#I also am not expecting it to be that good but

[sugarwarachan]

aizawa shouta: A—Z nsfw headcanons

andy's notes: here's to my favorite super-sleepy hero, and to the people on this app who are as obsessed with him as i am.

cws: smut nsfw, 18+, many many warnings lmao but some highlights: breeding, oral (f and m receiving), dirty talk, brat taming, dom/sub, masturbation, sex toys, Daddy/sir kink

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

One of the best at aftercare in terms of emotional check-ins. He’s rerouting your synapses every time you fuck, so he makes sure to bring you back down to earth gently. He always confirms with you that you liked everything (and if you didn’t, what to do next time) while holding you close and playing with your hair.

B = Body part (favorite body part, their own or their lover’s)

Ass. Man. 👏 Loves smacking it, laying on it, watching it jiggle when you walk or popped high in the air when you suck his cock.

On him? Probably his hands (mostly because you won’t stop drooling over them and begging him to choke off your air supply).

C = Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Big ol' breeding kink for this man, so expect him to cum inside you CONSTANTLY. He's also not big on masturbating, so when he cums, he cums a LOT.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory)

Loves to cum on your face. A part of him feels guilty, but the primal side of him wins out every time he sees his creamy seed all over your pretty lips.

E = Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

I don’t see him as much of a one-night stand kind of guy, but he’s had a few serious partners and learned what he likes.

F = Favorite position

Doggy or missionary. (He’s an old man and he likes what he likes.)

Doggy because he likes to manhandle your hips and ass while he's grunting into your cunt.

Missionary for the intimacy and the eye contact. He loves to say the nastiest shit while you looking you right in the eye.

G = Goofy (how serious are they)

He’s not cracking jokes by any means, but he loves to tease you and make you blush.

H = Hair (grooming habits)

Y'all, this dude is a MAN. Constant five-o-clock shadow that scratches at your inner thighs until he grows it out enough to be soft. Dark hair on his chest that tapers down to the yummiest happy trail. Well-maintained pubic hair. If he’s not dating someone, he’ll let it get a little crazy, but cleans it up as soon as he has someone.

I = Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

He’s a mixture of both, and you never know what you’re gonna get *faints* You'll be in the middle of the filthiest fuck of your life, and Aizawa will randomly start telling you how beautiful you are and how much he wants to marry you.

J = Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

I don’t know why, but I do not see this man masturbating unless he’s as down bad as he can go. Like he feels insane because he’s twisting his cock like a teenager over you.

K = Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

I think he’s experimental and willing to discover kinks with you BUT his main ones: breeding, breath play, edging/overstimulation, brat taming, D/s, daddy/sir kink, somnophilia

L = Location (where they like to get it on)

Prefers to fuck you somewhere private.

Within your own home, though, any room is fair game. If he had to pick, he would say the bedroom first (he's a romantic), and the kitchen second (because of how many times he’s eaten you out on the counter).

M = Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Intelligence/competency. If you're really good at your job/super knowledgeable about a subject, he's grabbing the back of your neck and dragging you off to the bedroom.

Otherwise, he’s a pretty simple guy: lingerie, red lipstick, his old shirt... doesn't matter. He’s into YOU.

N = No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Don’t really see him being into pegging. no matter how much I might want this

O = Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He’s a giver!! Loves nothing more than making you go dumb on his tongue over and over again. He’s patient, too, so he always winds you up to the edge and holds you there until you’re wailing at him to let you cum.

When you return the favor, he’s the most appreciative motherfucker on earth. Raining praise on you about how well you suck his cock.

P = Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

Strong, measured strokes. He doesn’t like to go fast unless he’s worked you up and you’re begging him to.

Q = Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He doesn’t hate quickies but he certainly doesn’t love them.

R = Risk (do they like to try new things)

Depends on his partner. If you want to try new things, he's happy to oblige. But I don't think he would be disappointed if you weren't naturally willing to take risks or try new things all the time.

S = Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Okay, I love him, but he is tired. I think on a good day, he can do two or three rounds if you give him some time to recover, but he usually prefers one long session and a long cuddle after.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Definitely the type to see sex toys as an important addition to the bedroom and not as competition.

however

Say he's out on a mission and specifically tells you not to use your vibrator until he gets home... and you ignore that? expect to be denied your orgasm for hours

U = Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Literally all he has to do is rest his hand on your lower back and whisper into your ear that he wants to go home and you're ready for him.

V = Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

King of talking you through it. Once he finds out you like his voice, he uses it to his advantage (see above lmao). Can get you wet just by saying a few key phrases. Tends to grunt and groan during the act itself. Whimpers only when he’s really sensitive and you suckle the tip of his cock.

W = Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

Maybe this is just me projecting, but CNC 🤭

X = X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

7 inches and girthy. Like you need prep every time kind of girthy. Nice little curve to the tip. Uncut.

Y = Yearning (sex drive level)

When he’s not in a relationship, it's almost nonexistent. The man has a lot of shit on his plate!

When he's in a relationship, though, his sex drive slowly builds back up and when you’re alone together, he's almost always touching you.

Z = Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He’s a tired man!!! He always makes sure you’re comfy and taken care of before he drops off, but once he does, he’s OUT.

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3 If you'd like to be added to my general taglist, let me know bbys!!

taglist: @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi

[fazedlight]

Venture (a continuation of Ferrari)

“There’s some steel under that Kansas wheat,” Lena smirked.

Kara glanced nervously at Kal, only to note that Lena’s eyes landed on her soon after. How much do you know?, Kara thought, watching as Lena turned in her chair to glance out onto the city, explaining her orphaned background. It was a strange and disconcerting interview, leaving both Kal and Kara uncertain as to what to do next.

Kara didn’t expect to see Lena again later that day - saving her, this time, instead of grilling her (or destroying another luxury vehicle). Wherever Lena fell on the morality spectrum, she was clearly not the one behind the Venture’s explosion. She was a target.

Soon after, Corben would be shot, Kal would write a favorable article about the Luthor, and Kara would once again affirm to herself to keep an open mind. “I didn’t see your name on the byline,” Lena said, eyes almost sparkling at the suggestion. Kara smiled back, and immediately after marched into Cat’s office.

But the real surprise came when Kara got home.

A private courier came to her door, carrying a simple brown envelope. “Kara Danvers?” the young man asked, receiving a nod and a signature from Kara before scurrying off for his next assignment. Kara frowned, closing the door before tearing at the envelope. This is from Lena Luthor?

Her eyes widened at the contents. A Ferrari order slip, complete with an address in Italy and written permission for Supergirl to carry the car away. A location on a private rooftop parking garage in National City, to deliver the vehicle to. “Whenever is most convenient for you,” Lena’s handwritten note said.

She knows who I am, Kara thought, glancing up with wide eyes, before looking back down, rereading the note. How…

Well, Kara had a task.

She found herself taking off early the next morning for Maranello, soon finding herself carrying off a platinum convertible, identical to the one she had destroyed. Her fingers itched at the container, hoping that Lena would be there when she landed with the car.

Kara hadn’t expected the tight leather tank top wrapped perfectly around Lena’s body, causing Kara to momentarily drop the cargo while she desperately remembered how not to swallow her own tongue. Luckily, she had been able to catch the crate before it crashed through the roof of LCorp Tower. She placed the crate down softly on the parking lot, landing beside it. “Miss Luthor,” Kara said.

“Thank you,” Lena replied, glancing appreciatively at the car.

“How did you know?” Kara asked. How did you know who I was?

Lena quirked a brow. “Those glasses do nothing for you, Supergirl.”

Kara watched as the other woman took steps towards her, as she tugged her coat closed against the cool morning air (or perhaps to prevent Kara from being further distracted). Lena paused a couple feet away, opened her mouth as thought to speak, but hesitated - mouth closing again in a thoughtful frown.

“Are you alright?” Kara asked.

“Yes,” Lena responded, “Just- thinking about us. I don’t want to scare you.”

Scare me?, Kara thought. The note had certainly made her feel… uneasy. But Kara knew that Lena had given a critical card away in letting Kara know she knew her identity. It was a gesture of goodwill, not a threat. “I think I can take you,” Kara tried to joke.

Supersenses are a funny thing. Kara could easily detect the slight dilation of interest in Lena’s pupils, the small uptick in heartbeat. “I certainly wouldn’t mind,” Lena said breezily, resulting in heat burning on Kara’s face at what exactly that meant.

But Lena moved on. “The bigger issue is that I have kryptonite,” Lena said, “Lex’s kryptonite.”

“Kryptonite?!”

“I would never use it against you,” Lena said, “Or- well-”

“Or?” Kara asked. Or?! “You want me to believe you’re the good Luthor, who also wants to use kryptonite on me?”

“Yes,” Lena said, “For good reason.”

Kara’s brow crinkled. This is insane.

“I’m part of an old money family. A circle that receives… certain invitations,” Lena said, “To certain kinds of entertainment.”

“Entertainment?”

Lena bit nervously at her lip, watching Kara with concerned eyes. Kara found herself shifting on her feet, tilting her head in thought, trying to convey an openness that she wasn’t entirely sure she was feeling.

But it was enough for Lena. “How would you like to take down an alien fight club?”

----

Continued in Fight Club.

[corroded-hellfire]

By the Book - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: Eddie takes your daughter on a trip to the bookstore.

Note: This came about because @munson-blurbs and I were in a bookstore and heard a mom call for her daughter Eliza 🥺

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Ooh, what about this one?”

Eliza stacks an eighth book on top of the pile she’s amassed on the low table set in the middle of the children’s section. 

Eddie releases a small huff of laughter from his place on the tiny giraffe chair across from his daughter. He loves that Eliza wants to buy books for her younger siblings, but, in true Munson fashion, she’s going a bit overboard.

“We already have one about ducks, don’t we?” Eddie asks.

“They are geese,” the almost-kindergartener tells him. “I like this one with the superhero.”

“I could read that to them while they wear the Superman and Wonder Woman pajamas that Luke bought them,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah!” She happily slides that book closer to her father. “Can I get a book?”

“Sure thing, sweet pea. But we’re not going to be able to get all of these for the babies. They’re so little and there’s plenty of time to get them more books.”

Eliza sighs in disappointment, the exhale so strong that it blows some curls off her forehead. 

“Okay,” she reluctantly replies. “But these.”

She pushes two copies of Corduroy in his direction. One side of Eddie’s mouth quirks up in a smile; he remembers that as one of the few books in his room as a young boy. 

“That’s a good book,” Eddie says, picking up one of the books. “But why do we need two?”

The withering look Eliza gives him makes him wonder if he’s the one whose brain hasn’t fully developed yet, not hers. She’s a very convincing almost-four-year-old.

“You can’t buy for one baby and not other!”

Eddie chuckles softly, but kindly.

“Lize, they don’t each need a book,” he explains. “I can’t read two books at the same time, but they can both listen to one at the same time.”

“Oh.” Eliza plops down in the elephant chair next to her. She purses her lips, and Eddie tilts his head to the side in question.

“What’s up?”

Big brown eyes meet his own and Eddie sees a rare flash of timidity go across her face. She looks down at the table and the pad of her forefinger traces invisible patterns. The hesitation makes Eddie furrow his brow—he can’t remember the last time Eliza didn’t speak her mind.

“How do I be a big sister?” Her voice is soft, unsure. 

“Oh,” Eddie says in surprise. That’s not something he was expecting. His heart reaches out to his daughter, crestfallen that this has been a thought that’s been growing inside of her. “Liza, you’re already a wonderful big sister.”

“But I dunno stuff. How am I gonna hold two babies?”

“Ah,” Eddie hums. He nods in head in understanding, offering her a gentle smile. “That’s confusing, huh? How to cuddle both babies at the same time? What do the babies share and what do they have their own of? What to do when they both cry?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

Eliza looks up and bobs her head up and down.

“Sometimes I don’t know the answer to that either.” The little girl looks shocked at his response, which makes him chuckle. “It’s complicated, isn’t it? Mama and I learn as we go, though.”

“Mama gets ‘fused too?” she asks.

