#I tried on the third slide here but it did not look very good so I put it back :|

[chiropteracupola]

lhqr outfit musings... (underlayers, everyday outfits, performance / out on the town outfits)

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon doesn't remember the name of the woman who took his virginity. At this point, all these years later, he's not sure if he ever knew it. It was a chance encounter, quick and a little dirty but fun. Fine.

He'd been in the neighborhood pub, the one he escaped to when he didn't want to be at home, shooting pool. He wasn't that good at it, not then, but he practiced for something to do, and as he racked up the balls for a third round against himself, he apparently caught her eye.

A bit older than him, the woman was immediately forward and flirty, and it wasn't a secret, even as inexperienced as Simon was, as to what she wanted. His body must have felt some kind of desire with the way it reacted to her, blood rushing south as she slid her hands over him in the dim light of the nearly vacant bar, but when she invited him to her flat down the street, it wasn't lust that made him agree.

It was curiosity. He wondered what it would feel like to be wanted, even on a base level like this, and if it would fill up whatever hole that had been inside him for as long as he could remember.

And it did. A little.

He'd never even kissed a girl before, always too closed-off to get in any kind of position to do something like that, but that night, he kissed the woman from the pub, over and over again. He followed her movements, let her put her hands on him and place him where he needed to go, and it was something.

When their clothes came off, left in a haphazard heap around her cluttered living room, it was something more, and when she pushed him to the couch and sunk down onto him, the unfamiliar warmth almost overwhelming, for a second, it was everything.

He came too fast, and it was over too soon. That night, he slid back into his own bed, alone again. He couldn't tell if he felt better, knowing there was something he could do to soothe the ache in him, or if it was worse, having the relief for a moment then going back to nothing.

A few nights later, when the weekend hit and the pub was more crowded, he caught the eye of a pretty girl in the corner, shyly checking him out, and he got his answer.

For Simon, for years, it was better to have a little bit of comfort. Just a little bit, because he never saw a way that he could have more. A stranger from a bar, one from the grocery store that asks him to reach a high shelf and flirts a little too much ... he gets good at spotting whatever that first woman saw in him. The part of someone that's open to a quick, needy fuck.

He sees it in you. Clocks it straightaway, but he also sees something more.

It's in the way you pull back after he kisses you hard and deep, the only way he really knows how to kiss. He stops, thinking you've changed your mind, but you're still there, still close, with such a soft look in your eyes now. You initiate the kiss this time, your hands sliding up to cup his cheeks, keeping him in place as you slow things down.

It's disorienting almost, he tries to shake it off, to get back to how this is supposed to go. He yanks your shirt off, and you let him, but when he moves his hands to roughly palm at your chest, you patiently pull them back down to rest on your waist.

"Slow down," you murmur, smiling up at him. "We've got a little time."

It's muscle memory for him at this point, finding a woman and bringing her to a quiet, private place, pushing into her, feeling the brief reprieve it brings. But with you, the rhythm is all off. It's somehow very good and very bad, all at the same time.

"Thought you wanted something here," he mutters, his meaning clear -- he thought you wanted him.

"I do," you answer. "I just don't want it to be over in five minutes. That ok?"

He's not sure what else to do, so he nods. And he slows down.

It's different, sex when you're not rushing towards the end-goal. His hands, used to action in moments like this, pushing and pulling and gripping, instead find yours. Your fingers intertwine, and you kiss him, almost lazily, like you’ve got all the time in the world. Like he’s worth it.

To Simon, it feels strange and new, but not really -- like it's all happening through the filmy haze of a dream, where somehow he knows every step of this dance and yet nothing at all, all at once. To you, from the soft sounds slipping from your lips, it feels right.

When it's over, and you're both breathless and sated, he feels like that boy again -- the one who'd never been kissed and who didn't know where to put his hands. But now, he notices, one hand is still grasping yours and he squeezes it, just barely.

"That ok?" he asks softly, and he's not sure if he's speaking to you or to himself.

"Perfect," you tell him, turning your head to give him a smile.

He doesn't know if he'll ever see you again. But he's memorizing the weight of your hand in his, the steady sound of your breathing as it returns to normal. And even if he never has this with you again, in the moment he knows that he's capable of it. And that's enough.

[seokminfilm]

printer problems — vernon chwe

🤍 pairing, vernon chwe x reader

🤍 warnings, non-idol au, fluff, loosely (and i mean LOOSELY) based on the tv show abbott elementary, first-grade teacher!vernon, kindergarten teacher!reader, vernon is whipped, coworkers to ???, lowkey flirting, svt members mentioned as teachers, cursing (vernon says like 4 curse words), awkward vernon ftw

🤍 summary, the seemingly untouchable first-grade teacher vernon chwe has a little (read: huge) crush, and it's on none other than the sweet kindergarten teacher (aka you)

🤍 author's note, i was scrolling on my 'for you' page on tumblr today and saw a post by @miniskirtmods talking about an abbott elementary au with vernon and i was instantly enamored with the idea 😭 yes i know nothing about this show BUT this was just too cute of an idea to exist SO here we are!

(psa: if you don't know about this show, no worries!! there are no references to the show in this because i know nothing about it and don't want to look stupid trying to know 😭 so just enjoy it as a teacher!vernon fic)

🤍 now playing, mutt (leon thomas)

🤍 word count, 924 | for @kstrucknet, @maestro-net

vernon felt like a second-grader, taking his measly lunch of a turkey sandwich and ranch-flavored veggie straws to the teacher's table as he spied out the land.

("spying out the land" meaning trying to find a place to sit among the many teachers that made this underfunded school what it is.)

he could sit with fifth-grade teacher soonyoung who had a worrying obsession with tiger-print clothes, second-grade teacher joshua who all the staff thought was secretly gay, or maybe even third-grade teacher seokmin who also doubled as the school's event planner, music teacher and librarian.

(yes, they were that understaffed.)

all of those options paled in comparison to you, though—the new kindergarten teacher who everyone loved. you had gotten on everyone's good side in just a short time, and all of your students loved you, singing your praises as they went through the halls.

and vernon's in love with you—how? he doesn't truly know? why? well, he can list a hundred things, but over half of that list would make him sound desperate for your company.

(which wasn't all a lie, either.)

so, vernon, like the second-grade loser he feels like, awkwardly makes his way over to the end of the table where you sit, munching on carrots after dealing with a small disagreement between kids arguing about which sour patch kids flavor was better.

"hi, chwe." you smile, eyes meeting his for the ninth time today—not that vernon was counting or anything. that would be crazy.

...that would be crazy.

"hey," vernon tries his best to be nonchalant, throwing his boxed lunch on the plastic, slightly rickety table as he falls into his seat. his wire-framed glasses slide awkwardly down his nose as he looks down at the box, and he feels his cheeks heat up as you chuckle at him.

"your day been uneventful so far?" you ask sweetly, taking a bite of your salad as you watch vernon slowly. he unpacks his lunch, neatly arranging it before discarding his lanyard with his teacher id enclosed and wetting his lips.

"yeah, thankfully. i mean a kid did almost shit in his chair in my classroom, but that's nothing too new." vernon looks up at you through his eyelashes, admiring the sound of your pretty giggles. god, even your giggles were pretty.

"what about you? how's your day going?" vernon asks, finally taking a bite of his food as he watches you scroll on your phone. your hair falls in your face perfectly, obscuring most of your face except your pretty eyes as you return your gaze back to vernon. and that's the tenth time you've looked him in his eyes.

"it's going pretty good! we played with toys most of the day since the printer stopped working, and we—for some odd reason—we went and got the gym teacher to fix it." you say with a confused tone of voice, and vernon laughs to himself, trying to hide it.

that was very true—the school, being critically understaffed and underfunded (double wham), had a small circle of people who were assigned to do different things. mingyu, the gym teacher, was also the last-minute technician at the school.

"mingyu can't fix anything most of the time, let alone a fucking printer. i don't know why we still let him try to repair things." vernon laughs, and you shake your head, shrugging.

"i don't know, i think it's chivalrous for him to try to fix something, even if he doesn't know how to do it. it's cute, seeing him struggle sometimes." you smile down at your food, and vernon's smile fades just slightly, your words cutting like silly scissors.

vernon wasn't one for fixing things—he'd try to, sure, but as soon as he knew there was no use trying, vernon would stop.

mingyu, on the other hand, wasn't a quitter. he'd do what he did without fail, and whether it worked or not, he'd give it his best. and mingyu was cute while struggling to try to fix things? vernon might as well die, then.

who knew that vernon would ever want to switch places with mingyu? he'd do anything to have you talk about him like that.

"hey, i can fix your printer." before vernon is thinking, vernon is speaking, and he and all of his coworkers know how that ends.

you're staring at him with surprise in your soft, doe-like eyes, and god, vernon feels like he's melting on the spot. you're leaning in just slightly, fork in mid-stab as you eye vernon down. "you can?"

vernon knows he can't fix anything, let alone a whole printer, but with you staring at him like that, how can he say no?

"of course i can." vernon runs with the lie, shrugging nonchalantly and glancing down at his watch to quickly regain his composure.

"let me work on it after school. i'll stay late if you stay late." vernon feels a surge of confidence rush through him, and you smile, raising a playful eyebrow as you smirk at him.

"are you asking me on a date, chwe?" you say teasingly, and vernon's lithe lips part to reveal the prettiest smile you think you've ever seen.

"if you want to call fixing the school's rickety-ass printer after school hours a date, then yeah," vernon says with another shrug, and you nod, smiling as the bell rings, signifying the end of lunch. the two of you stand up, sounds of children filling the room loudly as you mouth: "it's a date."

[tobiosbbyghorl]

hyper and chill suggestion!!!

i came across a really cute couple mirror selfie on pinterest!!! andddd i was wondering who between them would keep making silly faces and instead of nice cute selfies it turns into a giggle-filled photoshoot with more bloopers

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 24:Photobooth

previous

It started with a simple walk through the mall.

You were supposed to just grab snacks and maybe window shop for a bit, but then—

“Oooh! Lolove, look!” You gasped, grabbing his arm.

Sunghoon barely had time to react before you were dragging him toward the brightly lit photobooth stall near the arcade.

“Lolove, seriously?” He raised a brow, amused. “A photobooth?”

You pouted. “Come on, it’ll be cute! We don’t have any printed pictures together.”

He sighed, but the tiny smile on his lips told you he wasn’t actually against it.

“Fine, fine.” He let you shove him inside the booth, sliding in beside you on the tiny bench.

You excitedly picked a frame on the screen while he casually slung an arm over the back of the seat.

“All right, first one—just smile normally!” you instructed, already posing.

The countdown started.

3… 2… 1—

Click!

You smiled sweetly.

Sunghoon?

The menace was making the goofiest face possible.

Mouth open, eyes crossed, fingers doing bunny ears behind your head.

You gasped. “Park Sunghoon!”

He just grinned.

“Okay, next one, be serious!” you warned, trying to stop laughing.

3… 2… 1—

Click!

This time, he puffed out his cheeks and threw up peace signs, looking absolutely ridiculous.

You smacked his arm. “Sunghoon, I said serious!”

But he was dying laughing. “You actually thought I’d listen?”

You groaned. “I should’ve taken these alone.”

Sunghoon only laughed harder. “Nope, you’re stuck with me.”

The next two shots were no better—you tried to be serious, but he kept making silly faces, so eventually, you gave in and joined him.

By the end of it, you were both giggling like kids.

But then—

“…Okay, okay,” Sunghoon said, still catching his breath. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He put in more coins before you could even protest.

You blinked. “Wait, you actually want a redo?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, suddenly focused. “Let’s do it properly.”

And that’s when you realized—his entire demeanor had shifted.

Gone was the playful Sunghoon.

Now, he was serious.

The countdown started again.

This time, on the first shot, he smiled at the camera—a real smile, the one that made your heart do flips.

The second shot, he gently took your hand, intertwining your fingers on his lap.

The third shot—he turned to look at you instead of the camera.

And on the final shot—

He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

Click!

Your heart nearly exploded.

The flash faded, leaving you both in the dimly lit booth, mere inches apart.

You stared at him, stunned, cheeks burning. “…Sunghoon?”

He smirked, but his own ears were definitely pink.

“Now that’s a good set of photos,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard.

Yeah.

You were never throwing these away.

After recovering from the absolute meltdown Sunghoon just gave you in the photobooth, you both walked out with the freshly printed photo strip in your hands.

You stared at it, replaying the last shot over and over in your mind. Did he really kiss you just like that? So casually? So smoothly??

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was trying very hard to act like his ears weren’t still pink.

“Where to next?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You were about to answer when—

“Oh my god, look at this mirror!” You gasped, stopping in front of a cute boutique store.

Right at the entrance was a full-length mirror decorated with heart-shaped stickers and pastel doodles, with a little sign that said “Take a selfie, leave a memory!”

Your eyes sparkled. “We have to take a mirror selfie here.”

Sunghoon groaned. “Lolove, we just took a bunch of pictures—“

“But this is different!” You whined, already pulling your phone out.

Sunghoon sighed, but when you turned your puppy-dog eyes on him, he gave in instantly. “Fine.”

You beamed and dragged him in front of the mirror, angling your phone for the perfect shot.

At first, you both just posed normally—standing close, Sunghoon’s hand resting on your waist while you smiled at the reflection.

Then, just for fun, you made a peace sign while Sunghoon lifted an eyebrow at you.

“Do something cute!” you nudged him.

“Like what?” he muttered.

Without thinking, you turned to him and pressed a quick peck to his cheek.

Sunghoon froze.

You clicked the picture at the perfect moment—him standing completely still, lips slightly parted, ears burning red.

You cackled. “Oh my god, you look so flustered!”

Sunghoon immediately covered his face with one hand. “You can’t just do that!”

“Why not?” You grinned, scrolling to look at the picture. “You kiss me in a photobooth, but I can’t kiss your cheek?”

He huffed, still obviously shy. “…That was different.”

You giggled. “Aw, is my big, confident Sunghoon shy?”

His jaw clenched, and he snatched your phone.

Before you could protest, he suddenly leaned down and pressed a soft, slow kiss to your temple—his lips lingering for just a second.

You barely had time to process it before he snapped the picture.

You gaped at him.

Sunghoon smirked, handing your phone back. “There. Now we’re even.”

You stared at the new photo—him kissing your temple, you looking completely caught off guard.

Your heart exploded.

“…I’m printing this one,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

Sunghoon chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”

Neither of you said it, but one thing was very clear.

That mirror selfie?

Would definitely be framed later.

©️ tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @veilstqr

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rissierjie

[bumpkinspice0]

Know One Knows the Trouble, Honey, That We've Been Through 2/3

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Chapter Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Your emotions start to settle and you get to know Logan a little more Warnings: Hangover? Negative self-talk, SEXUAL TENSION, pg-13 dirty talk, talk of past trauma/abuse

Series Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

AO3 if you prefer to read there

_______

You always found it wasn’t the hangover that was the worst part after a night of drinking— it was the shame. A heavy groan rolls out of your lips, your achy shoulders leaning over the third cup of coffee that was forced on you. You’re still surprised you had the courage to leave your room at all. This isn’t the first time the X-men nursed you back to the land of living after a night of less-than-savory decisions, but you do hope it’s the last.

Thankfully, you hadn’t seen Logan all morning.

