused. “The only other name I’ve got is ‘Experiment Thirteen’, which is definitely not something I answer to."

Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d go for that one if I were you either,” he says. “Kind of a mouthful, if nothing else.” 

Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Tim’s realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that he’s been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. He’s got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else here–from the supervillain attack to Superboy’s ripped suit and exposed soulmark–has been a crime of opportunity. 

He probably should’ve done more research. Actually, he definitely should’ve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didn’t stop him doesn’t mean it was a good idea. He just–he should’ve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete. 

Admittedly Superboy doesn’t hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly. 

Why didn’t he do more research? 

“You really can just call me whatever you wanna, don’t worry about it,” Superboy says with an easy shrug as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting. 

Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order. 

“Whatever I wanna?” he repeats. 

“Except for Experiment Thirteen,” Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of his mouth as he says the word “experiment”. 

“Uh, okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesn’t really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. “What do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?” 

“I don’t,” Superboy says. 

“. . . don’t . . . what?” Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, but–

“Be a civilian,” Superboy says. 

Tim’s running out of new stages of grief, he’s pretty sure. 

“Ah,” he says. 

Superboy–for a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then he’s grinning again before he can be sure, and . . . 

“Why would I?” Superboy says, puffing up proudly. “I’m Superboy, man! Nothing else I’d rather be.” 

Given how limited Superboy’s options for anything “else” he could be probably are . . . well, Tim’s not sure what to think of that statement. 

He doesn’t think it’s anything good, though. 

Yeah, no, he thinks as he looks at Superboy’s too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good. 

Who wouldn’t pick being “Superboy” over being “Experiment Thirteen”, after all? 

And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options?

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Getting High With Hanta Sero

Sero would be the type to get super giggly when he’s high. He’d crack jokes that aren’t even that funny, but both of you would end up laughing hysterically at everything, even if it’s just the way a word sounds.

Sero’s already a pretty laid-back guy, but when he’s high, he’s on another level of relaxed. He’d lean back, maybe throw his arm around you, and just enjoy the moment, content to vibe together in comfortable silence or with some chill music in the background.

Once the munchies hit, Sero would suggest raiding the kitchen. You two would have a blast making the most random, over-the-top snacks and combining weird ingredients just to see how they taste. He’d laugh every time something turned out surprisingly good or totally awful.

Sero’s the type who’d get a little philosophical when high. He’d start talking about life, dreams, or the universe, all while lying on the floor or staring at the ceiling. You’d have fun discussing random thoughts that pop into your heads, leading to surprisingly deep conversations.

His imagination would run wild, and he’d suggest goofy, impulsive ideas, like making a blanket fort or seeing how far he could stretch his tape quirk while high. Even if it’s silly, you’d both go along with it, just enjoying each other’s company.

Sero would be really into music when high. He’d put on a playlist of his favorite chill songs or even suggest that you create one together. Music would take on a whole new vibe, and you’d both get lost in the sound, maybe even swaying or slow dancing in a goofy way.

Sero’s always been a pretty sweet guy, but when he’s high, he’d randomly shower you with compliments, from telling you how awesome you are to how much he loves spending time with you. His guard would be down, and he’d be more open about how he feels.

Once the high really sets in, Sero would get extra cuddly. He’d pull you close, and you’d both melt into the couch or bed, super comfortable and content. It would be all about relaxing together and just enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence.

Every now and then, Sero would come out with those typical stoner thoughts, like, “Do you ever think clouds are just floating pillows?” or “What if tape had feelings when I used my quirk?” You’d both laugh about how ridiculous these thoughts are, but secretly kind of enjoy pondering them.

Sero would get fascinated by the smallest things, like the way the light hits a certain object or how a piece of furniture looks when he’s high. He’d point out random things, and you’d both spend way too much time just looking at or analyzing them for no reason.

Eventually, you’d both just want to chill out completely. You’d probably end up lying on the couch or bed, tangled together in a comfortable, lazy way. There’s no pressure to do anything, and Sero would love just being in the moment with you, feeling completely at ease.

Sero is all about keeping the energy light and positive, so whenever you’re both high, he’d make sure everything stays fun and relaxing. Whether it’s cracking jokes, being goofy, or just enjoying the quiet, he’d focus on keeping the mood stress-free and easygoing.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[munson-blurbs]

Hi, I'm really interested in your meet-cute idea. This is my first time making a request with my info and also first time writing to you, so I hope it makes sense🤗I'd choose Steve (Because your Steve fics are awesome), and my pronouns are she/her. About me, I'd probably be one of the shyest and most awkward people, I'm also a bit of an overthinker and I probably have a little stutter👉👈(as I heard from people around me). And about hobbies, I like playing piano and violin, and I sometimes paint. I really hope this is okay...

Your meet-cute happens while you're playing the piano!

CW: none, just Steve and Dustin annoying each other WC: 513 Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

You didn’t hear the ruckus outside of the practice room at first. Your focus remained solely on the piano in front of you, your fingers dancing over the keys from muscle memory. The practice room was tucked into the corner of the school’s music wing, right next to the drama club’s storage room, which usually gave you peace and quiet after a long day at school.

Usually.

“Tell me again why I needed to leave work early to pick up your sorry ass?”

The voice from outside the door was familiar, but one you hadn’t heard in a while. Still, you continued playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. It was your favorite piece, soft and melodic and like being wrapped in a fantasy.

“I told you,” a different, younger voice said, “Eddie moved Hellfire to Thursday this week because we don’t have school tomorrow, and my mom has to work.”

