#ANYWAY my real answer is that I have no idea what the fuck's wrong with him lmao

[sanji-screenshots]

why is Sanji’s fashion sense SO BAD

Don't know what you're talking about anon, he looks totally Normal at all times

Make sure to follow @sanji-outfit-tourney to see more of his totally normal outfits

[not-neverland06]

n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress. 

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other. 

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since. 

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn. 

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer. 

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face. 

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy. 

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face. 

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound. 

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.” 

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel. 

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now. 

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan. 

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar. 

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense. 

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her. 

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be. 

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out. 

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer. 

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here. 

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt. 

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit. 

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers. 

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom. 

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar. 

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.” 

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that. 

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him. 

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all. 

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations. 

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice. 

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title. 

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break. 

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar. 

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you. 

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind. 

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish. 

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across. 

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now. 

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him. 

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question. 

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone. 

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word. 

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you. 

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel. 

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you. 

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name. 

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside. 

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles. 

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream. 

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion. 

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away. 

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force. 

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window. 

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise. 

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation. 

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown. 

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it. 

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout. 

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid. 

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?” 

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him. 

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed. 

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you. 

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry. 

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands. 

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy. 

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore. 

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry. 

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess. 

“You look like shit.” 

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands. 

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath. 

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. 

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all. 

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head. 

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah. 

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now. 

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything. 

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night. 

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her. 

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you. 

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you. 

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit. 

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions. 

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree. 

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place. 

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside. 

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that. 

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again. 

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day. 

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together. 

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head. 

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off. 

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.” 

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it. 

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem. 

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs. 

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you. 

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes. 

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out. 

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is. 

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench. 

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan. 

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in. 

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other. 

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit. 

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead. 

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head. 

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this. 

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him. 

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out. 

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care. 

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic. 

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him. 

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face. 

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic. 

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care. 

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back. 

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care. 

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. 

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building. 

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat. 

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out. 

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over. 

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him. 

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go. 

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you. 

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him  “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you. 

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge. 

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing. 

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. 

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place. 

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy. 

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for. 

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered. 

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other. 

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back. 

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.  

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. 

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. 

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings. 

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” 

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it. 

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

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.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Demon Children Are Multiplying

This idea is still stuck in my head, and I might even end up writing something out of it, but for now, I just thought of something equally really, really stupid and really, really funny.

What if I combine that idea with Al Ghul Twins. I don't know how. Maybe Talia was cautious about Ra's not wanting to keep two kids for a position of Heir, or maybe she staged Danny's death, or maybe something else entirely happened. But anyway, Danny is Damian's twin.

Then, Dani is the same age as Danny in this AU. And Dan is de-aged to be the same age as both of them.

Now behold an absolute train wreck of a situation where Bruce attends a Gala hosted by Vladimir Masters. Together with Damian, of course, and maybe other batkids are there too. They all part their ways to make their rounds or whatnot. And they all keep seeing Damian wherever they go. Just everywhere.

Dick is talking to someone, and Damian walks past him, not paying him any attention. Which is not surprising, but a little rude, and, wait, wasn't he wearing a red tie? When did he change it to green one?

Tim is just going on the top floor to greet a lady he recognizes from some other event, and Damian all but storms in the opposite direction, only letting Tim catch a glimpse of his face. But when Tim turns around, he is really confused: the person running down the stairs is clearly a girl, albeit she is wearing a suit. Her long hair is up in a complicated braid. Why did he even mistake her for Damian?

But the ultimate confusion happens when Bruce is talking to Vladimir Masters, and a very familiar voice calls, "Father". Because both he and Vladimir turn to face the boy and ask, "Yes?" at the same time.

Damian is standing there, looking between Bruce and Vlad. He looks a little off somehow, but before Bruce can figure out why, the boy blinks and focuses on Vlad.

"We've been looking for you," he tells the man, and, wait, when was Damian looking for Masters? Furthermore, who is we?

But then another child comes closer. And-

That's Damian.

That's two Damians.

Wait, no, none of them are Damians.

"What is it?" Vladimir raises an eyebrow, not paying too much attention to Bruce's blanched expression.

A third child comes towards them, and this one also looks like Damian, only this one is a girl.

"Template's duplicate is here," she says, and Vlad frowns, turning to the Damian lookalike in the middle.

"Have you had another incident that I don't know of?"

Whatever answer the boy wanted to give is cut off by a n o t h e r child who looks like- no, this is real Damian, thank God, Bruce had started to wonder if the champagne was spiked with hallucinogens.

"Father-" he stops in his tracks as the three other children turn to him, and the four of them just stare at each other for a long moment. Then the one in the middle takes a sharp breath in and stage-whispers:

"Quick, do the meme!"

And all three not-Damians start pointing at each other.

Bruce is going to have an aneurysm. Judging by Vladimir's face, he is also not far from one.

Just my ramblings under the cut

I think you all know what meme I'm talking about, but I'm still gonna add it

This is so fucking hilarious to me, I'm sorry, I just can't

Danny is not missing this opportunity of a lifetime, even though Vlad specifically asked all three of them not to cause a scene. And yes, they all call Vlad "father" just for the spite of it or for shits and giggles. I'm going with Bad Fentons idea here, although I'm not sure to which degree they are bad, but anyway, Vlad is their legal guardian, and he is redeemed.

Yes, Dick took a picture. Yes, it's already in the group chat. Yes, other batkids are going wild.

Damian is greatly confused because, first, he thought there was a clone of him at the gala, but apparently, there were three of them, and second, why are they pointing at each other? Should he join them? He is under the assumption his brother is dead (he's not exactly wrong on that account), or he doesn't even know he existed.

This is as far as I got now, feel free to add anything!

[alchemistc]

eta: based on my spiral in the tags of this post

Tommy's quiet as Buck nuzzles his nose into his neck, fingers stretched wide against Buck's back, rubbing absentmindedly.

Buck tilts his gaze up. He's staring at the ceiling.

There's nothing wrong with a little ceiling staring. Buck is actually a really big fan of ceiling staring, when needed, but Tommy's been so good at being a sounding board when Buck needs it, way better than the silently judgey rafters, and Buck wants to return the favor.

"What're you thinking about?"

Tommy hums, lifting his head just a bit, the skin under his chin wrinkling like a shar-pei.

His hand slides up, down, palm lifting so he can swirl his fingers a bit.

Buck's always been a big fan of cuddling, but there's something extra sweet about Tommy's version of it - skin to skin, even if it's just rucking up Buck's shirt so he can get a hand in there, arms and legs all tangled up in each other, his hand always drawing aimless patterns. Buck's getting too used to it - had caught himself pouting, a little, the last time Tommy hugged him in a rush out the door and didn't do the little circular motion against the small of Buck's back that usually indicated when a hug was over. He's a little worried someone else is gonna hug him and he's gonna melt into it, tuck his face into someone inappropriate's neck.

"Eddie asked me something earlier, and I didn't have a clue how to answer it."

Buck tips his chin against Tommy's chest, a little eager at the idea of providing answers. Tommy knows how much he likes that.

"What about?"

"About you." He pinches at Buck's side. "Us, technically."

Oh. Well. Buck doesn't have facts and figures and statistics about that. Yet.

He hums.

"He wanted to know why I don't call you Buck."

"Do you two talk about me enough for him to notice that?" He's pretending not to be pleased about that. He's doing a shitty job, but still.

Tommy blows out a breath, hands drifting down, over the hem of Buck's briefs to squeeze. "You are one of the things we have in common. It's not all shirtless men beating the crap out of each other and trauma bonding over enemy gunfire," he says, wry, fingers sliding over Buck's ass and around to his hip, no real intention in the motion, just touching to touch.

And that's - oh that's kinda nice. The idea of that, just being a shared interest between them.

"I didn't know what to say," he continues, like he can't see Buck really fucking enjoying the idea of being a topic of conversation between his boyfriend and his best friend. "You introduced yourself as Evan. You've never corrected me, so - I didn't see a reason to change it up."

Buck grins, a little bashful. "Yeah. It took me a while to figure out why I did that."

Tommy raises a brow, hands still wandering as he waits for Buck to expand on that.

"Buck was a work thing, to start," he tells him, still working his way through it, because he's only recently considered exactly why he'd never told Tommy to call him Buck. "And then the 118 kind of became my family, and Buck - it just felt like Buck was who I was. The person I wanted to be. Evan was just - the guy I was before I found my people." Tommy's hand sweeps over his back. "And, like - I never hated that guy. Evan. He was just - he was just there, in the background. People only used it when they had something serious to say." Except his parents, but that - that's not the point he's trying to make, anyway.

"Good serious or bad serious?"

"Just - important. Something - something that needed both of those parts of me to be present in the moment."

Tommy hums. "So when we met, and you introduced yourself..."

"I think I was just trying to manufacture some intimacy." Buck admits, like he hadn't spent a ceiling-staring evening of his own figuring out this exact thing. "Get you to call me sweetheart right out the gate."

Tommy's eyes go soft and sweet. Buck never means to do this, give Tommy all these chick flick moments of introspection, but when they stumble into his lap he can't deny the little thrill that races up his spine at the sight of Tommy tucking them away. Tommy's hand settles between his shoulder blades, fingers spanning wide. "I'm not telling Eddie that," he teases, and Buck nips at his arm in retaliation.

[reidrum]

castling | s.r.

A/N: another deeply self indulgent hurt comfort angst who’s surprised…i wrote this kinda fast so if it’s messy and cheesy sorry :/

cw: gn!reader (pls lmk if i missed something that doesn’t make it gn), hurt comfort, mentions of depression, ambiguous sadness, trivialization of chess, inaccurate chess jargon?, spencer is a darling

summary: in which reader finds it hard to open up and communicate their feelings with spencer, so he comes up with an idea to help

wc: 1.4k

not proofread sry

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3

_______________________________________________

It started during a game of chess, when Spencer was showing you different special moves.

“It’s called castling, the idea is that you move the king two spaces towards the rook and then switch their places to allow more protection for your king than if it was in the center.”

“Why would you want to move the king towards the outside, that seems counterintuitive.”

“Smart girl, that’s a good question,” he says fondly, “It’s kind of a last ditch effort in a sense, the rook is essentially expendable but the castling moves the king out of the line from key pieces like the other king and queen.”

“So, it’s like a rescue mission.”

He smiles, “Like a rescue mission.”

You smile back and continue with your next move. Spencer watches you in earnest as you deliberate the best plan of attack, even though he knows he’s gonna let you win by the end anyway.

“How was your day today?” He watches your demeanor change quickly, your shoulders sagging slightly and your eyebrows furrowing. He knew the answer, he’s a great observant and even more so when it comes to you.

“It was…fine.”

“Just fine?” he challenges, moving his bishop.

You nod and move your knight. You’re waiting for him to move his next piece when you realize he’s not looking at the board anymore.

Looking up you see hazel eyes staring right back at you, “Sweetheart,”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He sighs, “You know,” he moves his pawn, “this isn't the first time that you’ve had a hard time communicating with me how you feel.”

A deep sigh leaves you now, it had always been a struggle for you to show emotion so openly to those you love, mainly Spencer. You just didn’t want to worry him with the throes of your mind, and while Spencer appreciated the sentiment he reminded you repeatedly that he’s there for you through it all and just really wants you to take advantage of that.

“I just want to help you, angel.” he says softly, “I can’t do that if you don’t let me in. You don’t even have to tell me what’s wrong, just that something is wrong.”

Tears well up in your eyes, “I know Spence. I—It’s just, saying out loud that I’m—whatever—makes it real. A—And then you get so worried and I get more anxious—“

“Hey. It’s my job to worry about you. Because I love you,” he places his hands on yours, “But, I was thinking what if we had a code word or something, just a single word, and you can say it or text me or anything and I’ll know that you’re not feeling well.”

Your face softens at his proposal. The irony you face is that your brain has convinced you healing can be done alone, that if you’re the one who fucked up the road you should be the one to repair it. While you know logically healing is more effective when you have support, it doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept the help you need, that Spencer feels you deserve.

“I think…that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah?” he replies, “Do you want to pick the word?”

You think about it for a few minutes. You don’t want to do a silly word like banana or chicken, you want something that maybe doesn’t sound serious but would still convey the intent of the code word.

“Does castling work?” you offer softly.

Spencer’s face morphs into something you can’t quite decipher, but to him it’s a mix of adoration, love, and pure empathy for you. He’s just so touched by the fact you want to use that word, after just discussing the significance of that move. It’s an honor that you trust him enough to be your protecting rook.

“Yeah, that’s perfect angel.”

You give a small nod, “Check.”

___

You knew he wouldn’t judge you, that’s the whole reason you came up with this system. It felt like an emergency contact, which it was, but in a “How bad is too bad before I call?” type of way.

Laid down in your bed, you stared at the glow of your phone with your messages with Spencer open. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, daring you to make a move.

Nothing even really happened today, it was just one of those periods where you were in a funk. The voices that lingered in your brain fed you disguised truths and cynicism, and it was hard to feel afloat with support when you couldn’t even tell what was pulling you down.

It didn’t matter though, your tear stained cheeks and puffy red eyes amongst the disarray of your room which satirically matched the chaos in your mind were proof enough that maybe, you weren’t okay.

In this moment it would be stupidly easy to ignore it all and wallow in your own sorrow—Spencer was away on a case and you didn’t know when he was coming back.

So in a leap of faith, or perhaps a lapse in judgment, your thumbs twiddle a message out and press send.

castling

You toss your phone aside and try to avoid thinking about it. He’s probably busy, they’re on a case so he’s probably drawing out the geographical maps or maybe he’s on a raid or maybe he’s—DING.

Cautiously grabbing your phone, you slide the notification.

I’m on the plane, going to land in about an hour or so. I need to make one stop and then I’ll come straight to you, okay?

You stare through the blurriness of your eyes caused by your tears, the words blending together. Before the guilt of texting him and making him aware of your depressed state sinks in, another text comes through.

I love you. See you soon, angel.

Another choked sob releases from your throat, and you put the phone down before any more emotions try to infiltrate you. At some point you end up falling asleep on the bed, your body curled in on itself from the lack of warmth a nice blanket or Spencer could’ve provided.

You’re only stirred awake when you feel a soothing sensation on your head, long nimble yet intentional fingers sifting through your hair. You attempt to open your eyes through the thin crust it’s formed from crying so much, and you’re squinting for the first few moments of vision before registering the human in front of you.

“Hi honey.” Spencer whispers softly as you come to.

“Spence…when did you…”

“Just a couple minutes ago,” the hand in your hair comes to rest on your jaw, “How are you feeling?”

Tired eyes finally meet his brown ones and find nothing but reassurance and concern.

Oh. You’ve worried him now.

The last string of resolve snaps as your face crumbles in and you mutter out apologies mixed in with sniffles and sobs. Spencer moves from his knelt position in front of you to slide in next to you on the bed. He gingerly gathers you in his arms and tucks you into his side whispering it’s okay and you’re safe and i’m here.

After a few long minutes your breathing evens out. “You came.” you sniffled.

He pulls back to look at you with watered eyes, “You called. I’m so proud of you.”

You mumble under your breath, “I didn’t even do anything.”

Spencer shakes his head and tucks you right back in place, feeling the floppy fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, “I know a version of you that would’ve held it all in by yourself. Thank you for letting me be here for you.”

You turn your head into his chest further, letting the hot tears and snot stain his nice button up. His hands rub trails up and down your back, his head bent down to your ear whispering sweet nothings to you. With Spencer delicately taking your defenses down maybe you can finally admit to yourself that you were just too soft for all of it.

“Where did you have to stop by?” you wonder.

He smiles and readjusts you against his body, “I picked up Thai food,” “And some candy, sour of course. And there may be a Snoopy stuffie as well because it reminded me of you.”

You feel a different weight on your heart, not one that’s constricting but one that’s embracing, comforting. In a life where you’ve rarely felt taken care of, or even being worthy of that care, you know with certainty that Spencer would never let you go a day without knowing how much love and care you deserve.

[hyunniesgirl]

Hot n Cold

Pairing: Lee know x reader

Genre: enemies(ish) to fwb to ?, smut, angst(a bit?)

Summary: after going from annoying each other to fuck buddies, Minho took your situationship from granted, always having you on his beck and call. So imagine how surprised he is to hear you have a date with someone else?

This content is +18 ONLY, minors do NOT interact.

Warnings: Minho is possessive, a bit manipulative, kind of a jerk too(he's a walking red flag let's be for real), hair pulling, rough sex(?), unprotected piv(this is fiction please always use protection irl), creampie, bites/hickeys, I think that's all let me know if I missed something.

I had to write this plot because it has given me brain rot since I first thought about it so I just really wanted to take it out of my head ☠️ as always let me say that I'm not very good with smut but I keep trying so I can get better at it, so I hope you guys like it.

You didn't like him, not at all. Minho is a known fuckboy, the guy you shouldn't get involved in anyway. You were always surprised with how many girls fell for his tricks, until you did too.

You didn't mean to fall in love, it actually was the very last thing you wanted to happen. You and Minho were always fighting, bickering, provoking each other, it was natural. You were not friends, more like you were part of the same group, so you were always together and that ended in arguing every time.

You can't remember why you thought it was a good idea to fuck, maybe it was all the pressure and snarky comments your friends kept making, saying there was too much sexual tension between you two.

You didn't hate each other, you just didn't agree with everything. It always started with you saying something, anything, and Minho making some stupid comment with that damn smirk on his face.

Your first reaction was to feel embarrassed, blush rushing to your cheeks as you think of a good answer to give him. After that, you would pick on anything he said, making him roll his eyes every time you opened your mouth.

That was your thing, annoying each other.

One night, after everyone drank themselves to unconsciousness on the floor of your apartment, you decided to take a shower to sober up and go to sleep too.

You thought everyone was sleeping, clearly you were wrong because you bumped into Minho as soon as you opened the bathroom’s door. He was waiting outside, turning around to look at you the moment he heard the door.

He checked you out, staring at you up and down, biting his bottom lip before showing you that pretentious smile of his. That made you hold onto the towel tightly around you, afraid that he could undress you with only his eyes.