“Yeah. Mama and I have never had twins before. It’s something new.” He reaches over and gently taps his fingers up her wrist. “And you’ve never been a big sister before. Or a sister to twins. That’s also new and something you’ll learn as you grow up. Your brothers, too. And when you were born, Luke had to learn how to be a big brother. He didn’t know.”

“So, Luke knows now?”

Eddie winces, his mind trying to figure out a proper reply to that.

“Maybe a different source of information would be better,” he finally says. His eyes light up as an idea pops into his head. “Why don’t we see if they have a book on being a big sister?”

“Okay.” Eliza slides off of her chair and Eddie pushes himself up out of his with a groan. 

He cracks his back and looks down at the giraffe chair. He shakes his head; he’s proud of himself for getting up after being down so low. His long legs, he’d argue—that’s what made it hard. Not his age.

The two of them leave the pile of baby books on the table as they venture over to the shelves. It doesn’t take long to find what they’re looking for. The section is actually quite large, which has Eddie smiling down at his daughter.

“Look at all these books,” he says. “Lots of people need to learn how to have a little sibling—or siblings.”

The reassurance seems to chase away Eliza’s insecurity as she scans the book covers with eager eyes. A soft hum emanates from her as she allows her fingers to brush against a few at eye level. 

“I like this one,” she says, stopping on a particularly pink book. No surprise there.

Eddie pulls it from the shelf and looks over the cover. 

“I Love Being A Big Sister,” he reads. “That sounds perfect for you.”

A smile grows on Eliza’s face and warmth spreads through Eddie’s chest. 

“I do love it!” she says.

“I know you do!” Eddie boops the tip of her nose with a ringed finger. He nods towards the rest of the books in the children’s section. “Want to find another book too?”

“Yes!” All the light and excitement are officially back in his little girl. She twirls around, holding her hands above her head. “I want a book with a ballerina!”

Eddie walks over to set down the book he’s holding on top of the pile for the twins—silently deciding that he will buy all of those books after all. If you say anything about it when they get home, he’ll just say that he wants them to be as educated as possible. How can you argue with that?

“A ballerina princess!” Eliza squeals. Her little feet tap in place, her hands stretch up towards the book just out of her reach. 

Whipped father that he is, Eddie comes over and gets the book down for her before she even has to ask. 

“Ah!” Eliza cheers. She clutches the book to her chest and begins to twirl once more. After two spins, she leaps towards the table, in an attempt to mirror the action of the ballerina princess on the cover of her new book. 

“Happy with your choice?” He already knows the answer of course.

“Mhmm!” she hums. “Can we read it to Scarlett, too? Even if it’s my book?”

Eddie grins and leans down to press a kiss to the top of her curls.

“Absolutely, sweet pea. See? You’re already the most thoughtful big sister.”

She beams up at him with a proud smile and it’s enough to melt Eddie on the spot. Luckily for him, Eliza picks up her books and heads in the direction of the checkout—because if she asked, Eddie would’ve bought her the whole store. 

[benispunk]

Safety Net

logan howlett x reader

Logan experiences a rage episode.

A/N: hello everyone!!!! am I back??? well...I guess we can kinda say that? So, life hasn't been good, like, at all, and a whileeee ago I saw a post about mental health and Logan and I saw the "rage episodes" part and I cannot find this post anymore which is killing me ughhhh but ANYWAY, this is my rendition of a rage episode. this was very therapeutic to write because of the things I went through recently and over the past few years as I have witnessed someone in my family have a rage episode like the one depicted in this fic. I really hope I do not offend anyone with this??? cause this is based on personal memory and also I've done a lot of research on it and as I said, I felt lots of different emotions while writing this....anyway...I hope you have a good time?? reading this or like...you didn't choke on your tears or whatever. my exams are ALMOST over which means....more fics soon?? see you!!

Masterlist

Logan never thought he’d make it this far.

He wasn’t the type for relationships—not real ones, not the kind that lasted. The ones he’d had before were brief, messy, and built on things that never stuck. But Y/N was different. She didn’t just put up with him; she understood him in ways that no one ever had. And somehow, despite everything, she was still here.

He didn’t say it much—not in words, anyway—but he cared about her. More than he should. More than he knew how to handle. He’d show it in other ways instead. Walking her home when she worked late. Holding her a little tighter in his sleep when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Memorizing the way she took her coffee, the songs she hummed under her breath, the way her nose scrunched up when she was thinking.

She saw through all of it.

"You’re not as grumpy as you think you are," she’d teased him once, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his forearm.

He’d just snorted, shaking his head. "You sure about that?"

"Mhm. You just pretend to be."

And maybe she was right. Maybe, with her, he didn’t feel the need to pretend so much.

Which is why, one night, tangled up together in her apartment, she had said something that stuck with him.

"I was thinking… maybe one day, we could live together."

It wasn’t a question, not really. Just an idea, something she had tossed out so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But Logan had frozen for just a second too long, and she must have noticed because she quickly added, "Not now, obviously. Just, you know… one day. If you’d want that."

He forced himself to relax, to keep his voice even. "Yeah… someday."

That had been enough for her. She had smiled, kissed him, and let it go.

But he didn’t.

It stayed with him, gnawed at him from the inside out. Someday. What did that even mean? A month? A year? What if she asked again? What if she expected something from him?

What if he said yes and fucked everything up?

At first, he managed to push the thought aside.

Days passed, and nothing changed. They still met up when they could, still spent nights tangled in each other’s arms, still fell into that easy rhythm that had become so natural.

But then, the idea started sticking.

It crept up in quiet moments—when he was alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling. When Y/N texted him goodnight, and he imagined what it would be like if she was just… there.

And that’s when it started. The overthinking. The doubts. The realization of everything that could go wrong.

Logan had never had anything that lasted. Not a home. Not a real future. Not someone who stayed. And if he let himself believe—even for a second—that this could work, that he could have something good, then he’d just be setting himself up for the inevitable.

Because eventually, he would hurt her.

Not on purpose. Never on purpose. But he knew himself. He knew what he was.

His nightmares alone were enough proof of that.

The thought of waking up next to her after one of those nights—claws unsheathed, sheets shredded, breath ragged—made his stomach twist. What if he lashed out? What if she got caught in it?

What if one of his rage episodes got out of hand?

No.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So when months later she asked about it again—actually asked—he hesitated.

They were sitting on her couch, her legs thrown over his lap, a movie playing in the background. It was the kind of easy, quiet moment that usually put him at ease. But this time, he could feel her looking at him, like she was weighing her words before speaking.

"You never really answered me before," she said finally. "Do you actually want us to live together?"

Logan’s jaw tightened. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, like she was scared of his answer.

He should have told her the truth. That it had been eating him alive for months. That he wanted to say yes, but his fear screamed louder than anything else.

Instead, he said, "I just need some time to think about it."

Y/N’s expression didn’t change. She just nodded slowly, studying him in that way that made his skin itch.

"Okay," she said, like she didn’t believe him.

And then she squeezed his hand. Just briefly. A small, warm reassurance.

But to Logan, it didn’t change anything.

He could only see what he thought was disappointment behind her understanding. He convinced himself she was just trying to be strong about it, pretending it didn’t hurt her when really, she was just waiting for him to figure himself out.

The guilt settled in his chest, heavy and suffocating.

That’s how it started.

The beginning is always subtle. He stayed out later, made excuses when she asked to meet up. His texts became shorter, more infrequent. He spent more time alone in his apartment, staring at the walls, trapped inside his own head.

And the longer it went on, the worse it got.

Logan convinced himself it was nothing. He was just thinking. That’s all.

But the thoughts never stopped.

Every time Y/N messaged him, guilt curled in his stomach like a sickness. He’d stare at his phone for minutes at a time, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before locking the screen and tossing it onto the couch.

He didn’t want to ignore her. But if he answered, he’d have to talk, and if he talked, she’d hear it in his voice—how torn he was, how he could barely keep himself together. And he couldn’t let that happen.

So he let the distance grow.

He told himself it was for her own good. That he was doing her a favor.

That lie worked for about a week.

Then came the restlessness.

The apartment, always too small, started feeling like a cage. Logan found himself pacing the length of it, muscles coiled so tight they ached. He tried training to burn it off—push-ups until his arms gave out, running until he couldn't feel his legs—but it didn’t help.

The frustration built like pressure under his skin, like a ticking bomb he couldn’t disarm.

And worst of all, he felt it creeping up—an old, familiar feeling, something he’d kept at bay for months.

The anger.

It started small. A twitch in his fingers. A tightness in his jaw. A heat in his chest that never fully went away.

The second week, it got worse.

His hands trembled when he wasn’t paying attention. His breathing came too fast, too shallow, like something was crawling under his skin. He felt his temper snap quicker, his patience wear thinner.

And then, one morning, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized himself.

Dark circles burned under his eyes. His face was drawn, sharp, his shoulders tense. He looked haunted.

It was getting bad. Too bad.

He needed to see Y/N.

The thought hit him like a slap. His first instinct was to shove it down, bury it under everything else, but it wouldn’t leave.

He missed her. But worse than that—he needed her.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he showed up, and she looked at him the way he looked at himself?

What if she finally saw him for what he really was?

A monster. A wreck. A lost cause.

The fear made his blood run cold.

The first punch isn’t planned.

One second, he’s gripping the sink, breath ragged, jaw locked so tight it aches. The next, his fist slams into the mirror with a force that shatters it instantly.

Glass rains down like ice. Tiny shards bite into his knuckles, but he barely feels it.

His chest heaves. His heartbeat pounds against his ribs. He stares at his own fractured reflection—his face split into a dozen broken pieces, each one warped, wrong.

It’s not enough.

The rage claws higher, burning his veins, crushing his ribs. He steps back, breathing sharp and uneven. He moves away from the bathroom, into his small living room. And then he snaps.

The lamp goes flying first. It crashes against the far wall, exploding into pieces. The chair follows. He barely registers the sound it makes as it shatters.

His claws threaten to unsheathe, but he fights it—barely.

Instead, he tears through the apartment with nothing but his hands.

The table gets overturned. Books get ripped from shelves. His dresser—too heavy, too solid—takes three violent attempts before it topples over with a thunderous crack.

Still, it’s not enough.

He needs to break something. To hurt something. To feel it.

His breathing is ragged, his vision tunneling. His hands tangle in his own hair, yanking, as if he could pull himself out of his own skin.

The storm inside him is suffocating.

It doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left standing.

And then, silence.

His shoulders tremble. His hands curl into fists at his sides, still shaking.

He looks around, blinking through the haze, and finally sees it—

The wreckage.

His apartment is destroyed.

He stares, breath coming too fast, too shallow. His head is spinning. His chest aches.

What have I done?

The thought slams into him, knocking the air from his lungs.

He wants to scream. To punch something again. To disappear.

And then—

A soft knock.

His stomach drops.

He goes rigid, pulse hammering in his ears. He barely has time to process before her voice follows—gentle, uncertain.

"Logan?"

No. No, no, no.

She can’t be here. Not now. Not when the air still vibrates with rage. Not when his body still hums with it.

He staggers back, breath shaking, trying to make sense of anything.

She knocks again. "I know you’re here."

Panic surges through him.

He grips the edge of the still standing counter, heart hammering. Think. Think.

But his mind is blank.

She can’t see this. She can’t see him.

But she’s already here.

And it’s too late.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. If he stays completely still, maybe she’ll leave. Maybe she’ll assume he’s out and walk away.

But then—

His phone rings.

The sound shatters the silence like a gunshot.

His stomach drops.

Shit.

His body jolts into motion, eyes darting wildly through the wreckage. Where the hell is it? He moves without thinking, shoving aside broken furniture, tossing clothes and debris out of the way. His hands are unsteady, frantic, as he digs through the mess.

The ringing continues.

Come on, come on—

His fingers finally close around the device, and he scrambles to turn it off, but—

The damage is done.

Outside, Y/N goes silent.

A few seconds pass, then—

"...Logan?" Her voice is softer now. Knowing.

His chest tightens.

He grips the phone so hard it creaks in his hand. His breathing is too loud, his pulse a hammer against his skull.