He drove you both home. He carried you to bed. You called him a fucking calendar boy. God, you had to be here for at least another week. How on earth are you going to get through this? Could you possibly avoid him for days? With enough dedication… Maybe. 

“You and Logan seem to have made up then?” Storm muses, taking a seat next to you at the kitchen counter. 

“We… went to Stevie’s,” You grumble into your coffee. 

“Of course you did,” She tries and fails to hide her smile. You’d drug Storm there plenty of times back in the day.

“I thought I’d be nice. Be The bigger person, ya know. Make peace. It was supposed to be one drink, Ororo,” You slump down to the counter, burying your face in your arms, “He carried me to my goddamn bed.”

“Did he now?” You hear the intrigue in her voice. 

“I called him a lumberjack. Or a firefighter or something. Scream-sang half the way home too I think.”

“Mmm,” she hums into her mug before taking a generous sip of coffee, “And did… anything else happen last night?”

You immediately shoot up, cheeks heating in an instant. Storm always loved the juicier gossip. 

“Nope!” you blurt just a little too loudly, “Just shamefully being tucked in, unfortunately.” 

“Shame. I think he likes you.”

“Yeah… right,” You wheeze, “The professor made him my chaperone to the greenhouse yesterday, I got drunk on his dime, and on top of that I think I scratched up his bike when I knocked it over… with him on it.”

“Details, darling. Details.” She gets up to round the kitchen island, pulling out a cereal box and two bowls. “More importantly, what do you think of him?”

“Well, he wrecked the flowers you got me.” you bluntly point out. 

“A fact that I’m sure Jean is scolding him for this very moment,” she pours two bowls of Honeycombs, one heftier than the other, “He’s a difficult person, yes, but he’s trying to get better too. It took a lot of convincing from all of us when he first came here.”

Sounds like someone else that used to come here. You want to say it but the double meaning in her tone is clear.

You recall trying to run away at least twice when you first came to the X Mansion. It was scary, and you’d been in fight or flight mode for so long that you didn’t know how to react. Everything was always a matter of time at that point in your life. It seemed like everyone became an enemy, eventually. Every home was abandoned, eventually.  You would have run out of time eventually— if it wasn’t for Charles. 

“He’s not so bad on the eyes either though, is he?” Storm slides a near overflowing bowl to you, milk splashing over the sides. 

“Ro,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hide your smile more than anything. She was always so forward, “I think I said he could be in a calendar last night. Like the sexy calendars.”

“Ah, so the drunken confessions have gotten the ball rolling,” Storm slides back in next to you, “Other than his leg buckling good looks, what else do you think of him?” 

It’s still too early in this relationship to form a concrete opinion about him. He ruined your flowers and you got drunk with him. It’s not the best start to a friendship— but you’ve had worse. 

You think back to the hastily taken-off shoes next to your bed. An untouched glass of water on your nightstand you immediately downed. The crinkles around his eyes that deepened when he laughed at whatever you were rambling about back at the bar. An abandoned red flannel left around your shoulders when you woke up this morning…

He didn’t talk much, but he listened. He cared in his own tough guy way.

“I think… he’s nice.”

______________

You choose to work on the tunnels today, not ready to face the blinding sunlight outside. The max dose of ibuprofen and a steady supply of Gatorade were working overtime as you blast further into the rock. There was still at least half a mile to clear out and Hank wanted to get started on the wiring for the lights and ventilation as soon as possible. 

Ideally, you wouldn't be doing anything today. Drinking always took it out of you, but you couldn’t just loaf around the mansion nursing a hangover when you were hired to do a job. You didn’t even get in the tunnel until noon and after an hour of punching through bedrock, you’re already exhausted. 

You emerge from the tunnel back into the basement for a small break, soot already covering you despite your less-than-enthusiastic work effort. For once you didn’t want to bury yourself in your work— metaphorically at least. For the first time since you got here, you give yourself a chance to breathe. 

The sleek lower halls of the X-men haven’t changed. It looks the same, but it feels completely different— just like fucking everything lately. Nothing changed here, but you have. A place you were once so proud to be. Now… now you don’t know. 

But maybe you’re starting to come to terms with it— feeling comfortable, even. It’s okay that things change, literally everything does. That’s what moving forward is all about. 

Is that what you were doing? Moving forward?

You come to the display cases, everyone’s suits standing proudly on faceless mannequins. Suits of the current X-Men and the past. They still had yours, of course. A plaque that read ‘(Bull)Dozer’ rested at its feet. You wonder if it would still fit you. 

“Always wondered who wore that one.” A now familiar gruff voice pulls you out of your reminiscing. You turn and there he is, leaning against the adjacent wall, that blasted smirk on his face. 

He’s suited up, a fresh sheen of sweat marking his forehead and a faint smell of smoke lingering around him. He must have just come from the danger room.

You give your own smirk and give him a quick once-over, taking in the garish yellow that covered him from head to toe, “I didn’t expect yours to be so… Bright.”

“Goes with my eyes,” He teases, coming to stand next to you. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how filthy you surely must be. You resist the urge to dust yourself off. There was no use, you were covered in dirt. “How you feeling today, darlin’?” 

The pet name shoots butterflies straight to your stomach. Either from embarrassment or… something else.

“Just fine.” You say as confidently as you can. 

“Didn’t expect you to be so… productive today.” He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Oh, I’ve been around the block a few times. I’m tough.”

“I’m sure you are.”

The air is suddenly suffocating and you’re not sure how much of it is in your head. You don’t dare bring up whatever you could have possibly said last night. You couldn’t just ignore it either. 

“I wanted to say… thanks… for last night,” you break the silence, “But also I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Sorry you had to play babysitter.”

“Ya know you’ve got a nasty habit of apologizing for things you shouldn’t be apologizing for.”

“Logan–”

“I had a good time last night,”  He cuts you off, going from a teasing tone to a more serious one. He means it. He wants you to know he means it, “Wasn’t the first time I had to carry someone to bed and it won’t be the last. I didn’t mind. You were pretty fun before that too. Play a mean game of pool.”

You’re not sure but you swear you see him wink.

You feel the rush to your cheeks again. Since when did you get so shy around shit like this? Maybe it was just him. Something about him had this effect on you. 

You goddamn teenager. 

“Doing the Danger Room solo, huh?” you quickly change the subject. 

“Not a very good team player,” he shrugs, “Not that anyone here would be much of a challenge if they wanted to join.”

“Cocky prick,” you scoff, “I bet I could take you.”

Something in his demeanor changes. His eyes darken and a playful grin pulls at his lips. All the pet names, sneaking up on you, making you blush. He’s been flirting…  might as well flirt back. 

“That so, princess?”

You want to backstep. You should backstep— but damn, playing with fire never seemed so fun. 

“Yeah, I do think so.” You cross your arms, a playful challenge. 

“And what makes you say that?” He steps closer, you don’t back down. 

“I’ve met a lot of men that think they’re hot shit. Men that need to be knocked down a peg. I don’t mind being the one to do it. They always walk away with their tail between their legs.”

Something in his eyes darkens as he crowds you against the wall. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. He leans down.

“Sounds like a lot of boys to me.” he nearly growls. “You’ve put a lot of boys in their place, princess?”

“Only when they deserve it.” 

A deep hum of approval rumbles in his throat. The feralness of his tone awakens something inside of you. It stirs in your belly and shoots between your legs. 

You’re playing a very dangerous game but can’t seem to help yourself— not with Logan.

Suddenly, he pulls away, all of the air you were holding in your lungs going with him. 

“Hank.” He grumbles under his breath as he steps away.

Sure enough, the big blue man himself rounds the corner, several scattered papers and blueprints in hand. 

“My dear, there you are!” Beast walks directly between you and Logan, completely unaware of the tension he’s breaking. “I wanted to discuss some foundational plans with you for the new win,” he places a hand on your back and gently starts guiding you down the hallway. “If you’ll excuse us, Logan.”

“Sure, bub,” you catch a glimpse of Logan scowling over your shoulder, “Do whatcha gotta do.”

________________ 

Days. It’s been days since you’ve seen him. It’s been days since you’ve seen much of anyone, really. 

Scott had everyone on high alert since the evening of your hangover. More activity was detected around the Trask extremist's now not-so-hidden hideout. Charles has been on the phone with any government official he can and the rest of the gang has been on around-the-clock reconnaissance. Thank god the only thing the US government hates more than mutants is domestic terrorism. If they can solve this amicably and quietly, they will.  

And you just keep digging your holes in the ground. 

You finished the tunnels yesterday, both far longer than the previous ones were. One exiting over half a mile to the West and another to the East. All that was left were the gardens now. 

It was the work that would take the longest anyway. They had to be sculpted meticulously, level, and somewhat aesthetic looking. Much harder than just boring a hole into the ground. Things that looked beautiful required more focus and time, that’s true with anything. You had a little less than a week to finish the job. Then… you’re not sure. Just go back to your regular life, you suppose. 

Do you really want to go back?

The question continuously repeats in your head as you try your best to focus on leveling the dirt beneath your palms. This job back at your school did not go as planned— at all. You thought you could do this quickly without drawing in the guilt. Quick in and out then back to your mediocre career and lackluster social life. In hindsight, you feel like a fool for thinking you could do this without old feelings stirring up. Feelings that weren’t nearly as bitter as you thought they were. Charles mentioned in passing how he’d like to start a new environmental science course, they’re just having trouble finding someone who has time. A trap, surely. Jean did say your thoughts are very loud lately, the professor’s no doubt overheard your inner conflict.

This thing with Logan wasn’t helping either. 

Nothing more than lust, you think. Carnal desires stirring for someone mysterious. A bad boy. A rogue. If you were younger you would have already found him late one night and jumped his bones. For some reason that felt… trashy. That and Scott’s had the man on call constantly. Even though he’s made it clear the feeling is mutual, you don’t want to necessarily piss where you lay. But that would only matter if you stayed.

You want him. You want him bad and you're being skittish about it because you don’t want to fuck up the dynamics of the team… because you want to stay. 

You want to stay. 

The roar of the Blackbird coming into land sends your ears ringing. They’re back from their latest reconnaissance mission. The sun was going to set within the hour. Your work would be done for the day and everyone would be home—everyone including him. 

You have no idea what you’ll do but… something. Tell Charles and Scott you want to stay? Finally pounce on Logan? Or just hide away in your room— that seems most likely. 

Unfortunately, the choice is made for you. 

“Still no flowers planted yet?” the sweet rumble of Logan’s voice pricks the hairs on the back of your neck. 

“Tomorrow maybe. Almost done with the beds,” you say as casually as possible. He comes to stand at the top tier of the garden several feet above you. He’s changed out of his uniform and you’re still in your 2 day old work clothes. Why does he keep finding you when you’re completely covered in dirt?

“Nice shirt,” he nods towards you. 

You look down at your grime-covered torso. You’d put on his flannel this morning. Why in God's name did you do that?

“Yeah some fella from the bar left it in my room,” you joke as you make your way up to him. “Sorry, musta just grabbed it without thinking.”

“I don’t mind. Suits you,” he reaches out, helping you up the final step. He pauses, just for a moment. “Hi.”

“Hi.” 

And there’s that awkward little silence brewing again you're both so good at. He’s desperately the person you want to see and the last person you want to talk to at the same time. Still, he sought you out first— and that meant something. 

You both decide to break the silence at once. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been—”

“Would you wanna get you another—”

Were you always this bad at this or is it just him? 

He chuckles, scratching the back of his head, “Got a little break in the action. Was wondering if I… could get you another drink?”

Your entire body screams no but your stupid heart is pounding yes. Maybe if you take it easy this time you’ll be fine. You actually remembered to eat today so that’s working in your favor. 

“I’m not sure I can show my face at Stevie’s again.” You joke. 

“Nah, not that dump. " He turns and starts walking back to the mansion, “somewhere much more local this time.”

_______________

The sun is just starting to kiss the treeline when you settle into your seat. You promised to start a fire in the pit and Logan promised to bring the beer. It at least gave you a little time to get rid of all the dirt that was caking you head to toe. Sharing a drink while watching the sunset on the back porch with a bonfire. You don’t think he intended for it to be as romantic as it was, but you can’t say you really mind. 

Logan comes through the sliding door, six-pack in hand. You don’t even get a word out before he’s already offering an opened bottle.

“Maybe take it easy this time,” he smirks.

“Mm, maybe you should have got me a juice box instead if you’re so worried.” 

“Oh, and here I thought you were a tough girl.”

Jesus fucking christ. 

You accept the beer and dare not make eye contact.

“Cheeky ass,” you attempt to shoot back, taking a heavy swig from the bottle. 

He takes a seat next to you on the bench with a heavy groan. “I’ve been called worse.”

You don’t doubt it. You were calling him worse barely a week ago. Now you’re sharing a drink at sunset with him? Well, another drink. 

“How was the mission?” 

He just grunts in response, leaning over his knees to peer into the fire, “Fucking annoying.”

“The bad guys or Scott?”

“Both,” He huffed a laugh, taking a swig from his bottle. “Just gettin’ impatient is all. Summers has us all waitin’ for the right moment. Can’t let them know we’re watching. Probably the right call with guys like these. Don’t tell him I said that though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, tough guy.”

Your heart isn’t racing as much now. The air between you is getting lighter by the second. This wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t so bad. Not entirely the gruff and tough guy you made him out to be. 

He could have marched right up to you and asked you to come up to his room, and you would have said yes. You could have come banging on his door one night for a quick fuck, but you didn’t. There was that desire here, but there was something else building too. You wanted to know him. He seemed to want to know you too. 

You want to stay. 

“You miss it?”

“What?” the question catches you off guard. 

“The X-Men. Being an X-man.” Logan clarifies, “Do you miss it?”

It's a loaded question, one you might have answered differently a few weeks ago. 

“Yes.”

He’s just as surprised by your bluntness as you are. 

“Why leave then?” he prods a little further. 

You want to know him, he wants to know you.

“I wanted to see if I could do it. Just… be a person. Free to just exist in the world, ya know?” you instinctively curl your legs into your chest. “And I guess I did it, in a way. I’m not struggling, a business owner with steady work, but that doesn’t change the way they look at me. They want what I can do. I’m a one-man construction crew. Cheaper and faster, but still just a mutant, someone you pay under the table. I guess I forgot I couldn’t really change anyone's mind either.”

He lets your little confession linger for a moment before speaking again. 

“Fuck ‘em.” 

You raise a brow.

“Fuck ‘em. Never thought it was much worth being part of anyway.”

Guess you’re not the only blunt one here.

You unfurl your legs, stretching your feet out to the edge of the fire. You wish you’d kicked off your work boots earlier. 

“What about you, Wolverine? Do you like being an X-man?”

“Tch, now ain’t that a big question.” He raises the bottle to his lips.

“So you don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.” the bottle lowers. 

“You don’t seem to say much about yourself.” You’re baiting him, just a little.

“Fair enough,” he concedes with a sigh, “I do. I like bein’ here, bein’ part of something, but it's got its own challenges. I’ve got my own challenges. Demons like everyone else. Guess that’s how we all ended up here, isn’t it? Fucked up as that is.”

He’s a man of few words, but each of them is spot on. You’re only here because you were running, just like everyone else. 

“So is that a yes—” you tease. 