“Looking good”, he says, leaning against the wall. His comment makes your whole face hot and you just pray you were not as red as a tomato.

“You are drunk”, you scoff, trying to recompose yourself, walking past him.

He grabs your wrist, forcing you to turn around to bump right into his chest. He's looking down on you and you can't muster up the courage to look him in the eyes, just staring at his chest.

“I'm very much sober”, he tells you, mockery in his tone.

“Okay”, you mumble. Even though you're avoiding his gaze you can feel the intensity of his stare without having to look at him, “can you let go? I want to go to bed”

“Maybe I could keep you company”, he whispers, bending down to reach your height, making you look into his eyes now.

You shake your head frantically, closing your eyes.

“Are you sure? I'm very good company”, he whispers in your ear, he has gotten even more close now.

You gulp, feeling the warmth spreading through your whole body, making the tingling sensation grow in your stomach and that's the moment you knew there was no turning back.

You woke up alone in your bed, so exhausted and sore you couldn't lift an arm. Flashbacks from the prior night came rushing in, making you want to scream. What the hell did you do? How would you look at his face now?

You look around to find a tray with orange juice and pancakes on top of your bedside table. You snatch the note that's glued to the tray so fast it's embarrassing, feeling your cheeks warm up.

“Enjoy the food. I had fun last night, let's do it again. - Minho”

An involuntary smile creeps in while you read his simple and nothing romantic sentence, you don't know why you felt so flustered and excited, was it because he was handsome? Was it the remaining feeling of a great night? You just thought it would be okay to have this kind of relationship with Minho, just pure carnal desire.

Minho was always very good at setting his boundaries and crossing them too, so good it often made you confused.

Minho would call you at midnight and talk to you till 4 in the morning, fuck classes the other day.

Minho wouldn't spare you a glance for an entire week until you received a text from him, telling you to meet at janitor's closet nearby so you could fuck before class.

Minho would buy you flowers, take you on a date and hold your hand, whispering sweet nothings in your ear after spending another night together.

Minho wouldn't want to go out with you on valentine's day, saying he was busy.

Minho would introduce you to his mom, he would take you to have dinner with his family and his cats.

Minho wouldn't ask you to be his girlfriend even after months, actually, he would often tell you how good it was that you were friends.

You were already tired of this situation, he would give you so many mixed signals, messing with your head. The last straw was when you were at his house and his phone buzzed while he was in the bathroom, you mistook it for yours and grabbed it instinctively to look at the screen, seeing texts from a girl.

You shouldn't feel jealous, you're nothing more than fuck buddies and you're not exclusive, you know you're not. Then why did that feel like a punch on your stomach?

You wanted to fight with him, yell, make a scene, but you had no right doing that. So you just collected your things and left without saying goodbye.

You spend a week avoiding him, every time he wants to come to you, you tell him you are out. Every time he asks you to go to him, you tell him you are busy. You finally decided to let him go and you are just mustering up the courage to tell him that.

You even downloaded a dating app, thinking that you could maybe distract yourself, maybe you could think about anything other than Lee Minho. But every man reminded you of him, how they were not him, how they didn't stand a chance against him.

After talking for a few days with someone new, you agree to go on a date. While you're getting ready, your phone buzzes, taking your attention out of your reflection on the mirror.

Minho: come over

Minho: I miss your face

You: Can't

Minho: what's your excuse today?

Minho: I can go to yours if that's the problem

You: I'm going out soon

You: I have a date tonight

You throw your phone on the bed, not in the mood to engage in conversation with him. You're actually afraid that he'll tell you to go on, because even though you know he doesn't care, it's different to have him sending you off to a date with someone else. You finish getting ready, grabbing your phone and purse, giving yourself a last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in place.

The date goes well, the guy is so fun and respectful. You go to a beautiful restaurant, he opens the car door for you, pulls the chair for you to sit before dinner and pays the bill. He smiles the entire night and compliments you, asking questions about everything: school, family, friends, he just seems very interested in anything related to you.

You enjoy his company, he makes you believe that you will be able to get over Minho, that maybe he can help you with that.

It's after midnight when he leaves you in your apartment, watching as you get inside the building safely. The night was perfect, you just didn't expect to find Minho at your doorstep.

He turns around quickly when he hears your footsteps, looking you up and down and scowling, noticing your blurred lipstick.

“Did you have fun?” He asks, scoffing.

“Yes, I did”, you say, walking to your door to open it so you can go in.

“Did you fuck?” He asks, shamelessly, making your head snap to look at him.

“That's none of your concern”, you whisper yell, trying not to wake up the neighbors but shocked by his bluntness.

“It is, I don't like people touching what's mine”, he says, through gritted teeth.

He's so close you can feel his breath hitting your skin, making you nervous, trying to find your keys inside your purse.

“I'm not fucking yours, we are nothing”, you glare at him when you have the keys in your hands.

“You should tell yourself that while I fuck you stupid, I'm sure the only person on your mind at that moment is me”, he spits, his anger growing.

“Well, I'll not be doing that anymore”, you inform him. Unlocking your door and walking inside.

“What? Why are you acting like this, Y/N?” He says, walking behind you. “Things were going great until now”

“It was great for you”, you say, throwing your purse on the couch, turning around to look at him and crossing your arms. “Being just your booty call is not enough for me anymore, I want more”

Your voice sounds more weak than you meant to in your last sentence, you want to cry. You didn't plan to end things like this, not right now.

You can almost see the gears turning on Minho's head, he's trying to find a way out.

“You told me you didn't want to date”, he accuses you.

“I really didn't want to”, you sigh, “but we've been doing this for months, Minho. It's impossible for me to not feel anything other than just horny”

“Well, I do like you”, he clears his throat, looking anywhere but your face, “I just don't want to date anyone right now”, he completes.

“Then we are done”, you tell him, shrugging and smiling bitterly.

“No, no”, he takes a step closer, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his mouth, kissing them. “Don't say that”

He places your hands around his neck, sliding his behind your back, wrapping your waist with his arms. You want to tell him off, want to tell him to go away, that you two are really over, but his scent is just so intoxicating, you can't help but take a deep breath.

“What are you doing?” You manage to say, feeling his lips brushing against yours.

“I'm showing you my affection”, he whispers.

You almost melt into his arms, feeling his lips press against yours. He kisses you deeply, his arms holding you tightly.

Minho starts walking, making you take steps back. He leads you to your room, slowly helping you lie down on your bed.

Minho takes his shirt off, looking down on you and leaning to kiss you again, soft lips pressing lightly on yours, his hands traveling through your body, making you shiver to his touch.

He pulls your dress off of you, looking at your chest.

“Didn't wear a bra?” He smirks, “did you want him to touch your tits? Hm?”, he asks condescendingly, leaning closer to your breasts, licking your hard nipples, making goosebumps rise all over your body. One of his hands slide down on your stomach, reaching your covered pussy.

“Oh?” Minho disconnects his mouth from your chest. “Are you sure you two didn't fuck? Why are you so wet? Did you let him play with you?” He's smiling playfully, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's staring deeply at you, daring you to tell him you wanted your date to fuck you.

“Maybe I should have”, you challenge, he has no right to inquire what you did or didn't do on your date.

“Really?” He scoffs, standing up and you just watch, afraid he'll leave. However, he starts unbuckling his pants. “I guess I've been too nice to you this whole time, y/n. Since you apparently don't know who fucking owns you”

You feel your whole body shudder, you should be mad, not excited about what he said. Then why is there a pool forming on your already wet panties? You never really noticed that Minho was the possessive type, but thinking about it, it was quite strange how he always had his hands on you whenever you were out. Other than holding hands, he often would just wrap his hand around the back of your neck while you walked together, like he wanted to claim you, let people know you were not available.

Minho leans over you again, pulling the soaked piece of fabric down your legs. He grabs your waist, flipping you around effortlessly and positions himself in between your legs, caressing your ass as you get on all fours.

He's not really worried with foreplay since you're plenty wet, he's more preoccupied with putting you in your place. So he drags the head of his cock through your folds, soaking his cock on your arousal before pushing it in.

“Min-Minho”, you gasp at his fast thrust. “Slow down”

“I don't think so”, he bends down a bit, sliding his hand through your back until he reaches your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling it all together. “The way you're squeezing my cock, tells me you like it when I treat you like the toy you are”, he tells you, smacking your ass in an unexpected slap.

You shake your head, unable to talk. His cock is reaching everywhere, like he always do. That's the worst part, he always fucks you so well and you always want more.

“Fuck”, you groan when your knees give in but Minho doesn't stop. He forces your legs open, leaning on top of you to keep fucking you from the back. His mouth is so close from your neck now, he starts biting your skin, sucking so hard you're sure you won't be able to cover the hickeys with makeup later. “I'm close”, you cry out when you feel his teeth on your shoulder.

“Tell me you're mine if you want to finish”, he tells you, slowing down his movements. But you shake your head, not giving in that easily. Minho sinks his teeth on your neck once more, sucking and licking the sensitive skin, he knows how much that turns you on even more.

“Come on, babe. I know you want to”, he says one more time but you hold it in, making him huff angrily, changing the pace of his thrusts again to deep strong movements that rip the air out of your lungs, “fucking say it”

You feel the tears brimming and running through your cheeks, the overwhelming feeling of the pending orgasm making your mind hazy.

“I'm yours, I am-”, you struggle to spit the words.

You can feel his smile on your skin while he disconnects his teeth, leaving a kiss on the reddened area.

“Was it that hard?”, he says, sliding his hands to your folds, sinking his fingers on your already full pussy to wet them. Minho brings said fingers to your clit, making circling movements accompanied by your moans, choking on the pleasure.

“Please, please, don't stop”, you cry out feeling the tightening on your lower stomach, the heat spreading to all your body, making you moan loudly when you finally reach your orgasm.

“Fuck, keep squeezing me like that.”, Minho groans, thrusts getting sloppy. He puts his hand behind your neck, pressing the side of your face to the pillow. “I love seeing your fucked out face while I cum, kitten”

Minho moans, releasing his load inside of you, making you squirm beneath him, feeling his warm shot. With no energy, you just feel him pulling out of you and throwing himself by your side.

When your high starts subsiding it hits you that you're still at the same place as before, so even though you just want to cuddle with him at that moment, you turn your face to look at him and ask.

“What are we now?”

------

A/N: as always, feedback is VERY important to writers, so please leave a comment, reblog or stop by my DM, I love to hear your thoughts on my stories!

[whore-era]

1-800-GIRLS

☁︎ modern!ellie x sex-hotline-operator!reader, very small mention of dealer!ellie ☁︎ summary: where ellie dials the wrong number and meets you instead. ☁︎ warnings: contains smut! 18+ only. top/dom!ellie, bottom/sub!reader, mentions spitplay/breathplay/overstimulation, mentions sexual interactions with men, dirty talking, guided masturbation (r!recieving), use of fem nicknames (babygirl, sweet girl, pretty girl, pup, puppy) let me know if i missed anything else pls. ☁︎ a/n: i feel like this kinda sucked bc towards the end i kinda rushed it, but i couldn't shake this idea n knew i had to write it. hope u like it bbs<3 also thank u to my bestie @elskittie for helping me figure some things out w this fic ☁︎ word count: 4,463 ☁︎ 1-800-GIRLS part 2

phone call style story — reader is in italics, ellie is in bold.

monday, 12:45am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you, hot stuff?

uhh.. i just wanted to order a pepperoni pizza..

oh yeah? you want something hot and ready? i have something hot and ready for you.

ummm..

you hear some shuffling in the background, "jess! i think you gave me the wrong number!" the person comes back on the line again.

this isn't papa tony's cheesy pizza place?

....do you want me to roleplay as papa tony's cheesy pizza place?

woah woah woah! roleplay?? who the fuck am i on the phone with?

this is sugar from 1-800-GIRLS.....a sex hotline...for you know? phone sex.

PHONE SEX?? you hear the girl's voice yell in the background, "jesse! you ass! you gave me the number to a phone sex hotline!"

"does she sound hot?"

"well yeah, but—"

hey, you do know it's $1 a minute right? you've been on the line for almost 5 minutes, babe.

HUHH?? hell no..ok thanks sugar bear, or whatever. bye!

the line clicks off, and you shrug. sitting back in your bed to continue watching your favorite netflix show. you feel your work phone vibrate again, the name flashing 'bobby', a regular who frequents the hotline.

sighing and picking up your phone and holding it to your ear, you take a bite from your sandwich as you answer your 15th call this evening, "thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you, big boy?"

tuesday, 2:12am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you tonight, cutie?

hey....sugar.. i just- er- wanted to apologize for yesterday. my buddy got your number confused with a pizza place we really wanted to try. didn't mean to sound rude last night.

it's no issue, babe. don't sweat about it.

.......

.......

soooo.... is that the only reason why you called?

ellie didn't want to admit that she was attracted to 'sugar's' voice and that she'd been thinking about it all day during class. but also, ellie was high as a fucking kite, which gave her the courage to even dial the number again anyways.

i— uh— well— how does this whole thing work?

what thing? the hotline?

yeah..

well, you call me, we have phone sex or talk or whatever, and then you hang up. again, it's a dollar a minute.

okay, okay, i get it. so we can just talk? about anything?

yeah, if you want to.

sick.

ellie takes another drag from her joint, before speaking again.

so, do you like doing this? being an operator or whatever?

you let out a laugh, which ellie caught.

specify what you mean by 'like'?

i mean— this is your job. do you enjoy doing it?

ehh...i guess.

c'mon. you can be honest with me.

well, being a sex hotline operator has it's downsides. obviously helping old men jack off gets a little weird sometimes — they have some unusual fetishes.

oh yeah? what's been the weirdest one so far?

uhhh..i have this one regular who has me pretend i'm a ghost. apparently, having sex with ghosts is a real turn on for him.

what the fuck. seriously?

mhm, it's true.

shit, dude....i don't think i could ever do what you do. i dunno how you can do it.

well when you have college tuition and rent to worry about, the downsides don't seem all that bad.

holy shit, you're in college? how old are you anyways?

19.

that's crazy. we're around the same age. i figured you were a bit older.

how 'bout you? how old are you?

21.

not bad not bad. you're way different from the clients i usually get.

yeah? how?

considering my usual clients are 40 to 60 year old men who are married with kids and have secret fetishes, i'd say you're out of my ballpark.

ellie laughs.

how do you know i'm not secretly an old, 57 year old man who's married to my wife janet with three kids? and i have a balloon fetish?

you let out a giggle, adjusting your sleep shorts as you lay back down on your bed, completely invested in your conversation with this girl.

well, how can i appease your balloon fantasies?

i'm just fuckin' with ya. definitely not a man and i have the more normal kinks and fetishes.

is that so? what are the 'normal' kinks and fetishes?

uhhhh....well i'm into bondage, i love tying girls up..i dunno, just seeing them open and vulnerable does something to me. i'm into breathplay, spitplay, overstimulation, and i'm definitely a dominant so—

all you could do was gape as the girl went on her tangent, listing off every kink she could think of. you gulped, suddenly getting a bit nervous from this topic of conversation. you were experienced in the field of phone sex, but actual sex was a totally different world you had no practice in.

so, how 'bout you sugar?

...uhhh....i'm a virgin actually.

the other girl went silent on the other side of the line.

what? but you work as a sex hotline operator.

oh yeah- but— hold on, i'm getting another call. i'll speak to you some other time.

you hung up and threw your work phone across your bed, laying your head down on your pillows. talking to men was so much easier for you, so why do you get all caught up when you talk to a girl?

it was nearly 3:30am, so you decided to turn in and call it a night, mentally preparing yourself for a busy day tomorrow.

wednesday, 11:45am

sitting next to professor adams, patiently waiting for the students to turn in their quizzes, you try to focus on the text of your 'philosophy 101' book.

you were grateful that professor adams gave you the opportunity to be his teacher's assistant for a little bit of extra cash, and you weren't complaining either. the tasks he gave you were easy for a mere $16 an hour. still, it wasn't enough to support all of your bills, so you couldn't drop the hotline gig.

"and time! everyone hand your quizzes in to my TA, regardless if you finished or not," professor announced. all the students shuffled towards the front, handing you their quizzes as you neatly put them in a small pile.

"ah shit— let me put the date on that," a girl, with a very familiar voice spoke. looking up, you're greeted with the most attractive girl you've seen in your life. she had brunette hair and green eyes, with a small scar on her right brow. was this..? no, it couldn't be. that would be insane.

handing you the paper, her hand brushes against yours. you look down at her quiz, seeing in messy, scribbled black ink the name ellie williams.

slinging her backpack on one arm, she heads out the door, "jesse! wait up for me!"

leaving you in a daze, you were completely speechless by the idea that one of your new, favorite clients from your nighttime job is actually a student at your university.

saturday, 1:45am → 1:14:34 ongoing call with 401-890-6798 (cranston, RI)

thanks, sugar. will be calling you again at the same time next week.

no problem, sir. goodnight. dream of me.

sure will, babygirl.

the line clicks as the older man hangs up, and you shudder a bit, feeling uncomfortable after having to roleplay as a ghost, again.

sighing heavily, you place your work phone on your desk and pick up your real phone, opening instagram and scrolling on your feed as you mindlessly snack on some gummy bears.

you double tap to like some of your friends pictures, wishing you were out at a party, drinking some lukewarm beer and dancing with your girls to the latest tiktok hits.

but instead you were cooped up in your apartment, dirty talking old men through their fantasies and bearing witness to their guttural groans and masturbation. it was a shame that friday and saturday nights were your busiest evenings.

taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you ponder for a moment, your finger hovering over the instagram search bar.

fuck it, you thought, typing 'ellie williams' and hitting search.

the username @_elliewilliams pops up, and bingo. it was the same girl from professor adams class.

luckily her profile was public, so you take your time carefully combing through her instagram account, mindful not to accidentally like her posts or anything.

ellie's feed consisted of smoking weed, eating out, and hanging with her friends, jesse and dina. there were only two selfies she had posted — one of her and an older gentleman and one mirror picture of her in a grey hoodie and a light brown canvas jacket that made her look so good.

the ringing from your work phone caught you off guard, causing you to jump in your chair and exit out of the instagram app. you take a look at the number, and speak of the devil, it was ellie herself. she was the only jackson number that ever contacted you.

saturday, 2:10am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, sugar speaking. what can i do for you, handsome?

hey, sugar. just wanted to apologize for how our last conversation went. i probably pushed a boundary or something— i'm not sure if you're supposed to talk about personal things with customers— so, i'm sorry.

you let out a soft laugh.

why is it when you call me, you're always apologizing?

