#I WAS GONNA BE FUCKING HAPPY GODDAMMIT!!!!!!!

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

wip wednesday

tagged @lemmeaskthedevil @bekkachaos @spotsandsocks

thanks darlins! <3

first edits of post lightning strike texas trip is almost done! yay! so here's one of my favorite parts

The afterglow settles comfortably over them both, thick and slow and golden, Eddie still shaky and unspooled but more centered, grounded, happy.

Then he hears his dad’s voice and it breaks wide open.

“It’s ready!” Ramon calls out, the tell-tale sliding and loud, clonky click of the glass door that leads to the backyard sounding off after him.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie grumbles, sitting up fast enough that he dislodges Buck and throws him to the side.

Buck yelps then starts whining at Eddie and shoving his shoulder. “Jesus, Eds. Relax.”

“Relax?” Eddie squeaks, rolling clumsily off of the bed.

He rights himself and stands up straight with as much dignity as he can manage, hands sticking to his hips in indignation. “My family is downstairs, with the food ready apparently. Fuck.” He scrapes his hands over his face. “They are nosey and impatient enough to come get us. Especially my sister. And here I am with my dick out, covered in your come and you’re fucking Winnie the Pooh-ing it over there.” He waves a hand over Buck, exasperated and hot in a way that isn’t pleasant.

Buck frowns and tilts his head. “Winnie the Pooh-ing it?”

“Forget it. Just–C’mon we gotta get dressed and presentable. Goddammit, can’t believe I’m gonna have to sit with my Abuela and parents after being ridden like an award winning bronco. And Chris too, sweet Christ.”

Buck, the irresponsible and uncaring little shit, just laughs.

Eddie glares at Buck as he gets off the bed, sauntering into Eddie’s space without fear or shame, just as bright and golden as he always is.

He takes Eddie’s face in his hands and kisses him, quick and light. “You definitely weren’t complaining this much a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well, a few minutes ago I was balls deep in your ass and having the time of my life.”

Buck snickers, teeth bared in amusement, eyes glinting in a way that softens the anxiety tangling up in Eddie’s gut.

Eddie sighs. “I love you.”

“Mmm.” Buck grins and reaches down to tuck Eddie back into his pants, fingers now nimble as they fasten his belt buckle. “Love you back. Now, help me clean up the come dripping out of me so we can go eat dinner with your family.”

tagging @elvensorceress @shitouttabuck @bigfootsmom @honestlydarkprincess @queerdiazs @lemonzestywrites @try-set-me-on-fire @rewritetheending @sibylsleaves @absolutelybifurious @devirnis @colonoscopys @hippolotamus @dr-shortsighted-owl @shyaudacity @transboybuckley @hotshotsxyz @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @lonelychicago @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @wikiangela and anyone else who wants to share!

[trashbaget]

*

[song-tam]

yknow what timebomb fans. i kinda get it

[abnormalpsychology]

BABY’S FIRST TIME VOTING 😻!!!!!

[imaginedisish]

My Girl (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! So sorry this took so long. Here is the secret relationship/breeding kink fic. I honestly really like this one...and I hope you guys do too. Was listening to "Juna" by Clairo while writing it, but went with "My Girl" for the title. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan have been in a secret relationship for months, but everything comes to a head when a new mutant visits the Institute, and won't leave you alone...Logan shows him, and you, who your man is.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Thigh riding, Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), breeding kink, praise kink, possessive!Logan, jealous!Logan, unspecified/implied!Age Gap, established relationship, creepy!OC who hits on reader and doesn't lay off, minor violence, afab!/fem!reader, fluff/feelings, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it?

Word Count: 5,313 this is why it took so long also, smut right under the cut...

You remember the first time he fucked you, vividly. 

It was late at night, after a mission. You almost died in his arms. And that was what broke that thing inside him, the burden of time that he carries, that deep-seated pain that made it justifiable to stay away from you. He had held back for so long—had done his all to resist falling for you. He was screwed from the beginning, and he knew that. But he had become so terrified at the thought of losing you that he hadn’t realized it could happen all the same if he stayed away—if he forced himself to remain a friend. 

So, when he fucked you that first time, that first night, he fucked you like it’d be the last—the only time. 

“Goddammit, so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, his lips bruising yours, shoving himself deep inside—as deep as you could take him. “Needed you this whole time. Can’t live without you.”

“Logan,” you whined, his hips snapping against yours. “D-don’t stop, please.” “Never gonna stop, pretty girl,” he promised. “Can’t go back. Can’t be anywhere but here.”

For months now, you’ve been together—but nobody knows. There’s no doubt about commitment—nothing casual about the relationship in the slightest. You start and end every day in Logan’s bed. You’ve talked about running off together, getting married, and settling down. For the first time in his long life, Logan sees a future where he’s happy—genuinely happy. 

The sun peaks through the curtains. You curl yourself into Logan’s chest. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you tight against him, even in his sleep. You listen to his breathing as the fall breeze creeps through the open window. Everything is calm and quiet in the morning, when everyone is still tucked away in their bedrooms, sound asleep. 

Logan groans, tugging you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is heavy, laden with exhaustion. “Too early.” He kisses the spot just under your ear, and you moan involuntarily, feeling extra sensitive in the haze of the morning. He smiles softly against your neck, and kisses you again, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan louder this time, intertwining your legs with Logan’s. “Love those pretty little noises you make.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, his thigh slotting between your legs, pressing against your core. You can’t help but grind down on his thigh, rocking your hips back and forth. “Need you, Lo,” you beg. 

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Logan husks, his palms warm against your bare skin as he slips underneath your shirt—which is really his. 

He’s slow in the morning, pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulders, letting his touch linger longer than normal. He likes the peace of it all—waking up to each other, smelling you next to him, feeling the other side of his bed warm and full of you. When he fucks you, early like this, he takes his time. 

His fingertips trace the curves of your stomach, falling into your dips, gripping your flesh. Logan breathes you in, his lips softly melting into yours. “Still too early?” You mumble between soft, lazy kisses. 

“Never too early to want you,” Logan husks, dragging his thigh against your core again. “Always need you.” You can feel his erection through his boxers. “Gonna take care of my girl. Gonna make you—”

There’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Scott’s voice on the other side. He knocks again. “Logan, you in there?”

Logan tries to ignore him, his fingertips dragging down your sides, bumping into the hem of your panties as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of your throat. You let out a breathy moan as Logan bites down on your pulse point. He smiles under your jaw at the soft sound, content that you can’t hold back. 

“Logan,” you whisper, running your hands up his arms, to his shoulders, your fingertips finding the nape of his neck. “He’s not gonna stop.”

Sure enough, Scott knocks again. “Logan, I know you’re in there,” he calls, banging on the door now. “Wake up. We have some tech guy on his way.” 

Logan groans into your neck. “Why do you need me, Summers?” Logan licks your collarbone teasingly, hiking your t-shirt farther up your body. 

“He’s…a mutant,” Scott explains. “He can speak with machines, computers, code—you name it, he can do it. He’s gonna fix some stuff around the mansion. Charles asked me to make sure you’re awake just in case…” Scott trails off.

Logan finishes Scott’s sentence. “In case everything goes to shit?” 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott huffs, likely shaking his head on the other side of the door. “But yes. In case things don’t go as planned. I’m also looking for—"

But Logan cuts Scott off, saying your name for him. 

“Yeah, I can’t find her. Do you know where she might—”

“On a run,” Logan chimes in, and you suppress your laughter by pressing your face into his chest. “She’ll be back soon.” Logan’s arms wrap around your back, holding you against him. 

“Alright,” Scott says, shuffling, slowly stepping away from the door. “If you see her, let her know what’s going on, okay?”

“Trust me bub,” Logan husks, his fingers digging into your flesh, tickling you. “I’ll make sure she knows.” 

Scott mumbles something unintelligible as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappears down the stairs. 

Logan’s lips are attached to your neck again, sucking playfully. “Where were we?” He teases, his nails grazing down your back. His palms settle on your ass, squeezing your flesh tightly in his hands. 

You moan, your chest flush with his. “Logan,” you whine. “We need to get up,” you insist, your hands pushing against Logan’s broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscular biceps. “Can’t stay in bed anymore.”

Logan grunts, his thigh still nudged between your legs, rocking into your core. You want him, and it’s tempting to let him take you right here, right now. But you can’t. And he knows it. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and pulls you tightly into his chest. “Later,” he promises, his lips finding the shell of your ear. You smile at the thought. There was always a later with Logan.

You snuck out of Logan’s room, unnoticed, as always. It was still early—too early for the ruckus of a morning at the mansion to begin. You got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. You’re still shocked at just how oblivious the rest of the team is. Truly, no one knows about you and Logan. 

You’re in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of coffee, waiting for the day to start. Familiar, heavy footsteps approach, and you smile before you can even see his face. 

“Hi pretty girl,” Logan coos, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your front. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and walks over to the coffee pot. 

Scott enters the kitchen as Logan takes his first sip of coffee—one second earlier and he would have seen Logan holding you. “The guy is here,” Scott announces from the doorway. He looks at you and smiles. “Oh! Hey! How was your run?” He asks cheerfully. 

You almost spit out your coffee, remembering what you were actually doing this morning. “Great!” You say, doing your all to hold back your laughter. “Surprisingly relaxing.” Logan snorts and plays it off like he’s sniffling.

Scott smiles, none the wiser, and nods, cocking his head towards the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Come meet the tech guy!” He backs out of the doorway and into the hallway. Logan settles his coffee cup—which reads #1 Professor—next to yours on the counter and gives your waist a quick squeeze as you hop out of the chair. You walk shoulder to shoulder into the foyer. All the signs of your relationship are there—out in the open—and yet, still, no one seems to catch them.

You step into the foyer, and there’s Scott and the Professor by the front door, chatting with a younger man—who’s about your age. The man’s eyes find yours, and he smiles softly. “Hi there!” He calls, waving. “I’m Mark!” He strides away from Scott and the Professor and towards you. “But you can call me Techno.” He smirks and winks, extending his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

Logan grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly, catching Mark off guard. “Wolverine,” Logan growls. “And you can’t call me Logan,” he adds, gritting his teeth. “So, you turn on computers, bub?” 

Mark grimaces, wrenching his hand from Logan’s grasp. “A little more than that,” he asserts, closing his eyes and bawling his fists. You look up as the lights flicker, and televisions turn on and off. Your cell phone rings in your pocket, and you pull it out. The screen reads: Incoming Call from Mark.

Your lips part. “How did you…” You trail off. 

Mark shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “My powers essentially let me communicate with electricity and tech,” he explains. You can practically hear Logan seething beside you. 

“A technopath,” Charles offers as he rolls over to join the three of you with Scott in tow. 

“Exactly,” Mark says, nodding to Charles. “Makes it easy to put my number into pretty girls’ phones.” Mark winks at you, and you press your lips into a straight line in response. 

You shake your head. “I’m not inter—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing. “These,” Logan pauses, lifting his claws to Mark. “Make it real easy to hurt creeps who put their numbers into girls’ phones without asking first, bub.” 

Mark rolls his eyes, and the corners of your lips twitch up. You try to force down your smile, try to slow the rhythm of your heart. You secretly liked when Logan got possessive over you. He was inherently protective, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little. 

“Let’s stay on course,” Charles reprimands, guiding Mark to the hallway to the left with a wave of his hand. “Let me show you some of the machines I’d like you to work on.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Xavier,” Mark says harshly, his eyes locked on Logan as he backs away to follow Charles and Scott.

Logan lowers all but his center claw, giving Mark the middle finger as he turns around. “Don’t mind Logan,” Scott says as they disappear into a room, the door shutting behind them.

“Logan,” you whisper, now that everyone is gone. “Don’t worry,” you assure, bringing a hand to his shoulder. 

He turns to look at you. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

 It is not going well, or fine.

Mark is something of a nuisance. He’s only been here for an hour, but he has already created multiple excuses to talk to you, to pull you away from whatever task is at hand. 

You’re in the middle of teaching an English class, discussing Mrs. Dalloway with a group of older students. “So, what are we to make of Clarissa and Sally’s relationship?” You ask the students, to no avail. 

This was your hardest class of the day—especially given the fact that you’re not even a decade older than most of the students. You had joined the X-Men in your early 20s, your powers having shown themselves a bit later than in most mutants, and only a few years have passed since then. Convincing the students who have been here their whole lives that you deserve to teach has been nothing short of a challenge. 

So, when Mark butts his head in on your class, annoyance burns through your body. You take a deep breath and swallow down your frustration. 

“Hey!” He chimes, his head poking through the open classroom door. “Mind if I take a look at your computer really quick?”

The class perks up, more focused on you than they were just seconds ago. You fake a smile, nodding and pushing yourself off the front of your desk so that he has space to access the computer. 

He slips behind the desk and smiles widely. “You didn’t have to move,” he remarks. “Would’ve been nice to have you close.”

You want to gag. You turn away from the students, whispering so they can’t hear. “Listen,” you chide, narrowing your eyes. “I am not interested, so could you please—”

“What are you doing in here, asshole?” Logan’s voice echoes against the walls of the classroom. For the first time all year, the class is paying incredibly close attention. “The Professor told you to check the computers in the lab down the hall.” Logan fully enters the room, striding over to Mark, his hands bawled into fists at his sides. “Beat it, bub.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters, his head down as he exits the classroom. The bell rings, and the class stands, grabbing their things and filing out the door. 