His knee knocks against yours with a chuckle, “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

His thigh doesn’t move away, resting lazily against yours. You swear you can feel his body heat radiating up your whole leg. 

“Would you come back?” He turns the conversation back to you again.

“I… I don’t know yet,” you admit. 

“Yet?”

“I don’t know if they’d take me. If Charles would—I’ve been—”

“They would.” his blunt candor cuts through your insecurity like a knife. Logan is a man who only seems to say what he means, and that’s comforting, strangely enough. “I don’t know much about it, but family is family. All you gotta do is ask with this crowd.”

A reassuring heat creeps into your cheeks at his words. You know he’s right. The only one you need to convince is yourself now.

“Yeah,” you thumb at the neck of your beer, long forgotten and surely completely warmed through by now. You set it on the ground, “I might…I might just ask.”

You feel him shift, leaning in closer to you. You finally turn your eyes from the dancing fire and face him. His normally hardened face is so… soft. 

“I wouldn’t mind keepin’ you around if you did.”

The kiss is gentle at first, to your surprise. Both of you lean into it almost nervously, as if asking permission. When neither of you pulls away he’s the first to go deeper, cradling your head in his freehand. You melt into him. His mouth opens against yours, tongue seeking your own. You let him in gladly. The sensation of his stubble against your cheeks makes your hair stand on end. A deep moan growls up from his throat and sends shockwaves through your whole body. Your thighs clench together almost on instinct.

He’s the first to pull away, but still hovering close enough for your noses to brush. 

“Come to my room tonight.” You find yourself asking through heated breath. 

“Why not right now?” his hand roams down from your neck to your hip. You want this, god you really want this. But…

“Please grant me the decency of a shower, Logan,” You worry for a split second your stupid mouth has ruined the moment, but he huffs out a small laugh with that unmistakable smirk.

“Me or you?” he leans to the side, nose grazing your neck. 

“B-both.” 

“Smell pretty good to me, darlin’.” You feel his breath dancing on your skin, a few small pecks left along your shoulder. 

“Logan…”

“I like that,” He comes back up to face you, eyes blown wide with desire, “I like the way you say my name.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” You can’t help but rake your free hand through his hair. It’s softer than you expected. 

“Can’t have that. Not when you just decided to come back,” He gives your hip a final squeeze and steals another quick kiss before leaning back. “You wanna wait, we’ll wait.” 

Suddenly you regret your shower request.

You sigh, dropping your head to his shoulder “It’s been a long day… few days.”

“I can relate,” his hand rakes over your back. “Probably gonna be called out again in 10 minutes anyway.”

“Any progress?”

“We’re close, whatever that means,” you can hear the irritation in his voice. You can’t blame him, the whole team was constantly coming and going the last week.

 They’d have a lead and it’d fizzle out. Even Ceribro was having trouble tracking them. You overheard Jean and Charles discussing the possibility of them possessing physic-blocking technology. Enemies had gotten their hands on weirder things. 

“What was it like… when you were on the team?” he asks. Well, if you weren’t going to jump into each other’s pants right away, might as well keep up with the fireside pleasantries— not that you minded.

“Smaller. Much smaller.” You snort, “We didn’t have a direct line to the president, that’s for sure. Mostly breaking up small-time mutant-related gang violence. Saving kids. Erik would show up every once in a while with some new lackeys. Nothing like what he tried on Liberty Island.”

“You heard about Liberty Island?” 

“Jean told me,” It was all over the news too, some important details left out, of course. “She told me it was your first mission with the team too.”

“Hell of a first mission.” he takes a heavy swig of his mostly untouched beer. “What was yours?”

“Child rescue,” You don’t even have to think about it, the night is still imprinted on your mind, “A dozen mutant kids were being held in some dirty warehouse in Long Island. They were gonna be sold off to some private warlords or some shit, I don’t like to think about what could have happened. We got them out, that’s what matters.”

You pull away from him, your previously warm mood now soured by no fault of your own. Thankfully, Logan doesn’t seem offended. 

“Why do I feel like that’s not the whole story?” He takes a cautious sip, raising his brow.

He’s right. 

“Do you actually wanna hear it?” You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He nods.

“I told you I was an angry kid. I was an angry X-Man too,” you remember the close calls that night, “Seeing those kids like that… it reminded me of… it was too much. If I get too mad, buildings fall down. Foundations crack. We got the kids out while the roof was coming down.”

You thought you were so ready for the field. What a mistake that was. Charles and the team never shamed you but there was always this look in their eyes. Like they were waiting for you to go off again. You kept a tighter hold on it after that night. You let yourself lose control before, you don’t want to do it again. Keeping it in keeps people safe.

“You don’t seem so angry to me, sweetheart.”

“Years of practice.” you give a faux smile, a pit of regret forming in your stomach for oversharing— again. 

“You’ll have to give me lessons sometime,” he nudges at your shoulder. Despite it all, he’s still smiling at you. 

“You’re a good listener, Logan.” you smile back. 

“Gotta be when you don’t have much of your own story to tell.” he shrugs off the small compliment. 

“What happens in your story, bub?” you joke, praying he might share just a little.

He leans forward over his knees. His deep brown eyes stare blankly into the fire like he’s searching for something. He said there’s missing parts. He said he doesn’t remember much.

“I don’t know it all yet.” is his disappointing answer, “It was… taken from me. Charles is helping me find the missing pieces. I want to tell you, I do, but I want all the pieces back first.”

You desperately want to ask him to elaborate. Memories taken from him? Missing time the Professor was helping him get back. That had to be part of the reason he stayed here. To get back who he was. 

Still, you won’t push.

“All good stories are worth waiting for, I hear,” you give him an assuring smile. He thankfully smiles back, placing a warm hand on your thigh. Something about him, something about Logan just made this all so… easy. 

“You could tell me yours while we wait?” He asks, orange lights dancing over his soft expression. “How did Dozer become an X-Man?”

“It’s… not a happy story.” You bite your lip.

“Neither is mine.”

You look back at the fire, his warm eyes suddenly too much to bear looking at. Were you really going to do this? You barely know him.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

But you do want to, and that’s the surprising part. You don’t know why, but you want to tell him about the darkest part of your life. It’s been so long since you’ve said any of it out loud, maybe you need to get it out. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe you’ll scare him away. Maybe you just want him to know what the fuck he’s getting into.

You take a deep breath.

“My powers manifested when I was ten. Was playing in the backyard with my brothers and suddenly we had a new sinkhole. Broke one of their ankles. I don’t think they ever stopped being afraid of me after that. My father was afraid at first too. Tried to cover it up, told me not to make any new friends, to keep to myself in school. It went on like that for a few months until… until everything changed.”

You’ve tried so hard to forget these few years of your life. At the same time, they seem to be all you can think of late at night. It’s what you’ve been running away from your whole life. 

You’ve told so few people this story, and now you’re telling Logan. He sits there quietly, a supportive heavy hand on your thigh and kindness in his stern eyes. 

He wanted to know you. 

“Like I said before, my father was a career army man. I think he loved it more than us. I know he loved it more than me. I don’t know how he heard about it but the military wanted mutants. Secret programs within secret programs. A once in a lifetime opportunity for him. I was his ticket in.”

You feel Logan’s grip tighten. 

“He didn’t give me to them completely at first. Made me do tryouts I guess. Took me to some base and made me show a bunch of old men in nice suits what I could do. Did that a few times. It was slow at first. Taken out of school. Brothers stopped talking to me. Told to practice more. At first, it was once a week, then it was more, then he just left me there.

“I was scared the first night. I was only twelve but I was smart enough to know where this would all lead. I knew my father didn’t love me anymore. I knew they’d do horrible things to me. I broke out. They caught me within 24 hours and scrambled to find a prison I couldn’t break out of again. Where do you keep a child that can move bricks and concrete like toys? One day, I just woke up in a room of metal. They hid me away in some deployed battleship. Never learned where or what the name was. There were others there too I think, but I can’t be sure. They couldn’t trust me, but maybe they thought they could train me. Make me a soldier. Break me.”

Funny how these words come out so easily. You recite them in an almost sterile way. Maybe you needed to say them again. Needed someone else to know. You feel Logan’s eyes boring into you, but you don’t dare meet his gaze. Not while there’s more to say.

“I think I was on that ship for almost a year. When they started talking about taking me to another facility ‘with the others’ I knew I had to get out somehow. I played along, became docile, whatever they wanted so long as they would let their guard down. I’d be shipped out to the mountains in Canada, they said. When we docked I could finally feel earth again for the first time in months. Even from inside my little cell, I was close enough to summon something… anything. 

“I put a hole in the ship with a few bricks from the pier. One hole became dozens. I didn’t stop until the hull was more air than metal. The boat sank at port and I was able to escape in the commotion. We were in New Jersey. In 6 months I got to Chicago and that’s where Charles found me.”

The sun has completely set but for a few stray ribbons of orange in the sky. The crackling of the dying fire was deafening between you two. You finally look back to Logan. You can’t read his face. It’s not blank or shocked like most people were after your sad story. 

His next words shock you. 

“The Weapon X program,” it comes out so quietly, “You were… oh my God, you were in the Weapon X program.”

It’d been so long since you’d heard that goddamn name. 

You draw away from him immediately, betrayal muting over all of your other feelings. He knew. 

“Charles told you, didn’t he? You let me drone on while—.”

“No! No, he—” Logan bites out, hands closing into fists. The knuckles whiten instantly. “Chuck never told me.”

“Then how do you know that name? How do you know what Weapon X is?” You spit the words with venom, your defenses are immediately put back into place. He knew something. He knew something about you this whole damn time. 

Yet, he looks so small. Shoulders slouched down, defenseless. Eyes wide with what almost felt like compassion.

“Logan… were you… were you in Weapon X?”

He looks down at his hands resting on his lap, squeezing his fists one last time before releasing them. As his fingers unfurl his claws slowly unsheath, lazily crossing over each other on his lap. It could almost be perceived as a threat, but that’s not what he’s doing. It’s like he’s showing you something. 

“Darlin’... I am Weapon X.”  

__________

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Libido - Part 2

A/N: You wanted a sequel…I’m serving you a sequel on a platter with a side of mush! Enjoy 👻

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: 18+ fluff, hints of sex.

Read Part 1 here.

.

It started with a missing conference room chair.

“Where the hell is the other chair?” Steve asked, looking around the room like it had personally betrayed him.

Natasha didn’t look up from her phone. “You don’t want to know.”

Then came the mysteriously fogged-up glass in the training room. No one had even been using it, except for that one time Tony had loudly declared he was “going to do some stretching with the reader.”

And when Clint found your earring lodged between two console keys in the Quinjet cockpit?

“Okay. That’s it. They’re doing it everywhere,” he said, holding it up like it was radioactive.

“Doing what, exactly?” Tony asked innocently, walking in just in time with you behind him, both of you glowing. Literally glowing. He had that smug, post-orgasm glint in his eye, and you had your shirt on backward.

Sam nearly choked on his protein bar.

“You think we’re dumb?” Nat drawled. “You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”

You tried. You really did. But Tony just smiled, laced his fingers with yours, and shrugged like a man with absolutely no shame.

“When the chemistry’s that good,” he said, “containment’s a myth.”

Wanda muttered something about psychic trauma.

Steve looked like he was trying to summon the Lord himself. Bruce started a new set of rules for common area usage.

.

Everyone’s already seated. Sam’s got a protein shake, Clint’s playing with a pen like it’s a weapon, Nat looks like she hasn’t slept, and Steve is, as usual, painfully upright. Tony’s chair is empty, and so is yours.

“So what are we waiting for, exactly?” Steve asks, checking his watch for the third time. “The mission debrief was scheduled for—”

The door swings open.

Tony strolls in, all cocky energy and ruffled hair, wearing a smug grin and that billion-dollar swagger. Right behind him, you walk in—barefoot, hair still damp from a very recent shower, and wearing one of Tony’s unmistakable Stark Industries t-shirts that hangs off your frame like it was pulled off the floor five minutes ago (because it was).

Silence.

Thick, awkward silence.

Clint’s pen drops.

Nat tilts her head slowly, like she’s trying to remember whether she bet money on this happening today or next week.

“Sorry we’re late,” Tony says, not sorry at all. “Traffic was a nightmare. Especially the, uh… hallway outside the gym.”

You shoot him a look.

Sam blinks. “You’re wearing his shirt.”

“What? No, I—” You glance down. Crap. “It’s just… comfortable.”

“It’s inside out,” Natasha points out.

Steve clears his throat loudly, like if he does it enough, he can erase the mental images already burning into his soul.

“We’re in a professional environment,” Steve manages. “There’s protocol. Standards. Dress codes.”

Tony spreads his hands. “Exactly, Rogers. And what better standard to set than one built on love, passion, and the occasional broom closet rendezvous?”

Wanda puts her coffee down and just quietly mutters, “I’m going to bleach my mind.”

“I told you they were doing it on the jet!” Clint hisses, jabbing a finger at Sam.

Bruce sighs and just starts jotting down new rules for the communal kitchen. Again.

“Alright, alright,” Tony says, dramatically flopping into his chair. “Let’s focus, people. The mission’s over, the city’s safe, and everyone walked away with all their limbs. I say that deserves a little celebration.”

“This is not what I meant by team bonding,” Steve mutters.

You suppress a laugh. Barely. And when Tony’s hand slides under the table and settles on your thigh?

Yeah. Everyone knows.

And no one’s getting over it anytime soon.

.

The laughter from earlier finally fades into the hum of city lights outside the glass walls. You’re curled up in one of Tony’s t-shirts again—an actual clean one this time—legs tangled with his under the sheets. He’s propped against the headboard, arc reactor casting a soft blue glow over your bare shoulder as you lie against his chest.

“So…” you say, smirking as you drag a lazy finger over his ribs. “Think we were subtle today?”

Tony scoffs. “Absolutely not. We were about as subtle as the Hulk in a glassware shop.”

You giggle, nose nudging into his collarbone.

“Steve looked like he was about to start a prayer circle,” you mumble.

“He might still,” Tony deadpans. “Pretty sure I heard him muttering something in Latin under his breath.”

“Clint owes Nat fifty bucks.”

“Fifty?” Tony raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? Our scandal’s worth way more than that.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Do you think they actually care?”

He’s quiet for a beat, fingers drawing absent-minded circles on your back.

“Maybe a little,” he says finally, voice softer now. “But they’ll get over it. Eventually.”

You tilt your head up.

“You sure?”

He meets your gaze, no smirk this time. Just warmth.

“I’m a genius, babe. I built suits that can fly into space. I can definitely handle a little judgmental side-eye from Captain America.”

That earns a snort from you.

“Besides,” he adds, brushing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m not exactly in this for team approval.”

You curl tighter against him, smile tucked into his chest.

“You’re in it for the sex, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. That too. But mostly—” he pauses, tips your chin up to look at him, “—it’s you. I’m in it for you.”

A long beat passes before you whisper, “Sap.”

“Says the one cuddling me like a human space heater.”

“You are warm.”

“That’s love, baby. Or maybe post-orgasm endorphins.”

He kisses you again—slow, easy. You think it’s the kind that says, even if they all know, even if they all talk, it doesn’t matter.

You’re his favorite headline.

.

You’re making coffee in one of Tony’s oversized shirts—yes, another one—and trying not to burn your tongue on your mug. Hair a mess, legs bare, zero regrets.