'cause i'm a fuck up, that's why.

nooo, that's not true. besides, don't worry about it. your question just caught me off guard, you know? never had clients ask things about me before i guess.

ahh, gotcha. so...were you busy before i called?

you shake your head, even though she was on the phone and couldn't see you.

uh, not really. my line doesn't usually get busy until...12 midnight ish.. it slows down by like 2 am though. how about you? what are you up to this friday night?

i just got back home from a party. business was slow and it was getting boring, so i dipped.

business? what business?

ah— well—

ellie silently cursed to herself, not wanting to scare you away with her current occupation.

if i tell you what i do, promise you won't get freaked out or anything?

you're talking to a phone sex hotline operator. don't worry.

you can hear her laugh from the other end.

well, fuck it, cat's out of the bag. i deal weed on campus and shit.

ahhh. i like that. is that how you can afford the minutes you spend calling me?

yup. i can stay on the phone for hours if we wanted.

maybe you'll be my only customer.

i wouldn't complain.

speaking of customers, do you want me to save your number under a specific name or nickname or anything? since i'm assuming you're gonna be a regular?

trying to confirm if it was indeed ellie you were speaking with, you sat on the edge of your chair, anxiety building in your belly.

what nicknames do your clients usually pick?

uhhh. master, sir, king, mister, alpha— umm and daddy.

something stirred inside ellie hearing that last nickname roll off your tongue.

you could just put me down as ellie.

got it.

what do i call you? do i just keep calling you sugar?

well, you're a customer. you can call me anything you like, but, for formalities and privacy, i can only tell you my hotline nickname — sugar.

okay, okay, that makes sense. you're not really allowed to have any personal or close relationships with clients, huh?

no, not really. mostly for safety purposes.

ellie was a little disappointed to know that she wouldn't be able to get to know the girl she was talking to beyond calling on the phone. she already felt herself getting attached. your voice was alluring and enticing, and she couldn't help but want to hear it more, and possibly put a name and face to who it belonged to.

but, i could bend the rules a little if i really wanted to.

yeah? let's see about that.

saturday, 4:45 am → 2:43:03 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

oh my god! did you and your ex get caught??

you were enamored with ellie. the way she could keep a conversation going and the stories she told — you didn't wanna hang up.

no, no, no, luckily we hid behind a dumpsters before the cops could catch us. it's hilarious thinking about it now, but we were dumbass 18-year-olds back then.

you both were in fits of laughter, your belly aching and tears watering in the corners of your eye.

as you calmed down, you couldn't stop your mouth from asking a question that's been racking on your mind.

so, how long were you and your ex together?

uhhhh, about 2 years.

ohhh okay........are you seeing anyone right now?

ellie lets out a laugh, and you can hear her smile, even through the phone.

why? who's asking?

well, i was just— uhh—

i'm just fuckin' with you. nah, i'm not seein' anyone right now. single af.

okay, okay. good to know.

how 'bout you?

nope. i'm single too.

seriously?? how?

i dunno. just never found the right person i guess. also, working for this hotline has made me lose hope for relationships in general, some of these dudes call me and say all this stuff — while having a whole wife and family at home.

i think you're looking in the wrong place then. try talking to people at school or going out to parties—

can't. if i'm not doing homework or studying, i'm working and doing this. i gotta make a living somehow.

ellie couldn't help but feel bad, knowing if she could, she'd support you full time and take that weight off your shoulders.

hmm, maybe you'll meet someone who could support you and take care of your bills and stuff.

oh? where would i find that? sounds too good to be true.

maybe they're closer to you than you think.

your breath hitched in your throat, unsure of what to say next.

i— uh— i have to go. it's 5am.

oh— uh— yeah. of course. goodnight, sugar.

goodnight, ellie.

sunday, 11:37pm → incoming call from ellie (jackson, WY)

hey.

hey. where's your usual greeting?

you're not a usual customer, so i think we're past that now, ellie.

ellie's heart thumped in her chest hearing you say her name.

good. anyways, what are you up to tonight?

just studying for a quiz tomorrow morning. how about you?

smoking, just finished some homework.

what class was it for?

uhhh, just this calculus class.

you clamped your mouth shut, suppressing a gasp. it was for professor adams class.

....uhhh, i could never get calculus. it's so hard.

yeah? maybe one night i can tutor you.

i'd be a terrible student.

i think you'd be the perfect student. i can teach you, i got you.

you couldn't help but think there was another meaning behind her words, but you didn't want to jump to any conclusions. it would be embarrassing if you got her message all wrong.

what's your quiz on anyways?

energy transfer between cells, it's for biology.

i know a thing or two about that. here— why don't we do this, just explain to me what you know and we'll go from there.

okay, i can do that.

you and ellie spent the next two and a half hours talking about cell function and energy transfer and everything else in between, with her correcting you and adding in important things you missed.

alright, sugar, i think you're ready for this quiz tomorrow.

you think so?

i know so. you're such a smart girl.

there she goes again, praising you.

uh, th-thanks.

don't worry, okay? i know you'll do great.

a smile curls on your lips, flustered from all her support.

you should get some sleep, so you can be focused and ready for tomorrow.

m'kay. thank you, ellie, for all your help.

of course. always. goodnight, sugar.

goodnight, ellie.

monday, 5:32pm → 45:21 ongoing call with mister j (corpus christi, TX)

yeah, babe? you want me to fuck your tight ass?

mhm, yes mister.

c'mon. beg, sugar.

please. fuck my tight hole, mister j.

ah, hell.

you can hear his belt buckle clanging, and the soft buzz of a zipper.

what's wrong with 'ya tonight, sugar? you're bein' a real buzzkill, 'ya know that? fuckin' turnin' me off and makin' me soft.

i-i'm sorry, mister j. please, jus—

yea, yea, save it. we'll jus' try 'gain tomorrow.

the line clicks on the other end. tossing your work phone on your desk, you fall back on your bed and stuff your face in your pillow. weeping into the plush material, you let yourself fall apart and break down.

but your sobbing session is cut short as you can hear the familiar ring of your work phone.

wiping your tears, you walk over to your desk and answer.

monday, 5:45pm → 00:32 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

thanks for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's suga-

woah, woah, woah are you crying?

e-ellie?

yeah, baby, it's me. sounds like you're crying. what's going on? talk to me.

today was just a really, really bad day and then i opened my hotline a little early and one of my first clients just lashed out on me because i wasn't responding the way he wanted me to and—

you sniffle.

— and i'm just really stressed out by everything going on in my life right now.

i'm sorry. i wish there was something i could do— someway i could comfort you or take the weight off.

i-it's fine, ellie. talking to you is making it a little better.

ellie was silent for a moment, thinking carefully and planning her next moves accordingly.

do you trust me?

....y-yea, of c-course. why?

i'm gonna help you ease the tension. okay?

okay.

first of all, where are you?

i-in my room, sitting at my desk.

okay. go lay down on your bed.

with your phone pressed to your ear, you pick up your legs and stride over to your bed, laying down on the fluffy, material of your blanket.

okay, i'm on my bed.

good. what are you wearing?

foreseeing the direction this phone call was heading in, apprehension builds in your stomach.

ellie, you really don't have to-

hey, i want to help you. if that's okay with you. if not, we could talk about something instead.

biting your lip, you fold.

i-i'm okay with it, but i-i've never— played with myself with a customer before. i don't really do anything with myself even when i'm not working anyways.

that's okay. don't think of me as a customer, think of me as a...teacher. i got you, remember?

okay.

good girl. now, what are you wearing?

uh.. a tank top and shorts.

cute. take them off.

gulping, you follow her orders, shimmying out of your top and shorts.

done?

mhm.

good. so obedient.

i want you to rub your boobs for me. rub your nipples, pull on them, just feel the skin under your hand for me, baby.

rubbing the soft skin along your breast, and tugging on your hardened nipples, you bite your lip, savoring the way your body feels under your touch.

how does it feel?

feels good.

bet it does.

ellie couldn't stop her mind from imagining you, on your bed, perfectly naked. and how she'd give everything up, just to sneak a peek.

now, i want you to just rub your hands against the sensitive parts of your body. be slow and gentle, we're not rushing anything.

as your hands drift from your neck, down to the hills of your breasts, and to the edge of your panties, ellie speaks through the line again.

doesn't it feel nice, baby?

mhm.

wish i could be there, to watch you, touching your pussy.

you instinctively clamp your thighs, feeling heat rush to your core.

alright, take your panties off. slowly.

you slowly peel the piece of material off, looking at the small, wet spot that formulated on your underwear.

okay, they're off.

such a good girl, following my every command.

you gulp, her nickname for you sending shivers up your spine.

slowly feel the skin on your legs. stroke your inner thighs, tease yourself a little.

hanging off on her every word, you let out a shaky breath, the heat in your cunt growing only bigger and bigger.

god, i wish i can be there to see this right now. bet you look so good, thighs spread apart, pussy all wet— all because of me.

i- i'm aching. i need more, ellie.

i know, baby, i know. i wish i can help you more. if it were up to me, i'd have you bent over your desk, taking you from the back. fuck.

your mind drifts to that image, of her fucking you, taking you as hers. a stream of your slick begins to leak out from your pussy. god, you wanted her so bad.

slide a finger between your pussy, baby. let me hear how wet you are.

spreading your thighs apart, the tip of your fingers slips in between the folds of your pussy lips, the slick sound of your wetness echoing throughout the room. loud enough for ellie to hear.

fuuuuuck.

i-

you tried to speak, but it comes out sounding like a pathetic whimper. ellie's brain was going insane, she couldn't believe where she had you, writhing from her mere words.

go ahead, pretty girl. rub slow circles on your clit.

the pads of your pointer and middle finger gently rub steady, figure 8's against your hardened nub. closing your eyes, you imagined ellie, and how it was her hand instead of yours. the thought had you panting, faint breaths releasing from your parted lips.

your pussy sounds so wet, holy shit. you sound so fucking good for me. so fucking perfect.

as your fingers continue massaging on your sopping, wet clit, a pool of wetness gathers right below your ass.

how does it feel, baby?

f-feels amazing, ellie.

you let out a low whimper.

i wish you were here.

me too, pup. me too.

you can hear her heavy breaths from the other end of the phone.

i wish i could be there, kissing your neck. trailing my lips down to suck on your nipples. fuuck, wanna taste every inch of your skin. i wanna feel your pussy tighten around my fingers.

you let out another pitiful moan, only to hear ellie curse under her breath again.

rub your pussy faster for me, angel. imagine it's me, pumping my fingers in and out. would daddy's pretty girl like that?

you couldn't respond. all you could let out was these weak whines, yearning for ellie and her touch. you added a third finger, building onto the pressure and picking up the speed.

your moans sound so pretty. wonder how'd they sound when you're taking my strap. gonna have you cry out my name, yeah? isn't that right?

mhm, yes, daddy.

good. that's what daddy likes to hear, such a polite girl.

with your eyes rolling back, you could feel your orgasm building.

i-i'm gonna— ellie, i—

you gonna cum for me, puppy? huh? c'mon, rub faster, baby. i know you have a little bit more left in you.

your fingers speed up, the sound of your wetness gushing out reverberated in ellie's ear.

oh my god, daddy can i? please? can i—

arching your back, you knew you were close. the feeling was getting to be too much and you were about to fall over the edge.

look at my baby, so respectful and asking permission. come on, pretty puppy. cum for daddy. let daddy hear how good she made you feel.

that was it. letting out a penetrating moan, you rode your orgasm out and finished all over your fingers, making a mess. you were heaving, chest rapidly rising and falling.

god, i made a mess.

oh, yeah? do one more thing for me. suck your fingers clean. puppies clean up their messes.

monday, 8:57pm → 3:01:32 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

after your little self-care session with ellie, she took it upon herself to get your mind off of today's events, filling your conversation with stories and interesting topics.

oh, forgot to ask, what'd you end up getting on that biology quiz?

ughhh, i got a 65 out of 100. one of the reasons why i was so upset today.

seriously? how?

i don't know! i asked professor gonzalez and she told me that i was focusing on the wrong thi-

wait, did you just say professor gonzalez? holy shit, you're taking biology 201 with professor g? do you fucking go to school at university of wyoming? in jackson?

oh shit, you didn't mean for that to slip out.

i— uh— i have to go—

wait! sugar! please. hear me out.

you stay silent, waiting for what she had to say.

if we really do go to the same campus, please, let's meet up. i really want to see you.

.....why?

i just— i love talking to you. spending hours with you on the phone is what i look forward to when i get home. besides, i really want to take you out, on a date.

you bit your lip, unsure of what to say.

listen, if you want to see me too, meet me at the library in building B, by the comic book section. okay? tomorrow at 1pm.

....

i really hope you come.

the line clicks off, and you spend the rest of the night restless, tossing and turning, debating whether or not to see her tomorrow.

tuesday, 2:50pm

ellie eagerly checked her phone again, bouncing her knee in distress. her mind was running rampant — fuck, she's not gonna come. maybe jesse was right. maybe i was wasting my time.

looking up for the 80th time, she scans the comic book section, seeing no one else but some dude with his face buried in a wonder woman comic.

as ellie gets up from her chair, she turns her head, and she freezes.

there you were, looking like an angel who entered from the garden of eden. ellie's heart sped up, seeing her girl standing before her. you were everything she could've imagined and better.

walking slowly towards the brunette, you brush a piece of hair from your face, and smile meekly.

"hi ellie, it's me."

pls let me know how this fic was, i tried out a new writing style & read pt 2 here <3

[didyougaming]

Hi, gamers. I know the results of the Sandwich Poll have been gnawing at you. So many people wondering whether they answered correctly, which as a reminder is a very important factor in determining which afterlife you end up in when you die. Please understand that I needed a lot of time to internally process these poll results and also that I've been kinda busy/tired. But the people need to know, so here we go.

In total, we received 372 responses. I also spent a lot of my weekend annoying anyone who would listen to me in person about these questions, but I didn't write those answers down.

Question 1 was fairly non-controversial, as it should be. It is worth noting that 3.2% of respondents chose to write-in an answer, and most of these write-in answers were what scientists would call "bad" and "not really useful." So you can assume a 3.2% margin of error on everything in this survey. That's how statistics works.

Question 2 is where we see a real divide. Most respondents consider a sandwich cut into two separate but equal pieces to be one sandwich. This is a real shame, because it's the wrong answer. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Question 3 considers whether one piece of bread cut in half and used for sandwich-making results in a sandwich, and surprisingly the majority of respondents do consider this to be one sandwich. This is really interesting, because despite ending up with functionally and aesthetically the same result as one of the pieces of the sandwich from question 2, a significant number of respondents believe the results to be inherently different. I wish there was a way to better track how much overlap there was for those two seemingly contradictory answers, but the big Sheets page Google Docs is daunting and I don't feel like figuring out how to parse that data, so we just need to accept that we'll never have that exact number. That's how statistics works.

Question 4 mostly just cements the findings of the previous two questions. I do want to point out the one person who answered "who the fuck does this". Sandwich shops do this. Go to a sandwich shop for once in your life and really watch them do their work. Open your eyes.

Question 5 did not get me a lot of useful data, as it turns out having a question that only allowed for write-in answers was a bad idea. However, there are more or less two camps for people who really took these questions seriously and gave it their all. The first school of thought suggests that intent is the most important factor, and if you deem what you've made to be a sandwich, it's a sandwich. While I appreciate the critical thinking on display here, I believe in the other school of thought, which is that when you put ingredients between two breads that's a sandwich, baby. There is a sub-school of thought here that requires those two pieces to be whole pieces, but that's wrong.

One question that I should have included in the survey I think proves my point. If you order a sandwich platter from a deli and they use a single really long piece of bread (think like a several foot long hero) into multiple sections, you would say that you have sandwiches, plural. If you wanted to grab one, you wouldn't say "I'm going to grab a 64th of a sandwich" because you would sound deranged. Despite being parts of a larger whole, they are still ingredients between pieces of bread, and thus fit the definition of "sandwich."

Anyway, thank you for coming on this non-gaming detour with me. It was extremely important that I prove a friend wrong on this topic, and even though I don't think I did that and I think he's choosing to double down on his incorrect opinions, I'm still choosing to spin this as a personal and moral victory. New actual DidYouGamings will come out as soon as I discover any new facts about video games (right now there's only a couple hundred facts about video games at all and I've basically covered all of them.)

[emphistic]

For the Better

A/N: dont feel like proofreading; i would say sorry, but im not

<- series m.list

You answered just before the last ring sounded, and forced out a “Hello?”

A familiar voice came from the other line, saying your name with great enthusiasm. “Hey, you! I almost thought you weren’t going to answer.”

Giving a nervous laugh, you sat yourself down on the couch and prayed to God your social battery hadn’t run out yet. “Naoki, what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be working at this time?” You did a once-over on the wall clock, validating your assumption.

“I called off of work, I wanted to see you today.”

You blinked. “Oh? You didn’t, like, check if I was available before doing something so rash as leaving work? I mean, what if I wasn’t free?” 

Naoki paused for a second, before replying, “I assumed you were free after seeing your car outside your complex. Though I may be wrong, I don’t peg you as the sort of person to call an Uber when you have your own vehicle.”

Your mouth opened and closed, but a response failed to come out. He’s at my building? you thought. You didn’t remember giving him your address, and it would be more than weird for him to ask Eileen for it instead of you. Besides, you two haven’t heard from each other since the night at the bar. 

“You’re here?” was the only thing you managed to say.

Naoki hummed in agreement.

“But—but how do you know—?”

“Your address? Trust me, I don’t. I just coincidentally recognized your car while walking around, that’s all. I, Naoki Ito, am far from a serial killer,” he laughed.