She knows.

"Logan, open the door."

No. No, no, she can’t.

"You can’t come in," he blurts out, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, tries to steady himself, but it’s useless. His hands are still shaking. His entire body is.

"Please." Her voice is so gentle it cuts through him like a blade.

"Just—just go home, alright?" He forces the words out, presses his back against the door like he can physically hold her out. "I’m fine."

He knows how it sounds. Knows she doesn’t believe it.

"Logan…"

There’s something in her tone—something aching—that makes his stomach twist.

"You’re not fine," she says, quiet but firm. "Please. Just let me in."

He squeezes his eyes shut. His head is spinning.

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t see this.

But she is.

And deep down, he knows. She’s the better option. She always has been. And with a sharp breath, his fingers fumble with the lock.

The second it clicks, the door opens.

And Y/N steps inside.

The air was thick with dust and the sharp scent of splintered wood.

The apartment—once messy in a charming, lived-in way—was destroyed. Furniture overturned, glass shattered across the floor.

In the middle of it all stood Logan. Frozen. Shaking. Like an animal cornered after ripping itself apart.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Her heart ached so violently in her chest it almost knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn’t hesitate.

Carefully stepping over the broken glass, she made her way to him. Her hands reached out—gentle, slow—like approaching something fragile.

“Logan,” she breathed.

He flinched at her voice. His hands, bloody and trembling, curled into fists at his sides, as if trying to hold himself together. He wouldn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

But Y/N wasn't afraid. Not of him. Never of him.

She checked his hands first, ghosting her fingers over his knuckles, over shallow cuts that were already starting to heal. It didn’t matter—they could have hurt. She still touched him with the same care she would have used on something broken beyond repair.

“Come here,” she whispered, finding a chair that hadn’t been completely wrecked. She kicked aside some debris, made enough space, then turned back to him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe.

So she went to him and she led him by the hand—gently, so gently—until he sat down with a heavy, defeated thud.

Y/N disappeared into the kitchen for a second, somehow finding a clean cloth and wetting it with cold water. When she came back, Logan hadn't moved. His eyes were empty, far away, like he wasn’t really there.

Kneeling in front of him, she pressed the damp cloth to his face, wiping away the blood, the dirt, the sweat.

He flinched again at first—then, slowly, surrendered to her touch. His head bowed forward, his whole body trembling under her hands. Tears fell down his cheeks. Silent. Endless. He didn’t even seem to notice them.

Y/N caught every tear with the cloth, and when that wasn’t enough, with the soft brush of her thumb against his skin. She kissed the corner of his mouth so lightly he barely felt it, her hands cradling his face like he was something precious.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, over and over again. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Logan let out a breath that sounded like it hurt to release. His shoulders collapsed inward, and for a moment, he leaned into her, desperate and broken. But even then, even shattered, a part of him tried to pull away. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

“You shouldn’t be,” he rasped, voice thick with guilt and misery.

Y/N’s heart twisted, but she didn’t loosen her hold. She shook her head and pressed her forehead gently to his. Her hands threaded through his hair, slow and steady, grounding him.

"I’ll always be here," she whispered.

And that—That broke him all over again.

Logan choked on a sob, rough and ugly, and Y/N gathered him close. She guided him toward the bedroom, somehow navigating the wreckage without letting go of him, like if she let go, he might fall apart completely.

They reached the bed—half wrecked but still standing—and she urged him to sit.

He obeyed, dazed and exhausted.

She climbed behind him, pulling him against her chest, holding him the way you would hold someone drowning. Her hands never stopped moving—through his hair, over his face, down his chest—silent promises written into every touch.

Logan tried to speak—tried to tell her he was sorry, that he was dangerous, that he should be alone—but the words tangled in his throat.

Instead, he cried.

For everything he was.

For everything he wasn’t.

For everything he was terrified to lose.

And she listened. Patient. Endless.

Her tears fell into his hair as she presses soft kisses there and whispered, “I’ve got you, Logan. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in days—maybe longer—he believed her.

He stayed there, trembling in her arms, every breath a struggle. He was exhausted—but he couldn’t close his eyes. Couldn’t let himself fall into sleep, not yet. Not when every part of him screamed that he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

Y/N must have sensed it—the way he was still locked in the fight, even as his body sagged against her. Because after a long moment, she leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers brushing through his hair again, slow and soothing.

"Logan," she said softly, "let’s go to my place, okay?"

Her voice was a balm, warm and certain, like she was offering him a lifeline he didn’t think he deserved.

"We’ll come back here when you're ready," she promised. "We'll clean up together. But right now, you need a place that feels safe."

Safe.

The word hit him like a punch.

Logan stiffened, guilt flaring so hard it made his stomach churn. He shook his head, tearing away from her touch even though it hurt to do it.

"I can’t," he rasped, his voice cracking. "I’ll... I'll just wreck that too."

Y/N’s chest squeezed painfully. Logan’s fists curled again, self-hatred bleeding out of every line of his body.

"I could—" he swallowed hard, his throat burning, "I could hurt you."

He didn’t say again. But it was there, unspoken.

He was a monster. A ticking bomb. Someone who could tear everything good apart without even meaning to.

But Y/N. She just reached for him again, steady and unwavering, like a lighthouse cutting through the storm.

"You won’t," she said, firm but gentle. "You won't because you're not alone. Because you don’t have to fight this alone anymore."

She squeezed his hand, grounding him back into her.

"And even if you still don’t believe it," she whispered, "even if you push me away, even if you try to shut me out... I’m not leaving you, Logan. Not now. Not ever."

Logan’s breathing hitched. He shook his head again, broken. "You don’t get it," he choked out. "I’m not... I'm not worth it. You should walk away. You should've walked away the second you saw—" He gestured weakly at the wreckage, at the wreck of himself.

But Y/N only moved closer. Closer until he couldn't look anywhere without seeing her. Feeling her.

"I saw you," she said, voice thick with emotion. "Not the mess. You."

That shattered something deep in him. Not in a violent way. In a way that stripped him down to the raw truth beneath all the pain: He needed her. He wanted her. He loved her more than he even knew how to say.

And she loved him right back, with a kind of love so fierce it scared him more than anything else in the world. But it also saved him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Logan reached for her again. His hand fisted in the back of her shirt like he was terrified she might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. And when she leaned into him, wrapping him up in her arms again, he buried his face in her neck, letting himself finally, finally fall into her.

Maybe he didn’t deserve her. Maybe he never would.

But she was here. And for tonight, at least, that was enough.

She kept her arms around him for a long moment, just breathing with him. When she finally pulled back, it was only to cup his face in both hands, her thumb brushing gently across his cheek.

"Stay here," she whispered. "Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back."

Logan didn’t argue. Couldn’t. He just nodded faintly, like a man barely clinging to the surface.

Y/N kissed his forehead so softly it made his chest ache, then she stood up, stepping carefully over the wreckage as she made her way back into the main room. He watched her go, guilt gnawing at him.

In the living room, Y/N moved quickly but carefully. She picked up the sharp shards of the broken mirror first, wrapping them in a towel before tossing them safely into the trash. She pushed splintered wood and broken glass out of the pathways, clearing a narrow, safe space from the bedroom to the front door. She closed the shattered shutters as best she could, dimming the room so that when Logan would come back here later, it wouldn't feel so raw. So exposed.

She worked with quiet determination, her heart breaking a little more every time she caught sight of the destruction. Not because she cared about the mess, but because she could feel how much pain Logan must've been in to cause it.

When she was satisfied that nothing dangerous remained, she made her way back to the bedroom.

Logan was still sitting exactly where she left him, on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped and hands loosely clenched in his lap.

Y/N’s heart squeezed.

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she moved around the room, finding a worn duffel bag tucked under the bed. She gently packed what she could: clothes that weren’t destroyed, a couple of small things she knew mattered to him.

In the bathroom, it was harder—cracked tiles, broken shelves—but she found his toothbrush, some of his toiletries, a couple of personal items, and tucked them into the bag too.

The whole time, Logan stayed silent, waiting on the edge of the bed.

It felt unreal. Like he wasn’t sure any of this was happening. Like any second now, she’d realize who he really was and walk out that door forever.

But she didn’t. She zipped the bag closed, slinging it over her shoulder and when she turned to him, her expression was still soft. Still his.

"Alright," she said gently. "Let’s go."

Logan hesitated, his body locked between guilt and the pull of her voice. But then she held out her hand to him and after a long, trembling second, Logan reached out and took it.

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his, like a promise.

She led him out of the bedroom, guiding him carefully around the worst of the wreckage she’d cleared, never letting go of his hand. Out the door. Out of the prison his fear had made.

The walk to Y/N’s apartment was quiet.

She kept a steady hand on Logan the whole time, whether it was gripping his hand, brushing his arm, or gently guiding him through doors and up steps.

Logan didn’t speak. He felt hollowed out and brittle, like if she let go of him even for a second, he might just blow away with the night wind.

When they finally reached her door, she unlocked it quickly, ushering him inside with a tenderness that made his throat ache.

The apartment smelled like her. Warm. Safe.

Home.

She kicked off her shoes by the entrance but didn’t ask him to do the same. Instead, she led him straight to the couch, easing him down carefully like he might break if she moved him too fast.

"Stay right here," she said softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I'll be back in a second."

He nodded numbly, watching her flit around the small space. She pulled out a fresh blanket, fluffed a pillow behind him, checked the thermostat to make sure the place was warm enough. Every move was made with him in mind—with the kind of care he didn’t think he deserved.

And maybe he didn't. Maybe he was fooling himself to think he could have this. Have her.

As she moved into her bedroom to grab some extra clothes he could borrow, Logan’s eyes wandered without meaning to.

Her apartment was small but filled with life—books, photos, cozy little touches everywhere. He caught sight of something pinned to the fridge and frowned. He pushed himself up a little and squinted.

It was a photo. Worn and creased from being touched so often.

It was him. Him and her.

A candid photo from some random night he barely remembered, probably taken when they'd gone out for drinks with some of her friends. In it, he was looking off to the side, a rare, unguarded smile on his face. And she was laughing, leaning into him like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there. Someone had drawn a little heart under the picture.

Logan's chest tightened so hard it hurt. He hadn't even known she had that picture.

Y/N came back just then, carrying some sweatpants and a soft hoodie, but paused when she saw him up, looking at the fridge.

"Logan?" she said gently, setting the clothes down.

He shook his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Trying to breathe past the crushing guilt and the unbearable love that wrapped around him like chains. He sat back down on the couch.

"I..." he started hoarsely. He dragged a hand down his face, then gritted out, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees in front of him, cupping his face in her hands again, forcing him to look at her.

"Listen to me," she whispered, voice trembling but sure. "You’re not a monster. You’re not broken beyond saving. You are good, Logan. And you don’t have to do this alone anymore."

He squeezed his eyes shut, a broken sound escaping him—part sob, part plea.

"I could hurt you," he rasped. "I could—"

"You won't," she said fiercely. "I trust you. I know you."

Her thumbs brushed away the tears he didn't even realize were falling again.

For a long, trembling moment, Logan didn’t move. Didn't even breathe.

And then, like a man surrendering a battle he never wanted to fight in the first place, he leaned into her touch. Collapsed against her.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe he wasn't beyond saving.

Not as long as she was here. Not as long as she was holding him like this.

Logan’s body was heavy against hers, all tense lines and shuddering breaths. For a moment, he let himself rest there, forehead pressed to her shoulder, letting her hands ground him—gentle strokes along his back, soothing circles at the nape of his neck.

But then, as always, the guilt clawed its way back up his throat.

He shifted, starting to pull away.

"I—I should go," he muttered roughly, not even knowing where he thought he could go in this state. "I’ll just—I’ll sleep on the floor. Or— or the couch."

Y/N immediately tightened her hold.

"What are you talking about..." she said, firm but gentle, her hands sliding up to cradle his face again. "You're not going anywhere."

He shook his head, a pained sound escaping him, "You don’t—You shouldn't have to—" His voice cracked under the weight of it. "Look at me, Y/N."