Tony strolls in looking way too pleased with himself, robe swinging dramatically behind him, and Dum-E slowly trundles behind with a juice box because priorities.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Tony drawls, swooping in to kiss your cheek. “How’s my favorite scandal?”

You roll your eyes. “Why do I feel like you’re about to make this worse?”

“Because I am.”

He turns on the massive flat-screen TV embedded in the kitchen wall and—of course—there it is.

BREAKING NEWS:

“MR. STARK: CAUGHT WITH HIS PANTS DOWN (AGAIN).”

Below the headline is blurry footage of yesterday’s mission debrief… and in the background, just barely visible, you in Tony’s shirt, and Tony’s hand slowly sliding out of frame under the table.

You nearly choke on your coffee.

“Tony—”

“Look at that form,” he grins, pointing. “That’s an award-winning reach if I ever saw one.”

“You are unhinged.”

“Unapologetically.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Great. I’m dating an international headline.”

“Technically, you’re the headline.”

You raise a brow.

“Okay, fine, we’re the headline. Power couple. Love story of the decade. Scandalous and sexy.”

He pauses, grins wider.

“And to think—Steve thought I couldn’t commit.”

[jupitersun18]

I know the End

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Oc!

Summary: When Jack sends his girlfriend outside not knowing the monster waiting for her

Author's Note: This is my first The Pitt story so bear to me and I know it's very dramatic but who doesn't love that.

Warnings: Language, Gruesome Words, Guns

The cold waler dripped down chloe’s face and she breathed heavily looking at the water spin around the drain in the sink, she just lost her third patient and the tension in the air was getting tighter and tighter, she heard more yelling outside and for a minute chloe wanted to hide in the bathroom and stay until everything stopped.

But she knew a lot of people counted on her so she took a deep breath and walked out the bathroom, “hey you good” jack asked her, chloe nodded not knowing if she started to talk she would start crying “i talked to robby and you’re getting moved outside” jack said.

Chloe gaped at her boyfriend “jack i can do this” chloe told him, jack placed his hands around her neck and put his thumbs on her cheek rubbing softly “i never said you did but i need you outside cause if you start to lose it then i can’t focus” jack said.

Chloe sighed then she nodded and jack leaned down and kissed her, chloe reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, “i love you” chloe told jack after being the first one to break away from the kiss “i love you always” jack said.

Chloe felt a strand of hair tickle her cheek as the wind blew alongside the echo of the yelling inside “hey it’s been quiet out here so we’re gonna check inside” a swat man said and before chloe could say anything they left “okay” chloe mumbled as she wrung her hands together making the latex on her gloves bunch up.

Chloe scanned outside and thought she didn’t see anything at first until she did a double take when she saw a figure walking up to the hospital.

Chloe noticed he was walking slow so she jogged over to him “sir are you hurt” Chloe asked as she got closer to the man.

“Yes” the man mumbled as Chloe scanned the man from head to toe “okay let's get you inside” Chloe said but as Chloe went to turn around the man grabbed into her arm making her look at him.

Chloe froze as she heard the click of the safety clip on the gun “you're the..” Chloe started to say.

Chloe froze, she didn't know what to say or do all she could think about her family inside the hospital “okay you said you needed help so let me help you okay” Chloe said putting her hands up to show she's not going to hurt him.

“Okay” the man said hesitant as he lowered the gun but he switched and held the gun to her face “go lock the doors and if I see anybody close I will shoot until I see your goddamn brains” the man demanded.

Chloe tried to hide her whimper as she slowly turned and started walking towards the sliding doors with the gun pressed up against her back.

Chloe watched as the first slide opened and she looked around and found the emergency close button for the second slide, chloe slammed her hand against the button and a loud bell echo outside and inside the hospital.

All the doctors flinched at the loud sound and they all looked towards the doors, Chloe watched as jack looked at the doors for a second before he realized who was behind the door.

“Hey” jack yelled as he got closer to the doors and slammed his hand on the door, “back the fuck up” the shotter yelled holding his gun to Chloe's head.

Chloe watched as other doctor’s walked closer, she saw langdon move mel behind him and santos place herself in front of javadi and whittaker.

“I'm going to say this once, keep everybody away from outside and if I see anything I will blow her head off and you'll be washing her brains off the pavement” the shooter yelled.

Chloe whimpers as she felt the gun press hard into her head, Jack snarled as he glared at the man.

The shooter smirked at Jack then backed up and yanked chloe back and outside.

“Call off the ambulances now” Robby demanded, Robby watched the swat team run the hallway and towards the door.

“Why the fuck are you not outside, you're job is to protect us and your inside while a doctor is outside a hostage” jack yelled at the boss of the swat team.

“We were checking on a friend we didn't know so back off” the swat member said as he pushed Jack back, jack swiped his hand away and before Jack could swing at the man, robby pulled him back.

“McKay I know everybody's going to be freaking out but I need you to run this and help the patients” Robby said, McKay nodded and took off with some med students.

“What the fuck do we do” Jack demand, “I don't know” Robby said rubbing his head.

Jack and Robby watched the swat team “make sure nobody comes to this hospital and we'll take care of this” a swat member told the doctors before they walked off, jack scoffed as he paced back and forth.

Chloe wiped her tears as she watched the shooter mess around with his gun “what's your name” Chloe asked making the shooter look at her.

“Scott” Scott answered bluntly, “why did you do it” chloe asked making scott scoff at her “gee where should i start people are assholes and when i shoot them all i hear is silence, in fact i love seeing their heads fly back in fact it gives me pleasure” scott said, his dark eyes staring into chloe’s light eyes soaked with tears.

“So what the hell do you need me for huh, you said you like silence so why don’t you fucking kill yourself and be done with it” chloe demanded, her words feeling sour as she spitted them out.

Scott started to laugh “you think i haven’t thought about that yet, i figured i would shoot a couple of doctors before the end but you'll do” scott said making chloe sob as scott laughed at her.

“Anything�� dana whispered to robby, he shook his head at her as they turned to look at jack who was standing still by the doors, “hey brother” robby said walking to stand beside him.

“I pushed her outside because if she stays in here with me i'll constantly worry about her, look where that got me” jack said, robby put his hand on jack’s back for comfort.

“How are we with patients” robby asked dana as he left jack for some space “everything has calmed down since we haven’t gotten any new patients” dana answered.

Robby watched mel walk back to stand beside langdon as she wiped away tears “are you okay” robby asked her, mel nodded “yeah i’m just worried about her” mel answered.

Robby gave her a comforting smile “she'll be okay” robby said, but he knew nobody believed him since robby didn’t believe himself.

Scott rummaged through equipment that was left outside “aha” scott said holding up something, “i need the channel you guys talk to” scott said, chloe started to shake her head but scott raised his gun “channel six” chloe said making scott smile at her.

Scott switched to the channel and handed her the radio “since i like you so much i’ll let you talk to your beloved” scott said handing her the walkie talkie.

“Hello is anybody there” chloe’s voice echoed through the silent hospital “is that” mckay started to say, jack sprinted over to the walkie talkie and pressed the button “chloe baby is that you” jack asked, his voice scratchy as he held down his tears.

Chloe started to sob hearing his voice static through through the talkie “he’s making me say goodbye to you” chloe said, jack ignored the gasps behind him.

“So let’s not give him the satisfaction okay because we’re going to see eachother again do you hear me” jack said, he started to breath heavily trying to hide his tears.

“Wow that’s some guy” scott said making chloe glare at him, “you better be waiting for me when i get there” chloe said smiling through her tears, “with my arms wide open” jack said.

Scott made a wrap it motion “i didn’t know i was breathless until i met you jack, you are the reason why i breathe every day and i didn’t believe in love until i met you, jack abbot i will love you always” chloe said through her sobs.

Jack put his hands over his hand as he muffled his sobs and before he could say anything “sorry to break this up but i’m getting bored bye jack” scott said cuttting off the walkie talkie, “no” jack yelled, he threw the walkie talkie at the door “goddammit” jack yelled.

“Well that’s done and over with” scott said throwing the walkie talkie “any last words to me” scott asked, chloe wiped her tears “yeah go fuck yourself” chloe answered kicking his chest.

Scott gasped at the impact, chloe punched him as scott grabbed her, they both fell to the floor as the gun clattered on the pavement.

Chloe quickly got up and ran to the gun but scott grabbed her hair hard and yanked her to the floor, scott grabbed the gun and chloe stood up and grabbed his arm as she crouched down and flew him over her shoulder.

Scott landed hard and chloe went to get the gun but scott grabbed her leg making chloe fall, scott dragged chloe makin her skin drag alongside the pavement.

Chloe tried to reach for the gun but scott stomped his boot on chloe’s hand, scott grabbed the gun as chloe turned to look at the sky.

Chloe looked at the stars as scoot came into her vision raising his gun to her face, chloe closed her eyes and a gun release echoed through the hospital.

Jack froze in his spot as he watched his friends collapse beside him, mel hugged langdon as santos covered her mouth as whittaker threw his arm around her shoulder as they quietly sobbed.

Mckay turned away as javadi rubbed her arm and mohan hugged dana who was crying with hands covering her face, robby turned to look at his best friend who was frozen in place ”jack” robby said his voice breaking as he walked up to jack and hugged him.

Swat pounded on the doors making some stop their crying to open the doors, both of the doors opened and jack waited for a second before he sprinted outside.

Chloe got herself up and she heard sprinting nearing her “jack” chloe yelled watching the man run to her, jack sobbed as he kissed her hard.

Chloe hid her wince as she kissed him back, jack pulled away and chloe smiled at him then she grabbed his arms as she felt herself get dizzy, jack picked her up bridal style and rushed inside.

Chloe winced as she opened her eyes to the bright light, she slowly raised her head and looked around her room seeing a whole bunch of flowers and balloons, chloe turned to her side and saw her boyfriend sitting in a chair beside her while holding her hand.

Chloe slowly let go of his hand and she watched jack shot up, chloe giggled as he squinted half asleep before realizing what was happening.

Jack kissed her while chloe giggled “hi baby” chloe said smiling at him “ i missed you so much baby” jack said, chloe looked at jack with love in her eyes.

“ i love you always” jack told chloe leaning his forehead against hers, chloe smiled at him and connected their lips, the hospital room shined with sun as the couple comforted each other inthe room.

That's it y'all I hope you enjoyed it

<33

[novashelby]

Forgive Me-Tommy Shelby Smut

Pairing: TommyxReader(third person)

Word count: 2k-ish

Summary: Tommy Shelby is attracted to his attorney's daughter, and decides to corrupt her little nun brain at work.

Prompt: "What makes you think I am going to fuck you?"

Warning: Degrading language, non-con, Dubcon, oral(m), religious banter.

@darlingsfandom

“Y’know,” Tommy said, weaving himself through the wooden pews. It was a rare occasion that he was in church as he and God didn’t talk very much. If not, at all. You see, they weren’t on the best of terms. But he could admit that. He had no shame in his religious affiliations, or lack of. But her? Looking at her kneeling in the novice robes with her hands folded was laughable, at best. Tommy pointed his finger at her, wiggling it. “This, honestly…Love, why?”

She’d been trying hard to focus on her prayer for the last thirty minutes, knelt down, hands folded. Stiffening, she rolled her eyes up and let out a long sigh of frustration. Perhaps she was a little wild in her teen years, but what did he know of any of it? He was just her father’s client. Her father was an attorney, a big wig one in London. However, she hardly ever associated with him. And the only times she ever spoke with Mr. Thomas Shelby was when she was required to go to dinner parties and he just so happened to be there. “Mr. Shelby,” she greeted, though he’d been circling the pews for quite some time.

Finally he made it to hers, sliding in and kneeling right next to her. When his elbow caressed her arm, she flinched away, giving him a wild look. Amused, he asked, “oh, sorry, is that a sin these days? I mean, you are a messenger of God…know all his updated terms of services, eh?”

Getting up, she looked down at him.  “Instead of saundering within the pews, perhaps you should head to confession, Mr. Shelby. I can direct you, if you’d like? Or….” She leaned in, a snarky grin playing on her face. “I can give you the fast pass to hell, surely the Devil can’t wait to meet his biggest fan from Birmingham, eh?” It was the mockery for him. The little teasing infliction of her voice. Eh. He reached up to grip her cheeks, but she turned away before he could. Tommy got up and followed her, and when she heard the click of his lighter, she stopped. “There is no smoking allowed in the church, Thomas. Put it out.”

The cigarette rested between his fingers. “Do the rules still apply to nonbelievers?”

“If you are such a nonbeliever,” she said, turning on her heels. “Then you’d best find better company elsewhere.” Instead of leaving, he sat on the priest’s velvet chair on the altar. He leaned back, crossing his legs as if it was his lounge chair. Luckily for her, she was the only one in the church besides a few custodians. 

“What would your father say,” he said, pointing at her with a cigarette, giving her a knowing look. “Being so disrespectful to his client. To an older person. To a man.”

“He’d say nothing,” she quipped, gathering her bag with her notes and bible. Some of her hair had been peeking through her white veil. Tommy pushed off the chair and walked over, grabbing her arm. Flinching, she pushed him off, a nasty glare on her face. “Don’t touch me-”

“C’mere,” he said, regaining his grip and pulling her in. “You’re being immodest,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes as he poked the loose strands back under the veil. People were weak under him. Once they were trapped by his little games, it was hard to push away. And she was no different, so small under him. Like the good girl she was meant to be, she stayed in place. “You see,” he started, words muffled slightly from the smoke perched between his lips. “I don’t think this is all you. I think…I think you are here just to be a little fuckin’ brat-”

“Mr. Shelby,” she interjected. “If you don’t mind, I have to get to study.”

When she tried to move from him, he gripped tighter. “I do mind, actually.” Yes, it was true, she had a wild era once in her teens. But it stopped at dancing and drinking. Never had she ever broken the seal. The church was safe. It was to keep her safe, and never had she considered the scenario where a man had her trapped. Mr. Shelby of all men. The small of her back pressed against the side of a wooden pew, digging into her body. The edge felt sharp, even through her thick robes. “I quite like your company. I find it…redeeming? As if my soul is just cleansing being in your presence.”

“You’re mocking me,” she said in a mere whisper, their eyes connecting.

“No,” he said, sarcastically while his knee pressed between her legs. “It’s true. Forgive me, I’m just thinking….” He paused, words trailing off. “Just how much you can save me.”

“I’ll pray for you,” she said, pushing at his chest, but he was just too strong for her.

Grinning, he leaned in, forehead resting against hers. “And how do you pray? On your knees? Hmmm…that’s a good idea. You’ll pray for me, right here. On your knees. Go on, be a good little girl and get on your knees.” He stepped back and waited. His face said it all…don’t try to move. Without breaking eye contact, she slid to her knees. A nun, sure, but she knew enough about life to understand what he wanted. “What do you think you should do?” he asked, all emotion leaving his voice. Her hands reached up to his trousers, closing her eyes. To his amusement, her fingers fumbled with the belt loop, struggling. “I guess those wild years did you no good. Or are you just out of practice? C’mon.” He took over, undoing the metal clasp on his belt and unzipping his trousers.

Eyes squeezed shut, chin quivering, she sobbed. “Mr. Shelby, please-”

“It’s coming, love,” he chuckled, flicking her forehead. “Take it out.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, pleading, tears streaming down her face. “I could lose my apprenticeship!”