“Well,” you said, “that’s good to know. . .”

You eyed Sukuna across the room from your spot on the couch. He couldn’t hear your phone call; you didn’t answer on speaker; but he did look like he was wondering who was keeping you for so long.

“Anyway, if you are free, I was hoping you could show me around the city? I’ve seen some nice restaurants, but I’ve yet to try them.”

You silently wondered why he didn’t ask his cousin, but you didn’t think more on the subject besides that. “That’s . . . not a bad idea. Sure, I’m free.”

“Really? That’s great! How can we meet up?”

“Are you near my complex?”

Naoki hummed, “I’m outside this three-story building with some blue graffiti on the side of it. Dolphins and waves and y’know.”

“Oh, I know where you are. I’m going to get ready, you can just stay put for me, right? I’ll head there in, like, ten minutes, tops.”

The call was quickly ended, and you told Sukuna you would be leaving. 

“You know, I haven’t asked Naoki what he thought of macaroni and cheese, yet. I’m thinking today’s the day, and, if he says ‘yes’, well, it’s needless to say I’ll be spending the rest of my week praising whatever gods bestowed this blessing upon me.” You smiled to yourself. “Anyway, I’ve got this great idea that I think you’ll absolutely love.”

“Shoot,” said Sukuna.

“I’ve been thinking about the possibility of Naoki being interested in me. And, honestly, I think it would be great if I set you up with Eileen. I’m not sure how to feel about her flirting with you despite thinking our relationship’s real, but, if all works out with Naoki (as in, he likes macaroni and cheese), the four of us should totally go on a double date some day. What do you think?”

“Fuck no.”

“Seriously? I think my idea’s genius.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah, well, the not-genius part about your idea is the fact you’re trying to get me to date some annoying ass bitch you call your friend. Besides, she is not my type.”

That was . . . definitely not the response you were expecting. “Harsh, much?” you said. Yet, you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips. Sukuna was always so vulgar; it was a bit amusing.

It was a simple, casual outing for two friends that were checking out the city. Thus, you didn’t spend much time throwing on an outfit; you dressed solely for the comfort of a day that was to be spent walking around. So, it didn’t take long for you to meet up with Naoki. And, just as he said, he was leaning on a wall covered head to toe in graffiti. He waved you over once he noticed you, and from there, you two began the day.

“You look nice,” he said, upon looking you up and down.

“You don’t look too shabby, yourself,” you laughed. “So, where’s your car parked?”

Naoki looked a bit confused for a second, as if your question was an absurd one. “Car?”

“Yeah, you drive, right? The nearest restaurant is pretty far. I’ve been complaining about that since the day I moved here. And, if that wasn’t strange enough, there are so many grocery markets here. Like, not everyone is a chef,” you scoffed.

It made you think of Sukuna, who was probably back home. Watching Pride and Prejudice by himself, and complaining about God knows what. He was always a good cook. So, even before you two got into this dating arrangement, he was frequently spending a lot of time at your place. You always laughed and called him your private chef, but he might as well have been.

“Yeah, so, about that, I . . . don’t have a car, actually. I get around places by either taking the bus or walking. Daily exercise, am I right?” joked Naoki, but you didn’t laugh, and just merely nodded.

“We can walk to this restaurant I know, it’s a twenty minute walk, but we can manage. And,” you turned to look at Naoki, “on the way, we can get to know each other better. I think it’s a nice plan, it’ll distract us from how bad our feet will ache by the time we get to the place.” You laughed.

“Good idea,” said Naoki.

His agreement came fast, you almost weren’t expecting it. Sukuna never deliberately said ‘yes’ to you or agreed to any of your ideas. He was more of an actions guy than a words person. He could say ‘no’ and yet still pass you the remote. He could tell how ridiculous you were, and yet still indulge in your little mischiefs every now and then. Like, for instance, the time you told him about your supposed curse. He went with it, despite obviously not believing one word you spoke about it.

“So, do you have any hobbies? Play any sports?” you asked, once the both of you made it to a crosswalk.

“Ah, I’m a big hockey fan. I’m from Los Angeles, so I like the LA Kings and all that. But I don’t play, no, I’ve never been able to join a team.”

“Why’s that?”

“Dunno, to be honest. Can’t say I’m surprised, though, I’m pretty sure I would fall right on my butt as soon as I got on the ice.”

You laughed. “Oh? So you’ve never been ice skating?”

“Nah. You?”

You nodded. “It’s super fun. My first time was on my thirteenth birthday. I went with . . . a friend. Yeah, my friend taught me how to skate.”

It was a hard memory to forget. Your first birthday as a teenager, you went ice skating with none other than Sukuna. Yeah, he played basketball, but he also used to play hockey. He was a devil on the ice, you knew, because you often went to watch his games. But when you two went together, he acted like a saint as he helped you on the ice.

You did drag him down a few times, courtesy of your lack of skill and prominent unfamiliarity on the rink, but he was a good sport about it, merely laughing with you and playfully bullying you just a few times. Despite the cool weather at that time, the memory was warm, and always gave you a cozy feeling just thinking about it. You wondered when you would next be able to do something like that.

“That’s nice. Maybe we can go some day.”

“Uhm, yeah. . . We’d probably have to wait until it gets colder, though.”

Naoki agreed. “What about you? Any hobbies?”

“I like to bake. I have a friend who has a major sweet tooth; she’s always trying out my new recipes and giving me feedback, y’know?”

“Like a taste tester? I bet she only ever has good things to say about your baking.”

You snorted. “You flatter me. But, I wish I could say the same thing about my cooking. The only thing I can make is mac n’ cheese.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing. I can’t cook anything even for the life of me. I DoorDash more often than not. Chicken sandwiches get me going.”

God, you could practically hear Sukuna yelling at you, “Your skin looks like shit. You need to start eating something more healthy than that crap you call buldak ramen.” Sukuna cared about health more than anything. And always poured his blood, sweat, and tears into making you meals that were not only tasty, but also beneficial in ways you didn’t even know existed. He never ordered in, and always made sure you were only rarely eating junk food. If Sukuna was listening to Naoki talk right now, he would probably kill himself.

You were about to say something in reply, when, completely out of the blue, you felt a drop of water on your head. You were planning on ignoring it, but then, it happened again. And, by the looks of it, you weren’t the only one who noticed something was clearly off.

“Did you—Is it raining?” asked Naoki, immediately putting his hood over his head.

You weren’t wearing a jacket, or anything of the sort, to be honest: and you knew, if you stayed in the rain for any longer, you would probably catch a cold. You couldn’t help it when your mind drifted to the fact that, if Sukuna were here, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he offered you his sweater. He always did, after all. It was like second nature to him.

“I think so,” you shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It looked pretty sunny this morning, though.”

Naoki nodded.

“Hey, I saw a small shop on our way here. They have umbrellas, I’m pretty sure.”

And that’s the story of how you ended up sharing a rainbow polka dot umbrella with Naoki (spoiler alert: it wasn’t as romantic as you had imagined). The end.

Just kidding!

Because you and Naoki had already gotten rid of, like, twenty-five percent progress on your journey to the restaurant due to having to make a pitstop in order to acquire an umbrella, the both of you decided to just go back to your apartment, and eat there, instead. It was the most logical choice, of course. Plus, it would give you another opportunity to hang out with Naoki, or, in other words, show him around the city.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” said Naoki, upon entering the apartment. He looked at all your furniture like an alien touching down on Earth for the first time, which, yeah, is reasonable. Since it was his first time being here. But, nevertheless, it did make you a bit self-conscious when he stared a little too long at your collection of apparently “abnormal” looking coasters.

“Yeah, thanks. So,” you began, walking into the kitchen with Naoki at your tail, “what do you think of having macaroni and cheese, right now? It’s a cold day, as of lately, and this cheesy goodness will warm you right up.” You laughed.

“Sure, that sounds good. I love mac n’ cheese.”

At this, your eyes widened, and so did you smile. “Really!? I mean . . . really?”

“Well, yeah, it’s an American comfort food. Disliking macaroni and cheese where I’m from is like disliking pasta while being Italian, I guess.”

You hummed. “Alright, then. So, it’s settled? We’ll have macaroni and cheese?”

“That’s fine by me. Say, do you need any help making it?”

“Actually, I do! You can help get the ingredients. Uhm, we’ll need . . . butter and flour, milk, and cheese (of course); you can choose which one. While you’re doing that, I’ll take care of the noodles and boil them. Oh! I almost forgot; but you can pick out what seasoning you like. I have tons.”

“Got it.”

“You have something right here,” Naoki said, wiping some flour off your cheek.

“Oh,” your cheeks warmed, “I wonder how that got there.” You laughed nervously.

“Uh huh. I mean, I’m the one making the roux,” Naoki smiled. “If anything, I should be the one covered in flour.”

“Oh, wait, you kinda are. Hold on.” You giggled to yourself as you pretended to wipe some flour off Naoki’s cheek, when in reality, you were actually drawing a smiley face on his cheek, instead.

To your disappointment, it didn’t take long for Naoki to figure out your ulterior motive. “Ha, this doesn’t look like you got all the flour off, silly,” said Naoki, looking at himself in the mirror beside the sink.

You grinned, shrugging. “Oops.”

“Hey, uhm, just curious, is your boyfriend home? I mean, wouldn’t it be weird that you’re making macaroni and cheese with someone who isn’t your boyfriend?”

You paused in your work. To be honest, you hadn’t given it much thought, but Naoki was right. To some degree. Sukuna was your boyfriend, but your situation was a little different than that of an actual couple’s. But, now that you think of it, where was Sukuna, actually?

He didn’t have any plans for today; at least, none that he told you. Sukuna always went to the gym on Wednesday and Friday, and took today, Sunday, as his rest day. (He usually just stayed cooped up in his room and played video games.)

“Ah, Sukuna and I actually don’t live together. But, he comes over, and stays over so frequently that he practically does live here, I guess. I have a spare bedroom, and he’s kind of a freeloader.”

“So . . . he’s—uhm, is he . . . homeless?”

You blinked, before laughing out loud. This was the first time you had ever been rendered speechless by a man. Homeless? Sukuna? When Hell freezes over, maybe.

“No. No, God, no. He’s not homeless.”

Naoki looked a bit embarrassed for asking his absurd question. “Oh, uhm. . . Forget I even asked that, then.”

“Don’t worry about it, Nao. Wait, can I call you that?” You thought it was a cute nickname.

“Nao? Oh, sure, yeah. You can call me whatever you want.” You could see a faint blush on Naoki’s cheeks.

-

It was the next day after your “date” with Naoki when you invited Sukuna over for drinks.

“—Did you know bees don’t make a buzzing sound by themselves?” you asked, before taking a sip of your white wine. You thought Chardonnay was a good choice for the casual occasion.

“Why would they—What do you mean? Are you insane?”

“You know, like, the annoying buzzing you hear when bees are near? Apparently, it comes from their wings as they flap. Isn’t that crazy?”

Sukuna furrowed his brows. “You didn’t know that before?”

“I thought they were just saying ‘buzz’. Didn’t think it was from how fast their wings flapped.” You shrugged.

“You make Yuuji look like a rocket scientist.” Sukuna sighed, setting his glass down on the railing of your balcony.

“Well, sue me,” you raised your hands in the air. “Anyway, I’m really glad you took my suggestion yesterday.”

Sukuna looked at you with a weird expression on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know? It’s okay, you don’t have to always have such a big ego. Admitting that you thought my idea was an excellent one is not as bad as you think it is—”

Sukuna cut you off. “Hold on, what idea?”

You frowned, was this guy serious? “The Eileen one?”

“When did I ever indulge in your Eileen idea?”

“Yesterday, silly. When I got back to the apartment early—because it started raining—you weren’t there. Because you took my idea and hung out with Eileen. Do you remember now?”

“I . . . wasn’t gone yesterday because I was with Eileen. And, also, I never was with her.”

You cocked your head to the side. “So, where were you, then?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Sukuna turned away from you, hiding his face. “None of your business.”

“Oh, come on. You know you can tell me anything. And, if you were out smoking weed or something like that, it’s okay. I wouldn’t ever be surprised about that.”

“How low do you think of me, seriously? God, I was just picking Yuuji up from practice, and then we went and saw Human Earthworm 4. There, you happy now?”

You smiled, patting yourself on the back for being able to get an answer out of Sukuna. “Very.”

From his standing position on the balcony, Sukuna looked up at the moon in the inky, dark sky above. The moon always reminded Sukuna of you. Bright, beautiful, and so, so far away. The eight billion people on this very Earth were all like the stars in the night sky. All unique, with their own stories to tell.

When someone looks up at the sky, they see different stars than the person beside them. For there are simply too many to count. And yet, Sukuna just wished you would look at him.

You two had been through thick and thin together while growing up. You spent countless hours during the summers talking and laughing together. So why, why won’t you just give him the same attention? So many stars for you to look at, and yet, your eyes would never be in the direction of him.

Maybe it was for the better. If they were, you would’ve found out that Sukuna was hiding something from you. Did you actually believe his lie? You must be so gullible, he thought. Sukuna never picked Yuuji up from practice, and he sure as hell never watched that stupid movie.

Years ago, Sukuna quit smoking, because you worried for him. Yesterday, Sukuna Ryomen picked up a cigarette again.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Sukuna out of the blue, but you didn’t hear him, simply too busy looking at all the other stars in the sky that caught your eye.

“Hm? What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

It was silent for a few moments. Just the distant sound of crickets, and the wailing of the wind. But besides that, it was just you and Sukuna. You two were the only people outside on a balcony, and even then, your attention was somewhere other than the man beside you.

“I’ve . . . noticed something, Sukuna. As of lately. Nao is—”

“You already have a nickname for him?”

“I—” You didn’t know how you were supposed to reply, so you didn’t. “Nao is, uhm, he’s basically the complete opposite of you, y’know. It’s kind of funny, actually. . .” 

You couldn’t bear telling Sukuna that, despite being on a date with another guy, your mind constantly drifted to the thought of him, and him alone. Why was that? you asked yourself, but you had no response.

“Isn’t that something.” Sukuna’s tone sounded indifferent, and even though his sentence was a rhetorical question, it sounded more declarative than anything.

You nodded. “Hey, so. . . I found out Naoki likes macaroni and cheese. And I was just thinking, maybe it’s time we start seeing other people?”

“Can I ask why?”

“Well, for one, the curse is probably lifted now.”

“Yeah, but just so you know, there’s no reason for us to stay in contact now.” Sukuna didn’t think he would be able to go on living while being constantly reminded that you were making macaroni and cheese in your kitchen with somebody else.

“What? You mean, like, there’s no reason for us to continue this relationship? We can just stay friends. Y’know, go back to the way we were before.”

“We’ll just stay friends, and continue kissing in the dark? We’ll just stay friends and continue watching sunsets together? We’ll just stay friends, and continue sleeping in the same bed despite the fact you have a spare bedroom I could use? I know who you pretend I am. And if we start dating other people while still being in this arranged relationship, or whatever name you want to call it, we’ll just be technically cheating on each other. Isn’t that right?”

You knew this relationship was far from real since the moment the idea of it was even proposed. But to hear Sukuna suggest you two break up because it would be the most lawful decision? There was a pang through your heart that you didn’t know the reason for.

“. . .But what if the curse comes back?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna looked almost irritated, and he definitely sounded like it, but he felt more like he was going crazy. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin. “Oh, right, of course. The curse. I’m here to lift your curse.”

“I just think it’s better to be safe than sorry. We can stay in this relationship together without kissing anymore while we date other people, and it’ll continue to be, like, a token of luck for me.” You tried to appear optimistic about everything, but even the brightest smile shined less than the sun.

Sukuna looked utterly defeated, his voice soft as a feather as he spoke. “For you. . . A token of luck, for you.”

A token of luck. After all, Sukuna would be anything for you.

Only love could drive a man like Sukuna mad. Only love.

[ronearoundblindly]

ok im feeling the kiss list sm!! im feeling angsty... so steve x reader with #4 or #26?? love u <3333

#4 (a kiss where it hurts) was double requested, so this is #26-- *this* one isn't angsty although technically could be considered a wee tinybit smidgenly dark if you squint real hard. Sorry this is not even remotely edited and all over the place and just *sighs* yeah okay enjoy!

Steve Rogers x reader: a kiss as an apology

I'm So, So...Sorry, a tale for Valentine's 2024

Summary: Grant, a guest at your middle-of-nowhere motel, has needs not covered by the usual turn-down service.

Warnings: *screams and bites pillow* WHY. WHY???? omg, this just...ack...smut. Nomad Steve being needy and touch-starved just ruined my life. 😭😭😭 DUB-CON adjacent b/c Steve loses control. Please send him help. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There's plenty else to read on my Light Masterlist, but this ficlet is for adults! WC 2022

To look at him, you’d think this dude can fuck, but it turns out that the absolutely huge man checking into your family’s small rural motel doesn’t know the first thing about flirting, much less sex.

You have no idea what ‘Grant’ and his friend ‘Tom’ were really whispering about over the breakfast table that one morning weeks ago, but later that night Grant came by the office, restless and unable to sleep.

He just talked to you. It was all superficial conversation about the area, the weather, what activities you liked on your days off. Even that seemed a struggle for him—thinking up casual questions. He could look you in the eye up until he had to respond, and he didn’t give many answers in return.

You laughed--you had to—when Grant asked if he could walk you to your door, which…is ludicrous because it’s a house a whopping fifty meters down the way from strip of rooms.

“I could walk,” he shrugs. “I’ll probably do a lap or two anyway.”

“Well, I have to wait for Clark to show up, but—“ you look him up and down “—okay.”

Twenty minutes later, the craziest thing happened.

An elk walked right in front of you on the path, and you jumped back, slamming into the wall of muscle the was your escort. You were both perfectly still as it moved.

Then that thing squawked and stamped huge hoofs. You threw your weight backward and spun to flee, clambering over Grant’s body.

Why you were so scared, who knows; you should be used to the wildlife.

The most shocking thing, however, is how strongly he tried to hold you still.