You groan. “Please read the next twenty pages for tomorrow!” You shout over the hubbub and shuffling of students. “I know it’s a challenging novel, but I think you guys can…” The students are gone before you can finish your sentence. “Handle it.” 

Logan smiles sympathetically, closing the distance between you and him. His presence is comforting, warm, everything you’ve ever needed. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Sorry,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to make your class harder than it is already.”

You take a deep breath, your annoyance fading away. “You helped,” you whisper. “Mark is the one who ruined things,” you insist. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Logan chuckles. “You don’t like him?” He teases. “Don’t like a guy your own age flirting with you?” He’s egging you on, trying to joke, but you can tell part of him is a bit serious. 

You shake your head. “Only like you.” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat and Logan grunts. 

He reluctantly pulls away, the palms of his hands dragging down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Gotta get to my class,” he husks, his fingers slipping, tugging longingly as he steps to the door. “Meet me after?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. You’ll be outside his classroom door before the bell rings, waiting for him.

You nod, and he smiles, his hands gripping the doorframe like some invisible magnet is pulling him away, and he’d give anything to spend another second with you. He slips down the hallway, and into his classroom. 

You spend the next thirty minutes or so grading papers, waiting for the period to end so that you can walk across the hall to Logan’s class. Another few minutes pass, and you start to collect your things, readying yourself to meet Logan. Your heart thumps in your chest at the thought, even after all the months you’ve spent together. 

You grab your bag and head to the door, closing it behind you and locking up. You cross the hall and stand outside Logan’s door. He’s teaching a younger group of kids—ten to eleven-year-olds. You would trade places with him in a heartbeat if you could. The younger students loved you. There was no question of respect, no doubt of your power. But Logan was given the class as a challenge—Charles wanted to test his patience. 

And, honestly, seeing him with the children did something to you. You loved watching the way he doted on them, carefully explaining material in a way they’d understand. He was an excellent teacher, and one day, you’re sure, he’d make an even better father. You find yourself falling into fantasy: Logan, late at night, a baby—your baby—on his chest. You can see it now—him changing a diaper, teaching the child to walk. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you daydream about the future—your future together. 

You’re so distracted that you don’t hear Mark walk up to you—don’t feel his hand grab your shoulder.

You yelp and jump. “Oh my god,” you mumble, turning around and coming face to face with him. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand lingering for far too long on your shoulder. He finally peels away, his arms falling to his sides. He leans against the wall, trying to appear casual and cool. “What are you doing tonight?”

The bell rings before you can think of a polite way to shoo Mark away, and the students exit Logan’s classroom, happily shouting greetings in your direction. You stood outside Logan’s door every day, and the students were always excited to see you.

A few of them run up to hug you, complaining about Logan’s gruffness. When they hear Logan’s footsteps approaching the door, they bolt down the hallway, their laughter booming against the walls. 

Logan steps out into the hall, and he groans audibly when he sees Mark next to you. But Mark ignores Logan, his eyes trained on yours. “Got plans?” He asks again. 

You roll your eyes. “Dude, I’m not interested!” You groan, too irritated to pretend to be nice. Mark smirks and parts his lips, ready to persist like the creep he is.

Logan steps in front of you, his claws already out. “Listen, bub,” he growls, his claws just inches from Mark’s chest. “If you don’t fuck off and stop harassing my girl, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Mark scoffs. “My girl? What are you, her father? You can’t possibly be dating her.”

You can see the anger in Logan’s eyes, the honest rage. “Lo,” you soothe. “Don’t do it.” But you know it’s too late. His decision is already made.

Logan shoves Mark against the wall, his claws pressed against his throat. “I’m her fucking boyfriend, bub,” he grunts as Mark squirms helplessly under his hold. 

“Oh, her boyfriend?” He teases, despite the fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to be a boyfriend?”

Logan shoves him harder into the wall, and Mark yelps pathetically, like a small dog. “More serious than that,” Logan asserts. “Guessing you wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?” 

“Alright, break it up!” Scott’s voice echoes from down the hall. He runs over, Jean and the Professor by his side. Rogue and Gambit follow close behind. But Logan doesn’t budge, the tips of his claws almost digging hard enough to draw blood. 

You bring your hand to Logan’s shoulder. “He isn’t gonna hurt me,” you whisper to Logan. “I could handle him easily if he tried.” You slide your hand to the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him, to relax him. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay?” 

Logan retracts his claws and lets go of Mark, who stutters away from Logan and into the center of the hallway. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Mark shouts, but Logan doesn’t react. He simply intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“You okay?” He asks, his thumb brushing circles into the side of your hand. 

You arch a brow. “Are you okay?” You smile and lean into him. 

“So…” Scott trails off, interrupting. “You two are…”

“Together.” You finish his sentence, your eyes still on Logan’s. You can feel the tension in his shoulders stretch down to his hand. He’s rigid, still on edge. You know he needs to get out of here, needs to be alone with you. 

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asks, genuinely caught off guard. “Did anyone know about this?” 

You turn to the team to see heads shaking side to side—save for the Professor. “I did, of course,” Charles confesses. “But I felt it was best left a secret until the two lovebirds decided otherwise.”

Rogue shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I can’t believe you never told me!” 

“Told you what?” Jubilee calls from down the hall, approaching the group. She blows a bubble as she stands next to Rogue, her eyes trailing down to where your and Logan’s hands connect. Her eyes widen and her bubble bursts. “No way!” She cheers, jumping up and down. 

“Settle down,” Charles laughs, extending his hand down the hall to where Mark was just moments ago. “Scott, make sure our technopath friend makes it out the door alive.” Scott nods and heads down the hall. Charles turns to you and Logan. “As for the two of you,” he pauses, winking. “We’ll discuss more at a later point.”

You smile in understanding, and Logan squeezes your hand—another sign it’s time to go. He’s still worked up about Mark; he needs to get this out of his system, needs to relieve all the built-up tension. 

“Got something I need to take care of,” Logan says to the group, tugging you down the hallway.  

He strides through the mansion, practically yanking your arm out of your socket. “Logan,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention. You’ve never seen him like this—rage and jealousy like fire in his eyes, dripping from his pores. He leads you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, and it suddenly dawns on you what exactly he needs to take care of. 

Logan pushes the door open and slams it closed the second you’re inside. His hands are immediately on you, grabbing at the pillowy flesh of your ass, pinning you to the door. His lips find yours—hungry and rough, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your face. He tastes you, his tongue seeking more of you as it swipes across your lower lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in, your tongue tangling with his.

Logan hoists you up without breaking the kiss, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection straining inside his jeans, pressing against your heat. He grinds into you as one hand slips under your top and drags up your back, holding you tightly against him. 

“Need you,” he mumbles against your lips. “Always fucking need you.” He tears you away from the door and towards the bed. He throws you onto the mattress and climbs over you, slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. “Tell me you need me, pretty girl.”

“N-need you,” you stutter as he settles on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“I’m not too old for you?” Logan teases, one of his hands loosening its grasp on your arm and trailing down your body, settling on the hem of your shirt. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?” He hikes up your top, pushing it above your breasts. 

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs. “No,” you whine, arching your back as his fingertips play with the bottom of your bra. “Only wanna be with you,” you breathe as Logan slowly, teasingly pulls your bra up. “Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Logan smirks, finally tugging your bra and top over your head and casting them to the floor. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” Logan soothes, palming your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipples under his thumb. 

“Fuck,” you moan as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Logan hums, his fingertips trailing across the valley of your breasts, doing the same on the other side. Logan pinches harder, and you moan louder this time. “That’s it,” he coos, his lips finding your pulse point, sucking roughly. “Don’t be quiet, darlin’,” he demands. You whisper his name, your voice whiny and needy. “Show me how much you need me. Keep making those pretty little noises, baby.”

“Feels good,” you whimper as his hand traces down your stomach, to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his fist and yanking it up to your waist.

He chuckles darkly. “You wore this just for me?” He asks, his thumb hooking inside the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. “Wanted to make it easier for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes, just for you,” you pant, watching as Logan lifts himself off you, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. He dexterously unclasps his belt buckle and throws the leather to the floor. He balances on his forearm as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his boxers. “I’m all yours, Lo,” you promise as he presses his forehead to yours.

Logan’s hand glides down your side, slipping between your legs and finding your folds. You moan as his fingertips prod at your entrance, spreading your slick. “Fuck, all this is for me?” He pinches your clit before swiping through your folds again. “You’re soaked already, princess.” His fingertips brush your clit, tracing achingly slow circles into the bud. 

You rock your hips against Logan’s touch, searching for more friction. “Logan, need you,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?” He whispers, his touch suddenly disappearing. You groan at the loss of contact. “Say it again, pretty girl,” he demands, guiding his cock to your folds. 

“All yours,” you answer, trying to move your hips lower to feel just an inch of him. “Please just—”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slams into you, down to the hilt with one thrust. He throbs against your walls as he works you open, his hips still, his cock splitting you in two. “Fuck,” Logan grunts. “So fucking tight. Perfect little pussy. Wanna stay right here forever. Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Maybe I’ll just make you sit on my cock.”

But you need him to move, need him to take you. “Logan, f-fuck me,” you choke, trying to move your hips. His hand grips your waist, stopping you from sliding up his length. “Please, move,” you plead. 

“So impatient,” he chides, kissing you bruisingly, biting your lips. He finally pulls out and slams back in, bottoming out again. His hand slides down your waist and slips between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I want?” 

His hand is just above your clit, inches away from where you need him most, waiting for your answer. You nod emphatically. “Yes,” you say with pleading eyes. “Anything. You can do anything just please—oh fuck!” Logan pinches your clit and starts his machinations, swirling around the bud. He pulls out and pumps back in, setting a ruthless pace. 

His hips snap against yours, taking all of you with reckless abandon. His lips swallow your moans, consuming you, drinking you in. Of all the times he’s fucked you, it’s never been quite like this. There’s a hunger in Logan’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, an undying need you’re not sure can be satisfied. Something feels different about this time—more intense, fervent, and feverish. 

Logan thrusts in and out of you, bottoming out with every pump, still stretching you out. His fingertips stroke your clit roughly, your walls already fluttering around him. He curses under his breath, his chest heaving against yours. 

“Look at you,” he groans, fucking into you. “So beautiful like this. Always so beautiful.” You can feel his cock twitching inside you. “Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

“I-I already am,” you stammer, his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “Always gonna be yours.”

“Want more than that,” Logan grunts, his hips rocking, his pace quickening. He’s so deep inside you—hitting exactly where you need him most with every thrust. 

“Whatever you want,” you pant, your chest pressing flush to his. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” He growls at the shell of your ear. “You gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stuff you full of me?”

“Yes, please,” you cry out as he pumps in and out, shoving himself as deep inside as he can possibly fit. You feel so full, so complete. Nothing compares to having Logan this close, to having him be so connected to you. You’re already coming undone underneath him, falling apart. “Want you to stay inside.” And then the words fall from your lips without a second thought. But you mean it, and you want it more than anything…

“Wanna have your baby, Lo.”

Logan groans at your words, his cock throbbing with need. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that, sweetheart.” 

“N-not teasing,” you stammer. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Logan growls, his skin slapping against yours, your words spurring him on. He’s letting himself go, letting himself plunge deep inside you, fast and hard. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his length dragging against your walls, pushing deeper still. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes!” You cry out, the fire burning in your belly spreading up to your spine, coursing through your veins. Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tightly.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, rutting into you, his hips stuttering. “Want you forever.”

You throw your head back as his fingers swirl around your clit. “You have me Lo, always gonna have me.” Your walls clench down around him, and the tension snaps. Electricity shoots up your spine as your orgasm crashes into you. It’s intense—more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. Pleasure washes over you in waves, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

Logan is right behind you, whispering a string of praises as he finishes inside you. “Did so fucking good for me. Always so perfect, beautiful.” His thrusts slow until he’s still inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. “Don’t wanna move, princess,” he husks, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You don’t have to,” you say, your voice hoarse. Logan rolls you onto your side, hoisting your leg up and over his hip, keeping himself deep inside your cunt. You close your eyes, your heartbeat finally steadying, your chest still heaving in time with Logan’s. 

The silence is comfortable, calming. You listen to Logan’s breathing as he runs his hands up and down your back. “You okay?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. 

You hum. “I’m perfect,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “Do you really…” You trail off, suddenly nervous to ask the only question on your mind, despite everything that just happened. 

“Yes,” Logan answers immediately. “I meant it. Wanna be a family. Wanna be with you forever.”

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You can feel his cock growing hard inside you as you move to get more comfortable. “I want that too, Lo,” you sigh. “More than anything.” You smile against him, thinking about your future, thinking about how all this started because some asshole wouldn’t leave you alone. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You look up at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” You joke, your smile widening. “You could’ve hurt that guy.”

Logan’s smile widens too. “Just crazy about you,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you, his cock still deep inside you. “Should’ve kicked his ass.” You bite your lip, waiting for his next move. “You’re my girl,” he groans, sliding out of you slightly. 

