#Trying to wake up a little before I need to to go to bed but this day off was so nice

[okwonyo]

INTO YOU, 或 𓈒𓈒 navigating a secret relationship.

❛𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇’ 𝗎𝗌. 𝗌𝗈, 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒, 𝗅𝖾𝗍’𝗌 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𓈒𓈒 ❜

𝒾 ⠀⦂ ⠀ 엔하이픈 ୨୧ f ╱ r! 16OO fluff ── non idol au skinship kissing ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ ( 𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑠 )

지아 ⠀⦂ ⠀i miss summer and i desperately need winter to come huhu >< idea from my favorite oomf @soov 🎀 enjoy !

( ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK )

HEESEUNG

the cold air brushes your face as you step outside. you wrap your arms around your body, trying to get warmth by hugging yourself. 

you walk to the usual corner where your boyfriend organizes your little meeting. the weather gets colder as you walk to it, you swear it. 

it puts you in a bad mood, you can feel your eyebrow furrowing and a frown forming on your lips. 

there is a fire that lights in your freezing heart when you finally see his face. he leaning on the wall next to him, and he seems to be smiling at your misery. 

“what?” you say, harsher than you initially attended to— it doesn’t seem to bother him. not in the slightest, his smile grows wider. you smile as well, “what?” 

standing straight, he steps closer to you. so close that you have to tilt your head up to see him properly. “nothing,” he shrugs, “jus’ wanted to see you.” 

you don’t answer, just staring at him blankly. although the warmth of his words touches you, you sniff, “‘m cold, hee,” you state. 

the said ‘hee’ laughs, loudly. in a way that makes his adam apple move, in a way that makes you flush, in a way that keeps your eyes on him. 

he steps even closer, your chest gets pressed against his. he wraps his arms around you putting his face in the crook of your neck: 

“i’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, you don’t hug him back. even though you close your eyes. “is it better now?”

you only hum before adding, “i hope no one catches us.”

JAY

the first thing you feel on your skin is the sunlight peeking through the windows’ blinds. it kisses you slowly out of sleep, welcoming you warmly in the new day. 

the second thing you feel is the gentle pressure around you and the circle of warmth— that is not yours—swallowing you whole. you hide your face further into the body in front of you. 

the arm holds you closer as you hug the body tighter. 

all your senses slowly awoke and you can progressively recognize the scent enveloping your nose. 

it smells like cologne, like a real man, like home, like home, like—

“jay!” you exclaim, jolting awake. the man groans next to you, his arm sliding on your thighs. you tap him, “jay, wake up!”

his deep, sleepy voice emerges from him, “what?” he almost whines. 

“we fell asleep,” you whisper loudly, looking at your barely conscious boyfriend. that should also definitely be anywhere but in your bed. “you are not supposed to be there!”

it looks like it takes a while for him to register, but when he finally does, he almost falls on the floor. 

he gets his shirt back on himself, kisses you quickly and escapes from the window.

JAKE

he loves when you kiss him. he loves when your soft lips brush his skin and when your mouth rests on his ever so softly. 

and you know it. he tells you always, how much he loves it, hushed and hurriedly between two kisses in the corner— hiding from the public eye. 

this is why you already know, from the look in his eyes weighing on you from right across you, that he wants to kiss you. 

he watches you amongst the crowd of all your mutual friends together and when they all leave, back turned toward you, he stays. 

he holds your waist and, in a sort of instinct, you cup his face. 

you aim for his pretty nose first, then you peck his cheek two times in a row before finally kissing him on the mouth.

“i got to go,” he whispers against your mouth before kissing one more time. 

when you look one last time on his face, you giggle— seeing lipstick strains about everywhere you kissed him. he wears them like tattoos and leaves before you can even tell him anything. 

(he is cheeks blossom with a red hue when his friends tell him about it.) 

SUNGHOON

you barely survive the entire day with someone grabbing your wrist and pulling you in the tiniest room possible.

surprise doesn’t over take you anymore. you already know why you are here and who you are with. 

your boyfriend’s hand cups your jaw, gently and carefully. he tilts your head up, just a little to be able to lean in a bit and kiss you as your fingers slide in his black thick hair. 