The harsh grip on your waist and the way he hissed through his teeth for you to stop should have been your hint, but instead you clung to him harder, asking if the animal was gone.

“Uh…” Grant tenses against you. “It’s…it’s just—“ he shudders when you wriggle closer “—yes, gone,” he bites out, pushing you away by the hips.

He takes a second to breathe, then, “let’s get you home.”

‘Grant’ is now properly called ‘Steve’ in private.

It took a while for him to trust you. He and ‘Tom’—whose real name you still don’t know—have been back and forth to the motel several times. You don’t talk about other guests. You don’t gossip. You don’t pry because that is just the nature of your business.

Steve’s initial five o’clock shadow has come in nicely. The first time he returned with the full beard, you couldn’t help yourself and brushed your fingers through it on your way back from handing him his key over the counter. The way he looked at you…devastating.

Tom made his own, very knowing face, and winked.

“You should do that more. Touch him. He could use it.”

Steve cleared his throat harshly and blushed, accidentally leaving a small bag on the ground when he rushed to the door.

“He was joking. It was a joke,” Steve blurted when he found you standing there to give it back.

You just smiled and said Tom wasn’t wrong.

“So, if you ever just want a hug…” you muttered.

That’s how this started.

A tentative embrace where only the top of his chest touched you led to a lovely full-body hug, and then he held you a touch longer, so your hand went to his hair and…

Steve whined and crashed you two against the wall outside his room, righting himself almost immediately, excusing the behavior, and rushing back inside. You couldn’t let that stand though. You stopped the door before it closed.

“Hey, it’s okay. I can be here, if you want, to hold.”

Steve’s eyes were one of the only things you could see in the dark room.

You took a chance and reached out to scratch at his bearded cheek again. “Not like you’re gonna hurt me, Stevie.”

So he melted into your hand, eye’s rolling as if drunk on the feeling, and you stepped in to hug him.

You can’t count the number of times you’ve had to tell him ‘it’s okay,’ but at least Steve doesn’t stop everything to apologize each time. Convincing him not to be self-conscious of how his body reacts to touch took a while.

He humped your leg like a puppy while you played with his hair. He came in his pants while you gave him a back rub. He cried when you kissed over his arms and chest.

You’ve told him it’s all okay.

He tries so hard not to smile when he checks back in, but he waits until your shift ends to have you fall asleep in his arms.

You’ve told him it’s okay to fall asleep in your arms, too.

Genuinely, the best part of the whole arrangement is that he will let you do anything to him. He’s fine being petted and fawned over, teased for being more ripped than jeans in the ‘90s—except for he didn’t understand that joke, sadly,—and it’s okay because you get it. He doesn’t tell you any personal information. He barely told you his name. He’s probably figured out that you aren’t an idiot and have put two-and-two together, but he keeps quiet, too.

He lets you keep touching him because he enjoys it.

Aside from the average hug and a simple spooning hold, Steve only ever touches you when you put his hand somewhere. (Right, except for the leg humping, but that was adorable so who cares! He wasn’t even doing that to touch you; poor thing needed friction, is all.) Anyway, since he’s been so excited about everything you’ve wanted to do to him, you push your luck.

The recent days have been all about Steve completely naked and at your mercy, which is, of course, still focused on making him feel good, but tonight is the very first night you are also naked. It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him, maximum skin-to-skin contact—and it is.

He’s warm and stretched out like a cat in the sun beneath you, smiling, resting his eyes as dusk takes over the sky. You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat but don’t notice until he’s gently shaking you awake.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare.”

Steve’s voice is husky. His grip on your arm is deliberately stationary until you shift to slide off of him.

His hand flies down to the back of your knee but not before you feel the hard length of his erection move from its perch at your ass to press flush on the back of your thigh.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

You’re surprised he’s so shy after all you’ve been through for this. How can he doubt?

You stretch up to his face, straddling his abs for stability. “Stevie,” you say with soft fingers carding through his long hair, “you know it really is okay. You know that.”

He hums, his cock jumping against your ass while he squeezes your knee. He exhales shakily when you drag the back of your nails down his arms and sit up. Too dark to see, all you can go by is what you hear and feel.

“As long as you’re okay—“ you press into his pecs to lift yourself over his hips “and this is okay for you, right?”

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how Steve groans when you settle your folds along the length of him. He clenches his ass so hard, it lifts you and sends a surge of heat to your core.

There’s a shuffling noise by his head.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Are you alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes.” He clenches again, and your arousal finally slicks his hot skin beneath you.

You keep your hands braced on his chest as you start to move, tiny pulses at first, and the poor thing is too sensitive.

He’s a panting mess by the time your slick is spread over him.

“No,” he whines, and you stop, thinking it’s too far to push him. “Too soon.”

“Shh, it’s okay to come. Remember, Stevie? That’s good. We can stop but—“

His other hand clamps onto the meat of your thigh. “Don’t. Don’t stop. I just…”

“Then we’ll do this again. Don’t worry,” you coo, rolling your hips from his root to tip.

He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan. He only lasts a few more thorough pumps. The spurts of cum graze your clit as he finishes on his stomach, shot as far as your wrists still above his chest, and for the first time with Steve you’re disappointed you can’t immediately keep going. You were getting very close, too, very fast.

It pains you to peel your sticky pussy off of him to get tissues, but you praise him the whole way.

“Please,” he rasps, taking hold of your arm as the last is wiped up, “more?” He’s breathless. “I can do better.”

You smile in the dark, excited for the possibility but afraid to push him. “Stevie, you did great. Rest for—“

“No, I—I want…I mean, can I touch you this time?”

Oh.

Oh.

“Sure,” you gulp, “that’d be nice.” If by ‘nice’ you mean ‘I’ve just creamed myself at a single question’ then yes, very nice.

He wants you in the same position straddling him, but that’s so he can spread his hands and run his fingertips over the most of you. He’s softened as he starts exploring you, but his lingering fascination with your breasts makes you wetter and wetter. He likes how you purr and gasp as he pinches and kneads. He likes to pull at your thighs until he gets handfuls of your ass.

He gets hard again off of your moans and tucks his cock between you while you instinctively ride him. It’s still only him deliciously fucking your folds until the repeated swipe of his head over your clit tips you to the edge, and your nails dig into his skin to draw down with the coil in your belly.

The angle catches him at your entrance, a shallow thrust that has you crying out lewdly, and suddenly, you’re on your back, Steve’s huge body pinning you to the mattress, one elbow propping himself by your chest, his other hand brutally spreading your ass to accommodate him.

You’re overwhelmed by the power he exerts over you. He suckles and nips at your breasts, cock so deep it pushes your insides to make way, and what starts as an average orgasm just wipes you out in a cascade of sharp pleasure.

Your hand grip blindly at his hair and back, choking on screams of profanities he wouldn’t appreciate, and he wraps his arms under you, bending you in an arch, chest to chest, while his hot breath rolls over your sweat-cooled throat.

You feel his lips open wide, but Steve goes silent until spent.

Finally, his last slow pistons calmed in halted combustion, he nuzzles his head to the crook of your neck.

Your fingers are frozen where buried in his hair.

In the dim moonlight you can see his ass twitch, jolting in over-stimulation while he gently pulls out of you. He props himself up, posture small and timid for such broad shoulders.

He hovers above you while you try to read each other’s expressions.

“I…I…” he starts quietly, looking over and over your features.

His chin ticks closer, hesitates, and then descends so his lips can capture yours. It’s so quick and chaste, like any other first kiss, but all out of order.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words cracking in his guilt. “I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop.”

You pull him down to you, properly melding your mouth to his, beginning your next lesson already, then let him come up for air.

“It’s okay, Stevie. You can still walk me home.”

A/N: *drops bath bomb to froth in the pool of Tumblr* *runs away* Don't ask me wtf just happened because I don't know. It just consumed my whole day.

[psst. This became a whole series. 'Hideout' Masterlist]

Bucky Barnes and a kiss as encouragement ⬅️ ➡️ Jake Jensen and a kiss where it doesn't hurt

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

Tags: I'm also adding the people who showed interest in this concept earlier. You will not be tagged beyond this unless you ask! @mrs-barnes-rogers-writes @bstorn @rogersbarber @cevansbaby-dove @nowandajenn @jesevans @justherebecausesafarisucks @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[hiddenhearthwitch]

📚 Small Intro To Polytheism📚

One of the most frequent asks I receive is how and where to get started when it comes to polytheism. This is a fairly broad subject and I’ll try to be as general as I can for advice but I will include specific references for Norse polytheists as that’s my shit. This information can be used to help you find a pantheon or to help you pick deities to work with it. If you’d like to use it to pick a patron deity that’s super, if you want to worship 20 gods and not have a patron deity that’s cool too. You do you dude. Please keep in mind this is all reflective of my research and personal practice. 🌻

Picking A Pantheon/Deity

This really boils down to personal preference. You’ll read a lot of posts and books that tell you many different ways and it’s entirely up to you because it is your practice.  That being said, there’s a couple of different ways to go about it. 

Research! This is one of my favorite ways to delve in. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with reading the stories of multiple pantheons and picking on that calls to you. You can also talk to other devotees and see what they have to say about deities and their religions. It is important to keep in mind that some religions are closed so please do proper research!

For example, I wasn’t originally a Norse pagan. I read some stories and thought the Hellenic pantheon would best suit me. I reached out to Eros for a while but after feeling no real connection to the pantheon I continued my research! After reading up on the Norse pantheon I decided to reach out to them out. Obviously, I fucking loved it because here I am. Point being, you can pick a pantheon based on research and not some divine message or whatever. You are also more than welcome to try out a religion, decide it doesn’t suit you, and move on. 

Divination! You can use runes, a pendulum, tarot, etc.This can go a few different ways. You can write pantheon/deity names on separate pieces of paper, mix them up, and place them face down then ask the pendulum to pick. You can assign a deity/pantheon to each suit of cards or major arcana card or even do the same thing with runes. 

For example, this is how I found a devotion to Frigg and Hel. I asked if there were any deities who were interested in working with me and pulled the runes Hagalaz and Berkana which read as Hel and Frigg to me. I followed up with tarot cards and pulled Death(Hel) plus the Queen of Pentacles(Frigg).

Asking/waiting for a sign. This isn’t something I’ve personally done so I don’t have much to say on the subject. You can go about meditating, praying, doing a ritual, or whatever and essentially wait for a sign after. It can come via a dream, something you experience, symbols you see in your daily life, it’s pretty much up to your intuition to decipher it. If anyone has information they’d like me to add in here please let me know!

If there’s a god you’re curious about and don’t want to do any of the above it’s totally cool to just reach out and ask if they want to work with you. 

Idk How To Research

Same, tbh my keyword search game is weak. Anyways, good portion of us are looking up dead religions with little reliable resources. To give those curious about the Norse an easy head start here’s a compiled list of  books by yours truly(click me!!) . It’s important to take everything with a grain a salt of salt when doing research. In my experience a lot of the retold Norse sagas have been Christianized or written under heavy Wiccan influences. It’s a good idea to do research on the author before reading one of their books.

Other blogs! There are tons of great witches and pagans on tumblr that have information waiting for you. 💗 You can search their blog/tags for good references for books, websites, podcasts, etc. Plus lots of blogs are open to answer asks. If you don’t know where to start for searching it’s best to try things based around your interest like: “norse polytheist”, “hellenic witch”, “gaelic polytheism”, etc.

Media! How lucky are we that we live in the age of technology? Knowledge is right at our fingertips! There are countless documentaries, podcasts, and audiobooks on youtube full of information for different cultures and religions. I’d personally recommend almost anything by BBC, Myths & Legends, and World Mythology!

Books! I love starting on goodreads to find good books and trust worthy authors. They’ve had almost every book I looked up with bunches of different reviews so you can get varying perspectives. Check out your local library as well! A lot of city libraries have online databases now of all of their books so you can “check it out” online and read the PDF(personal fave). 

Feeling Lost Still?

That’s completely reasonable and your feelings are more than valid. It can be overwhelming and lot of information to soak up. Just do your best and take it at your own pace, there’s no rush to find a deity or pantheon. 💞 Below are a few other general concerns I hear a lot that I was hoping to address.

“I’m leaving a monotheistic(Christian, Catholic, Jewish, etc) religion and it’s giving me anxiety.” This is entirely common and almost expected in my opinion. I was raised Roman Catholic and my first year to two looking into polytheism riddled me with anxiety. I was constantly concerned that god would smite me down or I’d face an eternity in hell for worshiping false gods. While I can’t speak for everyone that fear was entirely erased for me when I found my gods. I’ve never felt so safe and strong and hopefully with time you can find the same in your gods!

It’s okay to want to learn more or to seek something more. I can’t tell you how to handle your anxiety but please know you’re not alone in that fear. There’s whole communities out there willing to support you and help you find your safe space(including me)!

“What’s UPG?” You’ll see a lot of posts, mine included, that mention UPG - UPG is Unverified Personal Gnosis. This is essentially someone’s personal thoughts and beliefs about a deity. For example, I associate Sif with hazelnuts. There’s nothing in the lore or any book that says that she likes hazelnuts; that’s just a personal opinion(aka a UPG).

“How do I reach out to the gods?” I have a lot of information on my blog about this topic although a lot of it is Norse specific. You can check out my beginner polytheist tag here and my beginner norse post/ask here.

Altar! This is my go to typically. Altars aren’t limited to the cookie cutter image that comes to mind(no hate though I have a few); one thing you can make a side blog dedicated to your pantheon/deity, make a small one in a tin can, or even make one in a video game like Minecraft or some shit. You can be as creative or as to the book as you want. It’s up to you.

Prayer! You can totally just sit down and be like, “Hey man wanna work on some shit together?”. While I’m not 100% that all gods would be down with you being that casual it’s still something you can try.😂 You can reach out to them by sitting down in a quiet space and meditating into prayer, praying in the car or in the shower, or just pray at the altar you set up if you did. Again, I can not reiterate this enough, it’s your practice, reach out to them as you please.

Do something personal! This is more like devotional work in my opinion. Let’s say you knit and you want to reach out to a creative or domestic deity, you can knit something as a devotional act to them and as a way to reach out. For example I pick up litter in honor of the Vanir and Jörð, or I play Skyrim for Thor and Týr.

Most importantly just be honest and up front with the god that you’re reaching out too. Considering that statement be honest with yourself as well. There’s no point going into a relationship with a god if you can’t be upfront, it’ll end up in nothing but grief.

“Can deities reach out through gods/signs?” They totally can. However, it is up to you and your intuition if a deity has and it’s not likely another witch will decipher that for you. Sounds, experiences, images, all have different meanings to each of us - they may show you something that’s very personal to you but would be mundane to someone else. Trust your instincts. However, please remember that not everything is magical, sometimes a raven is just a raven and not Odin.

✨Take everything you learn with a grain of salt. Including this post.✨

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[gilverrwrites]

STOP WAIT THE TIM DRAKE WITH SIONIS!READER THAT WAS AMAZING

love academic rivals to lovers frfr

anyway but tim is also canonically a high school drop out so sionis!reader finishing school without him (technically dropped out when bruce went missing) 💀 idk why but with roman hating the wayne clan so much, I could see it being kept secret.

like a cute little forbidden fruit/secret relationship. robin & the daughter of the most notorious crime lord in the city?? jeez and you wanna ask why bruce/roman are paranoid /hj

but it's them sneaking around and then tim obviously leaves for his search for batman, dropping out of school, and it leaves sionis!reader all alone.

and then tim comes back!! and bruce is back but bruce doesn't really matter to them(reader), because tim left without a word, without a goodbye, and now he's back and I can imagine all the changes between that happened in that year he was too, the angst of him coming back.

like, would they try to find tim? would they try to go to wayne manor and figure out what the hell happened? I feel like it opens the door to possibilities between them

Hang in there, this is a real rambley ramble.

Ngl, I was picturing it for when he went to Ivy (which he also dropped out of lmao), and I like the idea of them being upfront about it for the comedy/reluctant acceptance angle, but there is still the potential for drama. However, I can see the appeal of them keeping it totally secret too (I'm gonna talk about that later in the post).

For now, heres my vision: You’re Romans favourite kid, his perfect lil angel child, the only one who wants anything to do with him so he dotes on you (to the extent that Roman can dote on anyone) and you go to him one day like; “I get perfect grades, I never miss curfew, I help with the family business, I never ask you for anything, PLEASE accept my boyfriend.” And at first `Roman’s just like… “No.”

Queue the “But Daddy I love him!” tantrum.

Unlike with Jason, Roman has never had any strong feelings toward Tim other than a general distaste cause of the Wayne association, so eventually he tries to come around, but it’s just awkward, and Tim hates it too cause he know your dad is Black Mask, and he can’t do anything without risking being exposed as Red Robin or upsetting you by causing a scene/fight. Is it to much to ask for the two most important men in your life to get along for one dinner? Please?

So, every time they meet the vibes are just off. However, they’re both trying really hard to get along cause they love you.

One night Tim unintentionally catches Black Mask red-handed and he can’t not do his job. The whole time they're fighting, Tim has this whole internal monologue going on about whether he should let Roman off with a warning for your sake, but eventually he’s like WWBD?

So, he hands Roman over to the authorities and the next day he sees you and your bawling! Inconsolable! Your dad is going to prison, your life is ruined. You’re also a bit of drama queen but validly tbh, what will this do for your social standings? Your college applications? Your career aspirations? Fuck Red Robin, you hate that guy!

You were raised by Roman Sionis, of course your inherited at least a little of his melodromatic genes.

Even though you're distressed Tim can’t keep from being like ‘You're mad at the wrong person here! Red Robin is the good guy! You're dad is the criminal, he wouldn't have been arrested if he wasn't a bad person! Who does bad things! He needs to face justice!”

It becomes a massive-ass argument until you’re like “Why can’t you be normal about this? I love my dad and this is going to have a huge effect on my life, why can’t you just be upset for me?”

Tim doesn’t have an answer cause the answer is "I'm Red Robin" but fuck that guy, right? The whole issue goes unresolved.

Or maybe he does snap and tell you the truth but that just makes things worse! "You're my boyfriend and you arrested my father! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?"