“Yours,” you breathe as he thrusts back in. “All yours.”

tags: @cosmiccandydreamer @alsoprettyinpink @alastorssimp @1800-fight-me @iamburdened @chaoticweirdogeek @loganobsessed @seasonofthenerd @witch-lemon @the-occasional-artist1125 @https-murdock @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[ivvyela]

imagine with me, if you will, a nwh potential fix-it involving none other than the multiverse saving duo deadpool and wolverine.

i know, i know - but please, let me cook.

wade and logan now jump across timelines to "fix" things aka travel the multiverse for funsies and deal with the consequences later and somehow end up in a universe where peter parker doesn't exist, but spider-man does. and wade, blessed with the power of "i know this for the plot", immediately knows that is bull. shit. and sure enough, they find one very depressed, very lonely, and very jaded peter parker.

after much annoyance, light stalking, and following spider-man while he's on patrol, they get peter to spill how he ended up in this situation. and after hearing everything, logan breaks the silence with a simple, yet effective: "shit, kid. that... shit."

"yeah, well... now you know, so you can, like, leave me alone."

"nope, not gonna happen." wade shakes his head and tactfully ignores logan's imploring look of what-the-fuck-are-you-getting-us-into-now "i take my job as marvel jesus very, very seriously, so frankly, this is my job to fix your sorry little life, buddy. and if flat-out telling them you exist didn't work, then - "

"oh, i actually... i never told them."

"...come again?"

"i tried to tell them, but i couldn't. so..."

"i'm sorry... your best friend and girlfriend were crying, telling you to come find them and remind them of you, and you chose not to?"

"they're happy and safe without me! i wasn't going to ruin - "

"oh my god. you sweet, self sacrificial, idiot spider-baby. okay! we can fix this! we're no tony stark, but consider us your pseudo daddies for the time being, kid. let's get you your life back."

which is how one very emotional and determined deadpool, followed by a stoic, nonchalant wolverine (who, in all honesty, probably should be completely against this, but once wade commits to something, he can't be talked out of it, and the sooner he gets his fix from this the sooner he can go home, so fuck it we ball), end up in a certain cafe, all up in a poor barista and her friend's face with a cut-out yearbook photo of some kid, yelling "LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT THIS BOY! HE'S SO LONELY! LIKE A SMALL, FORLORN, VICTORIAN CHILD! REMEMBER HIM, GODDAMMIT!"

(their efforts result in two confused and scared teens, and getting kicked out of said cafe.)

peter practically begs them to just leave him alone, that this was his choice, and he's fine with it, but both wade and logan know a lie when they hear one. they both know what being alone can do to a person, and peter is just a kid who got dealt the shittiest cards in life and at this point, it just feels wrong to leave him here without trying to do something. and maybe they both have a small soft spot for the teen, so what?

and peter knows both men can see through his broody, teenage angst front he's been putting up since the spell, and he's tried so hard to hate the two of them, get them to hate him so they would leave, but they're not budging, so really, there's no point in trying to push them away, right?

and so, he lets them in. he learns that while logan is stoic and intense and kinda terrifying, he's also someone who just wants to do the right thing for the people he cares about. he's also lost people, and he blames himself, but he's come out on the other side. he would tell peter about his daughter, laura, who wouldn't let him wallow in self pity because she is good, better than he has ever been. he never saw himself as a father, but she's still around, so he must be doing alright.

and at first hearing it would result in a pang in his chest, memories of thai food after walking into a smoke-filled kitchen, assurances that things will work out when everything feels hopeless, a tombstone that can never convey everything she was, but now... it's nice to hear that logan still had someone after losing everyone.

so, peter listens to logan's stories. in return, peter tells logan all about his mom.

and wade was brash and loud and conceded and really, really annoying, but he's... no, that's it. he's all of those things, but in a weird way, it's like all those bad qualities merge together to make him a good guy. and yeah, he can walk away at any point, he has absolutely no obligation to help peter, but he does it anyway.

("nonono, don't you dare make me some selfless hero type, kid. i know for a fact that every deadpool has a peter. i'm doing this for the me in your world."

"you're... huh?"

"bottom line, i'm a selfish bastard. i'm doing this for me, 'kay?")

peter didn't fight it. he's had experience with seemingly self-absorbed, deflecting type heroes.

wade doesn't replace him, not even close, but... still.

maybe peter will never get back what he lost. but, for the first time, peter sees a light at the end of the tunnel. that, maybe, he can stop being just spider-man, and he can start being peter parker again, too.

(and if there's a barista talking to her friend about how it's weird that two guys would show up holding a photo of an odd customer from weeks ago, demanding they remember him, and despite not knowing him she felt something, and her friend couldn't help but agree, well... that's neither here nor there.)

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 1 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 7k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: this work has been quite a while in the making and im very excited to finally share the first chapter! a huge thank you to the wonderful josie for being my beta reader and listening to all my rambling <3

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 1 - The Before

‘‘I will be very sad to leave here’, Yves said, suddenly. ‘I have never been happier than I have been in this house.’ ‘I have been very happy too. I wonder if we will ever be so happy again.’’  - Another Country, James Baldwin

You’d been on the run for what felt like weeks but could only have been days when you found the gas station next to an abandoned mall. It had looked promising, the half-rotten advertisements plastered to the walls, reminding your stomach that it had gone far too long without a proper meal, or any meal for that matter.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so starved or so tired, you would’ve heard them coming, the Infected that stormed through the back door practically the moment you slipped into the building. A yell escaped your throat, your hand instinctively reaching for the knife you kept buckled to your leg. You didn't even get the chance to pull it out of its makeshift holster before the creature was on top of you, pinning you to the floor with what felt like inhuman strength.

“Fucking- get off-” you grunted, but even if the thing on top of you had been one that listened to commands, your thin and shaky voice likely wouldn’t have impressed it.

So this was how you were gonna go out. In a town you couldn't even name, somewhere in the snowy mountains of Wyoming, after finally escaping the life you’d been stuck in for so long. You hadn't even made it a month.

For a second, you considered trying to reach for your gun, still tucked into your pants and pressing into your back uncomfortably. You could feel its outline against your skin, a pain shooting through your spine as the Infected seemed to double its effort to reach your neck with its mouth, half-rotten teeth close enough that you could recognize the foul smell of death.

Then, the gun went off. Or you thought it did. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang in your ears as the Infected collapsed on top of you. But the feeling of your pistol pressing into your back was still there. It had been a gun. But not yours.

“I got her!” a voice above you bellowed out, an unmistakable southern drawl. “Tommy, give me some cover here, goddammit!”

You hadn't even noticed the second man, who was now aiming his gun at another runner storming towards him. He fired, once, twice, and the Infected let out a howl before its body hit the tiled floor with a thud.

“Hey, you with me?” The man above you leaned down, shoving the Infected that had been on top of you to the side unceremoniously. He was dressed in a worn jacket, jeans and boots, the latter two splattered with blood. His right hand, covered in a weathered leather glove, was stretched out towards you, an invitation to, well, you weren't exactly sure.

“She good?”

The second man approached the pair of you, your eyes flying over to him for a split moment. He was dressed similarly, except that he looked a little younger than his partner. He shouldered his rifle and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Your gaze flew back to the man in front of you, to the brown eyes that carried an unexpectedly gentle look, not quite matching the gruff way he looked. Shaking slightly, you placed your hand in his, and the next moment, he was pulling you to your feet.

“There you are.”

You nodded, a motion that looked more like your head was jerking on its own accord. But the man seemed to accept it. As the other one stepped towards you, the taller of the two men spoke again.

“You clean?” When no response came, he pressed on, his tone getting a little more impatient. “Did it bite you? Scratch you anywhere?”

The other one gently placed a hand on his chest, forcing your attention onto himself. “Can you walk? Our horses are two houses over, we've got a place where you can rest, get some food-”

“I'm not going anywhere with you,” you blurted out. You'd had your fair share of people, of men offering you ‘help’ and it never stopped there. There was payment, always. In this world, it was stupid to think there wouldn't be, that anyone would help you out of the kindness of their hearts.

“You're not going anywhere else by the looks of it, either,” the man with the gloves muttered, more than loud enough for you to hear. “You won't last a week.”

“I've lasted longer, asshole,” you shot back, suddenly angry at the stranger in front of you. He didn't know you, he didn't know the things you'd gone through to get here. So what if he had saved your life? It didn't give him the right to predict your death.

The other man nudged his ribs, extending his hand to you as well, though it was more of a formality this time. 

“Name’s Tommy. The asshole is my brother Joel.”

He paused for a moment, clearly thinking about how to approach this the right way. “Look, I'm sure you've been traveling for quite some time. We can give you a place to recover. You can leave anytime, I promise.”

You eyed him carefully. It did sound too good to be true. But it also did sound- good. A roof over your head, warm food in your stomach- two things you'd been craving for quite some time.

“Okay.”

The man who had introduced himself as Tommy gave a short nod and led the way to the horses, following tracks in the snow the two men had left while coming to your rescue. Joel pulled up the rear and you had a feeling that his eyes were trained on you, watching carefully, maybe for a twitch or anything else out of the ordinary. Again, you weren't sure why, but it made you angry.

“I told you I wasn't bit,” you repeated in his direction as Tommy began untying the horses. 

Joel raised a brow, clearly surprised by the attitude in your voice. “‘ts what they usually say.”

“Well, I'm not,” you replied, turning your back on him and focusing on his brother instead. Tommy pretended not to have heard either of you but somehow you were certain he had.

“C’mon, you can ride with me. It's not too far.”

Not too far turned out to be a good hour, the crisp autumn air making you shiver, and you were thankful for the warmth of both the horse and Tommy. But what the ride lacked in temperature it made up for in views, the sun coming out just as you passed the first sign that read ‘Jackson County’.

You didn't even mind Joel's occasional glances towards you as much, finding that with the sunlight playing in his brown curls, his look screamed less of danger and more of concern. Whether it was concern for Tommy or you or something entirely different, you weren't sure.

The answer came to you in the form of your housing arrangements. After getting over the first shock of riding up a busy mainstreet in what looked like an actual, functioning town, a thing you hadn't thought possible anymore, you had made use of what must have been the first functioning toilet you'd seen in months. You felt like a child being steered through the crowd at a busy carnival, if the food hall, the functioning plumbing and electricity and the music drifting from one of the smaller shops was any indication.

“You know we ain't got any unoccupied places and Maria and mine’s no good with the baby screaming all night,” Tommy muttered urgently and you frowned a little. The two men were standing a few feet away, clearly unaware that you were already back and you awkwardly shoved your hands in your pockets, considering going back inside for a moment. But then Joel opened his mouth and you couldn't help but listen in on their conversation. The older man seemed as much a mystery as the entire scene around you.

Tommy piped up before Joel even had a chance to argue. “It's just for a couple of nights. I’m sure Ellie and you will manage. You take her in, explain the basics and as soon as we got a place, you can go back to shutting yourself off from every goddamn person in this town-”

“I don’t-” Joel interrupted before shaking his head, a low grunt leaving his throat.

“Fine. Until Thursday, no longe-” He broke off at the look on Tommys face, one that was aimed directly at you. You shyly nodded in his direction and closed the distance between you in a few quick steps. 

The younger man cleared his throat, giving you a reassuring smile. “Find everything okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied politely. You hated how forced the conversation felt, already regretting listening in on it at all.

“Joel here’s gonna get you settled for the night, you let him know if you need anything else. I'll stop by in the morning and introduce you to Maria, she’s-”

“The boss,” Joel finished for him, earning a small glare from Tommy. 

“One of our elected leaders,” he corrected, another smile playing around his lips at the mention of what you assumed must be his wife. “Well, I'll leave ya two to it.”

Joel took you home. He still gave you that look, and with Tommy gone, you could be sure that it was actually aimed towards you. It was like he was still on guard but whether it was of you or something else, you couldn't tell.

“Here's how this is gonna go,” he started as he fumbled with the front door of the house clad in white. “You get a quick check-up, a shower, some fresh clothes- you get the idea.”

“I get the idea,” you repeated as he led you into the hallway, unable to keep yourself from glancing around for a moment, catching a peek of the dining room. “You live here by yourself?”

“Why?”

His question hit you out of nowhere and you stuttered for a moment, racking your brain for a good response, “Just- I was making conversation. Jesus.”

“Right,” Joel nodded, his gaze softening a bit. He placed his bag onto the floor and tapped his right thigh absent-mindedly. “Come on, follow me.”

He took you into the upstairs bathroom that smelled faintly of soap, reminding you that you hadn't had a proper wash in more days than you cared to count. There were a few small containers, mostly re-used mason jars, that were labeled ‘shampoo’ or ‘body wash’, sitting orderly on the small shelf next to the tub.

You felt more than heard Joel shift behind you and turned to meet his gaze. He was still watching, arms crossed, seemingly waiting for something.

“Do I- shower?” you asked softly and he sighed a little at that. 

“I need to check you for bites.” His voice was low but still carried a small note of sternness in it. 

Oh, right.

“I didn't agree to that.”

You could see his hand twitch, the handle of his revolver still sticking out the back of his jeans. “You're bit.”

It was more of a statement than anything else, like he already knew what was waiting for him under your clothes, maybe a bite on your leg, a scratch on your stomach. Joel had dealt with enough people that had been marked for death like that to know the signs of it. The thing was, he was wrong.

“Is this what it is?” you asked, quietly, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“Excuse me?”

“Is that why you go outside, save people? So you can bring them back here, get them to take their clothes off for you-”

“Whoa-” Joel held up both hands, shaking his head very slowly. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I need to check you for bites, it’s protocol.” His voice was still deep, that southern drawl you heard earlier in the gas station still present but somehow softer. His features had shifted, seeming genuinely surprised by the turn of your conversation.

“Now, if you want someone else to do it, I can get a lady and let her look you over. We just want to be sure we don’t bring Infected in, that's all.”

