#I’m not kidding when I tell you it hurts more with their memories

[keef-a-corn]

Remember kiddos (and writers-)

If the character comes back post self sacrifice, that’s okay!

If they come back completely recovered after a sacrifice- that’s the problem.

They cannot return as the same character they once were.

Take their limbs, take their pride, take their voice, their eyes, their brain.

They are NOT to return the same.

They are to fear something, they are to cry. They are to hold it in, and decompose because they cannot express that relentless and overwhelming vulnerability that has ripped their mind to shreads.

They are to shake when standing still, they are to sleep on their side because and any other way is too painful for their memories.

They are not to be the same.

Much less better.

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

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

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 11:07 P.M 」

divorce scare apology fic🤞🏻 yes people, in the spirit of april 1, it’s gojo who is having dreams :)) and i promise you it’s straight up comfort fic~

a part of gojo's love entries

you’ve known something is bugging satoru as he hasn’t been teasing the heck out of you for these past three days.

and you were proven true when tonight, on your marital bed, he said—

“so… i’ve been thinking…” he started, seemingly deep in thought, playing with your hair. “oh, more like it’s because of this one bad dream…”

“what are you on about?” you raised an eyebrow. okay, you knew something was up with him, but him being a bit skittish made you a bit worried.

“umm, yeah. so, the other day i had this dream about us in tokyo district court—”

“district court—?”

“—getting a divorce, yeah.”

your eyes rounded, and satoru could feel himself almost regretting his words seeing your stunned expression, so he added a band-aid—

“no, it was just a dream! i’m not divorcing you, okay?!”

however, your expression had soured, as you looked down, visibly heartbroken. alarmed, satoru immediately pulled you to his chest.

“oh, ooh— there, there,” he soothed you, stroking your hair. “sweets, no. never. okay? i’m just telling you, just like what you did the other day.”

you had a dream of him cheating on you once, but this was wholly different.

“you’re the worst,” you accused, and despite yourself, you felt an ache in your chest. “how could such thought even cross your mind— that you dream about it?”

“if i can pick my dream… i’ll pick the memory from our honeymoon— precisely when i ripped your black and pink lingerie off and made you scream my name, you know that.”

you huffed, burying your face in his chest. “hmph. explain.”

satoru smiled, finding you so incredibly precious. silly wifey.

he proceeded as he pat your back. “nothing really, i’m still bitter too! no way in hell! but then i started thinking… what would you do in 0.001% chance of us being divorced?”

you pulled away, growling. “…so there’s still a chance—!”

“noooo! that’s statistically impossible! aren’t we having a late night talk? we’re always talking about imaginary scenarios at night, aren’t we?!”

what was the point of this? it was only upsetting you with each second.

“how could you ask me that?” you glared at him resentfully. “if we’re divorced, then—” you grabbed his hand and placed it on your belly. “what about baby? do you not want to see him anymore?”

and in that moment it seemed like he just realized it too as he sheepishly scratched his head, mouth gaping. “ah—”

his response caused your hormones to stir, and combined by your disbelief, you spitefully threw his hand away and turned to your side, refusing to face him.

“if you dare to divorce me, i’ll move out japan at a moment’s notice,” you spat out, crossing your arms. “i won’t let you see my baby— and i’ll put a restraining order on you too, just so you see.”

“whoa, wait—”

“or i can also jump from yasohachi bridge and then become a curse—i’ll haunt you to your dying days!”

“—?! you can’t do that!”

“oh, i can also remarry! i’ll marry ichiji so fast and by the time the baby is born, your kid will have his name instead!”

“ichi— hey! that’s insulting! i would’ve forgiven if it was nanami, but ichiji?!”

“shut up! you’re— you’re annoying!”

in hindsight, this wasn’t something you should get this much worked up for. satoru was obviously just being his dense self and you knew it, but somehow the thought of him suddenly not by your side anymore hurt you— and perhaps your unstable hormones played a part too.

. . . but then his strong arms wrapped around you in that instant, enveloping you in his warm and reassuring embrace from behind. “hey… sweets, don’t be mad…”

“…”

“if you do, baby will also be—”

“you are making us mad.”

“okay, okay.” satoru sighed, his right palm reaching out to caress your five-month baby bump, and his voice was tinted with slight regret as he replied, “sorry…”

you melted a bit, but still gave him the cold shoulder, showing how cross you were that he brought it up in the first place.

and both of you stayed that way for a while, and you started to get sleepy, until you heard him muttering—

“still… whatever you do,” his voice sounded strained, and it made you awake again. “even when i’m not here… you can’t get yourself hurt, alright?”

“what does that mean?” you finally turned towards him, your eyes shone with slight panic. “what do you mean with you not being here?”

“nothing, sweetheart.” satoru grinned, pinching your cheek. “just saying—since i’m away often, don’t do anything reckless, you can get hurt.”

“don’t put it as if you’re going to go some place far away.” you didn’t know what you were spouting now, but you were tired and just didn’t want to pursue this conversation any longer.

you bit your lip, not looking at him. “or… i’ll get sad.”

seeing you so vulnerable and open like this made satoru realize that as much as he needed you to stay sane, you also needed him. the clarity stirred something within him, causing warmth to rapidly spread in his chest.

and he felt soft. so soft for you. and he adored you, more than anyone else in this wretched world.

“aw, look at my baby girl.” your husband cradled you close to him with a wide grin, patting you soothingly, his heart fluttering. “how can i leave you be a single mother? i’m here, yeah? always.”

and you believed him. otherwise, you were willing to risk it all just to get him home, by your side.

you smushed your face into his chest, ignoring your burning face. “hmph, being a single mother isn’t that bad. i can still drain your wealth.”

“huh?! wait, you just said you’ll be sad without me!”

and you thought, being in his embrace is the most comforting place of all.

epilogue

“by the way, i just realized…” satoru fixed his frown on you accusingly in the next morning. “how is your taste in men so bad? why ichiji as your first pick?”

“uh,” you were at a loss of words, totally not expecting this discussion on a brand new morning. “because… he’s kind? he’s easiest to sway—”

“so you’re saying… you can seduce him easily?!”

“…sort of? but you’re right, i should go for nanami. he’s way good-looking. or his apprentice… what’s his name again? ino takuma—”

“nanami? ino?! wait a minute…! y-you’re my wife… but you’re also thinking about which man is easier to seduce and which is more attractive?!”

“uh— you’re the one asking first!”

“still! so you do think about them! about weaker, lesser men who are not me!”

“nanami is not—!”

“hoh?! so it’s nanami, huh!?”

“don’t you dare to start anything, gojo satoru,” you hissed. “you said my taste in men is bad. so that includes you too.”

“wha?!”

[shrimpybbq]

season 4 pt2 with rafe, his wife and their kids

sarah who comes over to see rafe, only to be met at the door by high school gf-turned wifey, little charlie tangled between her legs as he peeks up at the unexpected guest

charlie’s eyes brighten as he lets out a squeal of “Aunty Sarah!” before suddenly throwing himself against her, giggling as sarah picks him up and cuddles him. she missed her nephew so much, and she had only managed to meet emmy once, so she’s pleased to see the kids even if it’s alongside another less pleasant task

high school gf had been walking down the main road in kildare when she stumbled across sarah and john b a few months back, charlie holding his mother’s hand as she carried a smaller emmy in a chest wrap. the estranged family had sat together at a cafe as she took a sleeping emmy out of the wrap, allowing sarah to hold her niece for the first time.

“She’s so little - so perfect,” Sarah had whispered, eyes fixated on the little human before her, “I can’t believe she came from my brother.”

The older girl laughed at Sarah, before looking at her sadly. “He wants to reconnect with you, Sar. He’s just scared.”

“I just don’t think I’m ready for that. To be honest, I don’t know if I ever will,” Sarah admitted. She had watched as her sister-in-law sighed, before wrapping her in a side hug.

“I know, and I don’t blame you. What he did wasn’t right. But he regrets it, and you should at least know that. He feels bad about it every single day,” high school gf stated.

high school gf brings sarah out to the balcony, only for them to see emmy resting on rafe’s lap as he works. she knows rafe needs to be alone when he talks to his sister so she gently takes her from him, but not before placing a quick kiss on his lips,

“You can do this, baby. Just be calm.”

when sarah waves to the baby at the property hearing, it’s 100% high school gf and emmy. rafe had no interest in attending the hearing, but his wife wanted to go and support his sister so she attended

when sarah finds out she’s pregnant, she feels like she truly understands high school gf more. sarah was so scared to be pregnant and to be a mom, and yet high school gf was even younger when she got pregnant (and she had a drugged up rafe as a boyfriend). she thinks about how alone her sister-in-law must have felt and her heart hurts for her

high school gf gets a text from sarah one evening and the next day, the younger girl is secretly around at the cameron house again. rafe was out on business but the two women talk, with sarah getting advice on what to do and how to tell john b. she ends up crying into her sister-in-law’s chest, scared but knowing she wouldn’t be alone (she gets the best, most rational advice ever too, something she knows is a skill developed from living with rafe)

rafe’s already proposed, so before he leaves he’s having a heartfelt goodbye with his wife

“I’m just gonna be gone for a little while, ok baby? Groff screwed me and we need that money to set us up, set the kids up. A few weeks tops. And I’m gonna call as much as I can once I get to Morocco, so make sure you keep your phone on you, ok?”

“Just promise me you’ll be safe?”

“You know it. I ain’t gon’ do shit that could keep me away from you, you know that. And look, if you really need help while I’m gone, you know you can call Barry,” Rafe said.

“Barry is the absolute last resort,” she mumbled back, “but ok.”

Rafe leaned in and placed a heady kiss against her lips before wrapping her in his embrace. He inhaled deeply, committing to memory the scent of her perfume and the shampoo she used.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

when rafe is locked in the room on the ship just stewing over the events that led to his temporary imprisonment, he’s so angry. he grows angrier when he thinks about leaving his family to try and do something nice only to end up this way

he totally says to sarah that high school gf wouldn’t approve of the way she’s treating him, trying to guilt her to letting him go (she just rolls her eyes and walks out)

when he finds out about sarah’s pregnancy, he’s thinking of his family. the one he lost and the one he built. he wants his sister back in his life, and he wants to know his niece or nephew, the same way she got to know charlie - he’s just so hurt and misguided still

oh you know he’s trying to be helpful and bond with sarah again by giving pregnancy tips - everyone is shocked until they remember that he has a family

“You need to drink some ginger or peppermint tea. It’ll help balance out the acids in your stomach. Chuck a cracker or two in there as well.”