There was a sigh, then: “Whatever, Henderson. You owe me.”

You heard feet shuffling past your room, but one pair abruptly came to a stop. 

“What’s that sound? Like someone’s playing the piano or something.”

“I think you cracked the case, Steve.”

Steve. That’s who that first voice belonged to—Steve Harrington, formerly known as King Steve. He’d graduated last year, the star of the basketball team. Last you’d heard, he was working at the local Family Video. 

Knuckles rapped a light knock on the door—so light, in fact, you barely registered it. Then there was another knock, this one a bit more forceful, that jolted you out of your musical stupor. 

“S-Someone’s in here!” Christ, this wasn’t a public restroom. Why would you answer like that?

Steve pushed the door open until it was slightly ajar. His eyes widened when they met yours, as though he was expecting the piano to be playing itself. 

Those eyes. Their melted milk chocolate hue softened the edges of the awkward tension, pulling you in and rendering you speechless for an extra beat. “Can I…can I help you with something?” You cleared your throat, trying to find the right tone. “I mean…hi.”

Oh, yeah. That was much better.

Steve didn’t seem bothered. He ran a hand through his hair–still gorgeous, perhaps even more so than when he was a student here, if that was possible–and smiled sheepishly. “You play the piano really pretty. Prettily. Is…is that a word?” He turned to the freshman standing next to him to confirm.

“Sure is, Webster.” The kid rolled his eyes. “You still sound like an idiot, though.”

Steve mumbled something under his breath and brought his attention back to you. “Do you play, like, modern stuff? Tears for Fears or something?”

“I don’t think she’s taking requests, Steve.”

“Shut up, Henderson!” Steve shoved the kid with barely any force; just enough to emphasize his annoyance.

You laughed, amused by their ridiculous banter. “Yeah, I do.” Your eyes drifted to where the Henderson boy was waiting impatiently. “But don’t you have to drive him home?”

Without looking back, Steve stepped inside the practice room and closed the door behind him. “He can walk.”

--

[thesuperheroesnetwork]

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[lamemaster]

The Evermoor

Request: Sinister love for Maedhros, especially if it's after his fiery death ~how very SPOOKY~ he'd be scary enough as a ghost, but more terrifying would be if he survived or was resurrected, with his burns.Gosh I love Halloween

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader/ Reader x OC

Genre: Horror

Summary: He was better than ever—but not the same. It was as though the fever had washed away more than just his illness. The man you loved had been replaced by someone—or something—else.

AN: Your prompt is so awesome 😩 I loved writing it too much. Got carried away so now there's another part. I'm sorry if this does not exactly follow your prompt but this was awesome.

Chapter 1| Chapter 2

Next up- Sinister love with Maedhros chapter dos 🤭

You cower, eyes squeezed shut, muscles tense as if trying to melt into the mattress. The darkness feels oppressive, alive, crawling across the room toward you, its presence tangible in the suffocating silence.

Buried under your quilt, your mind drifts toward the closet opposite the bed. Its door, barely cracked open, looms in your vision. A door you distinctly remember forcing shut before slipping beneath the covers. A door that seems to have a will of its own, refusing to remain closed.

The house whispers around you—the creak of brittle wood rising from the old floorboards as if the very bones of the mansion are shifting in the night.

The Evermoor, ancient and untouched, resists the modern makeover your fiancé envisions, its colonial elegance holding tight against time’s slow decay.

For now, the Evermoor stands as it always has—unmoved, unchanged, steeped in shadow.

Most days, Evermoor feels like a distant memory, as if it exists in a realm between the living and the forgotten. Its old stone walls, hidden by evergreens and draped in mist, seem to breathe with the weight of centuries. It sleeps peacefully, exhausted by the passage of its long history.

That was how you first saw it—the slumbering, serene majesty of the Evermoor, drawing both you and Zaid into its mysterious hold. Your fiancé.

The decision to leave Prague had been wild, impulsive, even. Trading the city’s buzzing streets for the quiet of Viscri, nestled in a valley so still it felt like stepping back in time.

Zaid had been enchanted by the sprawling backyard, imagining your two dogs bounding across it, while you found comfort in the damp, earthy scent of the village—like fresh rain mingling with ancient stone.

This was how life unfolded for most people: years spent amid the crowded anonymity of cities, until you find the one person who makes the world slow down. Love follows, fierce and fragile, weathering the storms, if you’re lucky. Then comes the dream of escape, leaving the fast lane for something slower, more peaceful.

Work promotions had helped make that dream possible. The suburban fantasy, a far-off dream for many, had crept into reality with the right person by your side.

Zaid was that person—the flirtatious frat boy you never imagined sticking around. But beneath his charm lay a deep kindness, and that kindness made it impossible not to love him.

Loving Zaid was effortless. He made it so. Flowers left in unexpected places, candlelit dinners, soft words, and grand gestures that melted your heart. He cradled your love with a care that drew you in, little by little, until you couldn’t imagine life without him.

The once-ridiculous international student who convinced you to leave everything behind now sat beside you in Evermoor, slurping ramen as you both debated which floorboards would suit the study best.

A glittering diamond caught the light on your finger. He had proposed three months ago, under the soft light of candlelit shadows. Did you see it coming? Yes. But did you put on an elaborate act of surprise? Absolutely.