"I am," she whispered, her thumb stroking just beneath his eye, brushing away a tear. "And all I see is the man I love."

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing ragged.

She didn’t let him turn away. Didn’t let him fall back into that pit.

"You're staying right here," she said again, softer this time, like a promise. "With me."

For a second, he was frozen.

Then Y/N pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering there.

"Come on," she murmured against his skin. "Let’s get you comfortable, alright?"

He nodded weakly, too exhausted to resist anymore.

She helped him out of his ruined jacket, guiding him with slow, careful movements like he was made of glass. He let her pull the sleeves down his arms, let her tug the hoodie over his head. Every touch was tender, every glance full of nothing but care and patience.

She handed him the fresh sweatpants and shirt she'd found earlier, giving him the dignity of changing in the bathroom if he wanted— but he just stood there, trembling, needing her near.

So she stayed. Helping him change, steadying his shaking hands when they fumbled with the fabric.

Once he was in clean clothes, Y/N led him to her bed.

The second he sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight, he seemed to lose what little strength he had left. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders heaving with silent breaths.

Y/N knelt down again in front of him, brushing her fingers through his hair with infinite gentleness.

"You’re safe now," she whispered. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Logan swallowed hard, blinking back another wave of tears. He was so fucking tired. Of fighting. Of hurting.

Tired of believing he didn’t deserve this.

Slowly—so slowly—he lifted his head.

And she was there. Still there. Still looking at him like he was worth staying for.

"I’ll stay," he rasped, voice breaking.

Her smile trembled, but it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Good," she breathed, wiping another tear from his cheek. "That's all I want."

She climbed into bed beside him, pulling the blankets over them, never once letting go of his hand.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Logan let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

XXX

feel free to comment if you want a part 2 or any other request!!

[lesbworth]

a probably incomplete list and rating of all the britcoms i have watched and how gay they are

somehow, during my short life, i have managed to watch an obscene amount of britcom, mostly through family osmosis. this probably explains a lot about who i am today. i have recently been thinking about just how many of these things have passed through my eyeballs over the years and also just how many of them range from kind of to very to unbelievably gay. so here is a list rating how gay they all are out of 10 because i always love a list!

notes:

many of these i watched at a tender age so i remember kind of fuck all and i have not rewatched any for the purposes of this. so be aware that several of these reviews are based on hazy recollections of vibes

yes some of the ones with canon queer characters are going to have lower ratings than some of the ones without that's simply how the cookie crumbles. sometimes a show is just packed to the absolute brim with pure trademark typically english inexplicable repressed homoeroticism and it makes it feel gayer than one where a character came out

let's say 5/10 is what i consider the "average" level of britcom homoeroticism but other than that there's no system to the ratings just vibes fr

-

1960s

dad's army

this is probably the one i started watching at the youngest age, but i watched so damn much of it. i was too young to be looking out for this kind of thing but considering it fits the classic britcom format of revolving around the strong bonds between a cast that fails to pass the bechdel test i'm gonna make an educated guess at 3/10. there's probably old man yaoi in there somewhere. (and if i had to pick the main ship it would clearly be mainwaring/wilson)

1970s

all creatures great and small

i mean. OBJECTIVELY. it is not gay. it's literally based on real people who as far as we know were not in the least gay. but THERE'S JUST A WEIRD VIBE. AM I CRAZY? TELL ME I'M NOT CRAZY 5/10 (it's probably partly a side effect of watching this as a babygay since i would basically headcanon the whole main cast of anything i watched as bisexual. good times. i also had tristan farnon gender envy)

fawlty towers

really heterosexual vibe i will not lie. at least 60% propped up by classic i hate my wife humour. if there's anything queer in there it did not impress itself upon me 0/10 at least it inspired vicious

the good life

ostensibly this is about two married couples but it emits such an oddly bisexual energy??? like they're a polycule. to me. which is already basically canon since they have the whole wifeswap dynamic but i mean tom and jerry (yes really) are giving exes and margo and barbara have probably snogged a couple of times. TO ME. 6/10

only when i laugh

on balance i think it's probably at least a bit homoerotic considering the bechdel test metric again but despite having decently clear memories of it i can't think of anything particularly. i'll give it a 4/10 and as a raffles fan christopher strauli being there adds a point LMAO

porridge

despite being set in a men's prison i don't think it gets a very high score... let's go 4/10 because i'm sure there's enough there to go off of. pretty sure there were also many jokes about gay sex as can be expected. also inspired red dwarf

rising damp

going to be so for real the main thing i remember is the racism. 1/10? there are enough male characters that there might have been something idk

to the manor born

i mean it's a straight romance but it's not toooo hetero. audrey and marjory are kind of schoolgirl exes yuri #if you think about it. in fact i remember a scene where they're gushing about how they both had a crush on one of their schoolmistresses? 5.5/10?

whatever happened to the likely lads?

i THINK i've watched episodes of this. i know my parents have the box set. but i cannot for the life of me recall anything from it. just based on the premise though, i'll give it a strong 5/10

1980s

'allo 'allo!

girl... i forgor. i don't think so? i mean let's give it 3/10 for being set in france. also i have been reminded that there's an implied gay nazi, diversity win

blackadder (all series)

absolutely. "i cannot conceive", etc and so on. the crossdressing shenanigans. fry & laurie are there. just has a fruitiness about it generally. 7/10

only fools and horses

eeehh. all-male main cast but they're a family which hinders its ability to serve homo. generally giving very straight energy. 1/10 in case i forgot something

red dwarf

the fucking show that led me to make this ranking in the first place. grant naylor you will be dealt with. 10/10

a very peculiar practice

i didn't watch much of this and it was a long time ago but distinctly remember getting some kind of A Vibe. and looking it up apparently one of the main characters is canonically bi?? damn 7/10

yes, minister (and yes, prime minister)

look. LOOK. there's just something about it. it's the father of the thick of it which is british succession to me. also sir humphrey is homosexual there is literally no other way to read him nigel hawthorne told me himself actually. go and watch the homoerotic wispa ad 7/10

you rang, m'lord?

i actually haven't watched any full episodes of this but i must give it a 7/10 for the inclusion of CISSY the stylish 1920s aristocratic butch communist who could have walked right out of le monocle. love it

1990s

drop the dead donkey

this was such a deep cut i actually forgot it existed until making this list. i know i watched quite a lot of it to be honest but i can't remember shit other than that i liked one of the women's hair. i think it was pretty straight? NEVERMIND THERE'S A LESBIAN IN IT HOW DID I FORGET ABOUT A WHOLE LESBIAN 6/10

father ted

to be honest i don't think this comes from quite the same place homoeroticism-wise as most of the others on this list given that it's irish and not english (not to disparage oscar wilde of course!). catholic yaoi...? i really don't think so 2/10 for the catholicism also get fucked graham linehan

jeeves and wooster

let's be serious now. 9/10 i <3 gay people. i was raised on the books which also probably explains a lot about me... and naturally i have also always gotten severe gender envy from bertie

mr. bean

is mr. bean really considered britcom. can i leave him out. i'm going to leave him out

one foot in the grave

now i am certain i have watched this because i remember the theme song and vaguely the title sequence but i also forgot about its existence until this list. honestly i think it was just giving constant i hate my wifeism even the imprint where a memory once was of it that i have feels tiring 0/10

the royle family

painfully straight but in the way your irl straight friends are. if that makes sense. 1/10

2000s

black books

maybe i watched this at an overly impressionable age but like... it's giving. it's got the odd couple the domesticity the found family if you will. the m/f platonic relationships. also tamsin greig in that haircut? i remember always being so unconvinced that fran was straight that woman looks sooo lesbian 8/10 and FUCK graham linehan

the it crowd

very classic britcomism (you're my wife roy! you're my wife!!!) and i mean the guys snog on screen that is very much a thing that happened. also i just don't really think richard ayoade can totally play straight despite being a straight man. also the main three kind of have rancid bisexual polycule potential. also there's a goth. also i would watch gay! a gay musical. 7/10 AND FUCK GRAHAM LINEHAN!!!!!!

peep show

classic britcom homoerotic odd couple except one of them is actually bisexual and played by a bisexual actor. and the other is "possibly bi but basically uncurious". and they ALSO snog on screen. i haven't watched much of this to my shame but I Know What It Is 8/10

the thick of it

BRITISH SUCCESSION. i swear to god you would all be foaming at the mouth about this if it came out at a time and context to be big on tumblr. malcolm tucker god's worst bisexual 7.5/10 by the way that's an incredibly homophobic headline you massive poof!

2010s

ghosts

8.5/10 right off the bat brother firstly it's a six idiots show which already guarantees a high score but also it's genuinely very sweet with regards to canon queerness and the characters are flamboyant and lovable in a way guaranteed to attract the kind of queer fandom it has today. captain my beloved

upstart crow

i mean of course it's about shakespeare and it doesn't shy away from implying he's queer but the general vibe is not suuuper fruity. i'll say 6.5/10

vicious

this is what i'm TALKING ABOUTTT i'm so glad this show exists in the world. genuinely what would we even do if there WASN'T a show about ian mckellen and derek jacobi being a gay couple of 50 years who hate each other 11/10

yonderland

i feel like this makes ghosts too low but i wanted to put yonderland a bit higher for the sheer amount of environmental queerness knocking about in there and also the general campiness of it all. six idiots moment. 9/10 the elders are incredible ho-tan you will always be famous queen

2020s

staged

yeah. 9/10

-

thank you for reading 🙏 honestly i basically just made this for the appeal of making A List but absolutely feel free to argue with me about the ratings, suggest your own fav britcoms not listed here, et cetera

(also have fun spotting the same fucking people in half of them LMAO. i fear british tv is never beating the 3 actors allegations)

[better-setterv2]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 - 𝒫𝓉.3

Authors Note: Hi all! Here is part 3 of Accidentally Yours. I am working on the next part as quick as I can. Enjoy! Lots of love xx

Summary: reader is approved by the group chat over a silly question. Later on, she overthinks and finally accepts the invite to Monaco. Though her anxiety gets to the best of her three nights prior.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mimisweetz @mits-vi @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You didn’t reply to Hammertime that night.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you reread the messages more times than you’d admit. His words sat heavy in your chest, not in a bad way but in the kind of way that made you feel.

Something about the way he messaged you, like he was saying more than what was written. As if there were things hiding between the lines he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Not yet.

The next morning, the group chat was back to its usual chaos. Someone had changed the group name to “GridGremlins 🛠️”, SmoothOperator was sending filtered selfies with too many sparkles, Baguetteboi was sharing his hatred of being called French and HoneyBadger had dropped a poll asking who would die first in a zombie apocalypse (Pastry was leading).

Still, your eyes drifted toward his name. Always his.

No private message. No follow up.

But then, like he knew you were looking -

Hammertime: Don’t worry, I survived another night with these lunatics. Barely.

Also newbie, zombie votes don’t count unless you tell us your apocalypse weapon of choice.

You smiled despite yourself. A soft flutter again. You replied in the group chat this time.

User (You): Cast iron skillet. Multipurpose. Classic. Heavy.

Pastry: Oh she’s good.

SmootherOperator: Marry me.

Baguetteboi: you won

Hulk: Please don’t encourage him.

You waited, just a little longer and then it came -

Hammertime: Good choice. I approve.

The day moved on. Classes, errands, life. But around lunch your phone buzzed again.

[Private Message – Hammertime 💬]

Hammertime: Was it too much? What I said last night.

Your breath got caught.

User (You): No. Just, honest. And maybe a bit scary.

Hammertime: Scary how?

User (You): Because I meant what I said too. And that kind of thing isn’t something I let myself believe in.

There was a pause.

Hammertime: I don’t usually either. But then you got added. And suddenly I’m thinking about it way more than I should.

You stared at the message.

Not flirtatious. Not bold. Just raw honesty typed out quietly like a secret.

You replied, this time without hesitation.

User (You): So what do we do with this?

Hammertime: Keep talking. For now, I like talking to you.

You smiled down at your phone, heart thumping.

Still no name. Still no face.