“Then Mr. Shelby will give you a better one,” he said, grabbing her hand and placing it against his hardening cock. “Take it out, go on. Do your job.” She couldn’t look at him while doing it; pulling the waistband of his underwear down by the hooks of her fingers. Her fingers gently caressed the cock before it came out, displayed in front of her. Gently, he lifted her chin. “Open your eyes.” Her eyes fluttered open, averting her glance from his cock. Tommy laughed, and teased, “looks like you don’t wanna be here. Come on now, put a smile on that pretty face.” He pulled the sides of her trembling lips and forced a smile upon her face. “There we go, all happy to take your father’s cock.” The words were enough to send a chill up her spine, nevermind his throbbing cock lightly teasing at her lips. Releasing her lips, he snaked his hand around her head and grabbed her hair through her veil. “That’s what you call your priest, right? Haha, Father Shelby….Fuckin’ ‘ell. Never in my life….” 

“I’ll do it,” she agreed in a whisper. Just please stop taunting me. 

“I know you will,” he said, his other hand rubbing her cheek. What he did next took her by surprise; pulling her head back and a ball of spit forming at his lips. He spit in her face. “Cause I know and you know that deep, deep down you are a dirty fuckin’ girl that craves a cock buried in her holes.” She nodded to please him, repeating that she was a dirty girl and that she wanted his cock in one of her holes. The spit was running down her cheek, dripping to her dress leaving a wet streak. 

“Ahhh,” she moaned, opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out. He commented how no true good girl knows how to display her mouth so pretty. Leaning in, she took the tip first; kissing, sucking with a pop. Salty and feeling like sin, his precum rested on her tongue. Deeper he had told her, hands resting on the back of her head, pressing her lightly.

His hips jerked and twitched slightly as he cursed. “Shit,” he hissed, fingers digging into the veil. “C’mon, you can take daddy in more. I know you can…Fuck, baby. How dare you try to hide this mouth from me.” Nervously, she choked and tried to back away before taking him in a little more; tongue swirling around his length. 

With a free hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and pumped while her tongue worked the tip. Removing him from her mouth, she slid her lips in an array of kisses and licks around the shaft before taking him in again, sucking up and down, drool dripping from her bottom lip. Tommy closed his eyes, gently rocking his hips into her, head thrown back. Fuck he hissed, enjoying how her mouth was so warm and wet around him. It took all his strength not to pick her up and throw her over the altar. No, no…he couldn’t be that disrespectful. “Fuck, baby girl…You’re too good. You’re so good for me. Look at you…being such a whore for the Devil of Birmingham.” She hated to admit it, but it was getting to her; his hands, his words, his cock. Her legs were trembling with need, and it made her feel ashamed. Sucking his cock, she moaned at his degrading, taunting banter.  “Faster, whore….C’mon, take your daddy deeper.” He pushed in more. The poor girl choked as it hit the back of her throat, but he loved that. It was the best feeling; dominating a cunt’s throat. The way it would make their throat burn. It certainly made hers burn in agony, but she wanted to make him happy. He paused, thumb wiping away tears from under her eyes, giving her a moment's beak. Then, to his surprise, it was her who started bobbing her head again, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. 

Tommy didn’t break eye contact, enjoying it as some form of submission. Bobbing her head faster, her moans matched the speed. To keep him the way she wanted, she gripped his hips. “What a pretty girl,” he commented when she pulled back, allowing the pool of spit in her mouth to drip over his twitching dick. She smiled up at him, lips puffy and abused, before sucking him back in; licking, sucking, swallowing. He helped her along, feeling his orgasm build up; bucking his hips forward, faster and with better rhythm. “Good girl, my good girl…fuck! You’re going to swallow it all for me, right?”

“Mmmhm,” she moaned, cock filling her mouth as she matched his speed.

“Daddy is going to fill all those fuckin’ holes,” he said mid high. “Every one, baby girl. You’re gonna drip his cum from your tight ass and daddy’s going to breed that tight fuckin’ cunt.” His words spilled out, and after a while, he was incoherent. His orgasm ripped through him, lacing the inside of her mouth with hot ropes of cum. “F-fuck,” he groaned, getting a few last pumps out while his eyes went hooded. Breaths jagged and uneven, he pulled away, gripping her chin. “Show daddy…ah, good fuckin’ girl. Swallow it.”

“Ahhh,” she moaned, mouth opened as if she was proud before swallowing it. It tasted salty and a bit sweet. Truthfully, perhaps a little vile, but it made her feel dirty. Tommy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cocked ruined lips. “Thank you, sir.”

“I told you,” he said, teasing. “I know you are just a dirty little slut deep down. Now, are you going to go repent your dirty little sins or do you want to go for a ride with Mr. Shelby?” He tucked himself away and helped her up. “C’mon.” He answered for her, helping her out of the church and to his car. 

She looked up at him, and asked with a teasing glint in her eyes, “What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” 

“We already established,” he started, pushing the wooden doors open. “You’re a dirty little girl.” 

[threepandas]

Bad End: After The War (Next ->)

The click of a button in a mostly quiet room. Machines humming as they churn an endless stream of data. Listening. Receiving. Filtering through the noise, for those bits of intelligence that might win us the war. The outpost was quite. As much as it could be, at least, on this god forsaken moon.

"Perimeter Check?"

More specifically, 'did you get your ass eaten by those horrifying eel-snakes? Because you promised not too, and I WILL be mad.' 'Cept, you know, these channels are technically recorded. Rather not have my snark On Record, thanks. So SUBTEXT.

The familiar, oh so melodious, demonic death screeching of abomination eels and blaster fire comes on comm. A symphony straight out of some sci-fi horror movie, act 3. The part where everybody's getting eaten. Except NOT, because this? This is just my life.

Though the eaten part is still a Very Real Risk.

Which Is FUN.

I wait. Hope I just caught Headshot at just a bad time. Not, you know, in his final moments. Ha ha... Nope! Not! Thinking 'bout that! He's immortal, I'm immortal, and we both live in a happy fun time fairy land of FUCKING WONDERS. Denial? Fuck yeah I know her! Best friend, that one. Gonna be my future kids godparent. Walk me down the aisle. We BESTIES.

There is finally, at long last, ominous silence. Dead or dying? Dead or dying? Which side, eels or Headshot, is Dead or-?

Click.

"Perimeter looks good. Bit of a mess near the east gate, though. We'll need to get the droids to shove some mess over the ledge. They tried to climb again."

Oh thank FUCK. Tension bleeds out of me. This post is hell on my anxiety. I send back the confirm. Slump back on my seat as I keep an eye on his tracker's dot, on the patrol read out. I fucking HATE perimeter checks. They aren't safe. But... well...

This universe? I'm pretty sure, it's an "all the serial numbers filed off" blatant rip off of Star Wars. Might be a fan fiction? Cause, while the troupes are familiar, the "characters", no one is where or WHO they should be. There are also other "totally not X" bits here and there, all of which confuses the fuck out me.

But what I DO know? Is that making a fuss about the safety and well-being of us peons? During this, the "totally not the Clone Wars"? While Evil Dick, Sith-y Pants the Obvious is in charge? GREAT way for our entire outpost to get "tragic casualties of war"-'d. So yeah, no thanks.

Keeping my mouth shut.

And, hey! At least they ate our complete asshole of a commander. Technically we SHOULD be getting a new one... but we were told to make do. Same with all the OTHER critical roles currently empty.

The DICK.

Like? I know he wants to drag out the war and maximize suffering for Evil Not-Sith, Off Brand Space Wizards Of EVIL Powers? But like? Fffffuck yoooou, dude. What the hell. Hope he stubs EVERY toe, always.

The Clones deserve better then this. The SECOND the war is over? I'm stealing Headshot. Fuck this "property of the state" bullshit. Just me 'n him, man. We could go explore the wilds. Or get him a beard and fake glasses. Clone? What clone! This is my BROTHER, Headshot. Our parents were gun-toting hippies. My names Moonrock. Fuck off, maybe. Keep walking.

The second I see him cross the base threshold, I switch over to Droid command. They can't hold my shift forever, but for a bit? Should be fine.

Jogging down the hall and sliding down a few ladders, I finally catch sight of Headshot as he leaves the staging area. Oof. That is a LOT of eel blood. The cleaning bots are cursing up a storm as they follow him. Even from the other end of the hallway... he smells... ripe.

I give him a second to lead the way and for the bots to work behind him. Then join in the little parade. Ah, eel goo. The third worst thing that could come out of going outside. Right behind losing a limb or dying. But hey! I restocked the soaps for ya!

"Doesn't change that it's on my everywhere, Commander."

Oooooh~ breaking out the COMMANDER are we? Is that SASS I hear? Snark perhaps? Why HEADSHOT! Such insubordination~! What EVER shall I do?

He snorts and suggest something anatomically impossible as he gestures to the shower rooms door. I tap it open for him. Goo boy that he is. Grinning I follow and find a bench where I can sit so my back is to him. It... used to be weird, to be honest, this level of living in each others pockets. But time and isolation has eroded a lot.

Clones don't really see boundaries like everyone else. Don't have the same taboos or unspoken social rules. After all... they're all the same gender. Were forced to live basicly in a breadbox with each other. The culture that developed reflects that. And I? Am more of a follower then a "type A". Not passive by any stretch of the imagination, just... eh.

I don't have the social outgoing-ness? I guess? To drag the culture of our base towards MY social norms as opposed towards his. It made him comfortable. I shrugged and went okay. Rinse and repeat. To be honest I was just glad he trusted me enough to SHARE.

Booting up my definitely-not-a-tablet, (which is of course, STUFFED full of various bits of sci-fi technology that only half makes sense) I once again try and connect to the wider army's mainframe. Nothing. I've BEEN trying for weeks now. But for some reason? We're cut off.

No new commands. No new forms to fill. No demands for information.

No UPDATES on what the FUCK is HAPPENING out there.

I'm... not gonna lie, getting nervous. We're a listening outpost. Some of our information is time sensitive. And our SUPPLIES are not infinite. Forget food, if we run out of AMMO? Those nightmare snake-eel THINGS will... Look, long and short of it? I've got an "empty" blaster shoved under my bunk. Two shots left. And compared to the slow, SLOW digestion and meat threshing teeth those horrors have?

At least it's FAST.

But I would REALLY prefer we NOT fucking come to that, you know? That someone would fucking PICK UP. Or? I don't know!? Notice we're offline? Whatever the problem is! The fact that we've gone dark is SPOOKING the fuck out of me.

Not to mention? That even BEFORE communication went down? The chat rooms and update boards weren't making a whole lot of sense. Lot of clone specific references that I didn't get. Memes, maybe? I don't KNOW and that's the part that's killing me. I had no way to CHECK. It all just... went dark.

We're still GETTING data. But? We can't seem to SEND it. Headshot and I checked. I checked the droids while he got the dish and other external devices. Clambering around the roof with his sniper rifle like a well armed, circus trained, mechanic. Nothing was wrong with the droids. And according to Headshot? Nothing was wrong with the dish.

After a while I gave up. Again.

Reminded myself to practice my meditative breathing. In... out... IN... OUT... do NOT trough your only Data Tablet. You'll break it. You can't REPLACE it. It might FEEL satisfying in the moment... but it's Not Worth It. Just listen to the sound of the running water. The quite of the room. Breathe... unclench your jaw, make your muscles relax, c'mon you can do this.

Fuck, I needed my anti-anxiety meds. But we were starting to ween me off them so I didn't go cold turkey when we ran out. It was fucking with my head. But, hey! At least I wouldn't run the risk of seizures! Or any suicidal ideation! No, just slowly building anxiety, in this, History's Most Stressful Outpost.

The shower shut off behind me. Leaning forward to grab a towel from the stack, I tossed it blindly over my shoulder. Heard him catch it. Wet feet slapping quietly against tiles as he walked forward, drying himself. From the feel of droplets and heat, looming just behind me? He was leaning over my shoulder. The man always did like to damn near boil himself in the shower.

"Still nothing? We've run out of D6 bolts. Not to mention your meds..." He commented, still drying off. I could feel the occasional brush of a towel. A bare arm reached over my shoulder to tap at the screen. "Have you tried...? Shit."

He tried several commands. Leaning over me, damn near cradling the back of my head against his bare chest. But nothing worked. Plopping his chin down on the top of my head, he casually wrapped his arm around my shoulders, leaning his weight on me as he considered the problem. The fans kicked in overhead, dehumidifing and hopefully preventing any sort of alien molds.

I told him to go put on some fuckin pants, before he frozen something he might miss off.

With an amused snort he stood and wandered over to the armor cleaner. Grabbing a new undersuit. Blacks went on, armor freshly de-goo-d, he called that he was presentable once more. I swung my legs over the bench. No need to stand, after all, if we're not leaving yet. Besides, exhaustion was a symptom of the withdrawals. Med changes are a BITCH.

Just as I was about to suggest anough brainstorming session, though?

Our comms both ping. LOUDLY.

That's the emergency signal from the control room. SHIT. I'm up and running before the sound even fades. Headshot right behind me. Not so much because he can't out run me, as he'd stop to grab his weapons as was bringing up the rear. Guarding my back. I prayed, PRAYED, this wasn't an attack. We were supposed to be a fourteen person team.

There were TWO OF US.

We'd never be able to hold the line. Would DIE here. Fuck, I didn't even have time to get that gun! I should have been carrying it. It had been too morbid. But... but...!

I slam into the control room. Headshot a half step behind. The droids frantically churning away. Okay. Okay! What's happening? A ship, big one, in orbit. Oooooh fuck. How Big? I ask. Am informed? "Wipe us from the face of the galaxy" Big. Ha ha! FUCKING FANTASTIC. Great! Merry fucking Christmas to me, I guess! Okay. Okay!

Let's DO this.

Get on the short range ship comm, (never thought I'd USE it but here we fucking ARE) and ask, politely, for them to Fucking Identify Themselves. (Because we have Big Guns and are NOT afraid to use um!)

There is a long tense moment. Then? Oh thank merciful FUCK. A Clone's voice comes on the line. General Spark of the 153rd, in pursuit, they're here to catch traitors and resupply if we need anything. Permission to land a few ships?

I. Could. WEEP.

Yes! Oh, ABSOLUTELY yes! Whoever they're chasing picked a REALLY stupid planet to hide out on, not gonna lie. They'll be picking their traitors up in PIECES. But? Never has a voice been more beautiful. Send Techs! You have FULL use of the outpost General! Welcome!

Setting the droids to navigating the incoming ships safely through landing, I all but DRAG Headshot towards the landing pad. People! Actual, real, PEOPLE! Supplies! Oh thank FUCK! We might be able to figure out what wrong with our relays! Get NEWS! And? That was a CLONE GENERAL!!!

That NEVER happens!

I can practically feel my self vibrating with excitement. Bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, as the ships come in for a landing. The officers that roll out are all clones. Their armor more personalized then I've ever seen it. It's BEAUTIFUL. I can't help but lean over and whisper to Headshot, saying as much. Wondering if we can get him some of the supplies they must of used.

You know, assuming he WANTS any of um.

If not? Dibs.