“That's all?” you asked as he kept his eyes trained on you, his hands still up in the air and his expression soft.

“I swear, that's all. If you can show me you're not bit, I'll get you that shower, some food, you name it.”

You gave a small nod at that, your body deflating a little. It had been an incredibly long day and the man in front of you seemed genuine. If he wasn't, you could still try and bail.

Joel turned slightly under the pretense of grabbing a towel from below the sink but you knew he was attempting to give you a bit of privacy- even though he clearly didn’t trust you enough to fully turn his back on you. With shaky hands, you began to strip, holding back a wince as you forced your bruised body to move. The fabric of your shirt clung to your skin, dry blood forcing another whimper out of your throat.

You felt Joel's head snap towards you at that but ignored him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of showing quite how uncomfortable you felt about going through this with him next to you.

He was quick and professional, his large hands brushing over your skin as he made sure you were clean.

“All good,” he commented shortly when he was satisfied, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he reached for a stack of folded towels. Then, his gaze rested on your head again, more specifically, on your matted hair.

“You want me to get someone to cut that for you? Might be easier than-”

“No,” you quickly piped up. You knew your body was malnourished and likely had a dozen other things wrong with it. You didn’t want to lose your hair too.

Joel nodded, his hand absent-mindedly trailing over a particularly nasty knot. “I think I got some soap conditioner in the closet. You want to give that a try?” 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you responded curtly and Joel disappeared from the room for a few moments. He came back, as promised, with a soap smelling of jasmine and cotton. 

He didn’t seem as hesitant, now that he knew you weren’t bit. At least that’s what you assumed had caused the shift in him. It didn’t occur to you that it might be the fact that you were sitting on his bathroom tiles, shivering, assuming the worst in him, in men, hell, in society. That you looked like a wounded deer, ready to take off at the slightest notion of danger, no matter how badly you were already bleeding.

Joel was a lot more gentle than you would have expected a man of his build to be. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, reaching just far enough to cover your entire hair, but never letting any conditioner run down onto your face. It made you wonder if he was a father. Then you remembered his brother had mentioned a girl earlier, Ellie. Still, you knew better than to ask. You’d likely be gone in a few days anyway.

But, there was one question that you couldn’t keep from slipping out of your mouth.

“Why did you think I was bit?”

Joel paused for a moment, his fingers slowing down ever so slightly as he seemed to think about his words.

“You weren’t fighting hard enough. To stay alive, I mean. You were acting like someone who knows that their time is up.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you. You felt his hand brush over the crown of your head, lathering the matted mess that was your hair with soap in small, circular motions.

“I thought it was,” you whispered, honestly. You couldn't bring yourself to lie to him. But you couldn't bring yourself to explain it either.

He didn’t ask.

Neither of you spoke again until you were curled up in his bed, him insisting to take the couch for the night. He’d fed you some soup, relieved when he saw that your stomach could handle that. He’d warned you that it might not, after getting so used to going days without food. You’d gotten some worn but warm clothes to wear after the shower and now your body was sinking into an actual mattress. It was more than you’d dreamed of just that morning.

Joel paused in the doorway, his hand tapping against his jeans, a habit you had already picked up on. It was like he didn’t know what to do with his hands when they weren’t holding a gun.

“You don’t have to leave,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Your mouth went dry as you tried to keep your tone nonchalant. His expression told you that it wasn't exactly working. “Who said I was leaving?”

“You look like you will.”

Again, a quiet fell over you and you shook your head softly. “What, you were a psychologist before or something?”

He smiled weakly. “Contractor.”

After a short pause, he went on. “I know it's hard to- to trust. When ya first get here. I felt the same.” 

You felt a small breath leave your throat at that. “But it gets better?”

“There's hot water, three meals a day, fair working conditions. I don't think it gets much better out there,” he pointed out softly before giving you a small nod.

“I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Good night.”

27 months later

The almost-empty soap sits on your bathroom shelf, the one that’s screwed to the wall just above the worn-out bathtub. You’ve gotten it refilled every few months, sometimes sooner if you wanted to allow yourself a little treat. It still reminds you of your first day in Jackson, of the safety that you so quickly felt in every room of Joel's house.

You still have some time before you have to head to work and the blue sky promises a cold but clear day so you decided to go and check if you’re in luck with any available refills today. Stock always changes throughout the week and while there’s usually something available, you prefer to get your chosen products if possible.

No such luck.

“Sorry, we’re all out. Think patrols cleared out the store that had these a while ago,” the woman behind the counter says apologetically. “We have some others if you’d like to try a new one, there’s-”

“I’m good,” you quickly insist, giving her a small smile when you notice you may have sounded a little harsh. “I’ll just wait and see if some more comes in.”

In one quick motion, you turn around and head towards the door- only to run face-first into a broad chest draped in a thick, brown coat.

“Whoa.” The deep voice above you immediately sends a gentle warmth through your body and you take a small step back to be able to squint up at the man you bumped into.

“Sorry, Texas, didn't see you there.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Joel mutters weakly, fumbling with the small bag he is carrying before handing it over to the woman behind the counter. She thanks him and quickly begins to sort the items he has brought back from patrol. He’s wearing the thick coat you see on him whenever it drops below freezing, his dark boots leaving small pieces of wet mud on the floor of the small store. He’s been doing the creek trails then, most likely.

You’ve rarely been on patrol yourself, focusing your energy more on tasks inside the community. If it hadn’t been for Joel, you know you probably would have taken off in the first few days, maybe stolen some food and been on your way. But he’d gotten you to stay. With him, for a few days. Then they had found space for you in a small guesthouse close to the mainstreet, to be shared with a young woman not unlike yourself that had offered up her vacant bedroom.

You’d taken an instant liking to Lane. Joel had dropped you off at your new home, with the few things you owned, and you and her had both stood in the small kitchen in awkward silence, racking your brains for a good conversation starter. Of course, you’d come up with the one she probably heard every other day.

“I like your hair.”

It wasn’t a lie. Her hair was cut short but thick, and most importantly, it was blue. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen colored hair. It seemed to fit her though. The roots were brown and the overall color a little less vibrant than you’d seen in magazines of people before the outbreak. If anything, you liked this more.

“Thanks,” she said lamely, twisting her hand around the small cup she was holding. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m the worst at social shit,” she finally blurted out and it looked like she was half glad to admit it and half afraid of your reaction.

“Don’t worry. Me too,” you admitted, a grin spreading over both your faces, the silence seeming a lot more bearable now. She shrugged towards the counter, half a dozen muffins sitting on it. “You like blueberries? A friend let me nick these.”

She paused for a moment, brushing a strand of blue hair behind her ear. “I mean, technically they’re not real blueberries, the ground here is too dry for those. I think they’re called juneberries, but we never call them that.”

You figured she’d be a solid roommate if she’d just met you and was already sharing her sweets. Half an hour later, when you had vomited the blueberry muffins back up in your shared bathroom, Joel’s warning about solid food still ringing in your ears, when she was standing beside you, holding your hair back and handing you a washcloth when you were finished, you knew she’d be more than a roommate. She’d be your friend.

She had also been the one to get you into teaching. You’d been fascinated when she first told you about her job in town, teaching the children of Jackson practically every subject she could. Neither of you had been in school before the outbreak so it was all the more impressive, the way she managed to control a class without the need to get loud or hand out punishments.

You’d taken a liking to the classrooms of Jackson as well, reminiscing on the last summer before the world had gone to shit and the way you’d looked forward to being in school, learning all the things big girls did. Not getting to sit in a classroom, and you didn’t count those at FEDRA as actual classrooms, had been only one of so many things you felt you had missed out on.

So it felt even more special now when, after you got Maria to assign you as teacher alongside Lane, you spent your days in the colorfully decorated classrooms, teaching a variety of subjects and a variety of ages. It was similar to life in Jackson, not without its fair amount of challenges. But, just as Joel had promised the first night, you learned to trust and the more you did, the easier it was to let yourself be. Above all, to let yourself be happy.

Joel steps outside alongside you, his head jerking back towards the small supply store. “Did ya get everything?”

His voice is soft, and you like to imagine that he sounds a little more gentle when speaking to you compared to the others. Not that you see him talking to a lot of people either way. You're pretty sure it's why he prefers the patrols, less people to bother him and less voices to listen to. Even though you had a feeling, about a year after you arrived in Jackson, that he also preferred being paired up with Esther, a pretty woman who took care of the horses and frequented the patrols. Especially those with Joel.

You had almost hoped for them to end up together, to drive the images of Joel alone at his too large dining table out of your head. But they didn't and the images stayed. You had him over for dinner, every other month. It started as a thank-you for helping you through your first days and quickly developed into a rare but regular thing. Ellie or Lane joined you occasionally, happy to get a nice home-cooked dinner and some of the wine Joel usually brought along.

You didn't see too much of him outside of your little gatherings, only the normal occasions that presented themself around town. But it was nice to know that he was there, that he would bring his wine and compliment your cooking and make small-talk and listen to the new developments of your life.

“It makes sense for you to be a teacher,” he’d agreed after you’d updated him on your new position, causing you to raise a brow. 

“What is that supposed to mean? Think I can’t handle myself out on the group patrols?”

His face slowly changed at that, Joel urgently shaking his head, “I didn't mean-”

You cut him off with a small laugh, no longer able to stay serious at how panicked he looked. “I’m messing with you, old man. I know what you meant. I think it makes sense too. I like it.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, grumbling a little under his breath.

It's Joel's voice that brings you back to the present. “I asked if you got everything?”

You shake your head to get rid of the thoughts, then it turns to shaking your head no. “They’re out of conditioner. But it’s fine, I can stretch mine a bit longer and maybe they’ll get some next week.”

“Ya still using the same one?” Joel asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat and you nod. It's sweet that he remembers. It's been over two years, after all.

“Yeah. Liked it, never saw a reason to switch,” you explain lamely. He only gives a short nod, motioning for you to follow as he starts walking. 

You do, though perplexed. “School’s in the other direction.” “Thought your class didn’t start until ten today,” he points out. It never appears to you to ask how or why he knows this. When your steps slow down and your thoughts speed up simultaneously, he nudges you along.

“You want your soap or not?” he grumbles and your face lights up a little at that. 

“You got some?” 

Joel gives another quick nod. “Brought them back a few weeks ago. I would’ve given them to you if I knew ya still used them.”

You trot beside him like a puppy, making your way down Rancher Street and up the flight of stairs that leads to the small house clad in white. The noise of the wind chimes tied to a beam above his front porch drifts over to you, the gentle breeze creating a slow melody.

You haven’t been in his upstairs bathroom for years. It’s odd and it feels too intimate, seeing the place where he brushes his teeth in the morning, where he washes himself after a long day. You don't belong in a space this personal. You don't belong to him.

It felt different when you were curled up on the same white tiles, letting him check your bruised and battered body for signs of Infection. For a split moment, it did feel like you belonged, in a way.

Joel's hand brushes over yours as he hands you the soap, the one smelling of jasmine and cotton and safety. 

The rest of the day is a blur of lessons and grading, but the smell of the soap seems to linger, the comforting feeling in your stomach getting you through the work day. It doesn’t end until seven with you staying behind to tutor some kids for an upcoming exam and then to finish preparing said exam. The smell of food fills the air as you open your front door and you smile as you poke your head into the kitchen, “Smells good.”

Lane is seated at the table, a few papers in front of her. Likely an exam of her own, you think to yourself. Even after the world has ended, finals season still exists.

“My mum made that pasta you like so much today. Figured I'd save you some,” she says, nodding towards the tupperware sitting on the counter.

“You're an angel.” You whistle as you head deeper into the house, putting away your jacket and bag, fishing the soap out of the latter and placing it on the bathroom shelf. It makes you pause for a moment. You give a nod to yourself at the sight of the refilled container and make a silent vow to treat yourself to a nice bath today.

An hour later, your stomach is filled with warm pasta, the bathroom damp with steam and your hair soft, smelling just the way you like it. The clock in the small hallway reminds you that it's already past twelve and the knowledge that tomorrow is another day filled with teaching makes you want to crawl into bed fairly quickly. But you're thirsty.

Lane is still in the kitchen, her blue hair a little messy and crowned with a pair of headphones. The music spills out a bit, enough for you to be able to hear the low, steady humming of a song that seems mildly familiar.

You do remember a few songs from before the Outbreak- mainly the ones they played on the radio. But you know that Lane doesn’t, being a few years younger than you, meaning that she barely has any memories of the before.

You're already in your pajamas, shuffling to the sink to pour yourself a glass of water. Somehow it always tastes better at night. Or maybe your brain is playing tricks on you.

“Hey, you remember Joel is coming over for dinner on Sunday, right?” you ask with your back to your friend. When no response comes, you gulp down the last bit of water and turn around, giving a small wave in the air between you. 

Lane sits up a little more, pushing one side of her headphones back just enough to free her ear. “Hm?”

“Dinner with Joel, Sunday,” you repeat, a yawn escaping you. 

After a moment, she nods. “Right, I remember. We’re out of blueberries again, by the way.”

“I’ll make sure to restock this weekend then,” you agree, already halfway across the room. You give another small wave and finally head to bed. It looks exactly the same way you left it this morning, the blanket tucked into one side, the pillows arranged against the headboard.