But somehow, this felt more real than most people you’d met in person.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The conversation didn’t stop.

Days passed like that - quick check ins, long stretches of silence filled with real life, then sudden bursts of messages that felt like stolen moments. It became a rhythm, one you hadn’t expected to crave.

Sometimes he messaged you first.

Sometimes you beat him to it.

Always, it felt like the highlight of your day.

Tonight was one of those slower evenings. Rain pattered softly against your window as you curled up with your phone, absently watching unread emails pile up. But one notification broke through the noise.

[Private Message – Hammertime 💬]

Hammertime: Ever feel like people know of you but don’t really know you?

You blinked. It was more serious than usual. No jokes. No chaos.

User (You): Yeah. All the time. Especially when I walk into a room and people already have an idea of who I’m supposed to be.

Three little dots appeared. Then disappeared.

Then came back.

Hammertime: Same. It’s exhausting. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to start over somewhere. As just, me. Not the version people project.

User (You): You kind of did that with me. I don’t know who you are. Just who you’ve shown me.

And I like that version.

Quiet. Thoughtful. Funny.

Kind.

You sent it before you could overthink it. Then, heart hammering, you watched the typing bubbles appear.

Hammertime: That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.

You hesitated. Then typed -

User (You): Want to tell me something real?

Just, one thing. About you.

The pause stretched longer this time.

Hammertime: I hate crowds. Everyone thinks I thrive in them.

But most days I’d give anything just to be somewhere quiet, no expectations, no cameras.

Just real.

You could feel your breath catch. Whoever he was, his words felt like they came with a weight he’d been carrying for a long time.

User (You): I’d sit next to you in that quiet.

Another pause. This one felt like a heartbeat.

Hammertime:That’s the second-nicest thing anyone’s said to me. You’re dangerous, you know that?

User (You): Only to people who like cast iron skillets.

Hammertime: That’s it. We’re definitely apocalypse partners now.

You laughed out loud.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

That night your eyes were bloodshot starring at the Monaco invitation from a few days ago. You couldn’t decide if you should go or not.

You didn’t reply.

Not at first.

But you read his message again. Then again.

Your screen dimmed and lit up with the motion of your fingers tapping it back to life, like you couldn’t bear to let it go dark while his name sat there.

Hammertime: If you come to Monaco…Make sure it’s for you.

Your chest was tight, full of something you didn’t have the language for yet.

You typed a response.

User (You): Idon’t even know what I want yet.

You stared at it. Deleted it.

User (You): I’m not good at this.

Delete.

User (You): I saw the invite.

Too bland.

User (You): Why does it feel like something’s going to change if I go?

Your finger hovered.

Then you erased that too.

The typing bubble popped up on his end. Then vanished. Then reappeared.

You hadn’t even sent anything.

And still he was waiting.

You finally gave in, your fingers trembling as you typed something imperfect but real.

User (You): Are you always like this?

The bubble appeared again, almost instantly this time.

Hammertime: Like what?

User (You): Careful, kind, hard to stop thinking about.

Three dots.

Longer this time.

Then -

Hammertime: Only with people I don’t want to lose.

Your heart thudded.

You wanted to reply.

To say something sharp or smart or honest. But your hands had gone still.

You locked your phone, holding it to your chest.

Let yourself breathe.

You didn’t answer the invite.

Not yet.

But now -

You were starting to think about what dress you might pack.

Just in case.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You didn’t sleep much.

Not from stress, exactly.

It was more the feeling of standing at the edge of something high, toes curled against the drop. The quiet hum of maybe. Of almost.

Of what if.

Your finger hovered over the invite again sometime around 2 a.m.

Open.

It bloomed across the screen, white and gold and obnoxiously beautiful.

"MONACO."

Everyone knew what it meant in the group, expect you to be exact.

Glitz. Heat. A thousand eyes. And him.

You didn’t realise you’d clicked "Yes" until the screen updated.

Just like that.

Like it was nothing.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

Because now it was real.

Your heart did this strange, stuttering thing. Not panic. Not quite.

But definitely not peace.

You switched back to the private chat. He hadn’t messaged again.

Good.

You weren’t sure you could take it.

Your fingers moved, traitorous and too honest.

User (You): I said yes.

Sent.

Three dots. Fast.

Hammertime: Yeah?

You could almost hear his voice in that one word. Low, warm, cautious hope wrapped inside it.

User (You): Don’t make it a thing.

Hammertime: Too late.

You closed your eyes.

Imagined the impossible. What it would feel like to see him and know, really know that it was him.

Not a username.

Not a maybe.

Not a what if.

But a person. Standing in front of you.

Breathing the same air.

Looking at you like he already knew every word you hadn’t said yet.

You typed again.

User (You): What happens now?

There was a pause.

Long enough to wonder if you’d said too much.

He then replied -

Hammertime: Now we wait. And see if you still feel everything when you’re standing right in front of me.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It was stupid, how packing a suitcase could feel like preparing for emotional warfare.

You weren’t even leaving yet. The flight wasn’t for three more days, but your room already looked like a storm had passed through it. Clothes everywhere. Shoes you hadn’t worn in months lined up like soldiers. Three failed outfit attempts on the floor and counting.

You’d packed for trips before. Exams. Interviews. A funeral once. But never something like this.

Because how do you pack for someone who’s only ever known you in fragments?

How do you pick the version of yourself you want them to meet?

Your chest felt tight. Like something was pressing against it from the inside.

Later that night, lying in bed, your thoughts ran endless laps.

What if he wasn’t what you imagined?

What if you weren’t what he imagined?

What if all the texts and late night chats and electric not quite flirting didn’t survive the sunlight?

Or worse! What if it was real?

So real it unraveled everything else.

You rolled over and checked your phone again.

Still no new messages from him.

Just his name in your inbox.

Sitting there.

Quiet.

Waiting.

[starryeyedwolves]

Acing It

“If I ace this exam, you have to go on a date with me.”

Remus didn’t look up from his notes. “Pads, you haven’t studied all term.”

“So that’s a no?”

Remus finally glanced up, eyes narrowed. Sirius was sprawled across the Gryffindor common room sofa like a bored cat, legs draped over the armrest, head tilted upside down off the edge. He looked ridiculous. And smug.

Remus snorted. “It’s not a no. It’s a statistical impossibility.”

Sirius grinned, rolling to his feet with the grace of someone who knew they looked good doing it. “Then what do you have to lose, Moony?”

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. What did he have to lose? If Sirius failed, nothing changed. If—by some divine intervention—he passed with flying colors, Remus would have to… what? Go on one date with him?

He could survive that. Probably.

“You ace it,” Remus said carefully, “and I’ll go on one date with you.”

Sirius’ eyes sparkled. “Deal.”

Sirius did not, in fact, begin studying.

He did, however, become increasingly annoying.

Two days before the Transfiguration final, Remus caught him charming his textbook to float in front of him while he napped.

“That’s not how osmosis works,” Remus said dryly.

“Shh,” Sirius mumbled from the couch, eyes closed. “I’m absorbing it through my skin.”

The night before the exam, he showed up at the library with James in tow, both of them looking like they were being marched to the gallows.

“I’m here to study,” Sirius announced proudly, flinging himself into the chair across from Remus.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “The night before the exam?”

“I work best under pressure,” Sirius said. “Also, Evans said I can’t copy her notes, and I have no idea what the difference is between human and rabbit transfiguration.”

Remus sighed. “Do you even want to be an Auror?”

“Desperately. But I want to date you more.”

Remus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm?” Sirius said innocently, flipping open his book. “Pass me that quill?”

He didn’t think Sirius would actually do it.

But when Professor McGonagall handed back their exam parchments a week later, Sirius didn’t say a word. Just stared at the glowing red O at the top of his page.

Remus watched the expression on his face shift—from disbelief to amusement to something dangerously close to triumph.

“No,” Remus said immediately.

“You promised,” Sirius said, positively glowing now.

“You cheated.”

“I did not.”

“You’ve failed every practice essay this year.”

“I studied,” Sirius said, and Remus hated that he couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. “Just because I didn’t do it the Remus Lupin way—color-coded notes and caffeine-fueled all-nighters—doesn’t mean I didn’t try.”

Remus scowled. “You only did this for the date.”

Sirius shrugged. “Yeah. And I aced it.”

Remus stared at him, torn between admiration and sheer exasperation.

“Fine,” he muttered. “One date.”

Sirius beamed.

The date was… not what Remus expected.

He’d imagined Sirius dragging him to Hogsmeade, maybe to that café with the overpriced butterbeer and the velvet cushions. He thought it would be loud, and chaotic, and embarrassing.

Instead, Sirius brought him to the Astronomy Tower after curfew, a blanket tucked under one arm and a box of Honeydukes best chocolates in the other.

“This is technically a detention-worthy offense,” Remus said, looking around nervously.

Sirius grinned. “So live a little.”

They spread the blanket out and sat side by side, leaning against the stone wall as stars blinked into view overhead. The castle was quiet, and the sky was clear, and Remus kept sneaking glances at Sirius when he thought he wasn’t looking.

“So,” Sirius said, popping a chocolate in his mouth, “how am I doing?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “At what?”

“The date. I’ve never been on one before.”

That surprised him. “Really?”

Sirius shrugged. “Not a real one. Just snogging behind statues and getting hexed by jealous boyfriends.”

Remus laughed despite himself. “Charming.”

“You’re my first real one,” Sirius said, suddenly serious. “So I wanted it to be good.”

Remus stared at him. “You planned this?”

“Course I did. You don’t woo a Moony without a strategy.”

“You studied for the exam, didn’t you?” Remus said suddenly.

Sirius looked sheepish. “Maybe.”

“For how long?”

“A week.”

“A whole week? You?”

“It was brutal,” Sirius said dramatically. “I barely survived. But I figured if I wanted to impress you, I couldn’t half-arse it.”

Remus felt something warm bloom in his chest.

“That’s… surprisingly thoughtful.”

Sirius bumped his shoulder. “Don’t let it get around. I’ve got a reputation.”

They sat in silence for a while, the sky stretching endlessly above them. Remus felt oddly content, like something had clicked into place.

Sirius shifted closer, just enough that their knees brushed. “So… would you go on another one?”

“Date?”

“Yeah.”

Remus hesitated.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I think I would.”

Sirius grinned. “Next time, I’ll let you pick the spot.”

“Next time, I’m choosing the study method.”

Sirius groaned. “Noooo. Not the color-coded notes.”

Remus laughed. “Deal with it, Sirius”

“Merlin help me,” Sirius muttered. But he was smiling.

Sirius had done many stupid things in his seventeen years.

He’d turned McGonagall’s desk into a trampoline. He’d dared James to fly through the Great Hall on a broomstick (during breakfast). He’d nearly gotten expelled for sneaking into the Slytherin dungeons with an enchanted goat.

But nothing — nothing — was as terrifying as sitting beside Remus Lupin and wondering if he could kiss him without ruining everything.

Remus was quiet, leaning back against the tower wall, his fingers curled loosely around a half-eaten chocolate truffle. The star light silvered his hair, and Sirius was fairly certain his heart was trying to climb out of his chest.

They'd already survived the first date. No explosions, no hexes, no awkward silences. Just chocolate, stars, and the occasional deadpan insult from Remus that Sirius suspected was his version of flirting.

The whole thing had felt… weirdly perfect.

Which meant Sirius had no idea what to do next.

“Are you going to keep staring at me until sunrise, or do you plan to say something?” Remus asked without looking at him.

Sirius startled. “I wasn’t staring.”

“You were.”

“Was not.”

Remus glanced sideways, one eyebrow raised in that annoyingly perceptive way of his. “You’ve been making the same face you did when you realized you’d accidentally used hair gel instead of toothpaste.”

Sirius groaned. “Don’t bring that up.”

“It was last week.”

“I was sleep-deprived!”

“You had minty fresh bangs, Sirius.”

Sirius shoved him lightly. “You’re lucky I fancy you.”

Remus blinked.

Oh.

Oh.

Sirius felt the words hang between them, too soft, too vulnerable.

Remus tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Do you?”