The pogues turned to look at Rafe curiously. He froze as all eyes landed on him.

“I’ve got kids, alright? I’ve dealt with this shit before - you think you’re the first pregnant woman to feel sick?”

he’s in essaouira when he first calls home, his wife so relieved to hear from him. he doesn’t have a lot of time so he promises to speak to his kids later, but for now he needs help finding groff. rafe doesn’t end the call without saying i love you though, no matter how rushed he is

sarah casually tells rafe that his wife knows of her pregnancy, and he just huffs and rolls his eyes. “Of course she does,” he grumbles

groff taunts rafe with his family when he’s stuck in the well - she hasn’t betrayed him yet, he mocks. the way he speaks about high school gf is vile, insinuating she’s a gold digger and only wants him for his name. he even resorts to suggesting she will run away with their children, leaving him alone (which is actually a deep seated fear of rafe’s, though it’s lessened). unfortunately for groff, he failed to do any research on rafe and his wife, so his words don’t reach him in the intended way, rolling off of his shoulders. he knows his wife and he knows their past, now more comfortable in his relationship than ever before

during the rafe and sarah reunion, he’s so emotional and confused. even though he’s comfortable in his marriage, to him, sarah is the one person he thinks could turn his wife against him

“No, you’re just gonna screw me like everyone else in my life. I know you will- I- I know you will. I’ve only got one person left in this world who cares about me, and what- are you going to try take her too, huh?”

Sarah pleaded, “No, no- because I’m all you’ve got! And you’re the only real family I have left - you built your family and so did I, but we’re the only ones left from our old lives. I want us to be happy, and you know that she wants that too. I want us all to be together.”

rafe doesn’t manage to call home again until after the death of jj, but when he does, he’s so desperate to hear their voices - all of them. he’s just watched someone he thought was invincible die, and he just wants to know his family is safe. he uses up almost half of his phone battery on the call, but it’s worth it to him

rafe doesn’t know what the pogues are planning, but he’s adamant that he will support them. his only condition is that he will do so from kildare, refusing to be away from his family for any longer

honestly not a lot to work with for s4 part 2 but I’ve done my best so please enjoy a lot of rafe introspection

click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

click here for season 1 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 4 part 1 rafe, gf & their son

[milo-is-rambling]

Redyed my hair (a slightly deeper pink shade but basically the same) and now I’m laying in bed thinking about all the ways I’ve changed who I am and what I believe over the years and I don’t recognize who I was when I was young but I sympathize with them even more than I ever thought I could I just don’t think of those pictures of me as actually being me because my mind has always been this and I’m sure years from now I won’t recognize myself now because obviously my mind has always been whoever I am then

[inzaynety]

➢ summary: there weren’t many people on the defense force that chose to use blades instead of guns. maybe that’s how you got so close in the first place. (little snippets of life as a defense force commander fighting kaiju and dating hoshina)

➢ content: hoshina x fem!reader, sfw & nsfw/suggestive

➢ notes: inspired by @narumi-gens agents of chaos series love that; i have a lot of hoshina and commander reader ideas in my notes app and thot why not put them all here 🫡

last updated: 7/7/2024

chapters (can be read as stand-alones or in the order below):

he’s a biter! (beginning)

investigation: start!

When visiting the Third Division, there’s never a shortage of questions and confusion about you. A few take it upon themselves to get to the bottom of it. (fluff, suggestive)

a little, jealousy

Too much staring and too many comments tick him off. He makes sure he’s the only one you look at. (smut)

part of the job

After using No. 10, Hoshina realizes one of the reasons behind his drive to fight. After listening, you realize the limits to your everything. (slight angst, hurt/comfort)

i’m the only 10 i see

Kaiju no. 10 doesn’t know what love is. (crack, fluff)

short lived

Even professionals aren’t immune. Even they fail to notice. (angst)

the woes of a father

Ogata Jugo never thought he’d be this kind of dad, giving life advice and trying to help meddle in someone’s love life. The thing is, he didn’t even have kids. (fluff, slight angst, pre-relationship)

warning: asshole!

Gen tried telling you to avoid this man at all costs–you didn’t listen. (crack, fluff, pre-relationship)

blades before grenades

Kaiju suck but using guns to kill them is suckier. (fluff, pre-relationship)

long memories

Back at your building behind closed doors, you miss each other more than you thought. (angst, hurt/comfort)

Have any questions about the relationship, other characters' reactions, etc.? Feel free to drop them in the inbox!

©inzaynety 2024

[emmyrosee]

helloooe i don’t know if u write for gojo (i’m new in your blog and haven’t seen gojo posts lately or maybe i haven’t scrolled far) and saw that your looking for angsty requests, can i request angst as in the different levels of gojo and reader, that gojo is so powerful and that the world constantly needs him so he can’t give reader enough attention, in a way actually hit them both in their relationship?

if not, it’s okay, i hope you’re doing fine!!

GOJO ANGST MY BELOVED-

---

"If you leave, you will come home to an empty house."

The warning falls confidently from your lips, as if premeditated and ready to be released into the air at any given trigger. Satoru stops getting his shoes on and turns to face you. Your eyes hold nothing but exhaustion, eyes under your bags dark and the lifelessness in your face sends a shiver through him. Had you looked so worn out all day?

"What... did you just say?" He whispers, brows pinching in the center in betrayal.

"You heard me. If you leave me right now, without a second thought of my regard, you will come back to nothing from me but my scent and this memory of us."

Thirty seconds ago, he smearing frosting on your nose and when you pushed him away, he’d peppered kisses over your face and fingers dug in your sides. Thirty seconds ago, you'd been interrupted in your baking by the man who would move mountains and swim oceans for you, only for his phone to ring just seconds later, calling him away like it always does.

Thirty seconds ago, he was kissing the laughter from your lips. Now, you’re threatening him.

You're cruel for this predicament, this choice and this bomb to be dropped on him mere seconds from him leaving for who even knows how long. But it doesn’t matter to him. You knew what you were getting into, and it’s not his fault he’s needed more often than not.

You should love him no matter what. As he does you.

He swallows thickly, "don't do this. Not right now."

You shrug, "this is your choice. Not mine. You know my terms.”

Bile rises up his throat and his hands tremble before fisting themselves into a little ball, "this is your choice, you doing this right now when I need to leave-"

“You always need to leave. I’m just sick of it.”

Now, Satoru just feels himself getting angry, "is this ultimatum really necessary right now? You couldn't have waited three damn days-"

"I think you're optimistic in guessing you'll only be gone for three days," you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest. He sees the hurt in your features, but he merely shrugs it off as he continues to put on his shoes. “I’m not kidding, Satoru,” you warn. “You leave. I leave.”

“Then leave!” He shouts, hating the way tears sting at his eyes, “do it! I dont need you! You think I do? I’m Gojo Satoru.”

He does. Good fucking god he does, Satoru needs you like he needs water, craves food and forces breath into his lungs, he needs you like he’s paid to and loves you more than himself.

But you can’t know that. Even if not knowing it will drive you away.

You just your lower lip out and shrug, “then leave. Gojo Satoru.”

In desperation, he searches your eyes for something, anything to call your bluff, anything to tell him you’re lying, you won’t leave him. But your eyes tell him nothing, your eyes are closed off and protecting yourself from his venom.

He balls his fists and takes a sharp sniff through his nose in an attempt to ground himself.

“Maybe I will.”

He opens the door before slamming it shut behind him, the vibrations rattling his bones and making him feel even weaker than he was before. He knows that you might slam the door in a not too dissimilar way in but a few hours, cupcakes abandoned and bags packed into your car, leaving your keys in the mailbox and leaving his life for good.

All he can do is hope otherwise.

But in all the lies he can tell himself, that’s one he’s having a hard time believing.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Batboys realizing how small their s/o is to the point they can fit in the cabinet or in a box like a cat. How would they react?

Bruce

Only looks at you with a raised brow the moment he opened the cupboard, only to discover that you managed you sweetie yourself in the small confided space with a blanket.

‘Is there a reason you’re hiding in the cupboard?’ He’d ask, believing there to be a logical explanation behind your actions.

You only shrugged as you smiled at him. ‘I just wanted to test if I was small enough to fit really, now I found a hiding spot incase an impromptu hide and seek game were to happen.’

‘An impromptu hide and seek game? My love who’d-‘

‘Stephanie or Dick.’ You cut him off as he could only chuckle at your ability to somehow integrate yourself in what the kids were doing so seamlessly it was almost adorable, no it was adorable because he was happy that you got along with the kids as though they were you’re own and giving them the memories they could look back on and smile.

‘While this is quite impressive, I wouldn’t want you to hurt your self coming out there.’ Bruce says as he holds his hand out to you and you quickly accepted, letting him pull you out just as little Steph ran past you both screaming;

‘HIDE AND SEEK! IM GOING TO COUNT TO TEN SND FIND YOU ALL!’

You quickly dropped Bruce’s hand, much to his dismay as he watched you, his partner, run back towards the cupboard you came out of and shove yourself into it before slamming the door shut as Stephie finished counting. Bruce smiled the moment he felt Stephen’s little hand touch his leg.

‘You didn’t try to hide.’ she pouts and he kneels down to ruffled her hair.

‘That’s because I want to help you find everyone before dinner is done.’ Bruce replied as he glanced towards the cupboard you were hiding in, feeling your glare of betrayal through the wood as he smirked, holding Stephanie’s hand as he easily helped her find everyone; everyone but you that was as he was saving you for last.

Dick

Almost screams when he sees you within his cupboard.

‘Sweetheart! Are you stuck? No you’re too short to be stuck-‘ dick muttered to himself, not knowing that you heard him loud and clear.

‘Thanks dickhead.’ You replied sarcastically as you looked at him, ‘while I might be short but at least I can fit into things that your acrobatic ass could only wish.’ You added as you goaded him.