Zaid was predictable, but in ways that made you feel safe. He was a man of habit, of routines you had come to cherish. You hadn’t meant to stumble upon the hidden ring. Its hiding place in the unused suitcase had been clever—until one of your friends asked to borrow it.

The ring was magnificent, the kind that sparkled so brightly it drew gasps, making people look twice to make sure it was real.

Had you known what was to come, you would’ve never accepted it. You would’ve sent that suitcase—along with the cursed ring—to the farthest corner of the world.

The ring that stole Zaid away from you. Or was it the Evermoor?

The early days in the mansion had been enchanting. Bright, warm spring afternoons spent poring over floor plans, your future laid out before you. The wedding was to take place at Evermoor, the perfect venue. The house itself felt magical, like it had been waiting for you and Zaid to bring it back to life.

The mansion was a spell you couldn’t resist. It drew you into its labyrinthine halls, its ancient bones whispering secrets as you wandered through its forgotten rooms.

Your freelance work went on hold, and soon you found yourself documenting your journey on YouTube—a simple series on renovating your dream house. While your editing left much to be desired, the vlogs gathered a modest following of 56 subscribers, five of which were Zaid’s accounts.

You couldn’t have imagined then that those mindless videos would become relics, haunting the internet for years to come. Fame would find you, but not in the way you expected.

It all began with a cold. Zaid wasn’t unfamiliar with seasonal colds, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. You joked about him being a "frail Victorian child" wasting away in the manor’s drafty halls.

You expected it to pass, like it always did, with a steady diet of soups, tea, and Vicks humidifiers. Even your doctor friends laughed it off, teasing Zaid as they handed him a lolly for his melodramatic whining.

But as the days dragged on, your laughter grew strained. The cold didn’t break. Zaid grew weaker by the hour, his skin losing color, his energy fading. Nights were filled with his fevered ramblings, his body slick with sweat, twisting beneath the covers.

You stopped the renovations, packed your bags, ready to drag him to the hospital. But Zaid refused. His grip on the Evermoor tightened, as if the house held him captive. His sunken eyes stared at you, forbidding the thought of leaving.

You stayed by his side, your hands clasped in his, pleading with him, crying through sleepless nights as his fever raged on. His brothers flew in from the States, ready to move him to the infirmary. Your aunt stepped in to oversee the Evermoor while you prepared to leave.

And then, overnight, Zaid recovered. His pallid face transformed, flushed with sudden vitality. Every plan to leave vanished in an instant.

He was better than ever—but not the same. It was as though the fever had washed away more than just his illness. The man you loved had been replaced by someone—or something—else.

Zaid’s obsession with restoring Evermoor to its former glory took precedence over everything. The modern renovations you had so carefully planned were tossed aside, replaced by an eerie fixation on the mansion’s past.

His eyes gleamed with an intensity that unsettled you—a brightness that seemed to glow, unnatural, when he caught you staring.

And it wasn’t just you. Hermes and Zeus, once Zaid’s loyal companions, now cowered in his presence. The dogs, who once leapt into his arms, growled or fled when he entered the room. But Zaid remained indifferent, unbothered by their fear.

What disturbed you most was his fixation on the ring. His eyes followed your hand, tracking the diamond wherever it went, but he rarely touched you like he once had. When he did, he avoided the ring, as though afraid of it.

He was like Tantalus—forever reaching for something just out of his grasp.

It was during a quiet afternoon, while absentmindedly scrolling through comments on your YouTube channel, that you stumbled upon it.

A simple comment that stopped you cold.

Tevildoisapookie 5:08 Did anyone notice the elven script on that newspaper? Didn’t expect a Silmarillion crossover with cottagecore, lol.

Confused, you paused the video, your brows knitting together. The paper you had used to cover the windows during the painting of the guest bedroom doors was visible in the frame, covered in scrawled text.

Your fingers hovered over the reply button, hesitation filling you.

LadyofEvermore Can you read what it says?

Chuckling nervously at your own paranoia, you tossed your phone aside and resumed petting Hermes. The dog gave you an annoyed glance, irritated at being woken from his nap.

“I’m sorry, old man,” you muttered, running your fingers through his fur. Slowly, you drifted off, the warm sun lulling you into a shallow sleep.

You woke to the low growls of your dogs. Blinking groggily, you found Hermes and Zeus standing over you, tense and alert, their eyes locked on something across the room.

Your gaze followed theirs and froze. Zaid stood in the doorway, unnervingly still, his eyes gleaming with that strange, unsettling light as he stared back at the dogs.

You quickly gathered the dogs, leading them outside where their tension evaporated as they chased fireflies into the dusk. But as you turned to head back inside, you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

Zaid.

You forced yourself to relax, leaning back into him.

“Pizza okay with you?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly. Zaid nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on your hand, on the ring that sparkled in the fading light.

Later, when you took out your phone to order the pizza, a notification awaited you.

Tevildoisapookie www.reddit.com/r/Quenya/comments/4x2d9k/the_language_Quenya_script_more]

A Reddit user had commented, translating the strange symbols from your video-

SobbingMaia It seems to be a Quenya reiteration of the Oath of Fëanor(a pretty good one) :

Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending, Woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

[candiedcoffeedrops]

Your Voice (Jude Jazza x Reader)

Jude Jazza x Fem!Reader (Jude's POV/Perspective)

SFW -- WC: 1765

Fluffy, sweet indulgent nonsense that I thought of whilst avoiding sleep at 3 in the morning about a week and change ago lol.