“…Yeah,” Sirius said. Quietly. “A lot more than I expected.”

The silence stretched.

And then Remus reached over and laced their fingers together.

Sirius stared down at their hands, stupidly pleased. “So, is that a good sign?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m holding your hand. In public. At night. While breaking school rules. What do you think, genius?”

“I think I want to kiss you.”

Remus flushed. “You’re impossible.”

“Is that a no?”

Remus didn’t answer — not with words. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Sirius square on the mouth.

Sirius, unsurprisingly, forgot how to breathe.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind.

Sirius didn’t realize how much of his time he already spent orbiting Remus until they started dating. Now it just came with extra perks — like sharing a blanket in the common room without pretending it was platonic, or sneaking notes during class that weren’t just about pranking Filch.

Remus, of course, was still Remus.

Sarcastic. Brilliant. Perpetually exasperated.

But he also smiled more now. Smiled at Sirius. Sometimes just because. Like Sirius himself was the punchline to a joke he wasn’t in on.

And Sirius? Sirius was gone.

He found himself doing the most absurd things just to see that smile — like sitting through an entire Arithmancy lecture just to walk Remus to the library. Or organizing his Transfiguration notes into neat little folders.

(“You made a color-coded system,” Remus had said, astonished.

Sirius sniffed. “Only because I ran out of black ink.”)

And kissing. So much kissing. Behind bookshelves, under the bleachers, once even during a thunderstorm because of course that’s when Remus finally admitted he liked dramatic timing.

They hadn’t told anyone yet, though James definitely suspected.

“You’ve been humming,” James had said one morning at breakfast.

“So?”

“You don’t hum, Pads.”

“I’m in a good mood.”

“You’re in love,” James corrected, grinning. “It’s disgusting.”

Sirius had thrown toast at him.

The next test came during the full moon.

Sirius had always known about Remus’ condition. Had helped, supported, snuck into the Shrieking Shack for moral support. But dating someone who disappeared into a werewolf every month came with its own kind of fear.

He hated how pale Remus looked afterward. Hated the way his hands shook and how he downplayed the pain like it was a stubbed toe instead of broken ribs and torn skin.

When Remus was released from the Hospital Wing, Sirius was already waiting with a blanket and three stolen Honeydukes bars.

“You didn’t have to come,” Remus said, voice rough.

Sirius tucked the blanket tighter around him. “You kidding? I missed you.”

“I look like I lost a fight with a bear.”

“You look hot.”

Remus groaned. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re my worst.”

And Remus exhausted, bandaged, achin still smiled.

A few nights later, curled up in the common room long after curfew, Sirius asked, “Why did you say yes?”

Remus blinked, bleary-eyed from reading.

“To the date,” Sirius clarified. “You didn’t have to. You always acted like I was a nuisance.”

“You are a nuisance.”

Sirius poked him in the side. “Rude.”

Remus sighed, then closed his book. “Because you surprised me.”

“How?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually try. For the exam.”

Sirius shrugged. “I wanted to prove you wrong.”

“No,” Remus said softly. “You wanted to prove you were serious.”

Sirius stared. “Was that a pun?”

“Maybe.”

“Remus.”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You love me.”

Remus paused. “I’m not saying it first.”

“But you do.”

Remus bit his lip. “Yeah,” he said, just loud enough for Sirius to hear. “I do.”

And Sirius, heart full to the brim, kissed him like a promise.

Of course, nothing ever stayed perfect at Hogwarts for long.

A week before NEWTs, someone saw them holding hands near the Quidditch stands. Rumors spread fast.

By dinner, half the school was whispering.

Sirius was ready to hex half the castle.

But Remus… he just rolled his eyes.

“Let them talk,” he said, calm as ever. “It’s not like we were hiding.”

Sirius looked at him. “You sure?”

Remus nodded. “I spent seventeen years being afraid of what people would say. I’m tired of it.”

Sirius felt something fierce rise in his chest. Pride. Love. Awe.

He took Remus’ hand in front of the whole Great Hall.

Let them stare.

On the day of their final exam, Remus caught Sirius chewing his quill like it had personally offended him.

“Still nervous?” he asked, sliding into the seat beside him.

Sirius groaned. “It’s Charms. I don’t do Charms.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You said that last time.”

“And you aced it.”

“Only because I was trying to impress you!”

Remus smiled. “Then pretend I’m still unimpressed.”

“Harsh, Lupin.”

“You love me.”

Sirius smiled. “Yeah. I really, really do.”

[sgiandubh]

Sunshine

Of all the terms of endearment this fandom has bestowed upon OL's cast, the Onlies' 'Samshine' always sounded the most superficially misplaced. Simply because I think there is more to that person than the smile and the sexy smirk. Also, the objectification that denies any depth and goes for the poster (fuck)boy image only, without a single look to a rather complex BTS story and to a rather rich past.

Because the real OL ray of sunshine is, in my very humble opinion, this woman:

She managed to transform Marsali into a wonderful, unforgettable presence, exactly where Skeleton turned Brianna into an irrelevant, borderline annoying silhouette ('I'm your daughter' - no, one more time: I will never forget her for eternally butchering that line). Both were very young, virtually unknown (at least to me) and facing the considerable challenge of being catapulted into a meaningful role of a successful series. A series with a very invested fanbase, that was going to nitpick on every move and sometimes cruelly sanction any faux-pas. The very sharp contrast remains, a clear testimony of the combination of genuine talent, hard work and formidable humility that made Lauren Lyle the very promising Scottish actress she clearly is. And no, I don't need to watch Karen Pirie to know it is so (however, I am sorry it has been only scarcely distributed overseas, as of now).

And I am so glad I managed to tell her at least some of all this, as I was taking this ludicrous picture with her. Where yes, I readily admit do look like a starstruck psychopath, supposing both I and the Kindly Photo Lady were bored pretending to make an effort:

She managed to surprise me with her irresistible, straightforward approach. I was very, very relaxed and just told her exactly what I just wrote: 'you are such a ray of sunshine and I am so pleased to meet you, finally! You've made Marsali unforgettable and it was anything but expected!'

She was very gracious, though: ' And you, lady in red, look at you, you bring such warmth along and you are so cool!'

And I melted, like the idiot I am, of course.

There was nothing rehearsed about it, no bullshit given (nor taken, from anyone, I am positive), just a really good person who sounded very pleased and not afraid to show her emotions and real self.

She was everything I thought I saw in her, with zero expectations on my side. And then some more. This extra dose of soul will make all the difference between 'just another actress' and Lauren Lyle, in (let's say at random) five years from now.

I see great things.

The Landcon series will end with my last, bookend post. After the Logistics, the Dynamics. And then, curtain - I've babbled enough.

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

*typing aggressively excited*

this is exactly what i was needing. FUNNY! real fucking funny. cute jungkook. EQUAL DYNAMICS but also a little sub!jk. they’re so real with each other, so natural. the ghosts puns? movie references? yoongi and taehyung as ghostfriends? brilliant story and idea and supernatural concept so well done!!!!

20k words…. I am beyond the excitement allowed for a human being!!!!!!!!!!!!! OKAY OKAY QUOTE TIME

“Yoongi had always been quite fond of the classic with great power comes great responsibility” - SPIDER-MAN REFERENCE AGAINNNN FOR THE BEST SPIDERGIRL EVER (me😝) 🕷️🕸️

“He probably committed a terrible crime in a past life to be stuck with Tweedledee and Tweedledum like that” - KKKKKKKKKKKKKLKKKLLKLKK THAT WAS FUNNY

“The point is that you keep delivering lines like you're a bad boy in a South American novela, then expect us to perform a miracle on you." - NOVELA????? IS THIS A BRAZILIAN REFERENCE? 🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷😝😝😝

“That was why he was more dead than Jungkook's bedroom”

“Don't worry about it. You’re pretty cute too. Like a man” - AAAAAAAAAAAAA😭😭🤭😍🥰

“almost all of his romantic experience came from bad sitcoms and Twilight marathons with Yoongi” - i respect yoongi. that’s it.

Great smut…. jungkook asking if he’s doing a good job….. damn baby 😭😭😭 AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN

the sad news? authors last post was 4 FUCKING YEARS AGOOOOO 😭😭😭 this fanfic is from 2020. I wonder what happened in this era (2019- 2022) because they are golden fanfics but the authors disappeared from the face of the earth

So here I go, suffering for yet another author who disappeared from the internet... typical. I said I wouldn't do it anymore, now I'm in mourning. again. but I'm grateful that this fanfic found me in the great year of 2025 and I hope all these incredible authors come back this month to celebrate BTS's return with me next month. 💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻

(doing some math here and imagine if the author is actually Brazilian? There are many clues that would indicate this…. it would’ve be SUPER COOL 🙂‍↕️🇧🇷💅🏻)

ghosts just wanna have fun; m

⤷  When Jungkook discovered that he could communicate with dead people, the last thing he expected was that they would be there to give him romantic advice.

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Psychic!AU & MedSchool!AU

✓ Filed under: fluff, crack (so many ghost puns), light smut (and jungkook being a nervous virgin) 

✓ Words: 20,062

Author’s Note: In which Jungkook is able to see spirits, but it’s just Taehyung and Yoongi giving him dating tips because he sucks at talking to girls. Hope you guys like it, because it has been on my WIPS for over a year and a half and I can’t believe it’s finally out there… emotional, really.

Also, huge thanks to @storytaeme​, who proof-read this mess like a champ. 

 There aren’t many embarrassing situations that can overcome the fact that Jeon Jungkook found out about his psychic abilities as he was about to lose his virginity. 

To say the least, that hadn’t been the most pleasant of scenarios to open the pathway to the afterlife. Really, there was no casual way that he could justify the scream that broke from his lips, or the dramatic spin he took as he turned around on the bed — which, ultimately, had him falling into the small space between the nightstand and the wall, with his legs up in the air, and his butthole fully exposed for both planes of existence to see. 

Still, that hadn’t been the worst part. If those two pallid silhouettes had merely disappeared once he had seen them, it wouldn’t have been as traumatic — perhaps Jungkook could have found a semi-believable excuse about what he had witnessed — but no. Not only did the ghosts remain there, with their arms crossed before their achromatic clothes and eyebrows slightly raised in expectation, they continued their conversation as if nothing had happened. 

“Oh, he was definitely going to put it in the wrong hole,” the shorter of the two murmured, clearly entertained at the idea. 

The other scoffed. “What if he did?” he threw back. “Maybe he likes that, we can’t judge.”

Keep reading

[idontmindifuforgetme]

cianna can i ask if u already graduated undergaduate ?? and r now taking a masters/working? im always so confused when u talk abt ur work/study 😭😭

Lmaooo let me clarify — I graduated w a bachelors in biochemistry a while back! And I did it in 3 yrs so I used the extra year to travel + fuck around + just aimlessly do whatever I wanted tbh. Mixed feelings ab that presently, but freshly 21 yr old, very much burned out me seemed to think that was the best idea I could’ve come up w. Then I got my MA job and now I’m locked in studying for my med school entrance exam again :-)

I am considering a masters before med school, but it would be more of a fun endeavor than for med school or anything! So undecided lol but 100% otw to med school! I’m just taking some time off bc Im unwilling to compromise the quality of my app, and also bc I know it’s a pressure cooker that doesn’t stop when it begins tbh so I’m trying to be productive while also savoring the in between periods & pursuing things I’ve always wanted to do like piano / saving up for travel etc!

[penguin-stars]

Gsgw out of context (Up to the LOOKI MART arc )

-----------------------

Kim Soleum and Baek Saheon's chat history: KSE: Watch out for serial killers. KSE: Watch out for serial killers. KSE: Watch out for serial killers. (...continues daily for who knows how many weeks).

---

Baek Saheon: Keep an eye out for other newbies we can use as bait. Kim Soleum: Wdym "keep an eye out for others." We already have bait. Baek Saheon: ? Kim Soleum: You. Baek Saheon: ?!

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Baek Saheon: Why don't you try asking your...friend? Kim Soleum: Who? Brown? Are you stupid? Why would a doll talk? Think before you speak. Baek Saheon: You pi-- Kim Soleum: What was that? Baek Saheon: ...Nothing, sir.