Coming down from the initial scare of seeing you in his cupboard, making him internally wonder how long you’ve been doing this for, and hoped you didn’t see him sneak Hayley some more treats then necessary. However the moment he heard the taunting in your voice, his eyes shone with a little excitement and mischief as he leant towards you.

‘Are you sure about that? What makes you think I haven’t tried?’ He asks.

You shrug. ‘Jason said you tried it once when wanting to scare Bruce and got stuck.’ You answered and dick couldn’t help but curse Jason for letting you in on his biggest embarrassment. Dick crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, ‘well I’ve learned from the last time!’ He exclaimed but there was a sense of uncertainty in his they told you that he definitely didn’t leave from the last time. ‘Just watch me!’ Dick adds as he muscled his way onto the cupboard next to you.

You were quickly ditched your competitiveness and become worried the moment you heard dick whisper ‘oh shit’ under his breath. ‘Dick? What’s wrong?’ You asked, pressing your ear against the wood that separated you both. ‘I think I’m stuck sweetheart…’ dick mournfully answered as you sighed and grabbed your phone, punching in a familiar number at this point.

‘I’ll call Jason.’ You said.

‘Tell him to not tell anyone!’ Dick shouted, knowing how Jason would get if he saw him like this, much like he teased Tim with those robbers who kept trying to-and failing- to kidnap him. ‘I’ll be sure to make him promise or I’ll hide in his cupboard and scare him.’ You replied as you pressed your phone to you ear, waiting for Jason to pick up.

‘Thanks honey.’ Dick murmured.

Jason

‘Shit.’ Jason cured the moment he found your hiding spot.

‘Language jay bird.’ You replied.

‘You scared the shit out of my chipmunk,’ Jason exclaimed before wildly gesturing to the cupboard that you had somehow stuffed yourself in, ‘how did you managed to get yourself in there in the first place?’ He asked and you shrugged. ‘I’m small’ was your explanation.

‘I know that but when did hiding in cupboards started becoming your thing?’ Jason continued to ask, still not grasping how you would want to spend time in a small, claustrophobic cupboard, the logic wasn’t coming to him and therefore you went beyond logic with your actions also.

‘Since this week?’ You said as you tried to think back to when you started doing this, but nothing was coming up, it was almost as if hiding in small spaces without letting others be aware of this habit was something you just did out of impulse. ‘I dunno but I’ve got to entertain myself when you go off on patrol.’ You groaned as Jason placed his hands on his hips.

‘Oh yeah? Well you’re coming out of the cupboard and we’ll go do something together because I swear if you do that to me again, I think I might pass away…again.’ Jason retorted as you let him grab you by the waist and pull you out of the cupboard, holding you close to his chest as he smothered kisses across your face and neck.

‘Alright! Alright! I won’t scare you again but can we at least cuddle?’ You pleaded with him as you batted your eyelashes at him, making his interior crumble as Jason can’t say no to you no matter what and no one knew this more then himself. ‘Fine,’ Jason smiled softly at you as he held you close, ‘since you asked so nicely and maybe I’ll let you sleep under my hoodie tonight. How does that sound?’

You hummed as you cuddled into your favourite person in Gotham, clinging onto him like a koala bear. ‘That sounds perfect but anything with you is perfect as it is.’ Jason kissed your forehead. ‘Im glad you agree my little cupboard climber.’

You groan. ‘That is not becoming my new nickname.’

‘Why not I like it?’ Jason defends.

‘Well it lacks severely in the creativity department my jay bird.’ You tell him as he brought you both to the bedroom.

‘I’ll try again tomorrow.’

Damian

Only stares at you as though you grew a second head.

‘Hi dami!’ You greeted as though sitting in a box was the most normal thing that could’ve happened to anyone.

‘My treasure, I’m aware you’re of the shorter stature but this is something else entirely for what purpose does it serve.’ Damian asked as he tried to find it was even possible for someone to do what you did, if anything he would probably see it as a challenge to also somehow fit himself into something ridiculously small.

He almost lost his mind when he couldn’t see you and so to find that you had been here the entity, while relaxed him, only made him feel a little stupefied. He thought you had gotten kidnapped or worse!

‘A quick hideaway, that and something to hold over dicks head because he maybe flexible, but can he fit in a small box? I don’t think so.’ You taunted as you smiled to yourself, already seeing the look up dick’s face when he realises that you bested him in something.

Damian sighed as he kissed your head. ‘You sure can be a handful my dear but I wouldn’t want you any other way.’ He says as you smiled in response, pushing your head further against his lips as you felt accomplished in more ways then one.

‘Thank you dami.’ You said softly as you reached out and held his hand, allowing him to pull you out of the box and into his arms, where you closed your eyes and smiled.

‘You almost scared me my beloved.’ Damian admitted, ‘I thought you were taken.’ He adds as. You tightened your hold on him, giving him reassuring back rubs as you allowed him to cling to you for however long he desired.

‘I’m right here dami, I’m right here.’

[theragethatisdesire]

aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!

includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi

i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3

DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

Eren

ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol

buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.

10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”

you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”

loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.

TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.

refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.

favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”

lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.

really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”

accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.

aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.

wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.

Jean

most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.

freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”

jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.

it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”

plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad

wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.

the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.

the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.

“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”

definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.

always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake

SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip

jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest

wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.

talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you

Reiner

another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.

buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.

accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.

cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.

definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.

all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.

always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.

can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.

takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him

DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.

always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter

coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)

never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.

the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.

holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”

Levi

levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.

when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”

super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.

totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.

“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”

levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.

100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.

has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.

“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”

vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”

he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.

learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand

you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.

he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on. 

wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.

[barcarsenal12]

Girls like girls (barca femeni x teen reader)

summary: r is coming to terms with her sexuality, and has an emotional talk with her three older teammates.

TW: coming out, questioning sexuality

Your world was falling apart around you, and there was nothing that you could do about it. 

It had started with a theoretical what if. What if you liked girls? The if made you think. How would you know? Suddenly you were flipping through your memories, looking for signs. Every moment that you spiraled, the impossible was becoming more possible. You were in too deep, tipping into territory you didn’t want to enter, places you couldn’t come back from. You wished that you had never asked yourself the question in the first place. 

You were so confused. This was something that other people were, not you. It never crossed your mind, of course, as something bad when your teammates were gay. For some unexplainabe reason it felt like the end of the world to admit that you were, though. 

--- 

Your mind felt so full of thoughts that you thought it might burst. You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t eat. Your teamates watched concerned as your concentration wavered in training, and when you started to snap at them, Alexia pulled you aside. 

“What’s going on with you?” She asked sternly.

“Nothing.” You pulled your arm out her grip and turned away. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t seem fine.” She snapped back. 

“I am.” You crossed your arm. 

“Come on, Y/N.” Alexia said. “Talk to me.”

“As my captain?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

“As your friend.”

“I told you, amiga, I’m fine.” You turned to walk away, but she spun you around to face her, jaw locked. 

“Ok then. As you captain, I’m telling you to get your shit together.” You rolled your eyes at her, and walked away. 

--- 

That night, you dreamed that you were married to a woman. You had kids and a house and everything felt so perfect, life was so good and you were so happy. Until you woke up, and it dawned on you that you were really and truly queer, and you felt like you wanted to disappear.  

---

The next day in training, you didn’t talk to anyone. Your teammates were becoming increasingly worried, but gave you the space that it seemed you required. 

As silly as it sounded, you didn’t want them to know that you were gay. You knew, of course, that they would accept you, but the idea that they would see you differently sickened you. They would put you in a box-- even if they were also in that box. You would be a different you from the you they knew yesterday. 

These thoughts rolled over and over in your mind, slowly overwhelming you and dragging you under. It all hit you at once, like one big wave, how much your life was going to have to change. One moment, you were passing with Ona, watching Ingrid and Mapi share a water bottle across the pitch. The next, your ears were ringing and you were in a dead sprint back towards the locker. You threw yourself down onto the bench, and buried your head in your arms, body shaking with sobs. You heard someone else come in, and registered a hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, but couldn’t bring yourself to look up.

“Shhh”, Mapi cooed, “Que paso?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t verbalize it-- how fucked up you were. How much you wanted a piece of yourself to go away and leave you be. You couldn’t tell this to your teammates, not when they were this way too and you loved them so dearly regardless. How insulting would it sound? How hurt would they be? 

You pushed Mapi away and stumbled across the room, but didn’t make it far because the mere sight of Ingrid and Alexia walking through the locker room door, Alexia's arms outstretched motioning for you to breathe, was enough to make you crumple to the ground. Your sobs deepend, racking your whole body. You wanted to be left alone. You wanted to go back to a month ago when you didn’t have to face this. Could you ever go back? 

You felt hands on your back and hands on your face, rubbing and comforting and whispering to you that you were ok, that you were loved, that they needed you to come back to them. That only made you cry harder. What would they think if they knew how much you hated something that was inside of them too? Your mind was rolling over and curling in on itself and it felt like you were spinning. There were too many layers to dig through and you were drowning. 

Two strong hands gripped your own and Alexia’s voice broke through the haze, speaking sternly to you. 

“Breath, pequeña. Tell me what is going on.” 

Your brought your eyes up to meet hers and she looked at you with such kindness. Before you knew what was happening, you were throwing yourself into your arms. “I’m gay.” You cried. 

The three women sitting beside you swallowed their shock, agreeing to save that for later, and turned their attention to you. “Oh, cariño,” Alexia started as she brushed hair away from your forehead. You were sobbing again, though, burying your head in your arms. 

“I don’t want to be different, Ale,” you sobbed, “I just want to go back. I don’t want to be this way.” 

Alexia looked at Ingrid and Mapi over your head, all three wearing matching heartbroken expressions. They weren’t insulted, not even a little. They weren’t mad that you felt this way because they understood, of course they understood. As they looked at you, each women saw a smaller version of themselves, a version that they hadn’t thought about in a very, very long time. A version where this was new, and as scary to them as it was to you now. 

“I know, love.” Alexia whispered into your hair, rubbing your back. “You’re not different, I promise, nena. I am here. I know. Estás bien.” 