“It's so good to be home,” you mutter to yourself as you crawl under the covers, stretching your body a little. Your left hand reaches for your nightstand and finds the book you've been reading, hoping to get just a tiny bit further tonight. With all the work and the winter festival coming up, you’ve barely made progress, the wooden bookmark still sitting near the front. You put it aside, glancing down at the finely carved piece of woodwork for a moment. Joel gave it to you for your first birthday in Jackson. Then you open the book properly, the worn-out spine cracking slightly. Just a couple of minutes.

But your eyes start to droop after just a few pages. After half a chapter, you're in a deep slumber, the book slipping out of your hands and onto the wooden floor below just as the front door slips shut.

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing and commenting <3

[wolfofcelestia]

Ok since I'm already thinking about it, here my

Tier List of Fucking Zayne

(Yeah that's the title I'm gonna go with)

S tier:

Master of Fate. I wrote a whole post about him lmao. Basically:

"A centuries year old god with a praise and master kink who’s done some freaky shit in his past but now wants a committed relationship… to do more freaky shit with the one he loves."

A tier:

Foreseer. ...I also wrote a whole post about him LMAO. He doesn't have the experience, technically, but he has the memories of all Zaynes who have done everything under the sun with their MCs, and his body knows how to replicate them. Basically:

"This guy [has] an unlimited backlog of experience with kinks and skills in pleasuring you specifically."

The only reason he's in A tier instead of S tier is because I do picture him as holding himself back somewhat, even if that whole thing with Astra is taken out of the picture. He may have all those skills ready to use in the back of his head but it doesn't change the fact that he's spent centuries alone and needs to get used to the idea of interacting with people

B tier:

Doctor. I talked about him a little bit in Master's post, but Zayne definitely is being held back by his emotions. Yes, he'd definitely get more comfortable once you teach him that it's okay to be a little rough and maybe you like it when he loses control, but it doesn't change the fact that his main priority in life has always been to take care of you-- and that's where most of his skills come from. Pure, overwhelming love for you.

C tier:

Dawnbreaker. Goddammit, why do I have so many sex headcanon posts about these guys.

Well, if Doctor Zayne has issues with his emotions, here comes an even bigger mess of emotions. I'm not saying Dawnbreaker is a bad lover, I'm saying he can't open himself up emotionally or physically as freely as the others. Rather than fucking you, all he'd ever want is to just fall asleep in your arms

But if you wanted him to, he would of course follow through. He'd do anything for you, and if you're seeking pleasure from him of all people, he'd consider it an honour... even if he's hesitant, unsure, and afraid that he'd hurt you the entire time

He'd need a lot more time than Doctor Zayne to open up, but with enough reassurance and love, he'd blossom into a fiercely dedicated lover who would go to the ends of the earth to make you happy

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

Not Just Sundays

Prompt: Sloth | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Corroded Coffin Trying to Make it On the Road, Steve Back Home in Hawkins, Failing at Managing the Distance, Good Uncle Wayne, A Touch of Angst w/a Happy Ending

Another night, another show, and another missed phone call that he promised he'd make over a week ago. Fuck. Time is just slipping away from him. From the studio to gigs to party after party. They've really got a good thing going, and slowing down right now just isn't an option. Once the ball is rolling, you gotta keep it going. Steve will understand. Steve always understands.

He's good like that.

Eddie knows Steve wants the band to make it. Succeed. Even if that means Steve's been getting a smaller slice of Eddie's attention right now. It won't always be like this, Eddie's sure, so for right now he's gonna strike while the iron is hot.

He'll call Steve tomorrow. For sure.

A week later, there's a note waiting at the front desk of the next hotel. An order to call home. Eddie looks at his watch, but doesn't really have time to call Wayne right now. 

"Make time," Jeff says, as if Eddie had said that out loud for everyone to hear. He didn't, he doesn't think, Jeff just knows him that well.

"Fine," Eddie says, and drags his ass off to one of the phone booths in the lobby. It's cheaper than using the room phone, he's sure.

Wayne picks up after three rings.

"I had a boy here last night, pretty upset after not hearing from you in sixteen days," Wayne drawls by way of greeting. It's a condemnation, and Eddie feels it. If he hasn't talked to Steve in sixteen days, he doesn't even know how long it's been since he's called Wayne. 

Longer. Much longer.

"Shit," Eddie says.

"I'd say," Wayne answers.

"I'm just busy," Eddie says, and he knows it's an excuse. He could make time, he just hasn't prioritized it. Like getting out of Hawkins just spread his wings a little too far.

Wayne sighs. 

"What will it profit anyone, if they were to gain the whole world, but lose their own soul?” Wayne quotes, and Eddie leans his head against the glass.

"Are you proselytizing to me again, old man?" Wayne grew up with religion in a way that Eddie did not, and therefore can pull verses and lessons out of his coveralls pocket at any time. It's annoying.

Wayne sighs, "No. I'm not. Not really. But what good will it be to you, boy, if you make it to the top, and then take a look around, only to realize you're all by yourself?"

He's not all by himself. He's got Gareth and Jeff and Goodie. 

But he knows what Wayne means. Will the fame be worth it, if he loses Steve in the process? No. No way, and he knows that. He does. It's just been hard to juggle both right now.

"I'll call him," Eddie promises.

"It's not that," Wayne says, as if that wasn't the reason for his whole call.

"It's not?"

"Think long and hard, Ed. If you don't have space for him right now, if you don't want to make space, it's okay."

And Eddie starts to argue.

"Eddie. It's okay. But don't string him along while he waits back home. It's not right."

"What do you-"

"Shit or get off the pot, kid."

And Eddie laughs. They've moved from a sermon to Midwestern idioms. Great.

But he knows Wayne is right. 

Goddammit.

He calls Steve next, and he's not home. Which, that serves Eddie right. He doesn't leave a message, feels that's too easy. Steve will hear it, forgive him, and Eddie thinks he deserves to get a little bit of his anger. A little bit of his hurt.

They have a four-night break. He could run home. It's not that far. See Steve. See Wayne. Put out the fires he's caused.

Yeah. He's doing that.

Eddie throws some clothes in his duffle, as the other three watch him pack.

"And you'll be back by Thursday?" Jeff asks, and Eddie swears he will be. He knows the schedule. 

"Okay then," Jeff says, tossing the keys onto the bedspread, "go apologize."

Eddie will grovel, will beg if that's what it takes.

It was a long drive to think. The house is dark. He pulls out his keys and lets himself inside. It's kind of a mess, which is so unlike Steve. There are dishes piled into one side of the sink, and laundry sitting in baskets waiting to be folded.

Maybe he's just been busy at work. Picking up extra shifts or something.

Eddie dumps his bag in the bedroom, and no Steve there either. 

He needs something to do to keep his idle hands busy, and he starts the dishes. Folds the laundry, then moves on to running the sweeper. 

It's after ten, and still no Steve. Maybe he's staying at Robin's. It's too late to call her, she'll either be pissed or worried about where Steve is, so Eddie can't do anything except wait and worry that maybe he's too late.

Then a key's sliding into the lock, jiggling the handle, door swinging open, just before eleven. Eddie's been sitting on the couch in the dark.

And he doesn't mean to, but he scares the shit out of Steve.

"Jesus Christ, fucking hell," Steve snaps, clutching his hand to his chest like he's decades older than his years. Like he's terrified.

Well, that's probably fair. He spent his teenage years being chased by monsters.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just me," Eddie reassures, holding out his hands as if to prove that he's harmless.

He's not harmless.

He's hurt Steve, and that's a bitter fucking pill to swallow.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks as he takes a couple big steps forward, barreling into Eddie's chest. He smells like sweat and, well, Steve. 

Eddie hugs him back, but feels like shit that Steve has so easily opened his arms, and heart, after Eddie's been so careless with him.

"Everything okay?" Steve asks, face presses into Eddie's neck.

"Yes, yes, I just missed you and I've been pretty shitty about showing that," Eddie explains, hugging him as tight as he can.

"Missed you, too," Steve says, "I'm glad you're home."

Eddie wants to know where he was, wants to know how he's passing the time. But isn't sure if he should barrel in and start demanding to know things. He's the one that hasn't been around, hasn't been reaching out, he probably doesn't get to start grilling Steve.

"I probably stink," Steve says, trying to take a step back, but Eddie won't allow it and just hugs him tighter.

"Love it, wouldn't change a thing," Eddie teases and Steve laughs, his voice rumbling against Eddie's chest.

He really wouldn't change a thing.

"Sunday night basketball," Steve offers, as if that's an explanation. 

"Yes, of course, that," Eddie says, teasing him a little more, and Steve giggles, pressing his lips to Eddie's neck.

"Mr. Clarke unlocks the gym. And the dads and old men in town get together and play basketball at the gym," Steve says, fingers digging into Steve's back.

Eddie laughs, "Mr. Clarke plays basketball?"

"Not well," Steve admits, biting him, just a gentle nip, and fuck Eddie's missed him. "But good isn't a requirement. Just gotta be outta high school and willing to show up."

Eddie should know this. Should know what Steve does every night, not just Sundays. 

"I'm sorry I've been scarce," Eddie apologizes, "I've been an asshole."

"You've been busy," Steve counters, "but I wouldn't mind hearing from you more often. Even if it's just for a few minutes."

"I'll do better," Eddie promises, and hopes that's true. Steve deserves for him to do better. Eddie wants to do better for him, for them, for their whole future, for their present.

Where he's a touring musician, for real, and Steve is playing basketball with Mr. Clarke for fun.

Eddie wants it all with Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: Sloth was interesting to approach! Of course, at first I was like, sloth = lazy. Then I read this:

"Sloth becomes a sin when it slows down and even brings to a halt the energy we must expend in using the means to salvation."

Obviously, I'm twisting the religious take here, but Steve's his salvation, and he can't neglect expending his energy to love him.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

shorn the sheep (a.d. x t.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x tashi donaldson

Summary: the origin story of Art's shorn sheep haircut.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: just family fluff really, art is a puppy but whats new, pre-canon (or in between canon timelines ig)

Notes: my first arttashi fic! Life is crazy but I was inspired enough to write this in two sittings sooooo enjoy! please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Art Donaldson likes routines.

He eats the same breakfast every morning –eight eggs and a bowl of oatmeal. Takes the same shower stall in the locker room and does the same pre-match routine down to which shoe he puts on first. He has had the same team behind him for most of his career, from coaches and physios to his lawyers and publicists. He generally goes to the same guy for his haircut too, but he’s in Tokyo for the Japan Open. And while his outgrown curls are starting to piss him off, flying his barber halfway across the world just seems excessive.

Although… looking in the mirror now, he can’t help but wonder if he should’ve done that instead.

Maybe it’s the language barrier (which is more of Art’s fault for his general lack of knowledge in hair-related terms, because the hairdresser speaks English just fine), but what he asked for was definitely not what he got. Then again, maybe he wasn’t being super clear on what he means by ‘tidying it up a little.’

So with a polite straight-lined smile, Art nods and pays and ducks out into the busy Tokyo street. Out of courtesy (or so he convinces himself), he waits until he turns the corner to put his hoodie up over his head.

Ever the drama queen, he only takes it off when he enters the hotel suite, finding his wife sitting on the dining table.

“They fucked up my hair.”

Tashi looks up from her laptop, and the first thing she notices isn’t even the hair. It’s the same pout, same tone she normally sees in Lily at bedtime, which only makes her chortle.

“Goddammit…” Art groans. Is it even worse than he thinks? He pulls the hood back up and tugs at the string until the fabric scrunches around his face.

He turns around towards the bedroom, but Tashi stops him, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her. She loosens the tight strings on the hood, so she can see his new hair properly. Her French manicured nails cards through the short locks, scratching his scalp the way she knows he likes. Her eyebrows furrow in focus as she scrutinizes the length and texture in relation to his face.

“It looks fine to me,” she eventually decides, pushing the top part to the side towards his natural part.

“No it’s not. It’s too fucking short.” Art huffs, resting his forehead on her shoulder. 

Tashi hums, feeling the buzzed ends on the nape of his neck. She’s never felt it this short on him—she’s been there through it all; the mop when he was younger, the swoopy Prince Charming look he had just before this, and even that one year where he grew his hair out past his shoulders. She can definitely say that she doesn’t hate this one.  “It’s just shorter, is all.”

“Makes my ears look even bigger than they already are,” he murmurs into the skin of her shoulder, his annoyance dissipating into sulking petulance in the comfort of her scent and general embrace. 

“Maybe it’ll make you more aerodynamic, Dumbo.” Tashi fiddles his earlobe playfully.

He bites at her shoulder in gentle warning, earning a little laugh from her. “That’s not funny.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” She grins and shrugs. “Art—”

“Come on, this is serious.”

Tashi laughs incredulously. “What is?”

“I’m playing in my Uniqlo gear for the first time tomorrow, and the only thing people are gonna talk about is my hair.”

“I sure fucking hope they’re gonna talk about your game more than your new hair or clothes.”

There’s always a very subtle shift whenever Tashi is talking in coach mode. It doesn’t happen often, but it ticks her off whenever his attention strays off of what’s important. But Art pulls his head up and shoots her an unamused, almost defiant glare. He’s not having it.

He’s been trying not to stress out about it, but his new endorsement deal with Uniqlo is so well-covered (and for good reason—he signed a ten-year deal worth $30 million.) and wearing the brand for the first time on their home ground is a big deal. She knows that.

Art will gladly say it as often as he needs to (and he feels like he doesn’t say it often enough), but he loves Tashi. Her beauty is a no-brainer, but above all, he loves her tenacity and efficiency in her work. It’s why he listens to her, and it’s why he’s been playing better than ever since she joined his side.