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Baek Saheon: You know, maybe this Soleum guy isn't so bad. Let's go see if – Kim Soleum standing outside his door with an axe: Bye-bye!

--- Kim Soleum: Eat this idol song, you mountain ghost! *proceeds to sing*

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Agent Bronze: Some of you may die. People stuck in the Cabin: But…? Agent Bronze: That's it.

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[K.LEE]: bitch [Kim Soleum]: Blocked. [K.LEE]: wait unblock me i need to tell u something [Kim Soleum]: Unblocked. [K.LEE]: bitch

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During "The Day I Died": Soleum: This is workplace harassment, better get this over with quickly. Ugh. Soleum: Nvm, she just wanted to give me a promotion. Soleum: WAIT, THAT'S WORSE.

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Lee Jaheon: Kim Soleum-ssi, you are going to therapy. I am no longer asking.

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Kim Soleum, after Baek Saheon attacked him: I didn't expect anything from you, and I'm still disappointed.

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Lee Jaheon: *Eating snacks with the wrapper still on* *Clapping with the back of his hands* Kim Soleum: Why did you do that? I thought you were part of the darkness! Lee Jaheon: ? I thought it was the latest trend.

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Kang Yihak: ? Kim Soleum: 💹💲💵. King Yihak: Now we're talking.

---

Kim Soleum: Maybe we could try destroying one of the buildings to escape? Lee Jaheon, raising his fist: Do you want me to do it? Kim Soleum: ...Please don't. Lee Jaheon, lowering his fist: Understood.

---

Kim Soleum: *Filling the bathtub with more blood than agreed* Brown: Goodness, Friend. Please don't do that. You don't have to go that far for this Brown. Kim Soleum: Oh, it's ok. Kim Soleum: Hehe, I just wanted to scare him a little.

---

Blue Dragon: K I D N A P P E R ! Lee Jaheon: I am not. Blue Dragon: K I D N A P P E R ! Lee Jaheon: I am not. Blue Dragon: K I D N A P P E R ! Lee Jaheon: I – Kim Soleum: Would you please stop?!

---

Kim Soleum: Here's how to become a Cult leader in 5 simple steps! Also Kim Soleum: *Actually gives a detailed guide*

---

Agent Bronze: Did you really think I'd let you into the Bureau? You're probably a spy from that cult-like company. Kim Soleum: p-please? uwu Agent Bronze: Agent Bronze: You're starting today. My unit. Kim Soleum: Excellent, all according to plan. Kim Soleum: Wait, not that department. I wanted to do paperwork! Agent Bronze: *drags him into a rescue mission*

---

Kim Soleum: After careful consideration, I've come to the conclusion that the best course of action is to cut off my right arm. Go Yeongeun: Please put the knife down, Agent Grape. Kim Soleum, while cutting off his arm: I wish this were more convenient.

---

Kim Soleum: Alright, this is a great opportunity to get rare items from a ghost story. But we have little time left, so go grab something quickly. Go Yeongeun: Got it. *Grabs useful-looking things* Kim Soleum: *Grabs a lizard plushie*

---

DER!Agent Choi, after going to the 4th floor of LOOKI MART:

[callmeherry]

DTIYS WINNERS!!

Hello everyone! First things first, thank you to EVERYONE that participated on this DTIYS! I am honestly surprised so many people decided to join! ^^ (I was actually half expecting no one would and I would just delete the post and pretend nothing happened lol)

So thank you thank you thank you! Everytime I saw a new entry it really brought a smile to my face!

Anyway, now I think it's time for me to announce the winners!

3° PLACE

@kelxya! Your art really brought a whole different vibe from the other ones, but I genuinely LOVE it! The whole thing looks just so soft and playful, I just want to take a bite out of it!! Honestly, such a good work!

2° PLACE

@aeliem-art! The desperation and fear on him it's just chef's kiss! And the glitches? Oh I love it so much! But personally my favorite part is the hands! I LOOVE the way his claws are sharp and dangerous!! Such a good art!! (Hopefully my post doesn't also get shadowbanned, lol)

And now, for the first place winners! Both on the technical skill and creativity!

1° PLACE (Creativity)

@y0rr0y! The way your art just caught my attention, it's from another world. This was a very hard decision for me, but your art just had that small thing that I love! Not many people remember Code's religious connotations, but you did! And man, did you execute it well! I just love this so much!

1° PLACE

@julia-jck! I honestly was speechless when I saw this for the first time. HE MOVES... And the way he looks genuinely angry also just really gets to me, he looks like he's gripping the strings in frustration and it's just- Muah muah muah I love this so muuch!

Honorary mention :D

Oh what is this? Yeah, so, remember when I said it was really hard decision for me on the first place for creativity? Yeah, that was because I was torn between two arts to win. So I decided to have a honorary mention for the other one! Cause I make the rules!

@stupidpapyrus! Honestly, I just love this one a lot. Like. A lot. I love how many small details you put on about Code's lore and I just LOVE the collage look! Such a good job!

AND THAT'S IT!

Once again, thank you so much to EVERYONE that participated! If you would like to see the original posts of the artists, you just need to click the " x PLACE" and it will take you to it!

The winners, please DM me with the character you would like to be drawn! (This includes you @stupidpapyrus, it will be just a small doodle but I think you deserve something as well)

This was very fun, so again, like a broken record, thank you all so much! You are all very sweet!

[originalitysquared]

Speaking of some people's reasons not being your own, if you were to read my post, you would see it says "I." I can distrust anyone I want to for any reason. I made a tumblr post to voice my opinion. I understand I should expect a reaction, that is why I'm not surprised anyone is replying.

I can also choose to engage with anyone, and none of these replies have understood my post enough to recognize it's a personal opinion I am allowed to have. The replies here respond as if my personal opinion on this post is representative of the whole female sex and all of the history of sexism and oppression. That's not very good argument etiquette, is it?

So I'm gonna post funney photos instead and laugh at how pissy y'all are gett ing because one (1) meany weany woman on the internet doesn't entertain men who vacation in Thailand in her personal dating pool.

I can never trust a man that wants to go to Thailand.

Just straight up. Why do you want to go to Thailand?? HMM?? Really into buddhism?? Hmm??? Like the culture?? The food?? HMMMMMMM??? WHY DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THAILAND FUCKER????

[looooochie]

champion time — [lamine yamal]

a/n: feeding ya’ll a small fic to initiate my tumblr return!! (i published this during school lol 😪)

wc: 1.1k

warnings: fluff, lamine being lamine, cursing, getting caught?

— today was the day, the copa del rey final.

your boyfriend of about 9-10 months, also known as, the one and only lamine yamal, has worked a bunch and played his all to make it here, and you were with him every step of this journey.

and you can still remember the events of 2 days ago when lamine decided to fully go blonde and damn, that was quite the day.

and obviously, it got pretty messy, you were even sceptical of the fact that he wanted to bleach his hair.

AND you remember those once beautiful, frizzy curls he had about 2 years ago. but where are they? they vanished.

ANYWAY.. back to the now. you sat alongside with lamine’s mother and keyne, also next to you. wearing his number 19 with a sense of pride.

you knew exactly how hard lamine has worked to make it to where he is now, and you were proud of him for that.

you looked down to the barca crest and gave it a kiss, you had faith in this team as a whole, they’ve been on a winning streak for weeks now and you’ll be damned if barca break it now.

and so kickoff. barca were doing well and you can admit, madrid were playing kinda good, but not as well as them.

mostly, your focus was on lamine and his bright blonde head. then, the unspeakable happened.

something had escalated and lucas vasques ended up hitting lamine somewhat in the face which made him fall.

you were pissed. so you gently covered keyne’s eyes and did a middle finger towards the madrid player.

“fuck you.” you muttered under your breath as you took your hand away from the toddler’s eyes.

god this was stressful. madrid were ahead by 2-1 and the suspense was killing you. you were so stressed to the point you started praying during halftime, to yourself of course.

but then, after a while, barca came in clutch again and finally got the upper hand. they re-locked in and scored another goal, making it tied.

although they were tied, your faith for barca never dimmed like the light it was. all they needed was one more goal, and that trophy was yours.

finally, after about 10 prayers, jules finally scored the ending goal, you were so happy to the point that you stood up from your seat and back down.

at that point, the match was over.

after a bit more playing, the final whistle had finally blown. barcelona had won the copa del rey.

cheers and shouts filled the stadium and you and sheila hugged each other tightly, keyne also, duh.

“come, let’s go down,” sheila told you and you nodded, damn you were excited to see lamine.

and you were pretty fast at that. you ran down the stairs, jumped over the railing and your eyes began to try locate lamine.

to your surprise, he was expecting you. you ran to your boyfriend and immediately jumped into his strong arms.

“oh my god, you guys won,” you cried as you continued having your arms around lamine’s neck.

“we sure did, damn i feel like i’m on top of the world right now,” lamine replied as put you down.

you looked into his eyes with near tears in yours and his eyes, “i can’t physically put into words how proud i am of you right now.”

lamine smiled. “really?”

“really.”

eventually, his mom and little brother came down too and got their fair share of attention too, but all yours was on lamine.

after the medal ceremony and stuff, you looked at your champion boyfriend with his wrong sided shirt with his double pair of shades.

suddenly, one of his teammates were blasting music and lamine took this as an opportunity to show you off to his friends.

you felt a hand grab your arm and pull you closer to them, as expected it was lamine and he looked at you with that iconic bracey smile.

“what are you planning this time?” you asked the slightly taller boy with a disapproving smile.

“this.” he replied and put a pair of shades on your eyes.

“and now? what’s this?” lamine just smiled and one of his teammates blasted one of his current favourite songs, “y que fue”.

“ahh, this is my song,” lamine said in a hype mood, then he gently grabbed your hand.

“cmon, lemme show you off?” he asked and you knew, there was no saying no to lamine so you just went for it.

now, you found the pair of you and the spaniard dancing along to the music that played on the speaker as you celebrated along with the other men and women around you.

alex does not know what she’s missing out on right now.

damn, how lucky you are to be where you are right now, you loved lamine, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

— the morning sun soon hit your eyelids as you felt them slowly begin to open.

your vision became more and more clearer and you soon realised where you were right now.

your back was up against lamine’s chest as his arm was around you, and the other on top, keeping you close to him.

your eyes began to travel around the room and what you could see was: clothes sprawled around the room, your hair in a mess, lamine and yours phone right next to you on the dresser, and lastly… all you could feel yourself wearing was lamine’s shirt.

last night felt like a fever dream, so you could barely remember anything or how you got here in the first place.

but all you can remember was that, it felt good and other things.

after looking around the room on more time, pink spread across your cheeks as you realised what had happened the night barca won.

“d-did we..” you silently muttered, not believing yourself right now.

lamine had heard you and chuckled before lifting himself up and looking down at you before giving you a kiss on your temple.

“morning,” he began to which you replied “morning, champ.”

you rolled around in the bed so you could face lamine directly to look at that pretty, champion face.

“how’d my champ sleep?” you asked as you swung an arm around him and your fingers brushed over the back of his neck.

lamine shivered but smiled. “pretty good. how’s my princess doing?”

“good.”

sheila was unaware of what happened between the two teens and was not prepared for what she was about to see.

not expecting anything, his mom opened the door, (shit. we forgot to lock the door.) “lamine, you forgot your hoodie in the ca-“ the older woman began but soon paused the moment she saw what was going on.

you and lamine instantly sprang up as you used the blanked to cover your chest as both your faces were covered with blush.

lamine scratched the back on his neck as he nervously laughed, “uhh so.. here’s the thing, mama..”