Slowly, the tears slowed down and you lifted your head to meet the gazes of your friends. You took in their expressions and the way that Ingrid clutched Mapi’s hand in her lap, and what you had said finally registered in your brain. You clamped a hand over your mouth. 

“I didn’t mean-- I don’t--” you stammered, trying to undo the damage that you were sure you had done. 

“It’s ok.” Alexia smiled at you. “We are not sad because we think you look down on us. We are sad because you look down on yourself.” 

Ingrid moved forward, taking your face in her hands and planting a kiss on your forehead. “I know it is scary. Trust me, I know.” She said with a short laugh. “But you are not alone, si?”

“I don’t want my life to change.” You whispered. 

Alexia looked at Mapi with a frown, and you followed her gaze, turning around to find Mapi biting her lip and staring at the ceiling, still gripping tightly to Ingrid’s hand.

“Map?” Alexia asked.

“Mierda.” Mapi cursed quietly, bringing her head down and rubbing her eyes with her palms. 

You looked on, horrified. You had never, ever seen Mapi cry, and now you were sure that you had upset her so much with your words that you had brought her to tears. 

“Maria.” Ingrid whispered, puting one hand comfortingly on her thigh and gesturing at your stunned expression with the other. 

Mapi looked at you, and realized what you were thinking. “No. No! Y/N, I’m not mad at you.” She said, as tears leaked down her face, matching your own. “Shit.” She said, bringing her hand up to wipe at her eyes aggressively, clearly frustrated by her own emotions. “I just, I swear to god, I look at you and I see myself.” 

You looked at her, confused.

She sighed. “Everything that you just described, I felt. When I was your age. I was terrified. I didn’t feel pride. I didn’t get what was happening to me.” Her voice cracked. Alexia nodded knowingly, and you looked between them. “When I came out to Ale,” Mapi waved generally in Alexia’s direction, trying to get a grip on herself, “I cried so hard that I almost threw up.” 

Your jaw dropped. “You?” You looked at Alexia for confirmation, and she nodded again. “It’s true. It's the only time I’ve ever seen her cry. Well, except for right now.”

“Callarse.” Mapi grumbled. “You’re not much better, you came out by text.” 

Alexia grimaced, and you looked at her, eyes wide.

“Listen, Pequeña,” Mapi said, taking your hand in hers, “I know that it is scary. That’s because it is new, and you still have to get used to the idea. No one is asking you to scream anything to the rooftops. This does not even have to be a part of your identity, any more than being straight was, if you do not want it to” 

You swallowed heavily. Ingrid chimed in, and your head turned to look at her. “It is hard right now, and I know it sucks, but it’s better to get the chance to really, truly love than to live a lie.”

“And look at me! Now I get a hot girlfriend.” Mapi said, poking Ingrid in the cheek, who took Mapi’s hand in her own and held it tight, rolling her eyes. You giggled, and the three women smiled.

“You will be just fine. I promise.” Alexia said, pulling you into her side and pressing a kiss to your hair. “Plus, men are gross.” She whispered into your head, crinkling up her nose in mock disgust. The other two did the same, and you giggled again. You watched silently as Ingrid reached up to wipe the stray tears from Mapi’s cheek, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and felt a yearning in your chest so deep that you knew you could not be misled. How could this be wrong? How could they be wrong? 

A/N this is very much based on my experiences of reckoning with a huge change in your identity. Even if you are very much not homophobic, it is hard to realize that others will now put you in a box. I remember so clearly these feelings from when I was young. I hope this makes sense to other people, too!

[periprose]

Hi! :)

I’m craving some Logan Howlett angsty fluff and I really like your writing style… Do you think you could maybe do a fic where either Logan and reader are in the heat of the moment and his claws come out and he scratches her. Or where Logan has a nightmare and the same thing happens. Either way the reader ends up comforting him.

Thank you! 🩷 :)

Hi!! So sorry for getting to this so late 🥹 loved the idea btw :) ended up doing a bit of a mix of both? If that makes sense.

/

"Out with it."

Your voice rings out clearly among the X-Men, the throng of battle no longer around you all. It was a more exhausting battle than you would've thought, but nothing irks you more than knowing that Logan has been apparently thinking of you as someone to play babysitter to. He hadn't trusted you to make your final blow to the enemy, and instead scooped you away to safety before lashing out with his own claws.

Logan clearly has something to say to you, and you want to hear it. You're not going to let him escape again- the way he always does, nonchalantly, refusing to acknowledge how he treats you.

Charles stiffens next to you in the helicarrier. Watching the tension, feeling the palpable heart-wrenching sensation between you and Logan. He doesn't know how you got to this point.

"Listen. Just because you didn't have it doesn't mean you're not a good X-Man-" Logan starts dismissively.

"But I did! I did have it!" You shout back at him, and then inhale carefully. "Nobody told you to rescue me, Logan. If I was about to die, then I was. I wanted that to be on my own terms."

"Don't talk like you're a fucking martyr when you've never had the privilege, kid." Logan's unnecessarily harsh tone has you flinching. "Do you know how many people I've seen die, for no good reason? Do you really want a bunch of Pentagon psychos to be your last memory?"

"Shut up." You shift in your seat, feeling small. "We don't get to choose when we die. Not like you."

Logan becomes visibly angered with that, the little taunt you've made towards his immortality. "That doesn't mean you have to go seek it out, dumbass."

"Oh really? Don't tell me you're getting soft, Logan." You glare at him, and Charles and Jean and Scott look at each other uncertainly. "Just because your life is so long doesn't mean the rest of us have forgotten what it means to be alive."

There's an unspoken, sudden charge in the air, now that you've mentioned what everyone else has the good sense to shut up about- Logan having lived so long and not caring about the consequences of his actions. Logan's eyes narrow until you feel sure that you've pushed him too far this time- he looks more animal than human, more Wolverine than ever- and you feel yourself inching forward, letting the anger of not being understood push you to fighting him- and Charles suddenly raises his hand in protest.

"Please, you two. I'm not sure what has transpired today, but I know you are better than choosing to have a physical altercation on a helicarrier flight." His calm, soothing tone makes you feel a little disappointed in yourself, and you settle back in your seat, refusing to meet his or Jean's glances of concern.

/

All you really wanted was an apology. A "Sorry, I won't do that again." Or even an explanation for why Logan keeps tabs on you all the time, never letting you be a real part of the X-Men, always safely on the sidelines. Were you just too weak?

Should you even be here?

You feel guilty for what you said to him. It's not a bad thing, you know, that Logan doesn't want you to get hurt- it's just that you want to do your job. You're not a kid.

It almost, almost justifies how you treated him, but even you know that was too far. You can't act as if you know Logan's life story- not even Charles or Jean would claim to do that, and they've searched his mind for memories several times.

Like it or not, the man was mysterious. He kept to himself on a lot of things, citing past hurt as his reason why- and you should've respected that.

"Maybe I am weak." You mutter to yourself, wondering why you can't restrain your emotions around Logan.

You're practicing shooting small, psionic blasts towards the target in your room- it's a great way to pass the time when you can't sleep- when you hear a groan, a shudder, an angry, deep growl-

It sounds like Logan. His room is right above yours, and the sounds are definitely coming from there- you hear him yell, and before you can stop yourself, you're bounding up the stairs to the third floor of the X-Mansion, bursting through his room's door with a ready hand, in case you need to fight.

/

Logan watches as you berate him in his dream.

Actually, it's not quite you- it's some venomous, evil, witch wearing your face. You giggle at him- you call him old- you don't take him seriously.

With every taunt, you fire another bright purple blast at him- and for once, his body doesn't heal instantaneously. He is getting old, getting hurt, watching as blood pools out of him. It's agonizingly painful.

He's going to die this time, without making it right with you- he's afraid that you're right about him, that he's a washed up sad old man who can't ever let people in.

"We don't need you anymore, Logan..." The not-you whispers softly, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and Logan can't help but believe it.

His self preservation instincts kick in, and he launches forward, snarling, claws out with a sharp snikt sound. He feels that even though he'll regret your death, he'll miss you immensely, it's just one more tally mark to several others.

/

"Logan. Logan!"

You're leaning over Logan's sweaty, clammy body in his bed. You watch as his hands fist in the sheets, and he tosses and turns in agony- you breathe in hesitation, in fear that he's not going to be okay- he grunts suddenly, and you're reminded of how Rogue tells you about his nightmares. They're frequent.

How out of touch could you have been today?

You gently-yet-firmly grab Logan's arm, shaking, and his arms move forward in a self-defense mechanism that seems practiced, as if he's been attacked in his sleep before, and before you can move away, there's a sharp snikt sound, a quick wave of claws, and a searing pain in your side.

It all happens before you can even blink. You fall off to the side, on the floor, writhing in pain. Logan's claws just nicked your side, it's essentially a scratch- but the pain is so much worse than you're expecting, and you fall to the floor again as you try to get up.

You breathe in harshly, holding back a sob, as you feel wet blood pooling through the side of your night dress.

"Jesus Christ." Logan pounces off the bed, waking to blood all over his claws, and he's leaning over your body, as you blink up at him hesitantly. He immediately panics, lifting you up and resting you on his squatted thighs. "Kid! Hey, kid, don't close your eyes-"

"..." You're just barely hanging on, but you listen.

And Logan feels that same sense of shame he felt when he attacked Rogue, when Jean "died", every single time he had accidentally unsheathed his claws towards someone who didn't deserve it.

Doubly so, considering it's like his terrible nightmare has come to life. But you absolutely didn't do anything wrong- he can't believe he was so angry with you.

He calls for help, in a slightly broken tone, and no one seems to be coming.

"Just a scratch." You try, but Logan shakes his head.

"No, no, no." Logan spits out. "How could I- I never meant to-"

"I'm sorry, Logan." You cough, and Logan feels awful that you're apologizing while bleeding out due to his actions. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You're not some unreliable old man who doesn't care..."

You flinch at a sudden, sharp pain, and Logan motions for you to stop talking, but you keep going.

"If anything, you're the opposite. You're there for me. And I'm sorry that I got so... so angry at you for that." You mutter to yourself, not aware of how Logan hangs onto your words. "You're protecting me from making mistakes, and I'm grateful."

"No, kid. You had a point before." Logan interjects, but you shake your head.