When you visit him at Blackgate, your father is quietly elated by the break up, he doesn’t say as much. He plays the concerned father, offers you comfort. He reminds you that when he killed lost his parents, it started a new age of loyalty amonst the Sionis clan. As long as you're good to your family (him), it will be good to you. Oh, and btw, he needs you to handle a few things while he's gone. Don't worry, your family pisses money, he'll be out of here in no time but this stuff is important and time sensitive, and he needs you to keep it on the down low.

The next time you see Tim, he’s Red Robin and you’re the one he catches in the act.

Also, Tim telling that Bat-Fam “So yeah, I’m seeing someone new, it’s Y/N Sionis.” And everyone looks at Steph for a second, then back to Tim and is like “Dude! Get a new type!”

Also also, you visit the Wayne family for the first time, and after growing up drilled to hate these people you’re lowkey so nervous. You’re expecting them to hate you, because you learned nothing from presuming the same thing about Tim. The youngest one is definitely scary, and the butler must be convinced you’re gonna steal something because he will not allow you to be left alone (he’s remembering teenage Roman hanging out with teenage Bruce and being the worst), but otherwise everyone is actually kinda chill. Maybe a bit overly polite but not unpleasant.

But I can totally see the appeal of them keeping it totally secret too. Especially if Tim tells you about being Red Robin. How it might force you to come to terms with your morality by enabling your father/not holding him accountable. Major existential crisis material.

Of if he doesn’t tell you, the angst of your boyfriend just up and leaving without a word, not responding to your calls, texts, emails.

When he does come back you’ve ‘moved on’. Or you thought you had until you saw him again. But after he left you high and dry you’re fuming, and won’t allow him to just walk skate back into your life.

Tim pining after you while you’re excelling in your college/job pursuit. You keep catching glimpses of Red Robin while you’re out on dates or visiting your dad. Tim tells himself he’s just vetting your new boyfriends or ensuring your dad isn’t up to no good. But really its because he’s missed you and doesn’t know how to make up for cutting you out of his life.

He also notices how you never bring your dates home. How you still bury yourself in his old hoodie at night. How you haven’t finished binge watching that show the two of you were working on together. Those little nuggets of hope are what keeps him hanging on.

[toomanyideasandfandoms]

Okay okay okay so I have a VERY hot take...

I don't think the Sovereigns would like the creator. Cuz like it's more likely that the creator is the one that made humans, not the dragons before it. Because why would you create the dragons, and then later on just throw away the idea and push the dragons away when you could have created another planet to put the humans on instead, right?

Neuvi is the exception because he was reborn off on a human body and is technically created by the creator. HOWEVER, imagine that it's the dragon's authority that helps Neuvi realize the creator is the real deal. Like sure, the subtle power that they notice from the creator is there, but like with the authority itself (and being in tune with it as much as he would be when he obtains it), it would be MUCH more obvious.

That brings up the question as to why the archons aren't able to tell, and that's because of their own mind blocking it. How most people work is that whenever they think something is true, it takes a LOT to be able to like change their mind on something if they were wrong. So imagine that they hear of the impostor going around, but whenever they meet them, they feel that power and that pull. But because they've conditioned themselves to think of them as the impostor and not the actual creator, they stay stubborn and just push off that doubt in their minds.

Y'know who wouldn't be like that? FOCALORS (and Nahida cuz Irminsul). Think about it, she barely hears about any sort of like rumors or any badmouthin the cause she's been inside the Oritrice, and because she is made out of water (Oceanid stuff), they're more in tune with the authority. So without that block, they can tell right away during the trial on the "impostor" that they are in fact the real creator, which is why it will ALWAYS say they are innocent, no matter what.

Anyways, kinda went off on a tangent there sorry-

🍌anon

See this is where I ended up deep diving in the wiki by accident at one point that caused me to have this big brain moment.

So we know the Primordial One exists right? This is a canon god that created humans after essentially taking over Teyvat with the Heavenly Principles. That's canon.

So if the Primordial One is already canonically the one who created our characters (essentially)...what the fuck did our creator create?

My answer, Teyvat itself of course. But also the dragon Sovereigns themselves.

But I can already hear you asking, then how did we get to the modern canon of gods? Simple, Teyvat itself is an entity that can control and influence the elements, albeit very little. And with that influence the Heavenly Principles can't fully erase the authority of the creator, instead they rewrite history to favor them.

Saying the Dragons grew tired of being under the creator and chose to rebel, causing the creator to summon the Primordial One (which causes the creator to gain the title of Primordial Mother) to gain aid from. Then we essentially have our original canon mythos that's in the game itself. Essentially it's the same as with any history, written by the victors instead of what the full truth is.

And for why the archons can't recognize the creator is simply because the Heavenly Principles just won't allow them to. Because they've stolen (or attempted to for eons) the authority from the creator.

And here's my own hot take when it comes to the role of the Heavenly Principles, they aren't the creator's friend. They're more like a parasite that's trying to take over what the creator had originally made. Though the reasons I haven't fully thought up honestly. Could be jealousy, a twisted version of obsession, honestly it's up in the air for now.

But I like your hot take! Honestly most aus I've seen where the Heavenly Principles are on the creator's side would fit this very well. Actually it would be interesting if someone did an au where the isekaied protagonist is the reincarnation of the Primordial One and has to deal with the fact that they are trapped in Fontaine because the rage the Hydro Sovereign has would keep them there for all eternity just so he could enact justice on their past life's actions.

[netherfeildren]

Austerlitz

Pairing: Simon (Ghost) Riley x F!Reader

Summary: The day he left for his hideous war, the dream changed. The house was still there, but now neither of us lived in it anymore. And when he finally came back, if that’s what you could even call it, he was nothing but a Ghost. 

-OR-

Ghost goes away, comes back in a maybe dream.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: I know very little about COD so AU I guess; Heavy Angst; Unreliable Narrator; Is Ghost a ghost or a Man? Who tf knows; More feelings than fucking sorry about that; PWP; Rough Sex; Creampie; Grief Study; Mean Ghost; Size Difference; Complicated Relationships; Dom/sub Undertones

A/N: Wanted to post and then got pissed off and didn't want to post and then got pissed off that I was pissed off.

So anyways, here's my Ghost.

Word Count: 4.2K

Read on AO3

[AUSTERLITZ]

The first time my mother had the dream, it was our engagement. 

They were always the same—the dreams—the house, our home. Sometimes I was there, sometimes it was only him, but the house remained. Always the image of him inside that place that belonged to us. Even if I wasn’t all the time there. 

They went on for years, this idea living inside my mothers mind; different variations of our togetherness or not, parties, children, him, him, always him there. Once, he was even there with another woman, and amidst her sleep she knew it was wrong, that I should have been there but was not. It didn’t birth mistrust, that already lived between us in different ways regardless. It didn’t send me running home to him demanding answers, but it birthed fear. Fear of what could be lost—of what there was to lose. 

A lot, it turned out. 

It was like this fear that lived so painfully sentient within me, the fear of losing him, the fear of how much I loved him was so strong and so powerful and so pulsating that I'd given the infection of it to my own mother. She worried for me and for us the way I worried for him. 

And there was guilt then—for me, from me. I felt guilty, I felt like I was doing this to her, making my own mother afraid. Sending her these dreams with my own worrying mind of a perfect life that could have been so easily lost, of all my happiness and wants and desires of him and how easily it could have all been destroyed. 

The last time she dreamt of the house, months after he’d gone in my real waking life, the house was alone. Abandoned. Falling down on its own bones. A bad omen. And there was something so– I couldn’t say… but that was my confirmation, really, more than the years or the silence or the reports of missing, unknown, no answers or responses or clues to what could have happened, it was that dream of hers that told me it was all over in a real way. 

She said she’d walked through the dream house, and all the ghost memories had been there: him and I, an engagement, a marriage, a happiness, losses and family and life. But everything was falling down around the past, and it was all alone, and she knew in her heart that he was gone and that I was alone now. 

My real fear had gone to her dream fear had come back to my real life, and there was no true abandoned house, but there was an abandoned I. 

-

You’d begged—before he’d gone the last time, on your knees, hands clasped, tears—wrought. You’d begged, please, Simon—don’t go, please. Please, don’t leave me. You said last time was the last time. Please, don’t go again—I have the worst feeling about this one. He’d not listened. Chasing a mission, a tour, the salvation of the world or the loss of himself, not me, which was the only distinction that mattered. But he’d gone, and the bad feeling had swelled and swelled swollen until it’d burst. Until there was some uniform on your doorstep speaking words of missing in action, comms gone dead, Simon—maybe dead, maybe not, just gone. Unfindable, but come along with a sick sort of satisfaction that you’d been listed as his next of kin when he’d never even been able to tell you that he loved you. But these were the words now, said with tongue and teeth not belonging to him, not my wife but the woman I love, the woman that’s important to me, my kin.

Simon Riley, code name Ghost: missing in action. 

It’s been such a long time now, and you don’t know if that man you loved, love, is still alive or dead or missing or gone or just nothing. 

All he is—is not— 

—Here. And the before—it’d been complicated. Real and not real, hard, good, never easy. The complicated nature of a thing born from a complicated man such as he was. Occlusive, reclusive, reticent. But so good. So much, that it never really mattered if it was all growing pains, or just pain. How could you know? But when you were in the thick of it, it didn’t actually matter, that answer. It felt good, that was the only focus. Even when it didn’t. You loved him, that’s what mattered. He loved– war, being a ghost, fucking you, having you, maybe you. 

You’d had certainty in some ways, that he wanted you, that he was closed off and silent and serious, and that he’d come back because he always said he would, and he always did the things he said. That he was a creature of habit. But everything else—uncertain. 

Your mother hadn’t had the dream in years. Memory had become hard to reach, murky, but the sound of his voice, that remained. The only one that did, only because you held onto it with vapor fingers. And it was so clear, the baritone of it, the way it sounded when he was calling you his sweet girl, the way it sounded when he was telling you he was going or telling a lie. That had stayed no matter how far out to sea you’d tried to toss it. 

Your last conversation: don’t be a stranger, you’d said. And it was in jest, or desperation, you can’t remember anymore. Something like please, please, don’t go away forever, please, don’t turn into someone I don’t know anymore. 

There are things you remember very clearly. Others you’d been granted the mercy of forgetting—the way it felt when he slid inside you, no mercy there. 

How do I know if these are growing pains or just pain?

The memory of him is distorted now, preserved under glass, entirely untouchable; just there, and the stopping point is invisible, but it’s still just there. 

And you still love him because it’s impossible to let go of a ghost. A thing like that haunts you. 

You’d left the home you’d become a woman in, left your country and your mother, after he’d gone missing; found somewhere far and cold and nothingful, and it all reminded you of him in a way that let you know you’d never outrace this feeling. But you’d needed to run and disappear the way you told yourself he’d had to. That excuse, blame, you placed on him, Ghost, leaving that last time, despite the way you’d begged him to stay, please, Simon, don’t go. As if the idea of him just not wanting to be with you at all was more comforting than the reality of, well, he did, but just not more than he needed to chase his duty to violence. 

[When they’d come to tell me he was gone—but not really gone for sure—no one has died, they’d said, and I’d thought, just me, and violently. It was the last slap in the face, punch to the gut, fist down my throat and all the oxygen gone through a vacuum—stolen.]

Years: you’d lived with the vertigo of heartbreak, your whole life muffled. And you’d wanted to be alone with the enormity of your devastation and the Ghost shaped hole that’d been left in your body, so you’d come here, to this place you were in now, and you’d learned to be cunning like a fox, a cold that burned. You were not yourself anymore, something else, but something that didn’t hurt as much. A new version that fit that final dream image of an abandoned, forgotten home. 

You walk all the time now, through the Ždánice and along the wet meadows and towards nothing. In lieu of doing something else, now you walk. 

You find it on one such—it’s just like the dream—walk. Circles and circles around the Slavkovský rybník, back into the trees you go, and then it’s just there falling in on itself, eaten dead by the green overgrowth; the dream house. Your mother’s voice within your ear, I had a dream about the two of you, he’s yours, he was your husband, he was your fiancé, he was the love of your life, I had a dream about it all. There is a house. 

He’d liked to smoke, when he was stressed or angry or happy or sad or just. Cloves because he could be a jackass sometimes, like when he was buying cigarettes. You smoke them now too—a griefful jackass, even still. Obviously you’re trying to hold on without saying it out loud, like being kin. Tongue slick, sucking on the stick until it’s all gone, just a stub, and standing there in the waning gray light—the sun doesn't come out much now, it’s wonderful—you watch the house. 

You wonder if your mother sent it to you with her own missing. You wonder if he’ll be in there if you go inside. You feel like if you do, you’ll die in there, find something real bad, real real. 

When you’re done with the lie of the cloves, you exchange the butt for a leaf, feel the smooth, dry edges of it. Folding it slow and careful between your fingers, thinking, trying to follow the path of veins, trying to decide if this is the dream house or not, trying to decide if you’ll really die in there or not. There are no more sounds, there haven’t been in a long time, and so you can't tell if it’ll really matter or not. 

Recently, or years ago, you’d watched a video of a trio of swans doing battle, a rarity, the fact of three. They’d mauled each other, first two overtaking the third, and then the co-conspirators, turning their violence on each other. This is how you feel, at battle within yourself; your past, present, future, all fighting to leave you dead and bloodied, floating bloated in the water. 

Horrible thoughts. 

[We’re fighting a war on three fronts: me, him, fact.]

But there’s only dream here now. No Ghost. 

You decide on the house—walk inside. 

It’s only bones within, guts on display, covering ripped away. And very sad, very familiar. 

You pass through it slow and floating, not looking where one foot goes in front of the other. You’re inside your mother’s dream just like she’d seen it so many times, returned to the womb, and like she’d said: there’s your engagement, a rarity of happiness, glorious intimacy, possibility, there’s your Ghost. 

You’re not paying attention when your foot goes through the floorboards, to the knee first, jarringly painful, then the rest of your body gone through the rot. The only thing fizzing through your stupidly shocked mind is that you knew this would happen before you’re hip smashing, skull bashing ten feet down onto the basement floor. Cement ground, laying on your side and gasping like an eviscerated fish. The fist down your throat pulling all the oxygen out is back. 

And all you can think, as you lay there, only a wink before pain that knocks you into sleep, is—and really, get a fucking grip, get your priorities straight—I tried to fuck so many other men to wedge the memory of you out, bring the sounds back. I’ve tried other people and other tastes and other lives, and I can't. I can't. I want you so much, I miss you so bad. I dream of you, of the way you felt inside of me, of how wet I get for you even still, wet for a maybe dead man, and how much my cunt hurts because it is so wanting. How much it hurts to love a thing that’s gone and how the physical pain is almost as bad as the one in the heart.

And then an ice blue, cold that burns. “Wake up, darling.” He’s always had the bluest eyes that’ve ever been. 

“Ghost?”

“Simon.”

The jut of his chin, it’s the same. The one you missed. You come awake or alive. “Simon, you’re not really here. How did you find me?” Your body doesn’t hurt the way it should. 

“Been lookin’ for you,” he says, runs his big thumb up the curve of your cheekbone, and you turn your face into his hand almost involuntarily. He even smells like a ghost, and you can’t remember if you actually ever even fell or not. 

“Ghost?” You ask again—confused, full of sleep and someone else's dream.

But he shakes his head slow, and you can’t see his mouth behind the mask, but you see the smile in his eyes, joy above the skull. “No, baby. Simon,” he says again. 

“You were looking for me?” His hand moves into your hair, cupping the small bowl of your skull in the big pool of his palm, the other coming to your neck, thumb at your pulse, just to feel, just to hum along to it. 

“I was.” His accent is different, and you can’t hear sounds anymore, but this sound is different—you can tell. 

“Where’ve you been?”

“Told ya—lookin’ for you.” Jut of your chin propped against the jut of his palm, pads of his fingers against the ledge of your orbital bone. He presses soft, probes gentle, lets himself be tickled by the fan of your lashes. 

You close your eyes and tell the truth, “I wish you wouldn’t. I might hate you now. I wish you’d let me go. It’s been such a long time.”

“I know, baby.” But he doesn’t know, not really, not how bad.

You’re laying on something soft, no more hard basement you can’t really remember, and you let yourself slump into it while he touches your face. “I can’t believe I’m still here,” basement or with him or someone else's dream, you can’t tell which you mean. “I can’t believe I'm still here all these years later. You’re like a ghost.”

He agrees, “I am a ghost,” and contradicts himself. 

You open your eyes again, swallow the blue. “I thought you said you weren’t.” No answer—but he hunches over you, large and brutish and falsely undiscerning, without any answers ever. “You’re not a ghost. You’re a real man, and you have to stop haunting me.”

“Not haunting, only looking.” He bends, reveals his mouth, kisses you for the first time since he’d gone, and it’s the same as before, but not. Always a beautiful, hidden mouth that he’d had. 

There is nothing that Simon Riley does that is gentle, even when he is being gentle. 

It’s always with a punch behind it, always with a scream behind it. Always with the certainty that he does not know how to be gentle, but that he’ll try to be so anyway. If only for you.

He tastes like cloves and ghosts. Lips warm, dry and smooth, tongue slick and demanding. He presses his big thumb bone between your molars, pries your jaw open so you’re mimicking the dying fish again and licks inside of you.

Ah—so this is how it’ll be, you think, mean.

The inside of your cheeks pinch hard enough between his grip and your teeth that you’re sure the mouthful of come he’ll be giving you soon’ll be seasoned with blood. You moan into him, take his breath on your tongue, the dream flips and switches in your mind. Rolodex of memories and unrealities. Where have you been? You ask again because the demand feels necessary, the answer, life-hinging. 

He shoves you belly back, tells you, “Sometimes you talk too fuckin’ much,” and swings one tree trunk thigh over your middle so he’s straddling you, caging you, crushing you. A fist twisted in your hair so he can pull and handle you as he pleases. “Open your mouth,” so that he can lick inside again, taste you again. “It’s all just the same,” he whispers, and you can’t tell what he means. Doesn’t he see you’re the fox in the marsh now, cold enough to burn? Nothing’s the same since he went away. 