Alright, so this is my first reader insert in thirteen years! I have been working on this for the last few days in between work and whatnot and most of the time was like, 10% writing and 90% worrying if I was writing this bastard man that I have grown to love very rapidly correctly or not. I'm open to suggestions on how to improve, I just ask that it be kind/respectful, please. :)

Thanks a million to @judejazza for inspiring me to work on this! You're awesome and I hope you like this!

Also! No beta, we die like the dude in the prologue.

Today had been long and irritating.

You had tagged along with me and Ellis today, as usual. An early morning of routine business turned into a busy afternoon of hunting down people who had broken contracts and taking them to task. That quickly escalated, and you nearly got yourself hurt. Again.

We had just gotten back to Crown Castle a few hours ago and had gone about our business. It had been a couple of months since your initial one-month tenure had come and gone, and you had stupidly decided that you were going to stay.

I couldn’t understand why. Crown wasn’t a place for someone like you—soft, kind-hearted, and ridiculously naive. You belonged somewhere safe, somewhere untouched by the dark and violent world I—and all of us—were steeped in. Yet, here you were, stubborn as hell, refusing to leave. Maybe you thought you could change us, make us better. Foolish. But damned if it wasn’t… endearing. Tch. I must be getting soft.

As I walked through the halls of the castle, I noticed light peeking out from under your door. You were still awake? It was definitely past midnight at this point. Curious, I approached the door and knocked with the knuckle of my index finger.

“Oi, Princess! The fuck ya still up for?”

“Oh! Come in, Jude!”

I opened your door and stepped inside, pushing the door shut with my foot, my hands in my pockets.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your head cocked to the side curiously.

I raised an eyebrow and spoke, “I asked first.”

“I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d get a book from the library and try to read myself asleep but… then I got sucked into the story.” You admitted as light pink dusted your cheeks, returning your attention to your book. You were sitting on your bed, atop your covers, eyes scanning the pages of an open book in your hands. Your room was lit by the lamp on your desk near your typewriter, casting a dim warm glow over everything, including you. Your hair framed your face, and you were dressed in your nightclothes like you had started getting ready for bed but never actually went to sleep.

I strolled up to your bed and plucked the book from your hands.

“Hey! Give that back!” You swung your legs under you, trying to swipe the book from me. “Jude!”

Ah, that cute little face and the way you said my name when you were all frustrated would never get old.

“Why? Ya readin’ somethin’ ya shouldn’t?” I teased, holding the book just out of reach. I took a step back, skimming through the pages. “Is that why ya can’t sleep? Gettin’ all hot ‘n bothered?” My eyes scanned the words.

She stood beneath the crumbling archway of the cathedral, where the moonlight filtered through the cracks and bathed her in a silvery glow, her heart pounding with the weight of forbidden love.

I rolled my eyes. Tch. How boring. Just some romantic penny dreadful. Figures. You would be into this kind of shit. Star-crossed lovers and all that nonsense.

“Ya realize none of this is realistic, yeah?” I asked, waving the book dismissively. Your cheeks puffed into an adorable pout, and I chuckled.

“I don’t read it for the realism, Jude,” you replied, matter-of-factly. “I read it because it’s entertaining. Fun.”

“What’s so fun about somethin’ so obviously false?” I asked, flipping through a few more pages while you leaned over, trying to grab your book again. I held it out of reach. “Yer gonna get it back when I decide ya can have it back, got it?”

You sighed, crawling back into bed, sitting against the headboard. “That’s better.”

“Why are you playing keep away with my book?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Repayment for nearly gettin’ yer clumsy ass hurt again.”

You growled lightly. Adorable. “But I didn’t! You were there!”

I huffed, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, well, ya shouldn’t need me to save ya all the time. Learn to stay outta trouble.”

You gave me a defiant look, your chin lifting slightly. “I’m not helpless, Jude. I can take care of myself.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah? Then why were ya about to get skewered earlier?”

Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening. “I was just… distracted.”

“By what? Thinkin’ of garbage like this?” I asked, holding up the book and waving it lightly.

“It’s not garbage!” you shot back, your eyes blazing with a fire I rarely saw. “It’s a good story, and I like it.”

“Tch. It’s drivel, Princess.” I glanced at the open pages, scanning a few more lines with a sneer. “Moonlight, forbidden love... absolute nonsense.”

You crossed your arms, a stubborn set to your jaw. “If it’s so bad, then why don’t you prove it by reading some of it?”

I raised an eyebrow, a chuckle rumbling in my chest. “Ya want me to read this crap? To ya?”

“Yeah, I do.” You leaned forward, eyes gleaming with challenge. “I bet you can’t get through a single page without falling asleep.”

My tongue ran along my bottom teeth beneath my lip as I walked closer to you and leaned down, towering over you. “Is that a dare, Princess?” I looked at you, my smirk widening into a grin. “Alright, but don’t blame me when ya realize how bad it is.”

“Alright,” you said, settling back with a satisfied smile. “But you have to read it properly. Like you mean it.” You shifted, laying down on your side, facing me, your head cushioned perfectly by your pillow.

I snorted. “Fine. But if I read this and prove it’s trash, ya gotta stop readin’ this stuff.” I lightly tapped the spine of the book to your forehead. “It’ll rot yer little brain even more than it already is. Got it?”

Your eyes sparkled. “Deal.”