"Did I? Or was I being a brat?" You grimace at yourself.

"You did have a point. I was being selfish," Logan shakes his head and then swallows that urge to push you away. "I don't always know how to leave people well enough alone. Sometimes I'm too much."

He hesitates, and then continues on. "Like, I treat you as if you're a nuisance, right? But I always... I always want you next to me. And I know I should just sort my shit out like an adult. But I'm scared."

"Scared?"

"Of what happens. What always happens." Logan sighs in defeat. "I fall in love, and they die. I find my people, and they leave me because I'm such a jackass. There's too much surrounding me that just... ruins everything."

"No, no. I won't leave." You tighten your hand around Logan's, and he, despite wanting to say that you're wounded because of him, believes you. He's so grateful to hear you say it- he had no idea that's what was weighing on him so badly.

He loves you, he knows he does. Logan has never been the best with feelings, but for once, he's glad he was honest.

The first thing Scott sees when he finally makes his way to Logan's room, from all the way across the X-Mansion, is Logan whispering "I'm sorry," and... he thinks (he's not 100% sure), "I love you," to your very forlorn, softly curved-around-him body.

It's a very tender moment, and Scott feels he should leave.

Then Logan presses a firm, shaky kiss on your forehead, and then your lips, and you, with your limited reserve of energy, kiss him back, and then Scott interjects with:

"Hey!...?"

He seems taken aback as you both look at him. "I heard screaming? What is this, some sort of weird cult sacrificial scenario?"

"Logan... had a... nightmare..." You wince, and Scott sees the red on your night gown. "I need... medical attention."

"On it." Scott glances at Logan for permission, and he's currently trying to push all these mushy feelings back into his chest where they belong, and he wants to be there to help you in the clinic, but he's flustered with everything that's happened and he can only hand you to Scott without looking at him.

Scott smirks to himself as he runs you to the clinic of the X-Mansion.

"You and Logan, huh? I knew there was something in that fight today." Scott remarks as you cling to him.

"It's taken an embarrassingly long time for me to figure it out, but yeah." You blush. "Has everyone else...?"

"Jean's been running a bet for the last year." Scott laughs. "She says you both are two sides of the same coin."

You can't help but agree.

[brenwritesss]

Talent part 2

Paige Bueckers x reader

Summary: You and Paige talk more after the live, resulting in the two of you getting to know each other.

paigebueckers sent you a message.

"You said you had a thing for blonde hoopers?"

You smile at the message, expecting her to have said something like this. You weren’t blind; you did see all of the notifications of people tagging her in your comments, and you in hers. You saw what she said about you and your ex-girlfriend. And she was exactly your type so you were going to have fun with this. 

“Yeah I said that.”

Within seconds, you saw Paige typing and you wondered what she was going to say. However, you felt a bit of unease as you recalled memories from your previous relationship. You were a flirt, everyone on social media knew when they saw your interviews and even your songs were flirtatious. But you didn’t just want to flirt with Paige. You didn’t want to get hurt again or get your hopes up.

“Come to one of my games. I’ll make it worth watching.”

Your heart beat sped up, a blush creeping up on your cheeks. “I’ll think about it.”

“Are you gonna be in CT anytime soon?”

“Yeah, for a tour in a couple of months.”

“Where at?”

“Hartford.”

“Not that far from Storrs, sounds good to me.”

“What?” You were confused at what she was saying.

“I’ll come see you when you’re in Hartford and you’ll come to one of my games.” 

“And I don’t get a say in this?”

“What, like you’re gonna say no?”

You let out a small laugh, clutching your phone in your hands and practically kicking your feet in bed like a little kid. Texting her back you said, “No, I’ll say yes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

God, she was so hot.

You had decided to go scroll on TikTok, not wanting to give Paige the satisfaction of noticing how fast you were replying to her. Immediately upon opening the app, the clip of you and Paige on KK’s live flirting with each other was sure enough, going viral. You decided to take this opportunity to stalk Paige’s account to further see what you were getting yourself into. In the span of ten minutes, you found yourself towards the bottom of her page, looking at all of her old cringey TikTok’s that she filmed back when she was in highschool. 

Trying to scroll to the next video, your finger slipped, causing you to tap on the like button. “Oh shit,” you said to yourself as you quickly unlike it and mentally slap yourself in the face. Now Paige would know that you were stalking her Tiktoks. 

It wasn’t long before you received another DM from a specific blonde hooper:

“So instead of texting me back, you go stalk my TikToks?”

Shit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Baby you’re not slick.”

Internally freaking out, you took a second to realize the current situation that you were in. I’m Y/n fucking L/n, there’s no way I’m getting this flustered by a college basketball player. You needed to fire back with some heat and fast before Paige found out she could have you wrapped around her finger. Texting back, you said, “baby you're not special.”

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

Deciding to have some fun with her, you type, “you think I’m pretty?”

“Y/n, the whole world thinks you’re gorgeous.”

“I didn’t ask about the world, I asked about you.”

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen fr. I’m not even playing.”

A blush crept onto your cheeks while you smiled at your phone. You didn’t know how to respond to that, the only thing you could think of was, “thank you Paige.”

Her response was instant. “I can show you how pretty I think you are.”

“That could be taken so many ways.”

You could practically feel her smirking on her side of the phone. “I’ll take it wherever you want.”

“Interesting offer, Bueckers.”

“KK wanted me to tell you she’s a huge fan💀”

“Haha tell her I said I’m a huge fan of her. And that she’s invited to my show in Hartford.”

“Where’s my invite?”

“You listen to my music?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then I guess you can come.”

“You guess?”

“I can tell security to not let you in if you’d like.”

“Okay, no I’m perfectly happy with my invite.” Before you could respond, she began typing again, “what’s your favorite flower?”

You were taken back by the random question. “Uh Lilies of the Valley. Why?”

“Just wondering. I’ve got practice but I’d like to talk more later if that’s chill with you?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

You liked her message and put down your phone. You had to be careful because if this continued, you’d find yourself whipped and simping for Paige Bueckers. You let yourself fall asleep, thinking about your recent conversation with Paige. Don’t get hurt, was all that was replaying in your head. As long as you kept your guard up, not getting hurt should be easy.

Hours later, you woke up to the sound of your doorbell. You slowly got out of bed in nothing but an old t-shirt and shorts and made your way through your house to the front door. Checking your peephole, there was nobody standing there which you found quite odd.

Deciding to open the door, you couldn’t see anyone walking away from your door. Just as you were about to close it, your eyes drifted towards the ground and a bouquet of flowers caught your eye. Picking up the bouquet, you examined it. A small bouquet of Lilies of the Valley. You smiled and looked for a card inside the bouquet. Sure enough, you found one:

Let me show you how beautiful you are

-Paige

Her texts began to replay in your head. Yeah, you were definitely fucked.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Tim doesn’t rest, not even in Death.

It’s a heart attack that gets him, well, that and the insane amount of fear toxin flooding his system. He was dead for a full three minutes before he watches (how was he watching?) his eldest brother get his heart going again and get his unconscious body to the cave. Alfred gets him onto bat-life support and Leslie looks gravely at his family after she’s done her best to heal him. They decide to keep trying, they don’t want to believe he’s gone.

Tim watches in fury. He’s more useful than this, he’s not just going to die and let the family mourn him! Tim sets to work trying to understand what’s happened to him and he realizes he must be a ghost. Therefore, if he wants to understand ghosts he needs to go where ghosts are, and thankfully he just read a JLD doc saying to avoid Amity Park at all costs.

It’s takes him a second to get used to flying at full speed, but he finds himself surrounded by strange people in a strange town and… he notices himself becoming more visible. He’s able to interact with more and more objects, he even picked up a pencil! Poltergeist is a step forward in his plan, Tim accepts this change of pace.

Then Tim meets Danny, a normal human kid who looks like he could be brought into the manor and given a cape, who looks straight at him.

“Wait, who are you? You didn’t die in Amity did you?”

“No, I died in Gotham. I came here to understand how I’m a ghost and how I can get back to my dying body. I just need a few answers.” Tim explains, and notices that his voice isn’t his own, like it’s a different language entirely that comes out.

“Well, uh, I dunno about going back to your body but it’s not safe for you to be here. The GIW are looking for lost souls like you that people won’t notice go missing. So get back to your family and find peace. Im sorry but that’s really the best advice I have.” Danny answers.

Tim begs him for answers on the GIW. Begs him for any answers at all. Danny shrugs him off each time, tell him that he’s just a ghost and he needs to move on before he gets hurt or becomes a problem.

Tim decides if he’s a problem, he’ll probably get more answers.

Soon enough, he’s stepping into the end of a battle where Phantom is getting Skulker into a thermos, and demands answers, and if not answers help.

They brawl, and Tim’s training as Red Robin gets him farther than a lot of ghosts. And then, when he knows he’s beat and he’s about to share thermos space with the robot jackass (who he can interrogate and then build his own robot) Tim realizes something.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you? You’re Danny, black hair and blue eyes.” Tim says and suddenly Phantom is as still as the dead despite the accusation.

“How the fuck- dude. Okay, you know what? Fine. Lets go talk, you’re clearly not giving up and I need you to never say that shit out loud ever again.”

Because blackmail works in life for Tim, blackmail also apparently works in death.

He’s given all of the info they have on the GIW, he’s introduced to ghost technology and how it works with ectoplasm. He’s told about the portal (although they refuse to sneak him into the house to see it- he can handle a few lasers, ugh) and he’s told about the general sequence of events in Danny’s life/death.

And then Tim is suddenly back in his body in Gotham.

The family found a way to bring him back and he’s 100% alive, no longer ghostly, but he retained all his memories.

“We have a war against the government to start” are not the first words his family expected to hear from Tim post death.