You try and scratch at him, shove the behemoth away, mountain versus the moth, yank him closer—too. You bite his tongue, and then it isn’t only your own blood in your mouth, but his too. It only feeds him more. When he lets his weight fall heavier on your belly, ribs compressed, you feel the ridge of his hard cock. 

You couldn’t ever keep him, but you could always make him hard. 

“Ghost.”

“Not a ghost.” He tells lies now. 

“It’s not all the same,” you gasp when he comes up from the well, hand at your tit, hard and punishing. “Can’t you tell?” And you say it angry or affronted. “How can you look at me and not tell? How can you look at me and not care?” About what you’ve done to me, is what you don’t say. 

This makes him pause, even as he mauls you, and the blue is not ice but not warmth either. Jagged, perhaps, even though it always is a little bit so, but punctuated in a different way. Only discerning now, nothing un– about it. 

“How can you look at me and think I don’t?” His words have teeth, and you want him to chew you up and spit you out. Maybe then he’ll recognize you better. 

“You’re always going to choose something else over me,”—an accusation. “Because I wanted you to come back so badly,”—an explanation. You don’t remind him how he didn’t, and he doesn’t say that he wanted to. But he’s here, and maybe that’s all that matters, maybe it’s enough for you to let him slip his fingers up beneath your shirt, nipple punished between his thumb and index, mean and nasty. Other hand down the front of your jeans, sliping against your wet, fingering your cunt.

He doesn’t work hard at making space for himself in your too tight hole, merely tugs your pants down to your knees, tangled and trapped in him the way you’d always been, and with a hand on his cheek you find purchase to turn yourself over, shoving at his jaw roughly as you go. “No—like this. Like this,” you demand, belly down, ass up. “I don’t want to look at you when we do it. I don’t want to do it looking at your face,” you tell him even though you do love him. 

He’s quiet for one victorious second, big hands wrapped around your hips, fingers flexing, swallowing it. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“Yes.” He shifts, hooks you over his arm across your belly, hips up, cunt presented, swollen, needy sex like a wound. “Is it working?”

You listen to the drag of his zipper, the shift of his clothes. You close your eyes, enjoy the return of sound.

“Always.” And then it’s the warm, blunt press of a cock that’s going to hurt, and you feel very calm, entirely hungry. The pain in your cunt will be the kind you’d ask for in a few seconds; he notches, swipes, presses mean again at your clit. 

“Let’s not pretend we’re something we’re not—you’re not—real.” And when he wedges himself into your too-long-untried cunt, it hurts. It hurts in a real way. Like he’d rip you in half and not care if he could. Hurts in a mean way. 

He starts off hard, unforgiving, like he’s taking the pound of flesh he feels he’s owed for being made into a Ghost right here, fucking you on the dirty, cold floor. 

Hunched over you, bulging arms braced around your head, wrist clasped in a death grip, breath in your ear, and he fucks you like an animal. A groan and a spit, and he’s telling you, “You’re so fucking good, best cunt in the whole goddamn world.” The wet squelch, the splash, splash, the moan like a whore agrees with him. 

“It always hurts,” you tell him, whispered between a sob for more or harder. 

“You like it,” and it’s a pant ending of a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth where a tear rests. Something gentle to remind you that even as a monster, he’d never hurt you in a way that couldn’t be turned back. Maybe. 

“What if I don’t anymore?”

He swings his hips back, cunt dragging, when he pushes in again it’s to batter against your womb. “Don’t you?”

“Don’t stop,” is all you can say. You press your hips back, spread your knees as far as your tangled jeans will let you, back arched like you need it more than you can even say. Bent and pummeled to defy nature or some such other thing, and his balls slap heavy and stinging against your clit, cockhead at your womb again, again. 

“Come on my cock, be a good girl.” Like he knows you’re just there already, pulsing and throbbing and ready to soak him, wet cheek fucked raw against the ground with every one of his pounding thrusts. His fist is so tight in your hair, around your wrist, it burns almost worse than your knees against the old wood, hand gone to numbness. 

But it’s so hard to give someone so much when they never give anything in return, and it pains you to do it now. Your stomach pulls tight, heat all swirling in your pelvis. “You’re never good for me,” you moan, cunt twisting into a knot. And then you come, fluttering around his pouding length, the slap of his thighs against your ass. He shoves your shirt up so that your breasts are naked to the cold air, fingers digging too hard to be for anything other than his own vindication. It makes you come harder, cry harder. 

And then like a switch, soldier on display, he flips, goes slow and soft and languid. Long deep thrusts, pressing your belly down into the ground and stretching out on top of you—longer than a river, broader too, similarly overpowering. His whole too heavy weight pressing all the air out of you, prone and caged and power stolen. He slams into you, but it’s slow and punctuated and precise now. Tip at the front of your cunt so that you know exactly what it is he wants from you, another one. 

“Do you ever wish I was a better man?” He asks between thrusts.

You can’t lie. Look at you—fucked and frozen. “No.” The hurt hurts good, you like it like this. You like that he’s a Ghost. 

He kisses your mouth now, gives you his tongue to taste. Cloves and you love him so much and it seems so unfair that it be so short, the love, when the forgetting is so long. 

“Can you tell me that you don’t love me?” It’s a begging, it is. “That you never did—so that I can forget.” He pulses and throbs inside of you, thrusts get harder. He’s about to fill you full of come. “So that I can move on. Force me, please.”

He presses his mouth to yours again and with teeth, the bunch of his mask suffocating you. “Can’t lie to you, darling. I never could,” —not the lie you want.

And you should’ve expected it, he’s never been the merciful sort. When you beg please, please, you’re not sure if you’re asking for more of his come, for harder, for mercy, for the lie. Like so many other things now, it doesn’t really matter. He sends you into another orgasm, and he’s lazy about letting you milk him. Mouth slick against your own, breath panting hot against your cheeks, white blond lashes, too long and too pretty for such a beast, tangling with your own. 

He lets it be slow. He lets it last. 

And one more time is better than a last time—the once more negates the lastness of it. Now, it only exists in perpetuity. This is the lie you’ll tell yourself as he throbs and spurts once more, whispers your name into the shell of your ear, asks for his back. I got one more time. I got one more time. Now it all lives on forever, Simon. Now the house is no longer abandoned. Now we’ll exist here in this memory like so, forever. 

He’s gone when you open your eyes again, sleep or unconsciousness, maybe he never was. And as you right yourself, your clothes and the thick leak from the overwrought place between your legs—no, he was, or was he?—your body doesn’t hurt as it should, only cunt-sore, looking at the dark you shaped hole in the floorboards next to you. You can't tell if the hurt now comes from the want or the truth, sound is gone again. 

Outside, there’s snow on the ground. When you look up, it’s falling from the sky, against the surface of the pond, lost to the dark. A celebration happens somewhere, across the distance, in the town, you don’t know for what—or can’t remember. There are fireworks in the sky mixing with the ice.

You realize, or you think, or you hear someone say—does it really matter, it comes off the wind or the trees—a reminder that you’d come here to mourn something. To this place you lived in now. To the dream house.

[I’m mourning all the things that happened to me. I’m mourning the way I’ve been, the way I was. It was terrible, I hated how I’d been, but I still have to grieve her. I have to not hate that poor girl I used to be.]

The barium, copper lights go off and off and off, and it’s bombs dropping, pyrokinetic shelling, your life imploding, the end of everything. Him—a ghost. 

Once there was only dark. If you ask me, the light’s winning—now.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[charliesangel67]

Against all odds

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Word count- 1567

Warnings: Smutttt, a little bit of fluff, acedemic rivals (kind of, idk how to write it)

Authors note: I'm actually so sorry this took so long, idek why but it was a bit hard to write. Anyway, it's here and I hope you enjoy.

This was based of off @weirdowithnobeardo 's idea which is the first comment on this post

“Ok, can somebody tell me the answer to question b?” Quickly, hands flew up in the air. “Mr Cameron, what is the answer?” “4x+7n=33y” Rafe said confidently. “”That’s wrong.” I announced. “Go on, what’s your theory Miss y/n?” My teacher said, “It’s 4x+7n=36y because x is equal to 2.” I stated. “That is correct y/n, well done.” My teacher smiled at me. I smiled in Rafe’s direction but he just glared at me. Next period science, we got our tests back, “So Cameron, what did you get?” I asked Rafe curiously. “94%, you?” “99%” I replied with a smile. Again, he seemed so angry at me for getting a higher score. This went on for the next couple of weeks, He acted like we were academic rivals.

3 weeks later

There it was, the test sitting on my desk, a bright red ‘A+’ written in the top right corner. I was proud of myself for scoring so high on such a hard test. It was 40% of my final GPA result so I had to score high. I turned around to see Rafe staring daggers at me. “Bad result Cameron?” I asked him teasingly. “Shut up y/l/n” He growled as he clenched his jaw. I giggled to myself and turned my attention back to the teacher. 

The bell rang for the end of the day and I hurriedly grabbed my backpack and ran to my locker. My friend Maddy always meets me at my locker because we’re in different year levels, Maddy’s in 10th and I’m in 11th grade. “So, how was your day Mads?” I asked unlocking my locker. “Shit. So fucking shit you have no idea.” “I’m sure it couldn't have been that bad.” I laughed. “No, y/n it was bad. So bad in fact that I got broken up with by Jason the son of a bitch in front of half the cafeteria.” She announced. “Oh shit, sorry babe, he was no good for you anyway.” I said walking away with her. 

As we were walking to my car, Maddy realised she had forgotten something in her locker so she ran back towards the buildings. Suddenly, I felt a rough hand grab hold of my upper arm and pin me against a wall. A hand covered my mouth to stop me from screaming. “Oh you son of a bitch. You’re so fucking done little girl.” I knew the voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t quite figure out who it was. When my eyes finally adjusted to the light and situation, I realised it was Jason and his group of friends. 

“So, did you and Maddy talk shit about me to the school after what I did to her?” He asked again, still keeping me against the wall. “What the fuck. No we didn’t, why would you think that?” I was astonished at the accusation. “Because, now the whole school thinks that I have an STD and all the girls I’ve slept with have smashed my locker and put slime in the gas tank of my car.” He complained. “Wow, creative girls for real.” I said with a little laugh. “Ok, if it wasn’t you, then who was it?” 

“It was me, you son of a bitch!” Yelled Rafe, walking towards us. “Why?! Why the fuck would you do that?” Jason asked, close to tears. Rafe pulls a phone out of his pocket and starts reading some texts - 

“‘C’mon Maddy, It won’t be that bad. Why don’t you wanna sleep with me?”

“Because I’m not ready for that Jason, I’ve told you a million times. We have only been together a month and I’m not ready to have sex yet. Just stop asking me already.”

“Fine. Go fuck some other dude, you fucking slut. You’ll regret not being with me.” “What do you mean Jason? Are you breaking up with me??”” 

“Hey! Where did you get my phone from you bitch?!” Jason asked launching himself at Rafe, who dodged the blow perfectly. “You left her on delivered for 9 hours just so you could slut shame her and break up with her in the cafeteria in front of everyone, all because she didn’t want to sleep with you?!  Not to mention you cheated on her the entire relationship. You’re a real ass man.” Rafe said. “I suggest you leave Maddy, Y/n and all the other girls you’ve messed with, alone and get on with your life.” Rafe yelled as Jason and his friends ran away.

They knew how powerful Rafe could be and they didn’t want to get on his bad side. “Thanks Rafe. Why did you do that anyway?” I asked, “Don’t think I did it for you, I hate Jason.” “Oh, okay.” I replied sheepishly before walking away, back to my car and to meet with Maddy. The drive home was silent after I told Maddy all about what happened. Her being in disbelief about what Rafe had done to Jason. 

A couple weeks later, it was Midsummers, I had bought a nice dress and had a plan laid out on how we were going to spend the evening with Maddy and her sister, Kiara. Kiara picked us up and we drove to the Cameron’s mansion as that was where the party was. Kiara was friends with Sarah, Rafes younger sister.

A couple hours into the party,  Rafe approached me, taking my hand and dragging me upstairs. “Rafe, what are you doing?” I whispered, “Taking you to my room.” “Why?” I asked, a little scared. “Because you look way too beautiful in that dress and I noticed JJ basically eye fucking you.” He turned to face me, looking very sexy in his button down shirt and his hair falling into his eyes. Without thinking I put my hand out to brush his hair away from his face, he grabbed my neck and leaned down to kiss me. 

“No, Rafe, we can’t do this.” I said as I pulled away. “Why not y/n?” “Because, I’m a pogue, you're a kook and you should hate me. In fact, you did act like you hated me after you stood up for me in front of Jason, and now suddenly you’re acting all jealous when JJ looks at me?” I asked in a confronting manner. “Look, y/n, I like you.” “No, we can’t Rafe. Your dad is gonna kill you and my parents are gonna fucking disown me or something if they found out I was dating a kook, especially Mr Rafe Cameron with his bad reputation.” 

Rafe didn’t say another word, he just leaned down again to kiss me, This time it was more passionate. At that moment, I didn’t even care that we shouldn’t be doing this, I just kissed him back. Rafe picked me up and carried me to his room. He threw me on the bed and locked the door. He crawled on top of me and placed feather light kisses along my neck to my cleavage. “Can I?” he asked as his fingers were tangled in the strap off my dress. “Mmmh,” I responded softly as he carefully took off my dress. 

I tugged at his belt, hinting for him to take off his pants as I unbuttoned his shirt. Within minutes, we were both butt naked, he took my boobs in his hands, massaging them and kissing along them. I moaned at the pleasure. I palmed his cock through his boxers and I felt him getting hard underneath my hand. Quickly, Rafe ripped off his boxers and rubbed his cock against my entrance. Already slick and wet, he pushed inside. I moaned as he did so, Rafe thrusted slowly and sensually.

“Mmh, You like that baby?” He asked, staring into my eyes. “So much Rafe.” I replied. Rolling my eyes back as Rafe thrusted harder into my soaking cunt and he kissed along my breasts. Soon, I was nearing my release, my cunt tightening around him. And a couple thrusts later I had come undone onto his thick cock. “Fuck baby, I'm gonna come.” “Come in me Rafe.” I begged him and seconds later he squirted his hot cum into my pussy. Out of breath and panting, I crawled on top of him, lying on his chest, my hands tangled in his hair as he kissed my neck. “Promise we can keep this a secret for a little while longer until I tell my parents?” I asked him. Rafe nodded and uttered a soft ‘yes’. I kissed him one more time before getting up and getting dressed. 

“I’m gonna head back down stairs okay? The girls are gonna be worried about where I was.” I told him, opening the door. “One more kiss babe.” Rafe said and when I turned around, seeing his abs again stirred something deep within me. Want. I wanted this man. His hair, his face, his body, his personality towards me. I wanted everything about him. I didn’t think, I just jumped back onto the bed into his arms. Rafe kissed me hard and passionate and I melted into his touch. Soon we were back at it again, he was thrusting slowly and sensually into my soaked cunt as I buried my face in his shoulder quieting my moans.

That night was the best sex I ever had. 

I also got a super protective boyfriend.

I hope you guys liked this 😁

[tennessoui]

kit's list of obikin fic recs in no particular order

y'all asked and i finally answered.....here's a list of fics i've read and adored this year! note that i've tagged things that i think could squick people (a/b/o dynamics, weird biology, dub con, heavy kink, etc), and i've noted the ratings (explicit, mature, teen), but i have not noted top/bottom (this list contains a pretty even split of both) and i haven’t indicated which are WIPs - take a chance! i've left little paragraphs as to why i liked the fic but i tried to keep spoilers out of them so the story can be a surprise :D

remember to leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed the fic :D

Igneous - zimriya Notes: Explicit, A/B/O dynamics, canon compliant, series!

Trying to find this fic so I could reread it was the thing that prompted me to make this list. That’s how amazing this fic is. It tears out your heart strings. It hurts. I love it. It’s soft. It makes me cry. I am never going to recover from this perfect retelling of canon. This hurts just as much as the kenobi show. I owe this author a medical bill and a thank you card. I don’t care if a/b/o isn’t your thing or omega obi-wan isn’t your thing i need you to try reading this fic i really do because it’s just honestly superb and beautiful prose and i think about some of these lines near daily. Ok, fine. Daily.

I’d Never Be Me (Without The Support of Your Loving Arms) by euryrice  Notes: Explicit

i don’t think i’ll ever stop talking or thinking about this fic, it’s up there for me….such a good take on a bond/spy au that I don’t think I’ll ever seriously try at one myself because it’d never be ‘i’d never be me without the support of your loving arms’; it’s just so well thought through. Canon lovingly applied. Kit beautifully moved and hungry for a second part of the series, even though it doesn’t even need a second part and is perfect as a stand alone. Witty banter rating: 10/10

Hooked On You by @whohatessand Notes: Explicit, infidelity, side anidala (padmé is being cheated on)

Dirty bad wrong never felt so good though; Anakin is cheating on his wife with her campaign manager. Anakin is very not satisfied with being a trophy husband, and honestly it’s so valid of him. This is so well-written that Anakin’s frustration with his life, his wife, his duties all feels very real and understandable. Does that excuse the cheating and the spit-as-lube fucking at a donor ball? Nah, but they know it doesn’t. And it ends on a very hopeful obikin note, which is my favorite

The Final Frontier of Pleasure by @jedibongrip Notes: Explicit, bp!Anakin, virginity kink (ish?)

“Just the tip” made into a very hot 2k fic wherein anakin’s definitely not a virgin anymore, but obi-wan’s gonna go along with it if it makes him happy (and means that he gets to keep touching him, god bless); note to say that all of this author’s stuff is very good!

Stars To Fill My Dreams by hidden_humours Notes: Explicit, reverse master/padawan, dark Anakin

Anakin is teetering on going off the walls insane in this fic and I am so here for it. This is just amazing. I love a padawan obi-wan and I especially love this time-travel with a twist (which I won’t spoil!); the summary even says “yeah this anakin isn’t all there” and the author is right!!! 100%!! I love it. I want to poke this Anakin with a stick. I want to push him off his metaphorical cliff of sanity. I want to push Obi-Wan off a cliff just to see what this Anakin would do. What a fic. What a goddamn fic.