I sighed, sitting down unceremoniously into a chair that was by your bedside, my ankle crossed over my knee. “Alright, let’s see what has ya stayin’ up all night.” I cleared my throat, holding the book up to catch the dim light. “She stood beneath the crumbling archway of the cathedral…”

My mind drifted through the pages at first, words blurring together without much meaning. But then, something in the story caught my attention, and I found myself tuning in, focusing on the text. Gradually, I realized my voice had softened, losing its earlier sarcasm. It settled into a steady rhythm, low and even, as I read for a few more pages.

Every so often, I glanced up at you. Your expression, once filled with intense focus, began to relax. I watched as your eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open. You looked so determined to stay awake.

I trailed off mid-sentence and raised an eyebrow, my lips curling in another smile. “Oi. Sleepyhead. Still there?”

I got a mumbled affirmation in response, to which I chuckled through my nose and nodded. I set the book down before getting to my feet, careful that I didn’t make too much noise doing so. Well, at least you were about to finally get some much-needed shut-eye.

Before I could move away, you reached out and grasped my fingers with a gentle hold. My eyes widened as I looked between you and our hands.

“Wait. Don’t go yet.” Your eyes were trained on our hands, another faint blush spreading across your cheeks. “I want to hear more of the story.” Your voice was low and shy.

“Yeah?” I asked, tilting my head as I observed you, another smirk lifting my lips. “Can’t get enough garbage, can ya, Princess?”

“No, it’s not that.” Your blush deepened. “I just… I like the sound of your voice.”

Damn. Didn't see that coming. You’re clueless. Who the hell would say something like that? My voice—harsh, grating, like broken glass or nails on a chalkboard and that's what you wanted to hear? But of course, it’d be you, wouldn’t it? Blind to every possible warning, looking up at me with those big, pleading eyes. Damn you. And damn me for sticking around.

My hand was still in yours, your skin soft and warm against my calloused fingers. Your gaze lifted to mine, and you looked so… pitiful. Pleading.

I sighed. “Yer daft, ya know that?” I moved to sit back down, your hand still holding mine. Crossing my ankle back over my knee, I reopened your book, propping it up on my thigh. I glanced at you; some of your energy had returned, your eyes shining with that dumb happy look as you nuzzled into your pillow.

“Thank you, Jude.” Your voice was soft and sweet, making my heart lurch. I kept my face impassive.

“Yeah, yeah, be quiet ‘n listen.” My tone lacked most of its usual bite as I found the last page I had read.

My fingers were still in your grasp. Strange. I could’ve pulled away at any point, but I didn’t. Maybe you thought if you let go, I’d leave. While reading, I moved my hand, lacing my fingers around yours. I didn’t look up, focused on the page, but I heard a small gasp before you squeezed my hand slightly. Damn. Almost enough to make a man melt.

Without pausing, my thumb began rubbing yours absentmindedly. Your skin was soft, untouched by the harshness of this world. What a novel thing in a place like this.

It wasn’t long before I heard your gentle snoring. I chuckled softly, watching you for a moment. So peaceful. Dreaming without a care while a man you knew was dangerous held your hand and read you to sleep. You were insane.

I stood, marking the page I had stopped on, and set the book down on your nightstand. Reluctantly, I removed my hand from yours and shrugged off my coat, covering your sleeping form. You immediately melted into the warmth, your shoulders relaxing as a lock of hair fell across your cheek. My fingers hovered above you.

Do I dare?

Taking a breath, I gently moved the errant lock from your cheek without touching your face. You scrunched your nose, muttering softly before settling back into sleep. My hands found their way into my pockets as I gazed at you a moment longer.

“Sleep well, Princess,” I murmured under my breath. I crossed the room to turn your lamp off and then made my way to the door, pausing at the doorframe for one last look over my shoulder before exiting and closing the door quietly behind me.

This was fun! It was nice to slip into old shoes again and write something that I used to do so frequently. I may do more of these! Lemme know if you want to be tagged, should I decide to do more in the future!

Thank you, all! Have a great day!

[multifandomfanficss]

You Look Like Shit

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

Adrian Chase Masterlist

Prompt: Adrian helps you calm down at the end of a stressful work week.

Warnings: Stress, a ridiculous amount of hurt/comfort

A/N: This is so so deeply self indulgent. If you know me and my real life no you don’t. Look away lol. Sorry if you see typos. This was barely proofread. Just a short little thing I wrote on a night where I had trouble sleeping. Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

You sat in the driver’s seat, dissociating, staring into space at your home through the windshield of your parked car. Eventually you blink, take a shakey breath, and get out of your car, slowly heading to the door.

“Babe, is that you?” You hear your boyfriend call from the other room.

“Yeah.” You force a response out, despite feeling like your energy is running on empty. You’d just worked a pretty tough night shift. Just standing up right felt like an impossible task.

“Hey have you seen my- woah… don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like shit.” Adrian says, stopping in his tracks to look at you. He’s half dressed in his Vigilante suit, but he’s missing the chest piece. You can barely focus your eyes on him.

“Two no call no shows, a regular call out, unhappy customers, screaming babies, and something in the back of my head is still worried that building is gonna blow up because we never figured out what that weird smell coming from the heater was a couple days ago. Not to mention one of the no shows was a friend and now it’s my job to find her and connect her with work because somehow some way they don’t have her fucking phone number.” You feel tears start to build in your eyes.

“Holy shit…” Adrian’s voice trails off.

“And if I wasn’t stressed enough I’m covering extra shifts left and right and I don’t even have time to prep for my supervisor interview next week for the promotion and I’m massively overstimulated and everything is just going wrong.” Your voice cracks.