[lightsoutletsgo]

love letters; dear... — cl.16 (part 1/2)

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: angst, descriptions of breakups and heavy emotions, bad screenshots??

love letters; with love from... (part 2)

2024

♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧

♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧

You sighed, throwing your phone down and leaning back into the couch. Who knew a public breakup could be so exhausting? You scoffed as your phone lit up once more, his name appearing at the top of the screen as the big ‘decline call’ button grew ever more appealing. “Y/N?” The voice of your manager grabbed your attention and your head whipped to look at her as she stood in the doorway of your home studio, “I thought I told you to block his number?” A tight smile pulled at your lips, “I guess it’s harder than I thought?” She sighed, crossing the room to take a seat next to you, “Honey… You don’t want or need anyone like that in your life. You don’t need him… or her…” Your heart clenched, her words striking a chord with you. Finding out at a public dinner that your boyfriend was leaving you for your best friend after he’d been seeing her and sleeping with her behind your back for a year was not the most fun experience. Your manager placed her hand over the top of yours and squeezed gently, “You know you’re allowed to cry about it right?” You gave her a pointed look, “Crying about it won’t help me write songs will it?” She stared back at you, one eyebrow arching upwards as if she wasn’t impressed with what she was hearing, “You are kidding right?” “No?” “Jesus kid…” She sighed, “You’re not a machine… you gotta let yourself be sad… Let the songs come when they come… You’re only hurting yourself more…” 

You looked away from her, eyes casting a glance downwards to your lap as tears filled your vision but you hastily blinked them away. You thought for a moment and your voice was quiet when you replied, “I’m scared that if I start crying, I won’t ever stop.” She inhaled deeply and you didn’t dare look at her, “I think that’s understandable, you’re going through what’s essentially two break-ups right now.” You gave a forced breathy laugh, “Lucky me!” She squeezed your hand once more before standing up, “I’m going to tell the studio guys that you’re not available today. You’re not to be disturbed all day.�� Your head shot up to look at her, “Wait. What?” Her face was serious as she looked as you, “Today, you just feel.” You nodded slowly, she wasn’t giving you a choice, “Besides, you write your best songs when you feel deeply…” With one hand on the door she turned back to you, “I’m only a call away if you need me!”  You nodded gratefully and with that she was closing the door quietly behind her and you were alone with your thoughts again. 

Picking up your phone once more, you deleted all texts and voicemails from both her and him. You turned your notifications off and went to spotify. If you were going to cry, the least you could do was give yourself a good soundtrack. Scrolling through playlist after playlist, nothing seemed quite right. All the breakup playlists you clicked on were either your own songs or angry songs, and you weren’t quite at that stage yet. With a sigh you changed your search to ‘sad hours’. Spotting a playlist with an aesthetic looking angsty cover, you noticed that all the songs added were instrumental. That was more like it. You pressed play and inhaled, turning the music up and allowing it to wash over you, allowing yourself to be carried by the flow, the dynamics, the melodies and harmonies. You let it tug at your heartstrings, let it act as a soundtrack to the memories that flashed in your head and yet, the tears still did not fall. 

Almost crying with frustration, you moved from the couch to the floor, sinking down and resting your head back on the couch. The song changed and suddenly it was like a switch had been flipped. The tears came thick and fast as finally, finally, you allowed yourself to break. Huge sobs wracked your body as the music rose in a crescendo, thoughts of him filling your head; how he’d held your hand, the way he’d kissed you, the way he said your name, how he stared at you. With each thought you cried harder, mourning for the relationship you’d lost and the parts of yourself that had gone missing with it. As the strings took over the melody, it was like your thoughts moved from him to her. Your chest felt heavy and tight as you struggled to breathe. Was this what heartbreak felt like? Your chest felt like it was cracking, vision completely blurred by the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Wasn’t crying supposed to make you feel better? Then why did you feel like you’d never stop? Why did you feel so much pain? As the song came to climax and the last notes resonated and hung in the air you couldn’t help the way you hit replay. 

The song washed over you again and again like a comforting touch. It was a gentle soothing balm for your aching heart. As the song repeated, the tears gradually subsided and eventually the exhaustion took over. Not even bothering to move, you stayed on the floor, laying your head down and letting sleep take you under, at least there you wouldn’t feel that all consuming pain in your chest. 

When you woke up, it felt like something was sitting on your chest. You winced as you opened your eyes, feeling how sore they were from crying and you dreaded to think how bloodshot they looked. Slowly pushing yourself to sit up, you grabbed your head and hissed as it throbbed and ached. You picked up your phone to look at the time. You’d been asleep for an hour. You noticed your phone hadn’t stopped playing that track the entire time. Growing curious about the piece of music and the composer responsible for helping with your emotional release you opened your phone, heading straight to their spotify profile. 

‘Charles Leclerc’ Interesting name. You scrolled past the few small recordings that he had released and went straight to his bio. You’d never heard of this guy before but you’d never been touched by music that way before. Scan-reading his bio you noted that it wasn’t even his main profession. Unable to help yourself, you began googling. You learned he was Monegasque and that he was a Formula One driver, that he drove for Ferrari and that he’d had his own fair share of heartbreak and grief. You thought it was sweet that he’d explored music later on in life and you were impressed with the way he played with form and structure of his pieces. Throughout the week, you found yourself coming back to his music again and again whenever you needed comfort or needed to cry. It was cathartic the effect it had on you. And you found that as you listened to his music and the more time you spent sitting with yourself, the easier the songs came to you. 

♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧

You weren’t sure how, when or why the thought had first occurred to you, but as you sat in your home studio, months after that initial breakdown, you had the sudden urge to contact Charles. He had no clue who you were, well at least not personally, but he had helped you through one of the worst periods of your life and you knew you wouldn’t have been able to finish the album without him, even if he wasn’t aware of the impact he’d had on you. Psyching yourself up with a deep breath you grabbed your phone and opened instagram. You searched for his account, finding him easily. Your finger hovered over the follow button but you shook your head and decided against it, you didn’t need to add fuel to the fire. Besides, you hadn’t even spoken to him yet. You sent him a DM request and hoped for the best. 

♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧♪₊ ⊹♬˚₊‧

y/nsworld

Liked by charles_leclerc, sabrinacarpenter and 22,982,703 y/nsworld surprise !! "words I wish I had said" is now available on streaming platforms worldwide! this album has been a journey of heartbreak, self-discovery and healing. I've spent months in the studio, both with friends and alone, pouring my heart and soul into each song and I hope you can all feel it. while this album focuses on heartbreak, there are also some songs that are very close to my heart that have been in the vault for a little while now. I know that for some people they will resonate deeply and I hope they bring comfort. I see you and I love you 🤍 thank you to my management for being supportive as ever, my fans for being beyond patient while waiting for new music and my friends for holding; my hands, many boxes of tissues, my drinks on drunken nights out to forget him and most importantly the pieces of my heart while I got ready glue them back together - I am eternally grateful to each and every one of you, now and always. "you'll be okay" all my love, Y/N 🎀

(also thanks to my ex-bf and ex-bsf for providing me with inspiration, without you this album wouldn't exist xoxo)

View all 45,730 comments sabrinacarpenter I cannot even begin to say how proud I am Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ y/nsworld I love you so much 🤍

zendaya you've done it again babe! beautiful soul, beautiful album Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ y/sworld thank you for all the late night calls to help me through it 🫶🏼

y/nloverrrr WTF?! SHE JUST DROPPED AN ALBUM LIKE THAT? 🧍‍♀️ ⤷ y/nmusic I CAN'T DECIDE IF I LOVE HER OR HATE HER FOR IT 😭

ferrarifannn okay but "best friend breakup" i just know this one is gonna HURT ⤷ f1fann her vocals in the chorus? "always thought that it'd be love, that was gonna mess me up" ⤷ y/nicon "didn't think it'd hurt this much, when best friends break up"

charles_leclerc you're top of all my playlists 🤪 Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ y/nsworld I would hope so 🤭 ⤷ lalaleclerc I- sir? what are you doing here? 😭 ⤷ y/nf1fan EXCUSE ME? WTF? ⤷ y/nmusic since when did they know each other?

musiclover THE CAPTION PLS TELL ME Y'ALL SEE WHAT I'M SEEING AT THE BOTTOM 😭 ⤷ leclerclove she's fucking iconic 🥹 the "xoxo" had me-

y/n.updates CAN WE TAKE A MINUTE FOR "FEEL GOOD"? THAT SONG FUCKING BROKE ME 😭 ⤷ y/nismylove "I'm sorry I'm still not at home in body, I just wanted someone to want me. who sees me as more than just funny" ⤷ charlesandcarlos I fucking SOBBED the whole way through ⤷ yn/wardrobe it breaks my heart that she feels like this but at the same time she's written my comfort song as a result 😭🥺

lewishamilton you never miss! forever proud of you 💜 Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ y/nsworld thank you lew! miss you 🥺🫶🏼 ⤷ lewishamilton just let me know the time and place and I'll be there ⤷ y/nsworld I'm texting you rn! ⤷ f1fannn wait hUH? ⤷ lewisfann I'm so confused 😭 how do they know each other? ⤷ y/nmusic lewis collaborated on one of her earlier albums with the name xnda! they've been super close ever since

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[literaila]

did you miss me?

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: in which you're only going to stay for 'a little longer' (no but seriously this time)

warnings: satoru is still bullying megumi, a bit of angst (nonserious) and fluff (duh)

last part | next part

*

year one.

“did you tell megumi that the monsters wouldn’t want to hide under his bed?” 

your head hurts a bit, as the light hits your eyes. you squint to where satoru is sitting on the couch, his hands behind his head, feet propped on the coffee table. 

just the very image of him makes you want to roll your eyes (and climb on top of him). 

satoru opens an eye, peeking at you. his smile is pompous, and his face is ludicrous. “why would they want to hide under the bed when the closet is right there?" he asks, with an obvious superiority complex. "seriously, spacial awareness.” 

you try to stay mad at him--and all of the ridiculous things he says--but his voice almost always makes you want to laugh. it's a secret form of serotonin. 

you walk over to him, kicking his feet from the coffee table so you can move past them. 

“that’s not what that means,” you tell him, sitting down. “and don’t tell megumi that monsters are hiding in the house. he’s already wary enough.”

his eyes are wide as his face turns toward you. “they’re there.” 

“oh, really, mr. honored one? you’ve been too busy to take care of them?” 

“why does it have to be me? i’m the honored one, my talents should be used on something other than bedtime monsters. i’ll leave those to you.” 

“this isn’t my house, dipshit.” 