His shoulders are shaking. Why are-? One of the officers thanks me for the compliment. Headshot you SON OF A SUBSTANDARD VAT. Was your SHORT RANGE MIC ON!? Why would you not-!? Bastard! Dead to me! Sorry general, I've never met this man before in my LIFE. Couldn't introduce if I TRIED.

Still! High ranking clones? We love to see it. I am THRILLED. It's been long over due.

Dooooesn't mean we should hang out in Eel Country though. Everybody INSIDE! Let's goooo. Nice and safe, where no ones getting eaten, m'kay? Thank you! And yes! I DO have a list of resupply needs! A LONG list. Starting with my meds, followed by ammo. Though honestly they're tied at first...

As me and the, now rather concerned, medic chat about the collapsing state of our highly rationed medical supplies? Headshot and the General are off to the side... talking about... something. Not sure. Probably not important, or he'd include me. I show the medic our "infirmary" and medical charts. Then get pulled away by the mechanic.

I barely get to SEE Headshot over the next two days. Forget sitting down. The only breaks I get? Meals and lights out. It's kinda awesome. Exhausting, yes, but? After so long isolated? It's a good type of exhausted. The sort where you feel like? For ONCE? You're actually being productive.

There are SO MANY eel burrows to scan? Potential landing sites? And all the MAINTENANCE? Dear merciful FUCK. Literally everything is out of date and cheap as BALLS. Held together with shoe strings and a prayer. But finally! FINALLY! Someone in budgeting GIVES A SHIT!!! Better equipment! Actual medical supplies! Real bedding! And best of ALL?

AIs! As in Actual, information sorting, artificial intelligences!

Because there literally hasn't been a REASON for humanoids to do this job for CENTURIES aside from a misplaced sense of superiority and distrust of droids! All WE need to do? Is stay on base and make sure THEY don't go rogue or break down from the extended isolation! Woooo desk job!

I'm gonna name um. They shall be my BABIES.

That said? None of this? Is very... Off Brand Sith-y. Little too "cares about their fellow man"-ish, you know? And... I'm not stupid. Excited as FUCK, for all the supplies and new changes... but not? Stupid. Blind.

They're keeping me away from the control room.

Keeping me out of important discussions. Sending me off on errands. All of which? SEEM important. ARE important, on the surface, but hide the fact that they are intentionally scheduled? Just as Certain Things Are Discussed. I am being... handled. Like a child. A fool.

When I confront Headshot? In our bunkroom, which we've shared for YEARS at this point. Slept just across from each other, so this lonely hell might feel just a little less empty? So when the dark thoughts creep in? That we might die in this God forsaken place, forgotten by the universe, left to ROT here, and wouldn't it just be easier to-? Someone there, so we won't. So we still matter.

He stands across from me. In OUR place. OUR room.

And FUCKING LIES.

......I guess I know where I stand, huh? And I know... I KNOW, I shouldn't feel betrayed. Clones come first, always. That's the party line. How they survived. I'm a Nat. There was always a power imbalance between us. I would always have been held just that bit further away then one of the brothers. Guess... guess it just finally happened.

I shouldn't feel betrayed. I have no RIGHT to feel betrayed.

But I do.

Headshot looks alarmed, hands twitching at his side, even as he tries to maintain his facade. Nothing's happing. They aren't doing anything. Right. Uh huh. His lie sits between us like a field of broken glass. The words, the arguments, I'd been looking for now seeming so useless. What's the point? He's made his decision.

I feel like crying. Don't want to talk anymore.

Good NIGHT, Headshot.

In the morning, I don't bother asking. I know he notices. Is waiting, restless, for us to continue on as we always have. We always check schedules after all. But what's the point? He'll lie. Instead I pull my armor on and go. Go to your brothers, Headshot. Whatever's happening here, I'm clearly not trusted enough to be part of it.

I just get out of your way.

There's a lot of busy work on my schedule, but honestly? The new AIs are learning to handle it. Instead, I head down to the new supply crates. Grab some bedding. A cart. Then head back. Pack up my shit. I just... can't.

Moving it all to a different bunk, I still have most of the day left to go. Could...? Probably? Check out if we actually DO have space rats? The droids have been reporting dust and noise in the basement, near the food stores. So likely vermin of some kind. Gonna be horrifying to find out what kind of vermin exsist HERE, but better then nothing, I guess.

Grabbing one of the better ration bars to shove in my face on the way to the gun locker, I count it a breakfast. Everyone's busy with a clone only meeting. Good for them, I guess. Not upset with General Spark or his men, I realize, as I check over the gun, no... just Headshot. Because he hurt me.

All he had to say was "I can't tell you." Or "trust me" and I WOULD have. But no. He LIED. To my FACE. And now? Now I feel like I'm waking around with shards of glass where my heart should be. Like I want to hit something. I need a distraction. So down to long term storage I go.

Normally? It's only droids down here. I have to ride a cramped little maintenance elevator lined with blast doors. You know, incase Satan's favorite pet somehow burrows in. The fuckers. It's also freezing. Which, I mean? Great for food storage, not so much for thermal regulation.

The level is eerie quiet.

Which.... huh. That's? Not right.

I reach for my comm before pausing. The hurt in my chest throbbing. I know I shouldn't let it get in the way of professionalism. Of protocol. The rules are there for a reason. To keep us alive and safe. But... God, I don't want to hear his fucking voice right now. I might cry. Say something I don't mean and regret later. You don't LAST long, isolated out in Hellpit, Nowhere, without doing a little soul searching.

Mortifying ordeal of being known and all that.

My hand drops. It's fine. I'm FINE. There's nothing down here. Or, well, should be nothing down here. We'll find out.

Slowly moving forward, I begin to check the stacks. I don't see any of the droids. Don't HEAR any of them. There should be at least thirty down here. But all I hear? Is the circulation fans. The sound of my foot steps. Something isn't right.

It's a loose, half melted screw in the path that saves me. At first I think it's a bug. But the quite clink when my foot nudges it is unmistakable. It makes me look sideways. There, a cleaning droid, cut down from behind. Tiny little mechanical claws still reaching out to claw itself to safety. Wheels shredded. The marks of a lazer blade are unmistakable.

The hiss-hum even more so.

I BARELY dodge.

Half my gun, simply sheared away. Molten slag dripping from the cut point, the battery already violently destabilizing ask it's nicked. I throw it, before I have the chance to lose a limb. The blast takes out a crate. I'm thrown. Barely roll in time to dodge the downward stab of the hissing blade. A brutal, magic-enhanced, kick sends me flying.

Straight through a stack of ration crates, into a wall mounted medical case. I land among the corpses of the droids. Each, a picture of terror and betrayal. I don't understand what's happening. The blades not red or black! It's blue! That's a not-jedi! Right?! Why are they!? Crates are lifted into the air. Threatening to smash down and bury me alive.

Can't move. Something twisted, badly, in my leg. My chest burning. Something cracked, I could feel it. I'm gonna die. Oh good, I'm gonna DIE.

"Wait! She's not a clone!"

I stare up into the face of the so called "good guys" and feel nothing but terror. Around me, the pieces of thirty droids I'd named and known, dead and dumped like trash upon the ground. Flower with his fussy need to have everything just so, Chirp who loved to sing, Mouse with the wheel I could never get to stop squeeking.

Nothing but Cannon fodder.

They died so afraid.

"Oh! You're right! Sorry! I thought you were one of those 'peating bastards. Are you okay? How long have they held you?" The Knight said. His Apprentice nodding eagerly.

My brain was static. Empty. Held? Slurs? W-what in God's name? I stayed down. Feeling small, lost, and confused. Pain rocking my body from being thrown around. The Apprentice, at least, seemed to pick up on the fact that I had no idea what the fuck they were on about.

"Ah. You don't know what's happened." She said sympathetically. It would be nicer, if she hadn't stood back while I was hurt, before they got around to asking who's side I was on. "The Clones betrayed the Republic. Took it over by force. They've made an empire. They killed the old Chancellor, who was Fallen, but then instead of handing the Republic back to the people? Kept it! Said we couldn't be trusted with it."

The last part was said mockingly. As though everyone and their brother hadn't been aware the Republic was on the brink of collapse. Corruption at an all time high. As though that same Republic hadn't been using the Clones as a SLAVE ARMY.

Slaves do tend to take exception to their chains, historically.

I wasn't really sure why the fuck they were surprised.

"Now come on, you can join the Rebellion. You must know all sort of information, from sitting out here, right? You can-!"

Click.

My helmet went full dark and internal audio only. Which was interesting because I still could barely move. But then bright light and sound, popped and cracked not to far away from my head. A flash grenade. And I finally, FINALLY? Remembered that all standardized armor? Comes with in built life support feeds.

Headshot's mystery meeting was in the command room... where my life sign readout would be. The life support feedback. Real time monitoring from me getting my ass kicked and WHERE.

A hand grabs the drag handle built into each armor, for EXACTLY this reason, and I feel my self pulled out of the danger zone. Can hear heavy, open fire. Shit. There goes our supplies. My helmet clears and I recognize the shoulder I've been careful thrown over. Headshot. He came.

He falls back at some signal I can't see. Straight to the elevator.

The shoulder under me is shaking, just slightly. Adrenaline, fear, anger. I can't tell. But... I... I'm...

"Don't." His voice is rough. Choked out through gritted teeth. His grip just carefully loose enough not to bruise. It seems to be taking everything he has. "You don't get to die. Do you understand me? You're not ALLOWED to die. Not now. Not ever. We didn't survive this long for you to leave me now."

He barely waits long enough for the door to open. Stride smooth and desperate as he races us towards the medic. I rest my head against his shoulder and breathe. Let myself be manhandled. Ha ha... a-at least? I know what he's keeping from me now. So there's that. Ow. Oh god.

The medic has to put me under. Bone fragments.

I drift.

Wake up, bandaged to hell and back, in ou-... in Headshot's bunkroom. Across from the empty bunk that used to be mine. Bed's softer then it should be, still smelling like Headshot. We haven't had the new sheets long enough. Knowing him, he probably stacked um.

The door opens. Headshot stalks in, dragging a cart behind him. His usual "pleasantly amused by life" expression nowhere to be seen. Instead? His expression is... blank. A determined, almost violent, edge to the set of his shoulders.

In silence, I watch as he unloads the cart. Bedding, knickknacks, the various bit of cobbled together wall art. All carefully stuck right back where it had been before. As though he had memorized the proper location of each and every piece. Even as he worked, with his back to me, every line of his body was daring me to be dumb enough to argue.

I didn't want too. I was just... just fucking tired.

Didn't like that we were arguing. If that was even what we were doing.

"Why?" I asked. Summing up everything and distilling it. Why didn't you just fucking TELL me? Why didn't you TRUST me? Why did you think I'd turn on you? Why would you lie? Why were we cut off? Was it REALLY a technical error? Why take the Republic? Why ANY of this?

Just... WHY, Headshot? Please...

"I refuse to lose you. When the war ended, you were going to leave. You said you'd take me with you... but honestly? That was naive. There would be no where safe we could ever go. We all knew that. We all had favorites." He finally stopped organizing my bed. Instead, smoothing down the sheet. Running both hands across it as he stared down, unseeing. "It was all so unorganized. Filthy. They treated us like DIRT. But we were... we ARE better. Designed to be superior. Stronger, smarter, faster. More durable. Why were we listening to them?"

"Then we found out why. Control chips in the brain. The nervous system. Carefully hidden, yes. But not carefully enough. You weren't authorized, you know. I'm glad. If you had been? I'd never have forgiven you. You'd never know you were dead before you died. But... I promise."

"I would have made it fast." His smile was a terrible thing. All broken edges and betrayal. Teeth upon teeth. A mania finally set free.

"Never thought those hypocrites would run here. Expect us to die for them. The happy little slaves. For the glory of THEIR Republic. You'll be okay, Commander. The General's agreed to stay until your back on your feet, just in case."

Headshot slides onto the bunk, sitting at my side, sweetly brushing hair from my face as though he hasn't lost his god damned mind. He's the picture of relief, now that there's no more secrets between us. Now that I'm injured and dependent on his help. Yet... it's teetering.

As though at any minute...

He could slide into some... unhinged state of mind. How LONG has he been on his last thread? Barely holding together? He leans forward and my mind goes utterly still. His lips pressed gently against mine. Chaste. Sweet. A warm, calloused hand, cradling my poor bruised cheek.

"I promise we'll stay together." He whispers against my stunned mouth. Eyes intent and mad, utterly loving. Like a strangers. "I won't let them seperate us. Not for anything. Now that it's done? We can be assigned anywhere. I'll take you with me. War's over, love. We're finally free."

Were we?

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Creature Craft | Protection

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: bullying

Pairings: analogical

Word Count: 1671

Logan has a word with Virgil's...'friends.'

"I'm just saying, you might want to be a little careful. Obviously this place has, like, a reputation, but I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"That's very kind of you."

Virgil can hear the responding little giggle from behind the door and feels sick.

"Have you been waiting here long? The service at the place could really use some work," another one of his friends says, toying with the edge of Logan's coat. "It was almost impossible to book another appointment."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, you're so sweet."

"I hope your spell works out better for you than it did for us," a third friend simpers, "though if it doesn't, I'd be happy to commiserate with you."

Virgil feels his cheeks flush at how shamelessly they're flirting with Logan. Right there. In front of everyone. Like they're all drunk at a bar and Logan's just the piece of meat they're all deciding to turn their attention to and he—he has to swallow the sudden lump in his throat because Logan clearly hasn't told them to stop. They're still sitting there, smiling and listening and not even blinking as the flirting gets more and more audacious and that bubble of joy in his chest pops with a sickening feeling.

What if—what if Logan decides they don't want him anymore?

His hand grows slick on the door handle, and he accidentally pushes it down when a hand trails down Logan's arm and the door clicks before he can stop it. All of their faces turn to him, and he sees surprise dawn on his friends' faces.

"Virgil? What're you doing here?"

"Have you been crying?"

"Wait, what happened with you? You never told us."

"I—um—"

But then Logan's face changes. They're suddenly smiling softly at him like they haven't seen him in years, and when they stand up it's like there isn't anyone sitting anywhere near them, moving swiftly over and settling one hand on his waist, the other coming up to brush a tear from his—oh. He hadn't realized he started crying again.

"How did it go, sweetheart? Are you okay?"

How the fuck did he ever doubt this? He gets to keep this. He gets to keep all of Logan forever and he's got a giddy smile forming on his face, he knows he does, and Logan's smiling back as they wipe away another tear. "'S good, Logan. 'S all good now."

"Good news, I take it?"

He nods, a little frantic. "Really good. I…I really get to keep you."

"Of course you do," Logan says, almost sounding a little offended but they wink, "as if I'd let it be otherwise."

"Yeah, Amelia mentioned that."

"All good things, I hope."

"I think you gotta tell me that."

"Oh, dear," they drawl, leaning down to brush their nose against his, "whatever shall I do with such a terrible request?"

"Uh, hello?"

Oh, right. They're in public and Virgil's friends are…right there. They just saw and heard all of that. Virgil glances over Logan's shoulder to see one of them standing with their arms crossed, the others looking to be various stages of confused and upset. He can't help the way he leans a little more into Logan's touch, nor the way he lets out a little noise when Logan's hand slides possessively over to the small of his back.

"Uh, hi, guys." Is that what his voice sounds like right now? "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Uh, yeah, we didn't expect to see you here either, since you ghosted us completely!"