“If they don’t give you that promotion they’re stupid.” He sighs.

“Can I please have a hug?” Your voice trembles as tears begin to fall.

“Come here.” He holds out his arms. As soon as you reach his arms you start sobbing, finally letting out the tears you were holding in all night, the tears your body wouldn’t let out before because it only feels safe enough to do this with Adrian when it’s so stressed. He pulls you close, giving you the pressure you crave. He runs his hand across your back slowly. Your mind tracks the calming repetitive motion. “I’m sorry you’re so stressed. You have every right to be, but you’re home now and I’ve got you. You don’t have to worry about anything right now.”

“But- but I- I can’t stop stressing! I can’t stop! Like what the fuck am I supposed to do?” Adrian notices as your breathing quickens. You’re struggling to keep it at its normal pace.

“Hey hey hey.” He shushes you. “Why don’t we go lay down? Let me take care of things for the night.” He suggests.

“But I thought you were going out.” You gesture to his suit.

“No, I don’t need to go out. Not when you need me here.” He kisses you on the forehead, starting to play with your hair.

“But the city needs you.” You don’t want him to go, but you don’t want to be selfish.

“No, my partner needs me. The streets have been quiet this week. P can handle it on his own and if he can’t he can call me.”

“I just don’t wanna fuck anything else up.”

“Look at me.” He separates from you enough so you can see his face. “You’re not fucking anything up. I’m choosing to take the night off because it’s pretty chill out there and quite frankly I deserve it and I’m gonna use that time to hang out with my awesome partner. You’ve been working your ass off. That place wouldn’t run without you. Just let yourself try to relax with me tonight. We both deserve it.”

“Are you sure?” You ask quietly.

“Positive.” He smiles at you. He leads you to the bedroom where he helps you get changed. He picks out more comfortable clothes for you, letting you wear his clothes because he knows you always prefer his shirts over your own.

“That’s better.” He smiles, kissing your forehead after you’re eventually cuddled up to him in bed for the night.

“I’m sorry for ruining your night.” You say, looking away.

“You didn’t ruin anything. I didn’t even wanna go out. It’s kinda cold. Plus who wants to kill criminals when I could be killing your bad vibes.” You laugh quietly.

“I love you so much.” You snuggle into him.

“I love you too, but you should try to get some sleep. You really need it. It’s not like you have to be anywhere in the morning. You can just rest. You don’t have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I’m just so stressed about work. I don’t wanna sit here. What if something goes wrong? Not to mention, not setting an alarm just feels wrong. I keep thinking I’ll oversleep and miss work, but I don’t have work tomorrow.” He feels you tensing in his arms as you ramble.

“But you’re with me now, Sugarplum,” He reminds you. “and I wouldn’t let you miss work, so get that out of your head. I know it’s hard, but try to relax. Your body is stressed about things and it’s just creating more stress, but I’m literally gonna find a way to shrink down and go inside your brain and start hitting buttons like Inside Out to get you to stop. Actually, Chris told me there’s this guy called Batmite and he’s pretty small so maybe he could crawl through your ear-“

“Adrian!” You cut him off.

“Sorry I forgot that’s gross to you.”

“Ear stuff is gross to most people.”

“I think your ears are cute.” He smiles.

“I think you’re weird.” You giggle. “And cute.” You add. “Very, very cute.” You smile. You don’t know how even on nights like this he can make you smile. On nights when nothing feels right and the world is broken, Adrian is the only thing that makes sense to you.

“Well you’re way cuter.” He smiles.

“I’m so deeply in love with you.” You say what you’re thinking out loud.

“Well that’s a relief because I’m so deeply in love with you… and I’ll be deeply in love with you in the morning too. I’m gonna be here all night. I’m not gonna leave you- well… I might get up to pee, but that’s like a 2 minute side quest. Okay the point is, I want you to try to sleep.”

“Can you keep talking? I’ll close my eyes, but I really love your voice. It helps. Just until I fall asleep?” He smiles at your request.

“I’d talk all night if it helped. I’d talk until my voice box broke. I’d talk until I die.” He vows.

“Please don’t die. I just want you to talk long enough that I can stay calm enough to fall asleep.”

“I guess I can do that too, but where’s the challenge in that? I could tell you how much I love you in a million ways and it still wouldn’t be enough. It’s like those papers you wrote in detention where you have to write you’ll never do again what you did wrong like 100 times on a sheet of loose leaf… I guess I’ll start off by staying that you’re strong and I love you and I’m proud of you and that I’m happy you’re strong, but you don’t have to be so strong around me. You can let me take care of you. I’m here and you’re safe.”

Your eyes get heavy and you fade away to Adrian’s reassurances.

[thatlotuscookie]

hi it's me again, i thought that your last work from my request was awesome and i decided to come back. how about Dabi x reader who is member of the league and Dabi has a secret crush on her, but this time he is drunk (i already saw the one with reader being drunk and it was super cute) and how he is when he's drunk. i feel like he'd be a total baby who has no idea how to function at all, i feel he'd be as childish as possible (idk for example being picky or pouty and stuff) and he also says his secrets, like confesses to her, or tells her he's endeavor's kid😆

if u can I'd like it to be longer one, and obviously feel free to add some more things like maybe some childish things he says to you (for example my brother asks me to stay with him in his room and tells me stories about cotton candy clouds when he's drunk) or the next morning or anything u'll like

✧･ﾟ: a/n : hi riri! I’m so glad you liked the last work based on your request, thank you for coming back! :)) I love this idea, Dabi being a pouty, secret-revealing baby when he’s drunk sounds absolutely adorable. Hope you’ll enjoy this one as much!