“it could be,” satoru smiles cheekily at you. 

you roll your eyes and sigh into the couch, leaning even further against the pillow. mock satoru all you want, but you will admit that he has good taste. 

his house is so much comfier than yours. it lives in an era of relaxation, which isn't that surprising when you consider everything that satoru is. he also probably had one of his servants (assistant supervisors) decorate it.

“didn’t you tell me not to swear?” he nudges you with his foot. 

you hum. 

“oh, but you can?” 

“when you reach a certain age, swearing is a natural privilege you get. sorry, satoru," you smile very innocently at him. 

and then you wait for the furrowing of his brows, which happens almost immediately. 

“i’m older than you," he claims. 

“mental age.” 

he scoffs and moves his foot off of you. his eyes close once more, blocking you from a world of seafoam and skies, and he leans back with you. his face is a foot away, and if you concentrate hard enough, you might be able to feel his breath as it fills the room. 

but you've never been that great at concentrating when satoru is this close to you. 

and you don't live in a world of foolish ideations. 

satoru hums, the back of his throat making it seem like a groggy sound. “are they asleep?"

you lip twitches at the memory of saying goodnight.“tsumiki wasn’t even awake when i went to tuck her in," you answer, laughing a bit. and then you glare at satoru, once again. "and megumi probably won't be able to sleep after you scared him.” 

satoru's eyes open again, and his relaxed, easygoing smile turns a bit malicious. “i just said that under the bed is a terrible hiding spot.” 

“and this topic of conversation came up naturally?” 

“i was just wishing him goodnight!" his entire body turns towards you as he pleads his case. "all i said was that the monsters wouldn’t be able to get him if he went to sleep, so he would fall asleep faster.” 

you groan, hands flying up in exasperation. “satoru. he knows monsters are real.” 

“i’m preparing him.” 

“you’re lying.” 

“pfft, megumi isn’t scared," he waves you off, hands streaking through his hair, "i showed him a fly head the other day, and the kid didn’t even blink.” 

you sit up. “why was there a fly head in the house?” 

“uhh… it got stuck? in my hair?” 

you blink at him. “things don’t get stuck in your hair, satoru.” 

he scoffs, poking your forehead to get you to sit back again. “you think my infinity considers fly heads a threat? please. we might as well eat them.” 

“ugh,” your mouth turns in distaste, and you smack his hand away. “don’t even. and i know that's not true! earlier when megumi tried to hit you it was up!” 

satoru raises his brows. “um, yeah.” 

you give him a blank stare. “you think megumi is more of a threat than a fly head?” 

“have you met that kid?” 

you look at satoru with a scowl and then remember the topic at hand “no, hey, stop distracting me. don’t tell megumi about monsters before he goes to bed!” 

“i said they wouldn’t get him," he rolls his eyes at you. like you're not the one who had to open the closet door to show megumi there was nothing there. 

“don’t say anything at all," you tell him. "you’re banned from speaking to either of them.” 

satoru smirks at you. “you want me to ignore them when you’re not here?” 

“i want you to not try to scare megumi all of the time," you pinch his thigh and lean away from him, irritated and somehow entertained. 

satoru's hand rubs at the wound. “i’m just testing the boundaries.” 

you stare at him. 

“and, i mean, obviously he doesn’t need to be worried," he points to himself. "he knows who i am.” 

“who you are?” 

his cheeks are a bit flushed, you notice, as he smiles adoringly at you. “you haven’t heard of satoru gojo?” 

“yesterday you jumped when there was a spider in the sink.” 

“i was caught off guard!” his head rolls to the side, fed up with you.

“and then you begged me to get it out," you add.

“it was a test.” 

you roll your eyes but give up. there's no winning with satoru, and you don't feel like bothering him about megumi or the things he tells him. it's probably a good thing that he enjoys messing with the little boy so much. 

and, anyway, you don't feel like watching his limbs fail or his smile tease anymore. it's very late, and you're very tired. 

so you lay back on the unnaturally comfortable couch, telling yourself that you'll only stay for ten more minutes until you go home. 

“hey,” satoru says after the moment passes. 

“hmm?” 

"c'mere." 

you open your eyes. satoru's arms are out, strong as ever, and he's got his head tilted in invitation. 

(you almost jump to his side, like a dog waiting at the door). 

but you frown. "what? no." 

"c'mon, we've cuddled before." 

"when there wasn't any room for all of us on the couch in shoko's room without me sitting on your lap," you contradict, trying to subtly move away. 

it doesn't work. satoru's hand grabs onto yours. and then it moves, cradling around your leg like a threat. he could pull you to him in one simple motion. 

"don't be dramatic. when was the last time you hugged me?" 

"literally never." 

"well then, we're long overdue." 

you try to pry his hand off of your thigh to no avail. "hug that pillow or something." 

"i just want to lay here for a bit," he says, "and you look cold." 

"i'm not cold," your hand goes to his wrist instead, pulling backward. he doesn't budge. 

stupid training and stupid boys with their ridiculous body strength. 

and stupid satoru for even trying to suggest this. 

"six eyes, remember?" satoru murmurs, teasing, gesturing with his empty hand to his head. 

"i know that's not how that works." 

"but do you?" 

and, finally, as you always knew he would, satoru pulls you towards him with his grip around your leg, and you're suddenly atoms away from him. 

you meet his eyes, and this time you can actually feel the air from his breath. 

"okay," he whispers, simply. "put your arm here," he moves your arm to lay across his torso, "and wrap your legs around mine," he moves his legs instead of yours, trapping you between his thighs, "and your head," he pulls you in by your neck, "goes here." 

and suddenly you're laying on his chest, his arm around your waist, laying languidly with satoru gojo. 

and he's honestly pretty comfortable. he must've learned it from the couch. 

"this is stupid." 

"you're not even trying to get away." 

"like you'd let me," you whisper, shaking your head against him. 

but he's right. you don't try to move. not even a little. 

and sure, it's partly because you know that satoru won't let you--for whatever idiotic reason of his--and partly because you don't really want to. not that you'll ever acknowledge that. 

so you listen to his heart instead, and you feel, for just a moment, like it beats differently than everyone else's. maybe faster, maybe stronger. 

but that thought passes as quickly as it comes. 

satoru is just human like this. with his arms around you. 

and he proves it when a couple of seconds later, he whispers, “can i ask you something?” 

you open your eyes and turn your head up toward him--only seeing his jaw and the tip of his nose--and wait. 

satoru must be smiling, because he always is, but there's something unnatural about his face from this angle. kind of like this cuddling position. 

“did you miss me?” 

you frown. “what?” 

“when i was gone," his fingers tap against your stomach. "we didn’t see each other for a while.” 

“what?” you repeat, dumbly. 

he pouts. “you didn’t notice?” 

you swallow, looking back down, to his chest, or the tiny piece of lint stuck to his shirt, or the air, or anything else. "why are you asking?" 

you try to leave the pleading out of the words. it's not like satoru is intentionally ruining this moment by asking. it's not like he's ever meant to hurt you. and it's not like you would tell him if he did. 

you just... hadn't realized that he'd even noticed. that he thought of time apart as if it was something, its own thing, just like you. 

"i'm curious," he shrugs, and his arm wraps a little bit tighter around you. 

your mouth is a bit dry. "you're curious about what i thought during the six months you ghosted me?" 

"what?" satoru looks down at you, but you don't move. "i didn't ghost you." 

"i think not returning my calls or coming home ever counts as ghosting, satoru. i'm pretty sure that's like the exact definition." 

you might be joking. you're trying to do what he always does--deflect or make a joke out of it all. but you're less practiced. but you feel so much more. 

"...you called?" 

"seriously?" 

"i--okay, so i was a bit, eh, distracted. i was doing a lot more missions than i'm doing now. i had to threaten the higher-ups just to get a break." 

you hum against him, though there's that emptiness in your chest. the reminiscence of several months alone. 

but you're used to that feeling by now. it's an old friend. 

so you just sigh. "yeah, i was working a lot too. don't worry about it, i'm not mad, or anything." 

"you're not?" 

"no. i mean, you graduated. it's not like i expected you to show up to my room in the middle of the night or meet me for breakfast anymore. i get it." 

there's a pause where you don't say that you actually did expect him to do all of that. that you'd never thought things could change so significantly in such a short amount of time. 

and satoru breathes. "yeah," he whispers, his breath warm on your head. 

and you're both lying. you can feel it, in the way he shifts, the way he says it. 

the way it feels to just say the words to him. to be here like this and try not to care about him--about where he was and what he was doing all of that time, without you. 

but you're tired, and satoru doesn't like to talk about these things. 

in a more rational mindset, you might wonder why he started the conversation in the first place. 

so you just lay there, feeling it as he swallows, hearing it as the blood pumps through his veins. 

and when satoru finally asks, "you missed me, though, right?" 

you only answer with a hum. 

and fall right to sleep. 

*

megumi is staring at the drool on your face. he hasn't ever seen you sleeping, and he should probably be thankful for that. your hair is messed up and you look a lot more childish than he's used to. 

he's seen satoru asleep before--when he shakes him awake in the morning to make breakfast--but not like this. megumi didn't think the man could grin any wider, but apparently, it's possible.

tsumiki is trailing after him, her feet quiet against the floor, just a minute behind. they usually wake up at the same time. 

"hi," she greets him as he looks on. "are they asleep?" 

"yeah." 

unlike megumi, tsumiki smiles at the sight of you curled into satoru's chest, hands wrapped around his waist, spit pooling on his shirt. 

"should we wake them up?" megumi asks his sister, a bit bothered by the view. he'd just wanted a glass of water. 

"no," tsumiki grabs his hand, pulling him away. "let them sleep. c'mon, i'll get the cereal." 

and megumi takes one more look--at the two people now responsible for his wellbeing--before he walks away. 

and, fine. it's a little cute. 

*

next part

[chillinglyadventurous]

Sneaking Around - Stanford Pines Part 2

Thanks @doggosnoodles12 for requesting a part 2!

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4

Tags: NSFW, MDNI!

You were stocking the gift shop shelves. Stan was counting the day’s earning at the cash register behind you when you heard the vending machine swing open. Ford was there with a smile on his face. ‘Bastard’ you thought ‘at least he got to finish.’

It must be so easy to be a man, a quick jerk and he’s done. No need for all the theatrics like women. You hated him for it sometimes, but the thought clouded your mind. You could picture it because you’d seen it before.