"What?"

"Jeff—"

"No," Jeff growls, "you didn't say a goddamn thing! We had no idea what happened to you! Shit, Virgil, you couldn't have at least texted us that you were also done? We've all been freaking out! And I know Sandra and Alex tried to call you, and you just what, hung up on them?"

"Sorry."

"Are you here about your follow up?" Alex asks, though his gaze keeps sliding to Logan. "Did, uh, yours come out weird too?"

Virgil coughs. "A little weird, yeah."

Logan tugs lightly on the back of his shirt. "But a good weird, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, a…a really good weird."

"Well, shit, Virgil, that might have been nice to know. If you had told us."

He can't help the way he shrinks back from Jeff's angry voice. Jeff's always been good at making him feel small.

"Are you not going to introduce us?"

"Kate," Alex mumbles, "I don't think this is the right—"

"Oh, so Virgil's allowed to hide the fact that he knows this really handsome guy who he trusted enough to bring to this appointment and not tell us?" Kate bats her eyes at Logan who barely even looks in her direction. "Come on, Virgil, you know better than that."

"This, um, this is Logan."

"Logan, I see. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Let me guess, Virgil told you his sob story and dragged you along with him?" Jeff's voice, with a warmth that Virgil never hears directed at him, makes him colder and shit, has this—have his friends always been this…mean? "Or wait—no, you said you were here for an appointment too, right?"

"It's really nice of you to be here, is what Jeff's trying and failing to say," Alex says quickly, smiling at Logan—he's never smiled at Virgil like that, "especially when you don't know each other that well."

"You should come with us after this!" Kate twists her hair around her fingers. "We're gonna go to the bar down the road and—"

"No, thank you."

Logan's abrupt dismissal of the idea makes Kate draw up short and Virgil holds his breath. She laughs, almost like she can't believe Logan just said that. "C'mon, it'll be fun! And we can—"

Logan turns to him. "Would you like to go?"

Virgil shakes his head. Logan makes a 'well, there you are then' sort of noise. "If you'll excuse us, then, we must be on our way."

"On our way? Wait, wait, hold on a second." Jeff catches hold of Virgil's arm as they pass and he doesn't imagine the way Logan's head whips around. "You never said how the hell you know this guy."

Virgil's throat closes. He can't. He can't. He can't explain how he knows Logan. Not right now. Not while Jeff's fingers are digging into his arm.

Logan squeezes his hand.

He gestures meekly around the clinic. Jeff's brow furrows in confusion for a second before his mouth drops open.

"No. No fucking way."

"What?"

"No fucking way that you got him."

"It's 'them,' actually," Virgil mumbles.

"Shut the fuck up, Virgil—"

"Do not speak to him like that," Logan says darkly.

Jeff laughs. This is the laugh he's used to hearing. "You expect us to believe that you had that evil looking plant and the demon cat and you got this? You got—"

"You're joking," Alex says, looking between both of them, "you're—this is a joke, right? What, is this like some Princess and the Frog bullshit?"

"There has to have been some mistake," Kate says, their voices building, the grip on his arm getting tighter, "you—maybe it got mixed up with one of ours. Is that what your appointment was for? Are they explaining that they messed up?"

"Did you like, go back and pay them extra or something?"

"God, that's why you didn't respond to us, you've been fucking lying this whole time? What, did you ask for them to switch it out?"

"That is enough."

Silence.

Virgil's heart is in his damn throat. He can only stare at nothing as Jeff's hand is forcibly removed and he's tucked behind Logan, one hand still holding his.

"You have the audacity to behave so abominably to someone you would call a friend and are surprised when your spells create things of cruelty? You accuse him of lying when you wouldn't know decency from deceit if it were spelled out for you? No. You do not get to act as if you are the ones who have been wronged."

People are filming this. They're definitely filming this.

"Even if you hadn't been so foolish as to insult Virgil right in front of me, your behavior would be enough to tell me that any magic so unfortunate as to have you as a conduit would be damned to darkness. You speak over him, you belittle him, you put him down to make yourselves look better, and you act as though the idea of him having something good is the biggest joke you could ever imagine. Virgil was scared for you when you told him the outcomes of your spellcraft. Fear that you did not and do not deserve. Not when you have spent every moment since proving that you created it for yourselves."

"Logan," Virgil mumbles, because yeah, this sucks, but no one deserves to be that scared.

Logan pauses, head turning slightly. They do calm slightly, the line of their shoulders easing, and they let out a small scoff.

"Even now, he's proving that he's better than you. I suggest you think long and hard before you say anything else."

Silence. A fan in the ceiling kicks on.

"That's what I thought."

And then there's an arm wrapping around his waist and he's being walked out into the sunlight, settled in the car, and then Logan's hands are on his face and he's—

Oh, God, Logan just yelled at his friends. Logan just humiliated and berated his friends and they're going to be so mad at him, they're gonna be so upset, they're gonna—

"Breathe, little one, it's over, you're safe—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Logan's murmuring, "I'm not angry at you, dear one, I promise. They just—you deserve better, Virgil. You deserve so much better."

Shaking, Virgil reaches up and covers Logan's hands with his. "I…deserve better."

"Yes, little one, of course you do."

"I deserve…I deserve you, right?"

Logan's grin is blinding. "Damn right, you do."

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[the-kr8tor]

TTN oneshot request :): reader who's been invited to one of the parties after Hobie's band gigs. Hobie,being his usual teasing self,tries to make r dance with him to one of the songs that come from the speakers but he can't dance at all,so reader ends up teaching him.

-🎸 anon

Ahhh 🎸 anon!! I love this prompt thank you for sending it 🫶 I changed some things around hope u don't mind ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (r is mentioned to wear makeup though) cw drinking, poop jokes lol, TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader. FLUFF

Thread the Needle Masterlist

TTN oneshots

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You lean against a railing overlooking the spacious backyard. Watching Yuri dismiss the third man who tried his luck tonight is better than any cable tv, she scoffs, waving the disappointed man away with her long nails. Yuri notices you giggling by yourself, she beckons you over to the dance floor with a smile. You shake your head with a laugh, gesturing to your half empty cup. She sighs dramatically, miming a crying face. You blame the booze in her system on why she's so lively. It's a nice change though, you love seeing her prance around the dance floor, looking for a more worthy partner.

The bass booms, playing all the classic punk music in the speakers. The sky is dotted with twinkling stars, cool air blowing past the grassy backyard. Roaming your eyes around the venue, you spot James chatting up a familiar figure, his arm slung comfortably around her shoulders. She laughs at something he said, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. You smile softly, happy for them both.

You turn around to face the inside of the ridiculously huge house. The home is packed with bodies bouncing around, the glass shakes from the loud music blaring inside. You see Ned becoming an unwilling bartender, mixing drinks for everyone after he got a particularly nasty bloody mary from someone who's so drunk they shouldn't even be near the kitchen.

With all the people watching you're doing, there's one person you haven't seen in a while. You wonder what he's up to, hopefully not to sneak behind you to carry and throw you into the icy pool—

“You're not very good at sneaking up on me anymore, Hobs”

Hobie groans right behind you, looking over your shoulder, you smirk at him. “How?” He effortlessly lifts himself up on the railing, arms envelope around you, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder. You help secure him with your hands around his elbows.

“I can sense you a mile away.” You whisper the next part. “I think I got your spidey senses from hanging around you too much”

“You make it sound like a disease!” The alcohol makes him all gooey inside, just for you. “Y’know I have the cure right here”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it then?” Turning around, you face him fully, his arms never leaving your waist whilst your hands never leave his skin.

Hobie points at his lips quickly before he falls on the ground (like you would even let him fall with your hands holding him steady)

“Here”

“Ah! Is your cure tried and tested? Peer reviewed by scientists?”

“Only one way to find out”

You giggle, meeting him halfway to kiss his lips. He tastes of beer and licorice he's been chewing on since you've arrived at his friend's' house. Your hand blindly slides to the back of his neck, fingers scratching lightly. Hobie smiles into the kiss, his hands tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.

Unfortunately, you need air to survive so you reluctantly pull away. He chases your lips making you peck him thrice to ease his suffering from apparent lack of kisses.

“I think I just overdosed on your cure” you hold him close even with the wooden railing between you.

Hobie chuckles, “You'll be fine” he swipes away the sheen left on your lips.

“So considerate. Where have you been, huh?” You lean close to his ear. “Did you go out and fight crime? Are you okay?”

There's goosebumps on his arms, not from the cold. “Nah, I was in the bathroom, taking a huge dump–”

You clasp your hand over his mouth, Laughing through it. “I literally just ate, babe”

“Just answerin’ your question, Gromit. ‘m being honest it was big,” he measures using his hands, “this big. Record size” Hobie loses his grip on the railing, falling flat on his ass.

“Huh, I see a bigger one right here” you look down, seeing him feign offense with his hand clutching his imaginary pearls.

“I should've thrown you in the pool when I had the chance and then we’ll have a floater” he nonchalantly rests on the grass by his elbows. Looking up at you with a smug grin.

You roll your eyes, walking down the steps to help him up before he gets grass stains all over his leather jacket. Hobie clearly doesn't need your help getting up but he would take any opportunity to hold your hand. Your hands are still slightly cool from the drink, a stark contrast to his warm ones, a welcome difference to the both of you.

Heaving him up, Hobie meets you in a tight embrace, smothering you in his hold; you love it though. Slowly he sways you to the beat of a punk song you recognize from back when you and Hobie were in highschool together. A reminiscent of your younger days with only homework and school to worry about and the deep longing you have for your best friend now turned partner.

If only your younger self could see you now, she’d think you did well for yourself. She'd be proud of all the things you've accomplished with the love of your life with you.

“D’you remember this song?” Hobie whispers in your ear, his piercing kisses the shell of your ear.

“How could I not remember?” You lift your head from the comfort of his chest, eyes staring fondly at Him.

He chuckles, you feel the happiness vibrate from him. “Yeah, but d’you know the backstory?” you shake your head.

“I requested this song to the bloke who was holding us hostage with his shitty songs.” You chortle, Hobie continues his story. “I had to bribe the wanker,” he sighs. “So I could ask you to dance with me.”

Your eyes soften, heat behind your sockets, your hold on him tightens.

“Then I realized I can't fuckin’ dance and I'll make a bloody fool of myself in front of you. So I let the music play and continued to talk to you throughout the party because that was enough for me.” He pauses, your eyes are glossy, glimmering under the porch lights. “Being with you was enough.”

You feel the tears fall so you hide your face on his chest once again, feeling sorry for soaking his shirt, you let your hug tell your feelings.

“Don't hide from me right after I poured my heart out to you.” He laughs, his fingers spread across your nape, rubbing softly, finding you endearing. “C’mon, I need to see my Gromit”

You look up with red eyes, mascara and eyeliner smudged. “Fuck you” you say with tears on your cheeks, trying to sniff it away. But your wide smile and grip on his shirt tells your true feelings. “You're such a little shit”

Hobie laughs loudly, fingertips cleaning away smudged makeup. “Yeah, yeah, but you love this little shit”

You lean up to kiss him, as gentle as he holds you, as affectionate as he loves you.

Sighing, you cup his face. “I do, so much.”

He presses your foreheads together, enough to make tears escape your eyes once again. Hobie's fingers catch them, wiping it away from your skin.

“If you let me teach you will you ask me to dance with you?” Whispering, you loop your arms around his neck, swaying with the beat.

“I might be a lost cause, love.”

“I'm patient, don't worry” you can't seem to keep your lips away from him as you kiss the corner of his lips.

Hobie suddenly pulls away, leading you towards the makeshift dance floor. “Alright then, no time to lose!”

You let him guide you, laughing all the way. He shimmies on the dance floor, long limbs flailing about, eyes staying on you.

You've got your work cut out for you.

[canmom]

hi cuba i'm dad

I watched I Am Cuba, whose not-so-recent restoration was playing at the GFT. insanely well shot film, like the level of choreography to pull off those long takes and supercomplicated crane shots with no steadicams or anything is just mind bending. absolutely wild that the soviets didn't say "wow we have a banger on our hands here comrades" and play it everywhere - as a propaganda film, it did its job! definitely leaves you fired up to fight the Cuban revolution.

it is certainly a very didactic film, with the lesson of each vignette being pretty clear. but it is able to lend enough depth to the archetypal characters - the struggling sex worker from a slum who has to hide her relationship serving american visitors at a jazz club, the salt of the earth sugarcane farmer whose land is sold out from under him, the student revolutionary who hesitates to pull the trigger, the other farmer who only wants peace - to get you really engaged, though definitely the revolutionary characters (probably closest to the experience of the filmmakers) feel like they're the most fleshed out.

the third act, in which a revolutionary student plans to assassinate a regime cop (unnamed) but hestitates when he sees the man with his family, only to see that same cop murder first his friend and them himself, is maybe the most spectacular, with huge scenes of rioters getting blasted with water cannons, or the incredible funeral shot...

but it's not just these flashy huge shots; it's a gorgeously lit greyscale film (absolutely crazy detailed looking with the 4k scan, so cheers for that one Scorcese), ingeniously augmented by infrared photography in places to make it extra stark. more than that and so many shots have really elaborate blocking and camerawork, with the camera drifting from actor to actor, effortlessly sliding between closeup and longshot like it's in the hands of Ichirō Itano, which is wild for live action.

one relatively simple scene towards the end I noticed had a revolutionary arriving at a farmer's house and sitting down for the meal; the men argue, and the farmer goes to stand at the door, allowing the camera to perfectly frame the two of them and almost nothing else in the shot.

it is otherwise very happy to linger on a musical sequence, such as the intense club scenes at the beginning, in a way that feels way more modern than you'd think for the 60s.

the architecture of revolution-era Cuba is just as striking - some buildings, like the rooftop where Enrique tries to line up his shot, look like they could easily be modern buildings. compared to the romantic picture of something like Chico and Rita, of course, this is a film determined to remind you how bad things are, not just show you the touristy bits of Cuba. much of the film revolves around the question of violence - certainly from an agitprop angle, like act 3 is sorta should you hesitate (no), and act 4 is like will you be OK if you keep your head down (no); many of the revolutionary songs are in major part about how it's good and righteous die for the country.

when first shown, it was criticised in Havana for stereotypical depictions of Cubans - which doesn't entirely seem unfair, they are kind of stock characters for the most part, although portrayed with a lot of humanity. in the Soviet Union, meanwhile, it got criticised for not being propaganda-y enough, which is wild because to my mind it works better at getting its emotional message across than most oldschool propaganda films I've seen. that said, I definitely need to watch more critical Cuban films from the same period like Memories of Underdevelopment, or recent ones like Strawberry and Chocolate, for some contrast.

all in all cool film, big shoutout to @hamiltonianflow for suggesting we watch it together <3

[cherryblossom-chopper]

》Beach Day《

Content: Bartolomeo Fluff. Ambiguous Reader.

————— ୨୧ —————

Bartolomeo couldn’t stop grinning as he watched you. Bringing you to the beach was one of his significant decisions. Maybe he couldn’t get in the water with you, but seeing you in your cute bathing suit was good enough.

Nico Robin and Cat Burglar Nami approached Bartolomeo’s spot in the sun, blocking Bartolomeo’s view of his partner.