Obi-Two by @virahaus Notes: Explicit, Obi-Wan/Anakin/Obi-Wan

Guys, holy shit I am so excited for this WIP you have no idea. Everything about it is delicious so far. The Obi-Wan that gets zapped back in time just before ROTS/Order 66 is living to see twunk Anakin again and he is so soft yet so commanding about it. Ben!Obi-Wan literally kills me in this fic. If there’s never another chapter, I’m begging you to read this anyway, it’s that good.

Vast as the sea, constant as the tide by @moonlightatnoon Notes: Explicit, pirate!anakin, captain!Obi-Wan

So maybe Kit’s attention was captured and held by the sea-themed title…she’s a simple lady. But this fic is absolutely beautiful.  I love the intrigue, the history, the pining of it all. My attention, much like Obi-Wan, was gently captured and held hostage by pirate Anakin and the way he’s like ‘my obi-wan <3 mine <3’ while also being a whole ass pathetic lil mew mew of a pirate. He is so possessive and fearsome and clingy and needy I love this Anakin and how much he needs his Obi-Wan. I love the ending especially! Beautifully done.

Buns of Steel by @ragnarlothcat Notes: Explicit, humor, himbos the both of them 

Put this under Fics That Make Kit Want To Join A Gym. I love the humor here (Rag has such a legendary way with a great turn of phrase and pacing of jokes that just makes the fic fly by) and the ridiculousness of it all. Obi-Wan here is extremely lovably bitchy and I adore it. His dialogue is quite polite, but this is a fic where the narration really makes the characterization pop. Also the amount of lusting after his beautiful aerobics instructor that Obi-Wan does…and how UNFAIR he finds Anakin’s beauty. Just amazing. Cheering for Obi-Wan living his best life and getting the hot aerobics instructor in the end.

My Thoughts I Confess (Verge On Dirty) by @artemisthehuntress Notes: Explicit, horny, horny, horny Obi-Wan

This is, of course, the other fic filed under Fics That Make Kit Want To Join A Gym. I love Anakin in booty shorts. I love Obi-Wan, head empty and no thoughts because his dick is too goddamn hard to see straight. One should not be exercising under such conditions. The humor here is impeccable. Love all of Obi-Wan’s fantasies with the hot guy working out next to him. If you’re a fan of horny-grip Obi-Wan, this is the fic for you! If you’re not as into horny-grip Obi-Wan, I’d say this fic is still worth the read because it’s just written so well.

just like the days we’d burn by @travellingcircus Notes: Explicit, PTSD mentions, heavy

I was always going to rec one of travellingcircus’ fics of course. They are a fantastic writer and I love their fics - especially the long oneshots that consume my entire night when I see that one’s been posted and I get to delve into a new side of obikin I could never imagine. This fic is one of my favorites by them – and maybe one of my favorite modern aus all together. Anakin has a racing career until he has an accident. Then he goes back to his small town and decides to have Obi-Wan instead because first love (I love first love fics especially in modern aus)!! Also Obi-Wan has a motorbike. This is excellent news. He also has helmet hair. I love Anakin in this fic so much. He’s crazy. He’s wounded. He’s obsessed. He’s in love. He’s desperate. And Anakin makes Obi-Wan all these things too. Such a good modern au for these characters. They feel so close to their canon characters, it’s marvelous.

Where Every Mask Cracks by skyl_tales Notes: Explicit, a spin-off of one of their other fics, but can be standalone

Skyl_tales’ fics for me are the very definition of fandom classic. They were the first fics I read and I continue to reread them roughly maybe once every year at least. They’re just all very readable. The writing style is something I have always loved and envied – their fics are approachable and entertaining, no matter how much you know or don’t know about Star War at the time of your reading. Tbh I think this is the fic author who has influenced my writing the most! I love this fic in particular because I do have a soft spot for vaderwan. Old Ben being delightfully torn up over Vader and Vader being delightfully unhinged about his former master…..with a magical fix-it device that restores both of them to their younger, strongest selves (if only to make the fucking easier and the horny insatiable)

Gay Chicken by zimriya Notes: Explicit, enemies to lovers, light daddy kink

Where to begin with this fic!!! I guess I cannot stress enough how much I love humor in fics when done right and this is done so well. Like it is literally so funny and so normal. There is something so beautiful about putting these space monk superheroes into like. Just situations. This fic is about laundry. But also upstairs neighbors. But also lost loves??? I’m always a bit hesitant for fics with a lot of notes/messages, because I can find that hard to read, but this was very, very easy to read, both format-wise and flow of the story wise. I love them both being assholes to each other.  Love them slowly becoming friends through notes under the monikers “501” and “212”. LOVE the twist.

wildest dreams by kidhuzural Notes: Explicit, 5+1 fic

Basically: Baby Anakin wants to get married to Obi-Wan. Teenager padawan Anakin wants to marry Obi-Wan. Clone Wars Anakin wants to marry Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wants to marry Clone Wars Anakin. I love love love fics that start out with baby padawan Anakin and have him grow up. It places so much emphasis on their master&padawan relationship and how important they were to each other before AOTC or TCW, which I think is the strongest basis for obikin. Also this Anakin is just so cute and Obi-Wan cares for his baby padawan so much!! All in all, this fic is just so sweet. Obsessed.

In Pursuit of Cold Water by @jswander Notes: Mature, Merman!Anakin

Can I have a fic rec list that doesn’t include this fic?? I love this fic. I think I reread it like twenty times while waiting for the last chapter, and it was worth it and gripping and incredible each time. I am fascinated by writers who can worldbuild, and Jo worldbuilds so well in this mermaid AU. I love the descriptions of their fins; the possessiveness, the hurt, the anger, the jadeness, and the naivete of Anakin somehow all existing in the same character and all being so justified. There’s some really heavy moments and also really silly moments (they dress Anakin up as an old lady to avoid detection at one point). I love the development of their relationship and especially the growth of their mental bond. Such a good translation  of their Force bond in canon (and such a clever work-around for a mermaid not speaking English!) Just an amazing fic. So good.

The Devil’s In The Details by @ragnarlothcat Notes: Explicit, demon Anakin, darker!Anakin (because of the demon bit)

Back at it again with my Rag-writing obsession! I’m loving this WIP and how evil and innocent Anakin is. Yeah, he’s a demon haunting Obi-Wan’s new house; yeah, he’s killed like. A ton of people. But he’s so pathetic. So very eager to please. So very attractive. As a reader, you’re like Obi-Wan’s friend, Quinlan, who discovers Obi-Wan sleeping with a literal demon, and you’re like ‘bestie, do you not know? That’s a literal demon?’ and obi-wan is like ‘he is quite polite and does so good on our walks around town’ and you’re like ‘you’re taking him on walks???’ but also you can’t help but root for demon Anakin and poor decision-maker Obi-Wan. Also, once again, I love Rag’s humor and timing of it. The narration Obi-Wan has is so colorful and so fucking funny, I snort all the time. He’s such a bitch. He’s amazing.

By Omission by @posthumousvigor Notes: Explicit, reverse master/padawan au, drunk sex

This writer is very quickly becoming one of my favorites. I love their prose and the way they write Obi-Wan—especially padawan!Obi-Wan with Master Anakin. One of my favorite dynamics for obikin aus, and this writer gives me so much good food. TBH one of my all-time favorite cliches/tropes is one of them getting dressed up out of their Jedi robes to be put in Situations, and I especially love this for Obi-Wan cause Anakin got a whole movie of dressing up for funsies, and this fic delivers. Master Skywalker comes back early from a mission to find his padawan slutting it up in the Lower Levels, and what is a man to do other than snap?? And he snaps so beautifully in this fic. I love it when they’re horny beyond reason for each other.

how to stay by answersinahauntedclub Notes: Explicit, professor/student relationship

I know logically that this fic probably will not update again, but it is so beautiful and I think about it all the time. It is like. The peak of college/university aus in this fandom. Bold statement, I know, but I love this fic and characterization so much that I am stating it. They’re both disasters. They can’t resist each other even if they really, really should. It’s an incredible read and I am fascinated by both this Obi-Wan and this Anakin. Cannot stress enough the lovable disasters that they are. In writing this, I took an hour break and reread it again.

we’re swimming with the sharks (until we drown) by @obiwaned Notes: Teen, fake/pretend relationship

Getting this update notification felt like such a sweet sweet win for me. I loved the premise as soon as I read it and it just keeps getting better. Fake marriage for any reason is always amazing. I also LOVE non-linear timelines and this writer does it so well because you as the reader don’t get lost and confused trying to keep the timeline straight. It’s delectable, it’s straightforward, it’s so easy to devour, and I am obsessed with this fic and even the possibility of more.

Self-Insert by ZenyZootSuit Notes: Teen, crack

God this is so funny in a very crack way. Short and funny and perfect. Darth Vader writes self-insert fanfiction about being with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Darth Sidious finds out. Imperial secrets are leaked, but I’m sure those were important details he needed to include!! For context! Realism! Absolutely perfect; no notes.

Open Circle by Calyss Note: Explicit, Dark Obi-Wan, dom/sub (under)tones, seduction to the Dark side

This is also one of my annual rereads, and one of my absolute favorite Sith Obi-Wans in the fandom. I love how out of control this sith Obi-Wan is, how very obsessed with just Anakin he is. Sith Obi-Wan really said “he’s mine” and he’s gonna destroy Anakin’s marriage and the whole galaxy to prove it. And also Anakin is not going to say no or resist much at all because that’s his master and he loves him and has weird feelings for him he has not really examined. This is also such an id fic of mine. But no regrets putting it on the list. When I saw it updated in October 2022, I literally cleaned my room and improved my life before I sat down to read it.

How to Save a Galactic Republic Without Really Trying by @sharpest-tongue Notes: Mature, Post Kenobi show

So many amazing fics came out of the Kenobi show but this absolutely has to be one of my favorites. There’s humor, there’s touching moments, there’s Star Wars lingo I didn’t know but that made the whole thing feel very much in-universe (and that I have now incorporated into my Star Wars Wikipedia slash Dictionary for later use, even if it’s all made up). I love a time travel fic, has to be said, and this one delivers perfectly. The Jedi as family in this fic really made me emotional. Extra special shout out to Obi-Wan, raising his padawan again in a do-over, and thinking, ‘i was not this bad as a teenager wtf?? Yeah ok whatever i MAY have fought in TWO WARS at that age but still!!!’ love him. Love his obvious blind spots for anakin and also for himself. Such a good fic!!!

broken bones, thunder drums by @maragny Notes: Teen, hurt/comfort

There is so much to love about this fic and I love it all. Clone War fics are like my bread and butter in this fandom. I love obikin fics that take place in the middle of battle where the reader is confronted with the reality of either Anakin or Obi-Wan fighting – and this fic really starts by throwing you into the action in such a visceral, effective way that I was stressed! I was gripped! It makes Anakin hiding his injury feel not only understandable but also like the only option. Good think Obi-Wan is there to save the day and help Anakin through his pain because he is overprotective and in love with him. Also the first chapter is told from Rex’s point of view, which just. One of my favorite outsider POVs for obikin is Rex.

no news is good news by @rhymenoceros Notes: Mature, crack, relationship reveal, breaking news/news cycle format

This fic is so funny! The tone is perfect for what the writer sets out to do — that is, make the reader feel like they’re caught up in a social media news cycle! There’s talk shows, there’s paparazzi, there’s space reddit, there’s leaked Jedi text conversations….the Jedi screen names are hilarious and easy to tell who is who while still staying true to the joke. Cannot recommend this fic enough. Cute, funny, horny, and with that sweet sweet Palpatine downfall that the best cracky fics always have.

Falling Deep Into You by @dark--whisperings Notes: Explicit, dom/sub tones, so much pining

Any fic that has the tag “Obi-Wan Kenobi is a freak in bed” has my attention and my interest. This writer describes Anakin subbing and Obi-Wan domming so very beautifully that it’s almost a manifesto in 8k. Lots of good sex here, but I really love the opening scene and the push and pull the writer’s given the characters. They want each other so much—Obi-Wan wants so much, but alas! Religious guilt on par with catholicism! Of course the nasty freaky sex fiend in Obi-Wan wins out over the Jedi Master, but I really enjoyed the guilt and the way he gives in and goes to find Anakin because of course he does. And then the ending! A resetting of the chess board so that the game can start over tomorrow. A great fic all in all!

you took my love so tenderly by @billboguspreston & @acrylicsalts-inspo Notes: Explicit, prince/guard dynamic, exhibitionism

I started reading this fic when it was first posted, and I followed it attentively and with baited breath. I love the reverse age dynamic (I know, it’s not for everyone, but I lovelovelove it), and I love that this Obi-Wan is such a spitfire. He knows what he wants and that’s for his silent, restrained, older, handsome bodyguard to snap and fuck him and he WILL brat his way into getting what he wants as is his right. Anakin being both incredibly horny (Anakin horny-gripping the pommel of his sword because Obi-Wan has decided to get off right in front of him to see if he can tempt him into fucking him) is amazing. Obi-Wan being both the aggressor and also the inexperienced one is chef’s fucking kiss and a dynamic I do not see often enough. So worth the read. And there may be more sequels??? Be still my beating heart!

I Wanna Be Owned by @kyberkenobi Notes: Explicit, 5+1 things, light BDSM

Speaking of horny grip lol, I had to think for a bit about which fic from this writer to choose because all of them are very good and very very smutty with all sorts of kinks and dynamics. The writer you go to for mean dom Obi-Wan and if you’re feeling up for discovering a kink you weren’t sure you were into before. There’s plenty of amazing fics on her ao3 (I was also immediately obsessed with the recent alpha/alpha one), but this fic is one of my favorites. I love the style of a 5+1 for a fic, and I am obsessed with casual slut (affectionate) Obi-Wan and Anakin’s blinders of his master slowly being pulled away until he HAS to confront the reason Obi-Wan can untie and hogtie a criminal they caught so damn quickly. It’s indecent. It’s amazing. 

Our Man From Tatooine by kazmir Notes: Explicit, a/b/o dynamics, intersex omegas

This story is such a good, quick, enthralling read. I really can’t say much without spoiling it, but it’s worth the read. Dark Obikin, twists and turns, roleplaying, horny mates being unable to resist the other’s draw….so good….One of those fics I paused to reread while reccing it lol

Acts of Contrition by @marycontraire Notes: A series, ranging from Gen - Explicit

Cheating a little bit to rec you all a series instead because I just reread this fic series and fell in love with it all over again. Literally a fandom classic for me. The world building is amazing, the realism and research really pays off because it creates such a rich world for people to dive into. The Tatooine culture is so rich and interesting, and I love this Anakin especially. It’s a very realistic take on if Anakin had been expelled from the Order for the Tusken massacre. This Anakin is darker and clingier and Obi-Wan is trying to keep himself level and sane and something Anakin can cling to while still being a Jedi in all but name. Every installment of this series is gold and worth reading as quickly as possible just to have this in your mind faster. Also worth a slow read to savor it because unfortunately, you can only read a fic series like this for the first time once.

You can call me baby (you can call me love) by @lilredghost Notes: Explicit, 5 + 1

This fic is so sweet that I honestly forgot it was explicit - even though, yes, it opens with a sex scene lmao! But I love this writer’s explicit fics so much (their ao3 is worth a browse) that I am not disappointed in it being explicit, no sir. Obi-Wan gets upset when Anakin calls him an old man repeatedly and I’ve read this fic so much that when I see repeated use of “old man” in other fics I’m like “! no! His feelings!!!” this fic ALSO has anakin calling obi-wan baby <3  so good so sweet so perfect.

take my hand through the flames by @atornpage Notes: Explicit, vaderwan, seduction to the Dark Side

Oh this may just be the WIP I am most excited to see updated! It’s such a clever and unique concept that I’m on the edge of my seat to see where the writer takes the story next. There are not enough stories where a character falls into a coma and time passes around them, and this is so perfect. I adore fics where baby Anakin is clingy and obsessed with Obi-Wan and everyone around them is like ‘this is not REALLY the Jedi way, guys’, and this fic has SO much of that. I can’t wait to see all the promises of the tags come to fruition and am massively enjoying the ride to get there!

Heal Me, My Darling by @wasureneba Notes: Explicit, sick fic, idiots in love

Who doesn’t love a sick fic?? The tender healing…the care…the rotten work…not to me, not if it’s you, etc etc…this fic is such a good sick fic too, I was here for the entire thing! Anakin is in top whiny form and Obi-Wan is cuddling him left and right! I also love Anakin having a praise kink in this fic – it made me soft and so receptive to the idea again when I was getting tired of seeing it as a default in a ton of fics. But this fic said “Obi-Wan tells Anakin he’s doing good while touching his ass to administer a very important for plot reasons shot and Anakin bursts into flames” and I said “absolutely and understandable, please tell me what happens next.” This is like a perfect sick fic for me. The right balance of sweet and horny. Caring Obi-Wan and whiny because he’s bored! Anakin. God-tier combination.

Νόστος by NFx Notes: Explicit, stockholm syndrome typical of hades & persephone aus

I am always here for a good Hades&Persephone AU and I feel like this is a great one! I especially love AUs that carefully place Star Wars GFFA characters into an established world (like Greek mythology in this case), and take care to match up the side characters of the GFFA with the AU characters they’re being transposed on. I like the pace and narration of this one too, the way the tone feels both readable and still old — the dialogue and narration don’t read like a BBC documentary set in Ancient Greece where everyone just sort of speaks like they’re in a Shakespeare play for some reason, but it’s still sorta oldish/stiffer dialogue that really keeps you in the fic universe without alienating readers. Also, horny. But dark horny. Love a darker Anakin. 

Hunting the Homeward Light by GreenQueenofClubs Notes: Teen

One of my all-time favorites, I think, and if you haven't read it or haven't reread it recently, you need to! There's so much tension build up and detail put in with such an amazing pay off that I could literally read this fic every month and probably find something new to enjoy all over again. I don't even have strong opinions about mace training anakin, but this fic convinced me it could work and work really well. also poor poor obi-wan </3 his emotional support padawan goes missing </3 but then is found :) as a twunk :)