Tashi sighs a little, realizing that maybe he doesn’t need a coach right now. “And look, it fits into the clean-cut, preppy aesthetics you got. I don’t see how this can be bad press for Uniqlo, either.”

She does so much for him —eats, lives, and breathes him— and sometimes he feels bad for asking. But he eats, lives, and breathes her just as much as she does, and he craves her constantly. Her firm chides, her sharp wit, her soft side, her fury… Most of the time, he needs a combination of at least two of them, even though he doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“Can we like… not make this about work?”

He doesn’t need to. She knows. 

Tashi softens, rubbing his arms up and down as he pulls her closer. “Baby… it looks good on you.”

Art rolls his eyes skeptically. He can’t help but feel like she needs to say that now.

“It really does! What do you want me to say?” She chuckles, nuzzling his face with her nose. “Hey. You know I’ll be the first one to tell you if it looks stupid, right?”

Art sighs. Tashi has never been very generous with compliments, and he actually likes that about her. She knows how to really make it count. “I know, but—”

“But it doesn’t. You actually look really good. And I… I like that I can see you better this way.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have hair flopping over your eyes like a sheepdog anymore.”

Art gives her a playful smack in the butt, but at least he’s smiling now. And despite pushing him physically and mentally for a living, Tashi likes making him smile.

“But you like it?”

Her hand returns to his head, getting the hang of caressing it. “Baby, it’s your hair.” 

Art relaxes into her touch. He’s gone beyond seeking validation, and has fully entered clingy territory at this time. “Yeah, but you’re gonna be looking at it all the time,” he pouts dramatically. “I don’t want you to hate it.”

“I already told you. I like it.” Tashi cups his face, her thumb drawing faint circles on his cheek. The hair is cropped short enough that it doesn’t even curl anymore on the crown. But the patch of brown in his blue eyes is out in plain sight. The line of his nose is knife-sharp, and she can’t help but remember how it parts her thighs right open. “I like looking at your face like this.”

Art’s mouth quirks to the right. He likes coaxing sweet nothings out of her like no other. “So you just like my face?”

Tashi bites the inside of her left cheek. “I do. I like your face.”

Art pulls her into a sweet kiss, and Tashi happily meets him halfway. He wonders if the butterflies would ever cease one day, but until then, he’s gonna relish in it entirely. Wholeheartedly. Selfishly.

Until…

“Daddy, you’re back!” the unmistakable squeal of their 2-year-old cuts through the quiet, followed by the pitter-patter of her little feet.

Art reluctantly lets go of his wife in exchange for their daughter, throwing the former a fond, knowing look. “Hey, Lilybug!” He scoops her tiny frame up into his arms and peppers kisses all over her cute face.

Lily giggles, arms flailing and pushing him around until Art lets up. It’s only then that the little girl manages a good look at him. She gasps. “Daddy, your hair!”

Art’s heart stops. He never thought a toddler’s opinion would mean so much to him, but he plasters a faux-oblivious look for her. “What about my hair, baby?”

“It’s so… little!”

Tashi chuckles. And so does Art, although he does so in surprise. Of all the adjectives in the English language (that they’ve taught Lily anyway), he didn’t expect it to be little. But in a way, he’s glad. It takes the edge off a little.

“Do you like it, though?” Art turns his head side-to-side and lets Lily assess him, and his heart stutters a little.

Lily has a habit of picking up Tashi’s brutal honesty. Truth be told, she is the spitting image of her mother. She tilts her head the same way, sports the same thoughtful pout too. He may have been off the hook with Tashi, but it would be stupid to have his confidence crushed by the miniature version of her.

Eventually, though, Lily grins and nods. Art breathes out a sigh of relief, while Tashi looks at him like, see?

Lily puts her tiny hands on Art’s cheeks the same way her mother does, fingers flicking on her father’s earlobes. She giggles again. “Daddy looks like my sippy cup.”

Tashi laughs out loud this time. Art is not amused.

But he’ll take it. He scowls playfully and makes a face, pretending to be the sippy cup in question, eliciting more laughter from his girls.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Repentance

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

('Burn' gifs are limited and this was hotter. Sue me.)

Summery: You know the phrase 'sleeping angels?' Yeah, not in this fucking house. Pretty soon it's gonna be you or him, but Billy may have a trick or two up his sleeve to provide a happy ending for you both

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specified genitals for Reader, prequel/standalone fic for 'My Ghost' but not required reading to enjoy this fic, ('My Ghost' may even be enhanced if you read this first, I'll be fr.) Porn with plot (if you are only here for plot, the porn is only in the second half and is easily skippable), snoring, Reader is sleep deprived, non-serious threats of violence, mentions of gun violence, banter, make-up sex, drug usage/alcohol consumption, Dom!Billy, Sub!Reader, Reader goes mostly non-verbal after smoking but their thoughts don't, dumbification, Reader gets spoiled and folds like a lawn chair me too bitch me too, massage turning into sex, doggy style, Reader gets that good dick that knocks their head into a wall, vocal! Billy, dirty talk/talking through it, pet names, possessive sex, mentions of wet dreams, happy ending for everyone :)

Other Works in This Series: 'My Ghost' (Original) • 'Lapses' (Sequel to 'My Ghost')

Notes: This was supposed to be a drabble and it was not gonna contain smut. What can I say, when the holy spirit of a short man with big brown eyes compels you, you compel him into your bitch. Anyways, this was inspired by this headcanon written by @g0ry0re0! So if you liked this fic, please thank her as well in the comments and go support her works because this wouldn't exist without it!! They're a fucking great writer as well.

                            -¤°》◇《°¤-

Have you ever killed a man?

I might.

Listen, I'm not a bitch. I'm not unreasonable even though that was a hell of an opening statement. But if you'd dealt with the shit I've put up with for the past few nights, you would understand.

How can a man who's not even that fucking large in stature make such noise? What the fuck is wrong with him?

I kick him to try and hit a reset button. It works for five minutes, which is long enough for me to begin to relax again. Right before his snoring revs up like the engine of that bike he loves parked on our front lawn. Maybe I'll run him over with it. Be poetic, take him out with his own weapon. Don't the reports show just how deadly motorcycles are compared to regular cars? It's bad for your health.

Okay, I'm assuming that bit because I'm tired, I'm cold, and Billy won't shut the fuck up. It was a little cute when he was just spending the night and we were hardly sleeping. But now that he actually lives here?

Kick. Stop. Wait. Snore.

Goddammit.

Billy has the fucking audacity to greet me with a smile this morning. Sitting at my fucking table, smoking from the ashtray I fucking made him. He should be ashamed to look so good with no shirt on, displaying his chest hair for the whole neighborhood to see as he sits near the open window with coffee set in front of him like he owns the damn place.

"Morning beautiful," he says with a smile. What fucking nerve does he have to sit there and act so happy about while I hate him?

"You snore," I growl. His eyebrows shoot into the air, this son of a bitch has the nerve to widen his smile.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said you fucking snore," I repeat.

"Don't think I've heard that complaint before," he says, shifting in his seat to look at me better. I don't like the way he looks in those sweatpants, grey and hugging the wrong areas for my attitude.

"You haven't dated anyone long enough for someone to complain about it," I mutter under my breath. His eyes focus on the oversized shirt I wear that alright, maybe I stole from the drawer I stash his things in that I now claim as mine. We live together, it's inevitable, fucking fight me. Watching me as I walk into the kitchen, taking the coffee pot off the dock and pouring some into my cup.

"Something I can do to make up for it, shirt thief?" He asks, leaning back in his seat and manspreading, his hands on his horribly thick thighs. "I was wondering where that one went," he mutters to himself, amused.

"Yeah. See a fucking doctor."

It's day five. I'm genuinely considering homicide.

Dear God, or Allah, or whoever you are. If I shouldn't suffocate this man, give me a sign.

...does the short snore that escapes Billy's mouth count?

It doesn't matter what I do. If I turn him onto his side, if I kick him, if I shove ear buds in and blast whatever music I can sleep to at max volume, he's louder and I'm on my last straw. It's him or me.

"William," I say, poking my head up from the old pillow.

No response.

Maybe it's safe.

Maybe he's dead.

Maybe he'll stay quiet.

I lay my head down once more.

"...what?"

"You fucking snore."

"I'm sorry baby," he slurs in half baked consciousness, turning to wrap his arm around my waist as he presses hot, open mouthed kisses to the back of my neck. "Can I make it up to you?"

"Yeah, let me sleep."

"Sleep is for the weak."

I am weak. I am very, very weak.

"Put your dick away."

"It isn't out."

"I can still feel it."

With a grumble and his face buried in my hair, he abandons his quest in favor of returning to whatever dreams make him keep me up at night. And I am so close to joining him when he starts back up hardly two minutes later. Right in my ear.

With a final huff, I tear the blanket off of him and stomp my bleary eyed way to the living room. Fucker is too sleepy to even notice. Fuck him.

I'm not amused when I wake up in the ungodly hours of the morning sprawled on the couch, Billy's foot in my face as early morning light peaks through the shitty blinds.

"You followed me," I groan, my voice rough with sleep.

"I followed blanket," he slurs.

"It's mine."

"I was cold."

"You snore."

"I've offered consolation, you should take it."

"William, have you ever shot a man?" I ask, bolting upright as I wipe the crust from my eyes.

"Fucking what?"

"Have you ever shot a man?" I repeat slowly, properly enunciating each word.

Billy's eyes dart to the side, then back to me, wide but still tinted from sleep.

"...no?"

"I've considered it," I tell him. "There's a gun in my nightstand. And if I don't get some sleep soon, I'm going to use it. I haven't before, but I can't imagine it's hard."

Billy presses his lips together in a thin line, knowing I'm not serious but that I'm on the last straw.

"... should I go back to bed?"

"I can go back to bed," I say. "You can stay on the couch."

"That's a great idea."

"I'll take the blanket."

"You do that."

It's only two hours later when I'm woken by the alarm, and the smell of sausage is fresh on the air. Even if it was short, the sleep in solitude feels refreshing, no interruptions from Yellowstone volcano on the other side.

When I wander into the kitchen he's in the midst of finishing his preparations for a feast. And by feast I mean a fuck load of eggs with sriracha on top and plenty of sausages to go with it. There's also a pile of toast, the bottle of homemade cinnamon sugar next to the stick of butter besides it.

"Morning beautiful," Billy tries carefully, eyeing me as I lean against the hallway doorframe. "Coffee's on the table."

Whatever I said earlier- which may or may not be blurry to me at this point -has clearly changed his attitude. He's even set out the hazellenut creamer for me, a treat.

"Did you sleep well?" He asks, setting a heaping plate in front of me. I don't know how to tell him I'm too sleepy to eat.

"Better," I say. I take a slice of cinnamon covered toast, trying to convince my stomach to wake up. "Kinda cold, though."

He smiles softly at that, setting down his own plate to join me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I return the smile, taking a small bite of the corner of my toast. He takes a sip of coffee and brushes his foot against mine under the table. The silence is sweet, apart from the radio just ever so quietly playing in the background to add to the calm morning atmosphere Billy has created for me. His hair is ruffled from sleep, his hand nervously fiddling with the thin chain around his neck. He glances at me, smiles apprehensively, then breaks the silence.

"Do you actually own a gun?" He asks, trying so hard to sound casual.

My brows furrow before I realize what he's referencing, letting out a loud laugh and almost dropping my toast in the process.

"I'm not gonna shoot you, Billy," I laugh, trying so hard to maintain my composure.

"Last night you called me William. I did not like that," he laughs nervously.

"William, I will not shoot you."

"My mother calls me that, I don't want you and my mom calling me the same name."

"Willy-"

"Fuck you," he groans, laughing. "You're terrifying."

"When I don't sleep," I add for him. He nods, eyes wide and brows raising in agreement. "Did you seriously make breakfast because you were worried I owned a gun?"

"When you meet the devil, you meet demands," he says. I kick at his foot playfully, giggling.

"The devil doesn't really eat breakfast."

"I know, I packed lunch too."

Fuck free will, I should've done the gun thing a long time ago. When I walk back into the ramshack house that evening fresh off my shift, Billy has dinner, a bowl and a bath prepared for me upon my return.

"I did not take your comments seriously and I'm sorry," he says genuinely, taking my coat. "I should have and you have suffered. Consider this repentance."

"Repentance is nice. You hide the gun too while you were at it?" I ask.

"I'm not answering that."

Billy may be many things, and a cook is one of them. It's simple, fresh, and nice after a long day. The backrub I'm getting while I eat makes the flavors even sweeter.

"I feel an urge to clarify my threat was not serious," I joke between bites, taking a sip of the wine Billy had run out and gotten special for the night.

"I'm well aware, but this is overdue anyways," he says softly. "You're mine and you deserve nice nights." He presses a warm kiss to the spot just under my ear, making me blush. "My baby needs spoiled."

"Well, I certainly feel spoiled," I say contently, finishing the last bite. I lean back in my chair, letting him explore my neck as his gentle hands work their way through my many knots, whispering sweet nothings in my ear all the while.

"Wait until I tell you what kinds of oils I slipped in your bath as well," he whispers in my ear.

If this is repentance, he should snore more often.

I'm stoned, zoned, and completely naked across the bed as Billy carefully massages my legs, phone propped on a spare pillow beside my head as I stare blankly at the show in front of me.