He was sitting in the lab. You had watched him so thoughtfully as he stroked himself to you. Your eyes were wide, lips parted ever so slightly as you watched his hand move up and down his length. His stare had been on you, relishing in your flushed cheeks as you sat so close to him, pulling you in for a hot kiss as he came over his hands.

You busied your hands by straighten the bobbleheads on the shelf in front of you. That memory made your hands shake. You couldn’t force the thought of the difference between when he touches himself versus when you do. He was so much more responsive when it was your hand sliding and twisting down his cock than his own. The grunts were a turn on all their own. The way he thrust his hips into you hand was enough to make you gasp.

Nothing, however, compared to how he responded to your mouth. Little whimpers would escape him. His hands would be tangled in your hair as he tried his very best not to push you further down, but it sure felt good when your choked on him, the contraction of your throat mimicking the throbs of your body, breathtaking.

“Busy day?” Ford asked as he crossed over to his brother.

Stan gave a grunt in response, “Would’ve made more money if you weren’t stealing my girl to look at that quantum destabilizer.” By his tone, you could tell Stan was trying not to get angry. He was doing his best to mend fences with his brother, “You better watch her with that thing. One wrong move and, boom, she’s in a lot of trouble.”

A bobble head clattered to the ground at his comment. Both of their gazes were on you, “Sorry.”

Ford gave a soft chuckle, “I watch her very closely. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”

Oh, he watched you. He loved watching you, studying how each flick of his tongue caused your face to contort in pleaser. He watched himself slip in and out of you with ease. He made you so wet. He watched when you became so desperate and needy when he tormented you, grinding yourself against his thigh when you could no longer hold yourself back. Yeah, he watched you.

Hurt. No. He’d never hurt you. He could be rough. His fingers often left six little bruises on each hip. You could recall a six fingered, hand-shaped bruise on your left breast a few weeks ago. But, he never hurt you. Always making sure you were alright. You had tried to get him to slap you once. He’d refused, “I couldn’t, ever hit that beautiful face.”

“Well, Shack’s closed, Stan,” you sighed. “Do you mind if I get back down there?

He shrugged, “Do whatever you want, [Y/N]. I’m taking the kids to Greasy’s for dinner.”

“When are you leaving?” Your question overlapped with Ford’s.

Stan gave you both a strange look. His eyebrows crinkled together even though the twins had bounded down the stairs. You gave Dipper and Mabel a smile after your gaze left Ford’s, “Now, I guess.”

You and Ford stood on opposite sides of the gift shop as you watched Stan and the kids leave. As the Stanmobile pulled away from the Shack and disappeared, you could already see Ford bounding to you out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop,” you whispered. You pointed toward the security camera across the room, the same one that was focused on you at that very moment. You didn’t want what you knew was about to happen to be caught on camera.

Ford’s feet stilled. His eyes were hungry. He didn’t want to wait. God, neither did you, but you kept your cool as you waltzed causally back into the house. You swayed your hips a little more than you normally would, tempting your lover to follow you.

Once you were in your bedroom, the door was slammed shut.You didn’t even have time to gasp before Ford was on you, before you were pressed flat against your duvet. Despite his desperation to shove himself into you immediately, afraid to waste a moment, his kiss was soft on your lips. His grip was crushing on your hips, but his kiss was sugary sweet.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he forced himself between your legs. “I’m sorry things are like this. You’re the one suffering.”

You carded your hands through his hair before pulling off his glasses. You moved to kiss him, but gasped as he bucked his clothed hard-on against your centre. You caught your breath, in love with that grin on his face, “You promised to make it up to me.”

“Oh,” he ghosted his lips over yours, “I’m about to.”

For sat back on his calves as he pulled your dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor. His eyes raked over you. Your panties were still missing, probably hidden in some desk drawer in the basement. He unclasped your bra expertly before tossing it away too.

You subconsciously licked your lips when he picked up your right leg. He pressed a kiss to your ankle, traveling up to your knee before picking up your left. He repeated himself there. You watched in awe. Your mind was already clouded. You wanted him to stop playing this game and to get shift a on when he started kissing and nipping at your wrists. His smile against your skin was loving and full of admiration. You just wanted him inside you.

“Ford,” you muttered as he started kissing across your clavicle, “They won’t be gone all night. We have an hour or two max.”

He withdrew his tongue from your navel, “[Y/N], I rarely get fifteen minutes with you.” He tongued your bellybutton again, hands spreading your thighs further. He kneaded that softness just below your ass, “Let me worship you. You deserve this.”

Finally, he touched you. His lips, chapped as they were, wrapped around your clit. He placed a kiss to it before circling with his tongue. The noise you made in response was undoubtedly undignified, a mix of a moan and whine.

Reflexively, you covered your mouth, but Ford was quick to take your wrist in his hand, “None of that. You don’t need to do that now.” He sucked you into his mouth as he inserted a finger. Your hips bucked against his chin when he curled it inside of you, “Let me hear you, please.”

His finger straightened as he withdrew, pushing in a second with a curl of his knuckles. He sighed when he finally heard you, a relaxed moan tumbling out of you as he repeated the movement again, his tongue flicking across your clit again.

“Atta girl,” he smiled against you.

You watched him as he continued. His nose was pressed firmly against your pelvis as his tongue continued its assault. His fingers pumped quickly. He watched your writhe, moans freely spilling past your lips. You chanted his name as you felt your muscles tighten, legs flexing.

You needed to grab onto something when you began to shake, hips rolling frantically against his mouth and hands. A wet squelch sounded with each thrust of his wrist. Finally, you found something to hold onto. Your nails scraped against your headboard. You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer as your orgasm hit you.

“Stanford!” You chanted over and over again as your rode his face. Your eyes closed because you couldn’t look into his anymore. His eyes were always too much when his face was between your thighs, “Oh my god! Ford!”

He continued to eat you through it until you finally came down, legs closing to halt his attempt at overstimulation. Now was not the time for games.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when you reached for him, “You’re even more beautiful when you’re screaming my name.”

“That’s enough chitchat,” you whispered. You were already unzipping his pants, “Fuck me.”

His boots, jacket, turtleneck, and slacks were on the floor in an instant. You stared at him for a moment. The two of you had rarely ever had the time for him to get fully undressed. Often, you had only ever pulled his cock out of its confines just to get things going, pressed for time.

Suddenly, your order for him to fuck you was abandoned as you pushed him onto the mattress. Climbing atop him, you traced a deep scar across his shoulder with your fingertips. Your touch was gentle while you studied him, all of him.

His chest was broad and so were his shoulders. The muscles of his upper body were well defined. The slight pudge of his stomach was endearing. You smiled down at him, leaning over to place a kiss to his forehead, “You’re beautiful, Stanford. Do you know that?”

His right hand cupped your face as he pulled you into him. You melded together for a moment before he pulled away, “I am so in love with you.”

You bit your lip as you straightened your back, hips rising. You pressed the head of his cock against you warmth. You suck down onto him and the moan he gave was precious. You tried to memorize it before he gave you another with each roll of your hips, moving in tight up and down circles.

You were lost in him, eyes locked as you rode him. With each roll of your hips, you two groaned in tandem. With each upward thrust into you, you both sighed the other’s name. Not a single praise was stifled by a hand for fear of someone hearing. For once, it was just the two of you.

“You’re so tight,” Ford gasped when he felt the familiar flutter of your insides. One hand gripped your hip and the other rested on your lower belly. He wanted to feel how deep he was hitting you, watching the slight bulge of him inside you wasn’t enough, “Mhmm, such a good girl.”

Your body began to shake again, shivering as your relentless pace faltered. You were frozen as you began to milk him, unable to move as the intensity of waiting for this all day was just too much, so he took over. With his feet planted firmly against your mattress, he thrust up into you. With each bounce, you repeated how much you love him until your screamed his name again.

He rode you out. Just as he was about to flip you over, allowing him the ability to pull out, you stopped him, “No, please, cum inside of me. I want to feel it. Please, Ford, please.”

With your breathless words and the clenching of your cunt, he came. The soft pressure was heaven as he fucked you through his own orgasm, “Fuck!”

The room was hot and sticky when you collapsed onto his chest. Every muscle relaxed. Your body was numb, buzzing with the endorphin flowing through your veins. The two of you stayed that way for a while until he pulled out of you. You both gave a sigh, your cheeks blushing when you felt your own release and his gush out of you.

Now, you were laid in his arms. His hands played with the little hairs at the base of your skull. You could hear his heartbeat in his chest. Time had stopped moving, “I love you so much, Ford.”

Loud clatter coming from the other side of the house startled you both. Jumping from the bed, Ford scrambled to put his clothes back on and you did the same. You could hear the twins running down the hall.

When your door opened, you froze, “What the hell is going on?”

Ford barely had time to zip up his pants, his sweater still discarded on the floor, before Stan threw a punch. You’re screamed at him to stop as soon as your dress is back over your head. You tried to put yourself between them, but Ford pushed you away, afraid you’d get caught in the crossfire of punches.

“She’s like a daughter to me, you creep!” Stan shouted as Ford dodged another punch. Stan was quickly pinned to the ground by his twin brother, “I told you to stay away from her! You ruined my life. You’re not going to ruin hers too.”

Suddenly you realized what was happening. Your face fell and so did your voice, “Stanford, let him go.”

Ford glanced in your direction before doing as you said. You stood between them to keep them from hitting each other again, “Stan, what are you talking about?”

His ego was bruised. You knew this. So did Ford, “You’re my family and I’m not going to let this jerk take you away from me too.”

You hugged him tight. You didn’t have a dad growing up. Like Soos, yours was never around. Stan had taken that role when you started working at the Shack, always guiding you in the best way he could to be better than him. He wanted the world for you. When your mom died and you had no where else to go, he took you in out of the kindness of his heart.

“I love Ford. I’m sorry we kept this from you, but,” you took Ford’s hand in yours, “I love him.”

Stan’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you and his brother, “Do you love her, sixer?”

“More than anyone could possibly comprehend,” Ford murmured as he placed a kiss against your temple.

Stan was dumbfounded as he stared at the two of you. He couldn’t decide whether or not to be happy that you found love or to kill his twin.