“We’ve got questions for you, mister,” Nami declared, hands on her hips. Her sunglasses were titled down, a sharp look in her eyes.

The man let out a flustered shriek, not looking them in the eyes, “Questions? What kind of questions, Ms. Nami?” Bartolomeo stammered. He feels their eyes drilling holes into his skin.

“We want to know your intentions with (Name),” Robin replies with a smile.

There was something nefarious about her grin that Bartolomeo couldn’t place, nor did he want to. “I’m not trying to do anything bad with ‘em,” he says, fumbling with his words. His hand wanders towards his face as he tries to hide his expression.

A third-hand snatches his wrist from his face. The Black Leg Sanji’s nimble fingers wrapped around Barto’s thick wrist. He glowers down at the other man; Sanji’s pink-tinted sunglasses do very little to hide his expression. Sanji squats down to meet Bartolomeo’s eye.

“We can’t trust just anyone with (Name),” Sanji says, letting Barto go, “They are precious to everyone here; we can’t just let some fanboy come in and steal them away. Right ladies?”

Nami nods, leaning down. She pokes his bare chest, a well-manicured nail stabbing into his skin.

Bartolomeo opens and closes his mouth like a fish as he struggles for words. What is he supposed to say? Sweat peppers his brow as he looks between the three straw hats, which are all staring at him.

“Hey!” The voice behind them makes everyone jump. You stand behind the Strawhats, hands firmly on your hips. “What are you three up to?” you ask, flicking sea water from your fingers at their crew.

“Just asking our friend a few questions,” Robin replies, their nefarious smile melting into a soft grin.

You shoo your friends away from your nearly cowering partner. “Scootch,” you say to Bartolomeo, waving your hand at him.

His toothy grin shines on you as he makes room for you on his beach towel. He fails not to stare at you. The sunshine and the saltwater on your skin nearly make you sparkle. How ethereal could you possibly be?

As you sit, Bartolomeo pulls you into him. His skin tingles with the remnants of the saltwater on your skin, but he doesn’t complain. He would sink below the waves if it meant your happiness.

“Thank you for saving me,” he says with a sheepish smile.

You smile back, enjoying the weight of his arm draped across your shoulder. “I always will,” you coo, shutting your eyes and leaning into him further.

“How was the water?” he asks, Bartolomeo’s eyes watching the blue waves lap at the shoreline, marking the spot he cannot cross.

“So refreshing,” you sigh, “But Luffy kept trying to come in after the rest of us. What are we going to do with him?”

“Ah, well, he’s just using his brain power so much to focus on other things,” Bartolomeo laughs, “Being the most powerful pirate in the world is hard work.”

You barely contain a laugh. “Sure, whatever you have to do to convince yourself,” you grin, patting his firm chest.

“But-but, you are much more impressive,” Bartolomeo says, the words tumbling out of his mouth, “You’re my favorite Straw Hat, obviously.”

You lean over and kiss his cheek. “Of course, I’m sure you’re not bluffing,” you tease.

Blushing, Barto’s arm slides down your side and wraps around your waist. He squeezes you and yanks you into his lap. “Me? Bluff with you?” he replies, resting his head on top of yours, “I could never lie to someone as handsome as you.”

You roll your eyes, grinning. “What a dork,” you say before struggling to get up. Your partner’s arm is holding you in place. He groans when you try to get off.

“Don’t leave,” he whines, “Ms. Nami and Ms. Robin will come after me if you won’t protect me.” He squeezes you a bit tighter.

You let out a soft ‘ugh’ before wiggling out of his grasp. “Come with me then,” you say, finally getting to your feet, “We can play beach volleyball or build sandcastles. We don’t have to get in the water.”

“Only if you hold my hand,” he said, reaching up to you.

With a grin, you help him up with a grunt. He’s far heavier than he looks.

With your fingers intertwined with Bartolomeo’s, you guide him just out of reach of splashing waves.

————— ୨୧ —————

🏷: @kristaline2dmensimp@vemuabhi@cjm-cookiethief@cipher-p0@undercoverweeb@aykxz98 @ryzio @lavenderkaye106 @chimooky @bolinhodadestruicao @jazminetoad

[auraxins]

goro akechi x gn!reader

wc: 0.9k

warnings: angst, p5r third semester spoilers, established relationship, promise rings, potentially ooc

obligatory tag to my beloved @verxsyon for being my fellow akechi lover in arms i hope this kills u as much as it killed me to write <3 its just impossible to write fluff for this man idk he drives me crazy

“This is ridiculous,” scoffs Akechi. “All this and there won’t be a reason for it tomorrow.” 

Naught more than moonlight passes through to the hallway of your apartment and douses you in silver. It’s dim, enough to conceal the nerves that creep their way into the quavering corner of your lip and the uneven pulse that wracks through your body. 

You giggle, shooting him a look. He knows what it means. “You could have said no.” 

The touch of his fingertips against your wrist is cold in contrast to the heat that radiates through you. Akechi has never quite been as warm as you are. His thumb grazes the dip of your palm, carving paths of electricity against your skin, before he turns your hand over. 

Akechi pauses, one hand holding onto you and the other reaching towards the table. “You didn’t expect us to say anything special here, did you?” 

“You can if you want,” you tease. “I’m sure you’re dying to voice your feelings.” 

“Too soon,” he chastises, smooth laughter slipping from him despite the way his words had caught in his throat for just a second. 

“We don’t have to say anything,” you assure. With your free hand, you reach out for Akechi’s shoulder. Even now, you half expect him to shrug you away. He doesn’t.

By now, the tears you’d tried to keep down are rising up to the surface. You take a deep sniffle to push them back, to hold them at bay. You don’t want to cry for him just yet. This is supposed to be a happy moment. 

And yet, one still leaks through in defiance when Akechi finally slides the ring onto your hand. 

It’s nothing official, a symbol more than anything. You’d suggested it in passing when you first found out about the state of this false reality you’d found yourselves in, when you learned about the inevitability of Akechi’s fate. He’d laughed at you, in that exasperated fond way he tends to, and you’d assumed he had dismissed the idea. You hadn’t meant it all too seriously anyway. 

That is, until he showed up at your door with two little rings in boxes earlier this evening. 

“I’m sorry,” he had said, “I picked out my own as well. I thought that doing things this way would be easier.” 

He’d been right, of course. You know you’d have spent far too long agonising over choices and all sorts of things that are utterly inconsequential in the face of things. None of this needs to be perfect for it to mean something. 

Besides, he has good taste. The ring that sits now on your finger isn’t too large or too small- you do have to wonder briefly just how he knew your size so perfectly- and its no more than a simple band. But its plainness is perfect, just the right sort of symbolism for what you wanted. A promise. A memory. 

You reach for the one Akechi has chosen for himself and turn it over in your hands briefly. It looks the exact same. The metal clinks against your own ring as you pluck it back out of your palm and the sensation resonates through your bones. 

“It’s not too late to back out of this, you know,” you say quietly. 

Akechi’s next words are quiet, lacking the characteristic vitriol that tends to fuel him. “We’ve never had the privilege of time.” 

You swear his hand shakes when you place the ring. 

He doesn’t let you pull away from him, instead grasping onto your hand and locking your fingers together. 

You frown, concerned. “Is everything okay?” 

The look in his eyes is intense, serious. It pierces through your very soul. He squeezes your hand tight, as though he is anchoring himself to you. 

“Don’t forget. This is a pact. I will never forgive you if you dare to regret this night.” 

“I understand.” You nod. “I’ll take you with me to the grave.” 

He stumbles, coughs and rights himself, so quickly that you barely notice it. 

“As will I,” he swears. 

His thumb idly traces across the side of your hand, fond and tender. The urge to kiss him right now is almost overwhelming. A fragment of moonlight casts across his face, highlights one deep brown eye and the ghost of makeup-covered freckles that have faded into view. It curves along the contours of his lips, thin but wet with remnants of gloss. He’s utterly irresistible. 

“I’m yours,” you declare, “for eternity.” 

“As am I, yours,” he promises with a dry chuckle, warm palm rising to cup your cheek, “at least for the night.” 

Veins on fire, you choke down any lingering apprehensions with a thick swallow.

The early February air is clement, peaceful. Still. It sits upon your shoulders and soaks into your lungs, pleasant and cool. Akira is there to greet you as you reach the stadium, the rest of the Phantom Thieves in tow. Their faces are solemn, resolute. It’s a comfort in a way, that they’re no more externally emotional than yourself today. 

As you take one last glance at your home, and another towards your destination, there is no regret in your mind. There is no smile upon Akechi’s lips, replaced instead with a determined scowl, but the glint of metal that rests around his finger speaks for him. Everything comes down to this. 

You’re about to save the world. 

[charles-leclerc-official]

I still think you’re not giving Daniel and RB their credit and placing too much discredit(?) on Carlos (not that he shouldn’t be completely without accountability). I think RB just nailed the set up this week. Daniel made up a lot of time at the corners. He had better traction coming out of it and saved his battery for the straights. Ruth Buscombe said that RB specifically prioritized the corners while ferrari was more balanced. Because RB is usually slower and way behind Ferrari, isn’t today an even bigger indication that Daniel and RH did something right/better?

Again true. Like Danny was great, and VCARB did really good with the setup.

However Carlos was within DRS and had so many opportunities for that overtake, it's not like Danny got out ahead and created a gap, Carlos was within that gap for a while. Not being able to pull those overtakes isn't due to maybe being lacking in the grip on corners (we didn't see him slide that I'm aware of) so that really isn't the issue.

The matchup between cars was really unusual here. And we can see based on Yuki's placement in qualifying that is probably closer to where Danny would have been if we are going based on car setup. Danny qualified where he did because he 1. put together a good lap and 2. a lot of drivers behind him in better cars messed up their SQ3 laps (Lando being a good example) He really shouldn't have been starting P4, 50% of that is him, but the other 50% is the other drivers really messing up their laps.

If Carlos had been able to overtake him I am pretty sure Danny would have also been overtaken by Oscar.

Overtaking really does come down to skill, and he was within that range, yes defending is too, but like I said Danny wasn't doing anything crazy defending really. He was doing a good job but it wasn't like he was going crazy.

Also there were many laps where he was faster than Danny, it really is on him to overtake there. His overall pace was better and his laps (minus the ones where things were slowed down for all of them on some of those turns) were faster.

Like here his pace was consistently faster in terms of lap time. Danny had it on him only a few laps, but the Ferrari was faster. Like faster by 3 - 5 tenths. Those are laps when he really had the speed and proximity to make the pass.

And then if we want to look at the corners you are referring to we can look at the fastest lap track maps, the first is Carlos vs Danny and the second is Carlos vs Charles, and the third is Charles vs Danny.

So you are right, Carlos was struggling with grip on the corners. But compare it to Charles, Charles was doing better than Carlos and Danny on most of those same corners. It wasn't a Ferrari Vs VCARB problem, it was a Carlos vs VCARB problem.

And just to be sure here is the track map for the fastest laps of both Ferraris and both VCARBS. It's Charles outperforming the VCARBS on the corners. Again so it's not the car setup being unable to take the corners that is the issue here.

Also managing tyres is down to skill, once again this is on the driver. Carlos has had average tyre management in this car, and the car as we have seen is very gentle on the tyres. I'd say his losses are due to the temps not favoring his tyre management, thus more tyre deg.

This really was a skill issue on Carlos' part. He didn't change up the way he attempted to make that pass(we saw him try the same thing multiple times) it's no wonder Danny didn't struggle to defend against it. He should have tried to change up his approach going into the corners on the overtake to catch Danny off guard. Given how many chances he had it really is on him.

And it's also just a difference in the cars, I'm sorry but there really aren't many good excuses when Ferrari is the second best car and it's stuck behind a midfield car. I'd give him more grace if it was a Mclaren or even an Aston, but it's a VCARB, that car is not that good. I don't want to discredit Danny too much because he did drive well, but the reason he finished where he did was because Carlos couldn't overtake and he had a lucky qualifying lap.

And here's the thing, it's okay, everyone has less than optimal showings. I get that, I don't want to be too hard on him, I just lay this out because it is mostly on him.

Like we have to have space for drivers to have bad days and less than stellar performances. I look at things as a whole. And unfortunately this does continue a pattern of him not doing well overtaking in the SF-24. So this isn't just this race either, it was just highlighting a weakness more than anything.

[digi-dest-stories]

Request

Posts for More Content w/ the trio:

What if

(Over)Protective

Meeting

Slide Evolution

~~~~

One would expect a boy like him to be lonely. And he had been - Terribly, terribly lonely.

Then he fell into the Digital World, and he wasn't lonely anymore.

His first friend had started out as a lizard, much bigger than himself, with a strange symbol on it's chest. It wasn't very friendly at first, but had took care of him and protected him. With every fight it got into, it grew, becoming larger and deadlier.

It should have scared him. But despite the anger, despite the aggression, it still cared for him. It held him in it's arms and carried him around or curled it's body around his in a protective, warm embrace.

So he felt no fear when he saw his first friend.

They traveled for a long time, just the two of them. They did not have a set destination in mind, just moving from one place to another. The other creatures feared them, more so his friend, and stayed out of their way.

But then, two other creatures crossed their path. They had heard stories of them from their soldiers and grew curious to see what could be causing so much destruction. His friend was... unhappy about the interruptions, to say the least.

After a while, the fighting between them had slowed to a stop. Instead of attacking upon meeting, they talked. It was small conversations every time, mostly answering questions that they had for him.

He enjoyed talking to them. It was funny, seeing their curious and sometimes surprised expression at his answers. Thus started his other friendships, friends who were just as terrifying and powerful as his first friend.

His second friend was a beautiful, but demonic woman. Most described her as cruel and vain, which he did notice at times, though she never behaved that way toward him. She was kind, almost motherly at times, pampering him with affection.

She tended to steal him away from the others, carrying him around the home. Showing him off to the servants, demanding praise for both him and her. It was funny, though he sometimes had to calm her temper when a servant was too slow for her liking.

She never seemed to like to share, even if she reluctantly did so with the others. But it was only with them that she shared him with, no one else. Anyone who tried to take him from her promptly got scratched at or spit at with poisoned words.

His third friend was a dragon, like his first friend, but much more intimidating. He led an army, a commanding force that no one dared to disobey. He was definitely scary at first, and difficult to approach. His presence was hard to stomach, in an almost physical sense.

But he still tried, even though the dragon would avoid him at first. Eventually, it seemed like he had grown to tolerate him, or at least stomach being around him, which was nice. The general would let him watch the soldiers train from atop his shoulder, occasionally even letting him give them commands.

The soldiers obeyed, though some seemed to dislike having to take orders from him. Most of them weren't that bad though, just asking them to do silly things that made him laugh. It even made his friend laugh - Well, laugh was stretching it. It was more like a small chuckle or noise of amusement.

These creatures, his friends - As terrifying and deadly as they were - had made his life so much happier. They lived together here in this castle, experiencing all sorts of fun adventures, hijinks, and other amazing things he never would have thought would happen before.

It was all new and strange. Sometimes the days would be fun, other times they would be scary. Sometimes his friends were good and other times they were... not so good. There was a lot of good and bad, ups and downs.

But that was life.

And this new life of his was just getting started.

~~~~

Sorry if this wasn't exactly what you were looking for. I tried my best.