His hands are slick with oil, gliding across my skin with ease as he works at a knot on the back of my calf.

"I've been ignoring you too much," he muses, his voice soft and loving as his thumbs work in small circles. "You're much too tense for my taste."

I am too stupid to respond with English. I will tell him later about the day I've had at work, running around for fifteen different customers and a boss I can hardly stand. But for now a low moan will do, my mind too blurry from substance use and the stimulation that makes me dizzy with want.

"Does that feel good?" Billy asks, pressing a small kiss against my shin. I moan again, eyes fluttering shut. "Wanna make sure my baby sleeps well tonight."

Oh, I'll sleep phenomenally.

His hands abandon me, searching for the bottle of lavender scented oil, coating his hands before reaching for the back of my thighs, right below the curve of my ass.

"How's the show?" He asks me, digging deeply into my tissue in a way that makes me moan, arching my back subconsciously as the stimulation takes over my thoughts. "That good?" He asks, voice deep as he chuckles.

"Very good," I confirm, my voice soft against the freshly washed bedsheets. I have never said a bad thing about this man. I would never curse the provider of relaxation. Any claims otherwise are false and slandering against me and my man.

"You're grinding against the bed, you realize that, right?" Billy asks bemused, his thumbs drawing deep circles against the inside of my thighs, making me gasp in want. "There something else you want?"

Whatever strain he has given me has made me nonverbal, but the squeak I let out is answer enough. For me, anyways.

"I need words, baby. Words. Vague noises are not consent," he says softly.

"Motherfucker that noise was not vague," I snap, lifting my head up briefly before resuming my mindless appreciation against the bed. Billy's laugh echoes throughout the room, his hand lightly smacking my ass before reaching for the small towel and bottle of lube on the nightstand, wiping off his hands before squeezing a generous dollop onto two digits.

His fingers press against my entrance slowly, coating it with the thick, cold lube, making me squirm and gasp against him, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"I'm gonna start off slow, okay baby?" He says gently, still stroking my entrance as he positions himself above me. "You let me know if you want me to change something."

I moan in understanding, but it's not enough for him. His voice is low and rumbling by my ear, his lips teasing at my shoulder.

"Say yes if you understand," he says softly, breath hot against my ear.

"Yes," I say just as soft.

"Good," he praises, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my neck. "Good baby."

His cock slowly sinks inside of me, the pot from earlier making the sensations deeper and more vibrant as I feel the sweet stretch even at the top of my head. Billy moves slow, taking his time to enter me as though we had all the time in the world. I can't help but pant against the bed, whining for more intelligibly as Billy sheethes himself to the hilt, pressing himself against my g-spot just perfectly at this angle, no real effort needed when I'm like this. My eyes roll at the touch, my hips bucking in uneven, stupid rhythms against him as he remains still inside of me. Fuck it, he could snore in my ear right now and I'd let him.

Billy's voice is breathy, moaning as he brushes my hair with his hand. "Let me know when you want me to move," he moans in my ear.

"I am," I whine. "Fuck me."

He chuckles against me, his voice rough as he continues in a slow, even rhythm. "You don't want to go slow first?" He asks, pressing a kiss to my spine as he slowly slides against my spot again, his cock making me clench tightly around him.

"Uh uh," I moan, still trying to buck rapidly against him. "Want more."

"You usually get so overstimulated if I start fast at this angle," he teases, ignoring the pace of my hips in favor of his. "Can't even finish fucking you if I start out fast, you're so sensitive by the end."

That's a lie. Terrible lie. Slander.

"Do you really want me to go fast?" He asks softly, one hand finding my hip to guide me to a better rhythm.

"Motherfucker, yes," I whine, lifting my head. He chuckles, much to my annoyance. "Fuck me like you own me."

At that he grabs my hips, slamming me against his base before he begins to violently abuse my hole, fucking directly into my g-spot and never missing once as he fucks me hard enough to make the bed slam into the wall, making a painting rattle on the wall behind us.

"Jesus- fuck- wait!" I cry, my hips subconsciously trying to escape his abuse while I clench around him, silently begging for more.

He slows his pace once more, pressing such soft, sweet kisses to my spine as he speaks. "See? You can't handle it like that. You're half fucked out already and that wasn't even five seconds."

He's absolutely right and I should listen to him more. How wise is my man.

"If I was really fucking you like I owned you," he says lowly between slow, long thrusts, his hands guiding my hips gently as I whimper with each move like the bitch I am. "I'd pick the pace. But here you are, telling me what to do and changing your mind the moment I give it to you. So indecisive is my baby." Very indecisive. Go fast again. "And I'll do whatever you want like a good man should."

I will stay home with the kids. I will scrub my permanently stained linoleum floor until it shines like the top of the Chrysler building. I will spend my days barefoot and pregnant if he so requests of me. In Jesus's name, Amen.

Billy moves slow and purposefully against me, grinding his cock and moaning in my ear while he watches me, smacking my ass here and there when he wants to watch it bounce against his hips.

"So pretty," he moans. "Even prettier when you cum. Is there something I can do to help?"

I whine against the bed, feeling edged and whoreish with his thick dick pulsing inside of me, fucking me into blind submission and making me willing to do anything he says.

"Would someone like for me to go faster?" He coos sweetly, slightly speeding up his tempo as he slams more gently into my spot. "Does my baby wanna get fucked?"

I nod stupidly, whining and huffing as he slowly continues to gain speed.

"You gonna cum around me? Take my cock real nice and fast?" He asks, smacking my ass once more. I clench upon impact, making him do it again and again until he laughs.

"Cum in me," I moan. All care has been thrown out the window, my head scrambled and vision blind.

"Yeah? You want that?" He teases. His balls smack loudly against my front, offering additional stimulation and making my eyes roll. "Looks like you're drooling over it." Motherfucker I am, and?

"I'm gonna fuck you so good you sleep for days, sweetheart," he moans in my ear, slamming into me hard enough to make me squeal. "Kept dreaming about you for the past week. Kept getting all nice and hard only to have you wake me up before I could fuck you. Come to find out I was keeping my poor baby up, being my own cockblock."

His cock pistons in and out of me at impressive speed, one of his hands slamming against the bars of the metal headboard to offer him stability while he fucks me, the bed ramming against the wall so loudly it's all I can hear besides him. I think the painting fell.

"Now we can both sleep better at night. My balls empty, your ass nice and full. Think I'll do it again tomorrow," he muses, slamming me against the bed, pushing me higher. "And again." And higher. "And again." Until the top of my head pounds against the ceiling. "Till the fucken cows come home."

Moo, bitch. Moo.

With a pathetic scream, hardly able to make any noise due to the violent climax, I cry his name as I clench around him. His dick pounds my head into the wall absuively as he chants my name like it's the only word ever known to him, his voice raising in volume until he's shouting it so clear it raises above the rocking of the bed, loud enough surely for the neighbors to hear. I'm hardly even aware of when he cums, or really anything at this point, his dick pulsing within me and fucking his admittedly larger than usual load into me so deep you'd think there'd be no chance of it to escape. I'm only aware he came when his cock finally softens, our cum dripping and pooling underneath of me in a mixed puddle when he slips out with a small whimper, his breath so heavy and wheezing I'm almost scared he'll pass out on top of me.

"Wanna go again?" He jokes, his voice worryingly pathetic as he tries to laugh, sounding more like a death rattle than anything. All I respond with is a shaky thumbs down, my head spinning from the possible concussion I may genuinely have.

It's an effective sleep method. Works wonders for both of us.

                              ▪︎》◇《▪︎

After he slips out of the house one winter morning with my gun tucked in the back of his jeans, I can't tell you how much I'd give to hear him snore against our lavender scented bed one last time, feeling his arms that are now ash and bones on the floor of a gas station just outside of town. My only company now being his ghost echoing his bright laughter down the darkened halls of what was once our home.

You like my ending bbgirl? Special just for youuu.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Masterlist

[chrace]

Apart from Charles' win, we have to talk about this

Lmao we're fucking kids now ig

When I saw this I actually cackled.

Apparently, papaya rules are

Zak, love, there were so many ways to describe this without sounding like we're 5.

But I can't lie to say this didn't make my day.

Tbh Mclaren are relaxing a bit, the monza strategy was absolutely piss poor, there were so many opportunities for either Lando or Oscar to win the race, but they completely fucked it up.

[Also, part of the papaya rules were clearly stating, "Oscar, Lando is way ahead of you in the championship, if he gets second place + the fastest lap point, that is a good +11 points ahead of Max for his championship rather, and you still score points for 3rd place anyway so yk just bump Lando up a bit, and Oscar said fuck all to your championship, and I'm pretty sure Lando is never gonna follow team orders ever again to give Oscar a win soo lol]

Honestly if they don't patch up this shit they've started, we just might get another brocedes or even better, Senna-Prost Mclaren rivalry (which is honestly gonna be so fun whatt) but they need to be the top 2 championship contenders, which isn't happening right now but with what it's looking like, maybe, just maybe for 2025 or 2026 🤭 (2026 being 10 years since brocedes😃)

Also I hate how Mclaren is ALWAYS trying to project some sort of happy family, meanwhile their members are slowly dying inside.. jk I love u Mclaren. Lol.

Okay now im just ranting

Bottom line is Mclaren is a social experiment ffs

"Oscar said I don't want no damn fruit"

Goddammit I love this sport🤍

[yurislotusgarden]

Tying their hair up!

ʚїɞ Separately! Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Platonic! Kyouka Izumi x Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ I got this idea after seeing this post! It's not really related but I got the idea, so here it is. I will most likely make a part 2

ʚїɞ word count: 1206 (Dazai - 428, Chuuya - 446, Kyouka - 336)

ʚїɞ Tw's: None! Just pure fluff, pet names: 'bella, doll, reader's gender is not specified in any way (if it is please tell me so I can edit it)

ʚїɞ I WANNA THANK THE 22 PPL WHO FOLLOWED MY ACCOUNT <33 I did not expect ppl to like my works??? Like at all??? I actually posted my first works here thinking they're gonna end up with maybe 10-15 notes with luck, and there they are with much fucking more, so thank you if you interacted with any of my works<33

Dazai Osamu

If you entered the armed detective agency office at the moment, you would see people working, someone missing out on a job but the possibly first thing would be able to notice is that the workers are stealing confused glances at Dazai because… since when does he tie his hair up?

“Hey Dazai, what’s with your hair?” Kunikida asked, wanting to know why the oh so lazy bandage wasting machine changed his hair. In the 2 years he’s been working with him, he never saw the brunette tie his hair up.

“Oh? A fabulous question, Kunikida!” The grin on Dazai’s face could really compare to Kenji’s sun smile. 

“I feel like I’m about to regret this question” A mutter from where Kunikida is standing was heard, but the older detective ignored it.

“You see Kunikida, my beloved Belladonna has done it! And I couldn't bring myself to ruin said happiness they got from seeing me with my hair like this, so I just came in like this!” The bandaged man had stars in his eyes upon recollecting what happened before he came to work.

Dazai looked like he was about to talk more about what happened earlier this morning… Yea Kunikida is regretting his questions, why did he have to ask?

//////////////////

Dazai was sitting on the floor in front of the couch between your legs while you were sitting on the couch behind him, tying his hair up into a ponytail around the back of his head since you decided it would be better for him instead of a higher one. Surprisingly, when tied up, the ponytail was quite long - longer than you first thought it would be.

“You were meant to tie my hair up, not play with it ‘bella” A subtle comment, but enough to get you to stop just running your fingers through his hair, you would've been done by now if you didn’t do that, but hey, you're gonna take any chance to play with his fluffy hair.

“you can’t blame me, your hair is too soft to not play with it when I have a chance” You chuckled, finishing up the ponytail and tapping his shoulder to indicate that you're done and he can stand up or turn around, whichever he prefers.

And as it is with Dazai, he preferred to turn around and hug your waist, burying his face in your abdomen.

…Goddammit you want to play with his hair like you always do when he’s like this, but you can't or you will have to repair the ponytail. Sigh.

Nakahara Chuuya

“Chuuya-san?” The ginger turned towards the voice, who turned out to be a woman with red-ish hair colored hair, Kōyō Ozaki.

“Yes, Ane-san?” The shorter of the two turned fully towards the taller woman.

“...May I ask what happened to your hair?... And where did your hat go?”  Kōyō asked, actually confused. After all, it’s not every day that you see the hot-headed executive with his hair up, much less without his hat. She’s sure she barely ever saw him take it off besides when in closed private spaces, and his hair being tied up into a high ponytail? She never saw it, but even tho she doesn't voice it out, she thinks the look really does fits the man.

“Ah, I decided to leave the hat at home for once, it would destroy the hair.”

“Why do you not want the ponytail gone?” Kōyō understands that technically it’s easier to do things when your hair is tied up, but she knows that longer hair never caused any problems to the short mafioso.

“[Name] is the one who made it, and they seemed really happy to see it on me”

///////////////

“Please Chuu?” You asked for maybe the hundredth time today, -surprised your boyfriend still has patience for you- about to give up on asking your partner if he would let you tie his hair up. You just wanted to see what he would look like! You can bet your life he would look better than those guys on magazines many droll over. They could never compare to your boyfriend anyway.

A sigh could be heard in the room, a head full of orange hair moving to look at you. Chuuya was getting ready to go to the Port Mafia Headquarters and was about to say no, but when he looked over… yea it was over for him before it started.