[jks1uv]

𝐹𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 ; bob reynolds | one-shot |

summary: y/n, meet bob. bob, meet y/n.

pairing: platonic fem!reader x bob + avenger!reader x bob + asgardian!reader x bob.

trope: found family (duh) + strangers to friends.

genre: fluff + slight angst + comedy.

warnings‼️: crude language + tall!reader (a little over 5’8) + spoilers!

word count: 1,749.

random disclaimerrr: reader is 19 & thor’s daughter. watched this masterpiece of a film 2 days ago & holy peak. truly peak. absolute cinema. *martin scorsese meme* marvel’s been on a generational run since gotg3 & i’m praying they keep ts up 🙏🏽 happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

“Oh, hey! You’re here.” Bucky says as he watches you fly through the open balcony.

“Perfect timing.” Ava comments as your armor melts back into your skin, revealing your original outfit.

“So fucking cool.” She softly says in awe.

“Right? It’s also super convenient.” John crosses his arms, watching you switch back into civilian mode so languidly.

You lay your sword on the side of the coffee table in front of the couch, plopping down on it with a heavy sigh.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Bob asks, confused by the random spark of commotion.

“Y/n is here?” Yelena pokes her head out of the pantry, eyeing your exhausted head tipped back on the headrest with your eyes closed.

Bucky hands you a water bottle and smiles when you sense him.

You open your eyes to look up at him.

“Good to see you, kid.” His voice smooth and steely blue eyes kind.

“Thanks, you too.” You say as you accept the cool drink.

You, Thor, Scott, Hope, Cassie, Valkyrie, and Carol were off-world, fighting an intergalactic enemy when The Void took almost all of New York into the shadow realm.

You just got back from the grueling trip a day ago.

“Well, well, well. It is the younger Asgardian.” Alexie affectionately pats your head.

You chuckle softly at the old santa’s loving actions.

“Where’s your dad?” Bucky’s eyes wander out the balcony when he hears silent noise following you.

“He’s getting beers with Valkyrie, he’ll join us later.”

You give a quick side-hug to Yelena and a crisp high-five to Ava when John straightens his back, expecting a welcome as well.

You walk straight ahead, not meaning to ignore him but step back and look to the side in surprise.

Your head snaps from him to Bucky, from Bucky to him and back. You blink rapidly, pointing a finger up at him and say, “What's he doing here?”.

You can’t help how you sound.

“Oh. He's uhh, part of the team now.” Bucky shrugs.

You don't say anything but your face does. Bruh y'all couldn't find anyone else?

“He'll catch on fire if you stare at him any longer.” Ava says behind an amused smile.

“No, wait! Keep staring! I am recording just in case.” Alexie gives you a big thumbs up and is recording on an older version of the iPhone that’s not surprisingly cracked.

How he got ahold of technology before Steve is beyond you.

“I'm literally standing right here." John says in disbelief.

“Almost as if that is the whole fucking point, genius.” Yelena rolls her eyes and scoffs as she goes back into the pantry.

Bob is still confused but he has to admit, it's entertaining seeing everyone vouch for you.

He senses a great power in you, one that may very well rival his own.

You look oddly familiar but he can't place his finger on it. Where have I seen you before?

“Oh, before I forget.” Bucky moves aside so you can meet the new guy.

“Y/n, this is Bob.”

He extends his metal arm out to the fresh set of new eyes and they're wide in curiosity.

You put your hand up and wave, giving the new addition to the team your best welcome. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

He now has a full view of you.

You're nice, he thinks.

Bob doesn’t takes first impressions lightly and since yours is a good one, that counts for everything.

You're tall, he estimates your original height to be a little over 5'8 since your heeled boots add quite a few inches to you.

He believes you'd be the same height as him with them on.

Your shiny hair and bright eyes contrast nicely with your smooth skin. Your youthful appearance is refreshing to see and invokes an almost familial feeling in him.

Your smile is warm, comforting.

You don't seem to have anything to hide, it's like you're letting him see you for who you are on the first meeting .

It intimidates him, your confidence in yourself.

He wishes to learn that one day.

Your features resemble someone he's seen before, he knows it.

It's getting kind of frustrating trying to remember something he can't.

“Bob, meet Y/n.”

You assess the added member; hair is medium length, dark brown and wavy. He seems pretty tall, your guess is 6 feet. He's also timid. His body language is reserved and calm.

Bob smiles shyly, showing his top set of perfectly straight and white teeth. He does a little wave, eliciting a small laugh at his actions.

“Hi. I-It's nice to see you, too.” He repeats your sentiment and you can't help but smile.

He reminds you of a little boy on his first day of school.

Cute.

“Well, I’m gonna go sleep forever now so I’ll see y’all later.” You announce before shortly departing.

You set a mental reminder about texting Peter to meet up after you wake up to go do something.

Everyone goes their separate ways.

John goes out for an interview rehearsal (that’s a thing??). Bucky is joining Sam, Clint, and Bruce to train the younger avengers. Ava phases through the walls, you assume she’s going to her room. Yelena takes her snacks and father to the theater room upstairs for a movie.

Bob stands in the common room, studying your sword.

“Wow.” He whispers.

Bob marvels at the sight of your beautiful sword.

The grip seems about 3 inches wide and thick. It’s made of pure gold along with the guards. The grip and guards have intricate designs drawn on them.

The blade is a long and thick slab of metallic steel, seemingly heavy to hold.

He spots a design on the blade. The design is gold and creates an illusion of glass, a very clean mirror that can be used as a prism.

Bob can tell the designs were made by hand, impressive craftsmanship in detail.

He looks closely, a particular detail catching his eye.

There’s a small symbol in the middle of the guards, an emblem of some sort.

Bob squints his eyes as he tries to understand what it could be, decipher its meaning.

“It’s a rune of my realm.”

Bob immediately jumps up and yelp, his palm clamps over his mouth, muffling it a bit.

His breathing is as erratic as his heartbeat and you feel guilty.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I thought you heard me come back.”

You weren’t stealthy but you weren’t noticeable, either. Still, you feel as though you should’ve made your presence known.

“I’m truly, very sorry.” You apologize again as you nervously peer at him.

He gulps and blinks. “It’s okay, I’m okay. It’s fine.” Bob nods to himself, a tightlipped smile on his face.

You lick your lips and purse them, nodding slightly to yourself.

“Okay.” You say softly.

It’s awkward for a beat before you two speak up again.

“I-”

“You-”

You both close your lips and stare at one another before laughing in embarrassment.

“You can go first.” You offer.

You’re sweet, he decides.

“No, no. I-I think you were saying something first.” He insists.

You smile and go ahead. “I was just saying that I’m gonna take that and go back, for real this time.”

You hold out your arm and open palm, calling your sword to you.

She listens and is compelled by your hand like a magnet.

“Woahhh.” He breathes.

You laugh, successful in the art of showing off.

It’s all about subtlety.

“That’s so cool, how-how did you do that?” He tilts his head quizzically.

“Where I’m from, magic is in everything. My grandfather had this sword forged long before I was born but it’s embedded with magic.”

You trace the blade with your free hand, remembering the hard work you toiled to be worthy of carrying the responsibility of the blade.

“Where are you from?” He wonders out loud.

“Asgard.”

Bob gasps and snaps his fingers like he just figured out the missing piece of a puzzle (he did).

“That’s it! That-That’s where I know you from! You’re Thor’s daughter!”

You chuckle softly at his excitement, his bubbly demeanor melting away your tiredness.

“The one and only.” You joke as you raise your hands and shrug nonchalantly.

“Wow, man. I gotta tell you, you’re awesome.” He guffaws.

You feel warm at the praise, not really expecting anything from this guy you just met.

“Oh, wow… um, thank you. That’s nice of you to say that.” You say shyly as you scratch your arm.

He nods. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“You’re great, too.” You blurt out.

He looks at you and you see an insecure look on his face.

“Your powers are really cool, a thousand exploding suns and all that.”

His eyes shine with an unspoken curiosity. One that says You really think so?

“R-Really?” A silent laugh escapes him and his adam’s apple reverberates.

“Yeah! You’re super fast and really strong. You’re even bullet and knife proof.” You beam. “Like me.”

Ever since The Thunderbolts* weakened The Void with the power of friendship, Bob has never felt more connected.

There’s an entire group of people who welcome him and treat him with the care and respect he deserves.

Your statement was clear and concise, you’re not trying to imply anything. There’s no hidden agenda with you.

You were simply making an observation and connecting it with yourself, a well-respected, renowned hero.

Bob’s no hero, he’s still trying to find things that make him feel like himself.

You’re young, so young and filled with such an encouraging spirit that makes him feel willing.

“Yeah.” He softly agrees. “I guess I am like you.”

You sense a deep sadness in him, something that troubles him and obstructs him from speaking freely.

You don’t want to force him out but you also don’t want to come across as overly sensitive.

“I’m not sleepy anymore. Do you wanna… maybe go do something?”

Peter can wait, you think. You also think he and Bob would get along well.

He thinks about it for a moment.

He doesn’t have training anytime soon and has read up all his books. Some new scenery would do him good and this way, he’d get to know you better.

He wants to be your friend and hopes you share the same sentiment.

Little does he know, you’re almost there.

“Yeah, sure. Why not.” He smiles once more and this time, it reaches his eyes.

[sturniololuvz]

Can u do one where chriss daughter (14) gets involved with drugs and drinking ect and gets caught

“The Wake-Up Call”

Chris never imagined it would be his kid.

He always thought he’d done a good job—he was present, loving, maybe a little overprotective. He packed her school lunches, drove her to practice, left notes in her bag when she was having a hard day. He wasn’t perfect, but he tried. God, he tried.

So when the school called on a Thursday afternoon, his world tilted.

“Mr. Sturniolo,” the principal had said, voice too formal. “There was an incident. We found alcohol and vape cartridges in your daughter’s backpack. We’ve also been informed by another student that she may have experimented with marijuana on school property.”

He hadn’t spoken for a full minute. Couldn’t.

It felt like someone had yanked the air out of his lungs.

By the time he pulled into the school parking lot, his hands were still shaking.

⸻

She sat in the office like a stranger—shoulders hunched, hoodie pulled over her head, face blank. Not scared. Not crying. Just… gone. Checked out.

Chris crouched in front of her, gently pulling her hood down. “Y/N,” he said, quiet. “What’s going on?”

She wouldn’t look at him.

Chris’s heart broke right there.

He signed whatever papers the school gave him, apologized to the staff, and walked her out to the car in complete silence. He didn’t yell. Not yet. He couldn’t. His mind was spinning too fast.

When they got home, the silence was unbearable.

“Talk to me,” he finally said, standing in the doorway of her room. “Please.”

Y/N shrugged, sitting cross-legged on her bed, eyes on the floor. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Chris echoed. His voice was trembling now—not from anger, but fear. “You’re fourteen. You had drugs in your bag. You had alcohol. That is a big deal.”

She rolled her eyes, and that was it. Chris snapped—not in rage, but in desperation.

“What is going on with you?” His voice cracked. “You used to tell me everything. What happened? What did I miss? Did I do something wrong?”

That made her falter. Her face shifted, her lip quivering slightly.

“You don’t get it,” she whispered.

“Then make me get it,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “Let me in. I need to know what’s hurting you so bad that this feels like the answer.”

There was a pause. A long one.

And then—like the crack of a dam—she broke.

Tears started falling. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel like everyone at school expects me to be perfect. And I’m not. I mess up. And then I try to numb it out and—everyone else is doing it too and I thought—I thought maybe I’d feel better.”

Chris sat down beside her immediately, pulling her into his arms.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he whispered into her hair. “You never had to be. I don’t need a perfect daughter. I just need you. Safe. Here. Breathing. Alive.”

She cried harder.

He held her through it all—letting her get it out, letting himself feel everything he’d been bottling up since that call. He wanted to yell. To scream. To ask who gave it to her, who thought they could drag his daughter into that world.

But none of that mattered more than this moment. This soft, broken version of his daughter who was finally letting him back in.

“Things are going to change, okay?” he said quietly once she’d calmed a bit. “Not to punish you. To protect you. We’re getting you help. Therapy. Support. I’m not letting this swallow you.”

She nodded against his chest.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “And nothing—not this, not anything—could ever make me stop.”

There would be hard days ahead. Trust to rebuild. Conversations to have. But Chris wasn’t going anywhere.

He was her dad.

And he was going to fight for her, every step of the way.

⸻