✧ Title: ✧ Drunken Confessions ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy, Slight Angst ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: One night after a mission, a tipsy Dabi starts acting surprisingly childish around you. Pouty, picky, and a little loose-lipped, he begins to spill his secrets, including his hidden crush on you and a surprising confession about his family. ✧ Content Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, fluff, confession, humor, slight angst ✧ WC: 2349 words // 13k chars

The night had settled over the hideout, the dim light of the moon filtering in through the cracked windows. The League of Villains had just returned from a mission that left everyone drained—everyone except Dabi, apparently. He sat on a worn-out couch with a bottle of cheap liquor in his hand, taking swigs like it was water. You’d never seen him drink this much before. Usually, he was composed, brooding, and distanced, the last person you’d expect to let loose.

But tonight? He was a mess—a full-on disaster.

You had just finished tending to your own minor injuries, grabbing a bottle of water, when you saw him slouched over, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to the universe. His normally sharp, ice-blue eyes were hazy, and a deep flush spread across his scarred cheeks, making him look… innocent, almost boyish. But something was off. He kept frowning and pouting, muttering under his breath.

“Dabi, what are you doing?” you asked cautiously, standing a few feet away from him.

He blinked slowly, turning his head in your direction with all the grace of someone who was utterly wasted. “You,” he slurred, pointing a finger at you but missing entirely, gesturing toward the space next to you instead. “Why are you way over there?”

“I’m literally right here,” you said, amused but also worried. You stepped closer, crouching down beside the couch. “How much did you drink?”

He looked at the bottle, squinting like it was some ancient relic he couldn’t figure out. “Not enough,” he mumbled before taking another swig—though it looked like more of it dribbled down his chin than actually went into his mouth.

You sighed, sitting down beside him. “You’re going to feel this tomorrow.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his voice taking on a strange, almost whiny tone. “S’not like it matters.”

You stared at him. This was definitely not the Dabi you were used to seeing. This wasn’t the guy who shrugged off injuries or tossed back insults with a smirk. This was… childlike, almost petulant. He was in full baby-mode. You had to admit, it was kind of cute, in a ridiculous sort of way.

“Okay, big guy. You’re gonna have to cut it out with the bottle,” you said, trying to reach for it.

But he yanked it back, holding it to his chest protectively. “Mine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yours? You’re acting like a five-year-old. Just give it here.”

He pouted—actually pouted—his bottom lip sticking out, eyes narrowing at you like you’d just insulted his entire existence. “I’m not a kid,” he said defensively, but the way he was holding that bottle said otherwise.

“Right. Not a kid at all,” you humored him. “Now, let me take care of you before you do something even dumber.”

Dabi stared at you, his eyes softening, the usual fire in them dimming for a moment. “Why do you care so much?”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. He sounded genuinely confused, almost hurt. You hadn’t expected that. “I… because I do, Dabi. You’re part of the team. We look out for each other.”

He shook his head, slouching down further into the couch. “That’s not what I mean,” he muttered, then took another drink—missing his mouth entirely again. “Why do you care? About me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He was drunk, sure, but this was different. His words had weight behind them, like they’d been simmering under the surface for a long time. You tried to brush it off with a joke. “Because I don’t feel like dragging your charred corpse around after you pass out. Now give me the bottle.”

“No,” he grumbled, hugging it tighter. “You’re always doing that.”

“Doing what?” you asked, growing more confused by the second.

“Acting like it doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “Like… like you don’t know. But I know you know.”

You stared at him, trying to piece together his slurred, jumbled thoughts. “Dabi, you’re not making any sense.”

He sat up suddenly, the bottle falling to the floor with a loud clink, and leaned in closer to you—way too close. His face was inches from yours, his breath heavy with alcohol. “I like you.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You froze, staring into his glassy eyes, waiting for him to laugh it off, to smirk and say it was all a joke. But he didn’t. He just stayed there, staring at you, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“Dabi… you’re drunk,” you whispered, trying to wrap your head around what he’d just said.

“Doesn’t mean I’m lying,” he shot back, and there was a strange, almost desperate edge to his voice. “I like you. A lot. And you’re just sitting here, pretending like you don’t know.”

Your heart was racing now, pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond. Dabi? Liking you? He always kept his distance from everyone, including you. But now, here he was, pouring his heart out in the middle of a drunken haze.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you asked quietly, trying to keep your voice steady.

He slumped back against the couch, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know. ‘Cause I’m an idiot? ‘Cause you’d laugh at me? Or worse, you’d just… ignore me. Like you always do.”

“I don’t ignore you,” you said softly, feeling a pang of guilt. “I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was a long, heavy silence between you both. You didn’t know what to say, how to react. You liked him too—of course you did. But you never thought he’d feel the same way. And now, sitting here, watching him sulk like a wounded animal, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re such a baby when you’re drunk,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Am not,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “I just don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about feelings,” he said, scrunching his nose in disgust like the word itself was poison. “It’s stupid.”

You laughed softly. “No, it’s not stupid. But you’re not really good at it, huh?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, pulling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees like a sulking child. “I don’t wanna do it anymore,” he muttered, voice barely audible.

You raised an eyebrow, stifling a giggle. “Do what?”

“Feelings,” he whined, his voice almost a whine. “I hate them. Stupid… feelings.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he sounded—like a little kid pouting about having to do chores. “Yeah, well, we all have ‘em. So, tough luck.”