“Just don’t rip my hair out, doll”

“Hey! You know I’m gonna be careful!”

Next thing you two knew, he was sitting in front of the mirror while you were standing behind him, making the ponytail high on the back of his. ‘Why is his hair so soft wtf’ had appeared in your head but didn't voice it out.

You hooked your arms around his shoulders and neck, putting your chin on his head. “You look so pretty like this” When Chuuya looked at you in the mirror -as if he wasn't the whole time- the soft smile you had on simply killed him. He couldn't bring himself to destroy the little thing that made you happy so he ended up shocking your ass later on by not bringing his hat to work for once.

Platonic! Izumi Kyouka

just to see how she looks

“You look so cute!”

“Really?” 

You and Kyouka were the only ones apart from the clerks and Yosano in the clinic doing who knows what in the agency building as the others had missions, so you decided to do random things as you have already ended all the paperwork assigned to you for the day.

“Your hair is perfect for any kind of hairstyle but I think you look adorable with a ponytail, it suits you” You smiled at her. It really did fit her the same as her usual hairstyle, you just wish you had some hair accessories at the moment. Her hair would look even better!

“I’m glad you think so [Name]” A soft voice came from the younger girl.

You two continued to make small talk while you fixed her hair, before turning towards the office door when it opened.

“What you two doing over here?” Yosano looked at the two of them with a small smile appearing when she noticed Kyouka’s hair change.

“Messing with Kyouka’s hair. There’s not much to do at the office at the moment but we shouldn't leave the office yet, it’s still quite early” You said quietly, starting to look through your desk to see if you have any accessories for hair. Colorful to be specific.

“Hmm, Can I add myself to the fun?”

“You want to do something with my hair?”

“I have hair clips and more in my infirmary desk”

You looked up at her with stars in yours with such speed that Yosano couldn't help but ask herself if your neck is okay.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go to your office, Kouka’s hair needs something more!”

The rest of the agency slowly started to come back one by one, to not only Kyouka’s hair being colorful from hairclips and more, but also to yours and Yosano’s hair being the same. There was some confusion about what they missed, Atsushi and Kenji just so happened to join in, to say the least.

Notes, comments, reblogs and anything else is greatly appreciated <3

[glacierclear]

leon kennedy headcanons (things he would do that arent positive)(lighthearted/don't take these too seriously)

- he would leave the toilet seat up

- and he would never put the toilet paper roll in the right way

- he'd get up and leave in the middle of any conversation that upsets him (like, in the middle of his partner trying to talk to him about difficult topics)

- he would sneeze/cough like a dad

- he would wear socks until they have holes in the toes

- he would grab you a little too hard when he's nervous about your safety. in that weird helicopter partner way.

- .......passive aggression

- bad at communication. doesn't text or call enough. can't take a compliment.

- emotionally unavailable as fuck

- he would leave a sliver of milk left in the carton and put it back into the fridge instead of just drinking the rest

- on that note; drinks straight out of the bottle or jug. like, standing in front of the open fridge. (I do this too lmao)

- would get mad if you give him gifts that are too expensive.

- mega light sleeper.

- kicks in his sleep.

- I have no evidence to support this but I think this man picks out the veggies in his fried rice.

- doesn't separate the colors in the washing machine

- maybe a little road rage. as a treat.

- wouldn't know the difference between an alligator and a crocodile

- so sweaty. even when he's asleep. sweaty sweaty man.

- wouldn't let you even split the cost of any meal he takes you too. (maybe positive or negative depending on who you are)

- hogs the blanket

- falls asleep during movies sometimes (you're happy he's getting some rest but goddammit leon this is plot relevant dialogue you're missing)

- wouldn't tell you if you have a booger hanging out of your nose

- his feet are so fucking cold leon get your toes off of me I'm gonna die

[poppy-metal]

mafia!jordan :( want to eat them out

🦸‍♀️

promise i will be back on my a game soon school has been kicking my butt

jordan has a fat clit did u know :((( its an outie, peeks out from their mound - all flushed under the patch of hair between their legs.

them straddling your face :((( their sweet little wife so trusting and submissive under them, the desperation to please them apparent in your wide eyes as jordans cunt hovers above you. them carding a hand through your hair, soft with you, other hand coming down to spread their lips - smirking when you whine low in your throat at the sight of their wet slit and that chubby clit twitching making your own thighs clench.

"you're gonna be a good little wife for me and eat daddy's pussy?"

god, god, god, you want to be the best wife ever. nodding eagerly, cheek brushing the inside of their thighs. licking your lips as you look up at them for guidance - "wanna make you feel good - wanna be good for you."

"fuck." you're just so fucking cute, that devotion to them. that innocence. they feel slick slide from their hole and their clit throb. they rock their hips just above your lips, you dont dare move up, waiting for their command. the heat of their cunt on your face making your pussy ache. "you remember how i play with that clit? daddy's is bigger - just - open your mouth for me -"

you do so, laying your tongue flat and jordan groans as they lower their cunt against your face. clit dipping right into that wet open mouth, your lashes flutter and a whimper leaves you immediately at the musky tang of them hitting your tongue immediately.

" - just like that, baby. wrap your lips around it -" they cut off with a hiss when your plush lips close around their juicy clit , the salt of them more potent as saliva fills your mouth immediately around them. your head already starts to feel floaty, something new you didn't know could happen with sex. but you're learning alot from jordan. "shit - that's good. suck on it now, like you do on my cock."

your cheeks hallow out as you suckle on them, and jordans hand tightens in your hair. "oh fuck." even with how fucking good it feels, the tight wet suction around their sensitive clit they keep their eyes on you, so fucking pretty. "stay just like that. gonna fuck your mouth - "

tingles spread through your body, warm and elated. something so happy inside you to be good, to be used. jordan starts rocking their hips, and clit fucking in and out of your mouth, and you take to keeping your mouth a tight hole for them to dip in and out of, occasionally kitten licking and getting a sharp hiss from jordan in return. you feel their juices start to spread over your chin, the fat lips of their labia humping over your mouth and chin as they fuck your mouth.

looking at them above you as they rut against you - the slight bounce of their tits - the dark heat in their eyes - the glint of the silver chain around their neck. its so overwhelming your eyes flutter shut - only for jordan to immediately reach down and lift their pussy off your face just a little, give your cheek a light slap.

"nu uh, open those eyes - fucking look at me."

god, that tone. you listen and your eyes are wet now. big and doe eyed and helpless and jordans fucking leaking when they push back down against your mouth, keeping your head in place as they fuck you into their wet pussy.

"you're so fucking pretty, shit. you were made for me - fucking made for me to use and fuck and take care of - goddammit - " they lift up again, rubbing at their clit in tight little circles, hand still fisted in your hair, keeping your mouth centimeter from where they're rubbing , two fingers on either side of their clit, almost like they're jerking it off "stick out your tongue - gonna cum all over that cute fucking face."

fluid hits your tongue and cheeks and chin, splashing from their pussy and soaking your lower face completely - jordan groaning so fucking loud at the way you stay still in the position they told you to keep.

its not over though, when they stop gushing - they still feel that throb in their belly - clit too fucking sensitive to fuck your face again, panting above you - n something about your tongue still being out -

"dont move - "

you gasp when they shift - hands coming up to grip much more muscular masculine thighs on either side of your head. you feel soft balls brush your chin as the heavy weight of their dick bobs above your face now. flushed and hard.

they shuffle back a little, and the sight of their wet glistening tip unfurling from their foreskin as they stroke it back - mouth watering all over again.

"can't fucking get enough of this mouth -" they trace the seam of your lips with the ruddy head of their cock, the precum dripping from the slit slicking the two pillow soft petals. "fucking landed the jackpot with you as a wife, huh? tight fucking pussy and wet little throat -" they lean up a little so their cock is at an angle above you, the rings of their hand flashing as they grip themselves around their thick base, directing their cock so its in position to plunge right down into your open mouth. a string of their pre drips from them and you shiver when it touches your tongue. this new musky flavor meshing with the heady taste of their cunt. "fuck, look at you drool for it. here you go -"

they feed you their dick slowly, moaning deep in their chest as it slides down your throat - wet throat muscles hugging the intrusion.

their head is thrown back, mouth open in bliss. already their balls are pulling tight, full and ready to pump cum into a warm hole.

they still manage to cup your face tenderly, even as they drag their cock in and out of your mouth, the wet gurgling suction of the motion filling your bedroom. how they manage to look at you with such adoration even as they use you like this - you'd be married off to them a million times.

their thumbs stroke over the apples of your cheeks. close to unloading inside you. and you'll drink it all down. like a good wife.

"such." thrust. "a good." plunge. "fucking wife."

yeah.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Hi there! I'm just popping in to say that I looove all of your fics and headcanons for the One Piece men! I'm looking forward to reading more of your ongoing projects as you share them ☺️

Would you consider, in the future, maybe doing a request for headcanons of Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, and Mihawk with a short/petite female reader?

Thank you, and keep up the superb writing!

💚🩵❤️🧡

First, thank you so much!!! So so happy you're enjoying them, I am honored.

Soo most of my female characters actually are on the shorter/more petite side. I don’t like self-inserting when writing (doesn’t bother me at ALL to read it, I just don’t like writing myself), so they’re about as different from me as possible in appearance, which means short and small.

So I’ve got PLEEEENTY of headcanons for this!!

Short Stuff

NSFW Headcanons

OPLA!Sanji, Zoro, Shanks, Mihawk x AFAB!Petite!Reader

♫♬Baby Doll — The Fratellis♬♫

Baby doll, do you believe they’ll catch you when you fall,

And when morning comes, the sun is gonna shine?

Sanji

"I've never met anyone sweeter than you in my life, love."

Honestly thinks you’re the cutest thing in the world. Just wants to cuddle you forever and protect you from everything.

If you’re self-conscious about your size for any reason he definitely isn’t going to tease you about it; won’t even make mention of it, if that’s what you prefer, but he still absolutely loves it.

Loves to carry you on his back if you have to walk anywhere, you resting your chin or your cheek on his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders.

Honestly so gentle, like he’s afraid of breaking you, you’re just so precious and cute and he doesn’t want to do anything that could ever even potentially hurt you.

Loves even more to carry you like a princess to bed, one arm around your back and his other under your knees, brushing his lips to yours.

Showering you with murmured praises, laying you down gently and kissing every inch of you, trailing his lips across your skin.

Just dying between your thighs while you come over and over again on his tongue.

Zoro

“Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, midget?”

“Midget” is a term of endearment…though he does use it to get on your nerves just a little because it’s cute seeing someone so small get so annoyed.

Like the top of your head barely comes up to his chin, seriously, what are you going to do about it?

Not being cruel by any means, just light teasing. Just enough to make your cheeks go a little red, to make you purse your lips and shove at him or punch at his arm.

You get too annoyed and he just wraps his hands around your waist and lowers his head down to kiss you, murmur against your lips that you’re just so sexy when you’re pissed off, and goddammit if you don’t forgive him every time.

Loves using you to help with his strength training, e.g. sitting cross-legged on his back while he’s doing push-ups.

Which usually results in him flipping you onto your back and fucking you senseless at some point.

Still counts as endurance training, so win-win.

Shanks

"Come on now, love. You're not short, you're just fun-sized!"

You are his babydoll and you must be protected at all costs. Doesn’t matter if you’re an adept fighter or not, you must be protected at all costs.

You’re just so tiny and fragile and adorable, he literally has no choice.

And he absolutely loves it.

Coming up behind you and resting his chin or his cheek over the crown of your hair, pulling you back against him by your waist because you just fit against him so perfectly.

Or stooping down when you least expect it to catch you around the middle and just carry you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, chuckling at your protest the whole time.

The sight of you straddling him makes him completely feral—your thighs wrapped around him, your hips rolling, your slight form on full display for him to drink in.

Gritting his teeth while you grind against his cock, clenching his hand around your hip to pull you up…and then right back down, groaning as you slowly sink down onto him, slowly filling you inch by inch.

Struggling the entire time to hold himself back, to let you set the pace, you’re so much smaller than him and the last thing he wants to do is hurt you, but it’s oh so hard no to just seize you by the waist and pound into you.

Loves when you lay across his chest in the serenity of the afterglow, with your head resting against his shoulder, running his fingers through your hair or resting his hand over your ass, brushing his lips to your forehead and your temple and your neck.

Will likely hold you there like that all night if you have no protest over it.

Mihawk

"You're pushing your luck, my little bird."

You brat him and he will literally pick you up and put you up on a high shelf somewhere that you can’t get down from and leave you there until you get your act together.

Probably just sip a glass of wine and smirk while you protest.

Has absolutely no issue using your size against you. It makes you seem all the more like a toy, his little plaything.

It’s something of a power rush, how easy it is to pin you down, how easily he can wrap one hand around both of your wrists and pin them over your head and refuse you the pleasure of touching him while he teases you to the brink of madness.

Pinning you to a wall, shoving his hand down your panties, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time while you beg for more.

It’s so, so easy to control you, to control your pleasure or deny it entirely while he revels in your whimpering and whining and pleading.

So easy to rip away your panties, pick you up by your thighs, pin you against a wall and thrust into you, rail you until you’re breathless and screaming his name.

Your legs wrapped around his hips, his eyes occasionally scanning down your slight form before locking back onto your gaze again.

So easy to carry you to bed after, to revel in your limp and trembling form pressed against his side with your arm across his chest and his tucked under your neck and curled around your back to hold you against him and comb his fingers through your hair.