Dabi groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch cushion. “I wish everything was made of clouds.”

You blinked at the random comment. “Clouds?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his eyes closing as if he were drifting off. “Soft… fluffy clouds. Like cotton candy.”

You smiled, sitting back, watching him. It was almost hard to believe that the tough, ruthless Dabi was sitting here, talking about cotton candy clouds. But maybe it was the alcohol loosening him up, letting him be more honest, more… childish.

“And what would you do if everything was made of clouds?” you asked, indulging him.

“I’d sleep,” he muttered, sounding serious. “Forever. No more stupid people. No more… feelings.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shifted slightly, cracking one eye open to look at you. “You’d come with me. To the clouds.”

You froze for a second, surprised by the sudden tenderness in his voice. “I would?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “I wouldn’t leave you behind. I like you, remember?”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but before you could say anything, he was already drifting off, his head lolling to the side as sleep started to overtake him. His breathing slowed, the tension in his body easing as he finally succumbed to exhaustion.

You sat there for a while, just watching him sleep. He looked so different when he wasn’t scowling or fighting. His face was softer, more peaceful. And for the first time, you could see the boy he used to be—the boy who probably wished for cotton candy clouds and simple things, before the world turned him into Dabi.

As you stood up to grab a blanket to throw over him, he stirred, mumbling something under his breath.

“Endeavor’s kid…”

You froze mid-step, your heart skipping a beat. What?

You turned back to him, staring at his sleeping form. Had you heard that right?

“Dabi?” you whispered softly, but he didn’t respond.

You shook your head, trying to push aside the thought, but it lingered like a stubborn shadow. There was so much about him you didn’t know—so much that lay beneath that hardened exterior. But for tonight, you’d let it go. You’d let him be just Dabi, the boy who liked clouds and cotton candy, the boy who needed someone to care about him.

As you covered him with the blanket, you smiled softly, hoping that maybe tomorrow, he’d remember everything. Or maybe he wouldn’t, and you’d just have to help him with that too. Either way, you were here for him—always.

As dawn broke over the horizon, soft rays of sunlight spilled through the cracks of the old windows, bathing the room in a warm glow. You stirred awake, blinking against the light, your mind slowly piecing together the remnants of the previous night. It felt surreal, almost like a dream—a haze of laughter, Dabi’s unexpected confession, and the strange way he’d let his guard down.

Glancing over, you found him sprawled across the couch, still asleep, the blanket you had draped over him now bunched around his waist. He looked peaceful, almost serene, without the usual scowl etched across his face. For a moment, you just watched him, feeling a mix of affection and concern.

“Dabi,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder gently. “Hey, wake up.”

He groaned, rolling over, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s already morning. You can’t hide from reality forever.”

He cracked one eye open, squinting at you like a cat caught in the sunlight. “What time is it?”

“Too early for your liking,” you teased, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “But it’s time to face the music.”

His brow furrowed slightly, confusion crossing his features. “What are you talking about?”

You could feel your heart race a little, not wanting to bring up last night just yet. “You know… life stuff. Things to do. People to annoy.”

He groaned again, sitting up slowly, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. “Ugh, I have the worst headache,” he muttered, eyes still bleary. “Did I really drink that much?”

You nodded, fighting back a laugh. “Yeah, you did. You were quite the spectacle, you know.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression shifting from sleepy annoyance to sudden realization. “Wait. Did I… say anything stupid last night?”

“Depends on what you consider ‘stupid,’” you said, teasingly. “There was a lot of cotton candy and clouds involved.”

He groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “Oh no. What else did I say?”

You paused for a moment, the memory of his confession hanging heavily in the air. “Well… you did mention something about liking me.”

Dabi froze, his hands dropping to his lap, a look of horror spreading across his features. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious,” you replied, trying to gauge his reaction. “You said you liked me a lot.”

He stared at you for what felt like an eternity, his mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to form words. “I was drunk,” he muttered, sounding defensive. “That doesn’t count.”

“Is that how you feel, though?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, trying to meet his gaze. “Because you didn’t seem to be lying.”

He averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at you. “I… I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t do this. I don’t talk about feelings.”

“I know,” you said softly, your heart aching for him. “But you don’t have to. Just be honest with yourself. It’s okay to like someone, Dabi.”

He looked up at you, and for a moment, the fierce, hardened façade cracked just enough to show the vulnerability beneath. “Nice, huh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, squeezing his knee gently. “You don’t have to be tough all the time. You can let me see the real you.”

Dabi sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “Fine. Maybe I do like you. A little.”

Your heart raced at his admission, a rush of warmth flooding through you. “You’re not just saying that because you were drunk, right?”

“No,” he replied earnestly, his gaze unwavering. “I mean it. I like you. A lot.”

As the morning wore on, you both navigated the awkwardness of the situation, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. Dabi was still himself—grumpy and a bit rough around the edges—but there was something different now. You could see a flicker of hope in his eyes, a glimpse of something more beneath his usual bravado.

“Alright, tough guy,” you said, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan for today?”

He scratched the back of his head, looking thoughtful. “I guess we could go grab coffee. I owe you for last night.”

“Only if you promise not to make it weird,” you teased.

“Me? Weird?” He feigned shock, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. “No promises.”

You laughed, feeling the tension ease just a bit. As you both got ready for the day, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—an unspoken understanding, a bond that felt more solid than before.