“hi,” he says when he pulls away a tad to tilt his head to the other side. 

he kisses you senseless. loving and passionate like he usually does. his tongue slides in your mouth. you let him lick the inside of it instead of greeting him back.

his free hand hugs your waist, pulling you closer to his body, impossibly so.

your boyfriend is all over you. he takes over your senses and swallows whole. you cannot think of anything else but his hot tongue teasing yours. 

until someone tries to unlock the door and you jump, breaking the kiss and pulling a weird sound out of your lover’s throat.

“did you just bite me?” he hushes and you apologize, eyes still worriedly looking over the door. he chuckles, “i liked that.”

you beat his chest with your fist playfully.

SUNOO

he swears to you—brags even— whenever he has the chance that he is not a jealous man. 

you almost started to believe it, if it wasn’t for how often he brings it up. almost as if he is trying to gaslight you or desperately trying to convince himself, or rather manifest it. 

and you could even consider it, rethink it when you are on your own. but you can always feel it, see it in his face. 

the heaviness of his gaze whispers the truth to you. whenever you are talking to another man a few feet ahead of him. 

in your peripheral vision, his arms are crossed under his chest. and his teeth are pressed so tight against one another, that his jaw is more defined than ever.

he comes to you as soon as the stranger leaves, “who was that?” he asks, nodding his head towards the leaving man.

you study his frustrated face with an amused look. his eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth is frowned— he looks cute, if you were to be honest. 

you opt for something funnier, “are you jealous?”

he instantly opens his mouth, to defend himself and closes it immediately. 

his sighs, “yes,” he states. shock explodes in your stomach. “i don’t like seeing guys flirt with you,” he leans to whisper the rest in your ear: “when they don’t know you are already taken.” 

JUGWON

this entire situation seems to be very funny to your—secret—boyfriend.

it is no surprise that he is annoying in private. his fingertips melting in your sides, him tickling you, your skin getting pinched and getting a yelp out of you each time. just because he can.

and just because he can, he does his best to get a reaction out of you in public. 

sometimes, he stares at you from across the room, tilting his head to the side with a grin when your eyes lock. you ignore him each time. 

sometimes, his knuckles brush smoothly and ever so softly against your skin as he passes by you. his touch stings all day long.

today, he aims for a mixture of it. 

“look,” your friend whispers to you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. her finger is pointed to his direction when you look at her, “he is doing it again.”

your boyfriend is staring at you from across the end of the hall you are walking down. he is walking towards your direction, but you tell your friend to ignore him.

he takes a step to the side as he approaches, exchanging places with his friend to walk next to you. his fingers quickly wrap around yours as your shoulder brushes. 

he holds onto it enough to make your heart skip a beat, but not enough for anyone to see.

RIKI

his hoodies are way too soft and comfortable for you to not steal. 

he always manages to find the sweetest material. the kind of tissue that his scent soaks into perfectly. a tissue that keeps his warmth days after he wears it. 

you love to be enveloped into that said material. so big and perfectly cozy like the embarrassed he locks you in.

“you want it?” he once asked you. seeing the way you buried your face in his hoodie. you shook your head against his torso, “i insist, sweetheart.”

you didn’t fight against his own wants and you find yourself in it a few days later. the cold wind doesn’t go through it when your coat gives up for a mere second and you hold onto it for dear life.

you bury your nose in it when you miss your lovely boyfriend. his cologne is still impregnated in it— it makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

when you meet each other at his, he comments: “isn’t that my hoodie you are wearing?” your cheeks get pink. “were you really walking around with that on your back?” 

you study his own outfit before answering, “and isn’t that my shirt you are wearing?” you pinch his cheek and he laughs. “i thought you hated pink, mh?”

you taught him well.

ㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open

[signanothername]

If someone had found baby corrupted nightmare and taken him in, raised him, like, say for example, blue, how differently do you think everything would have ended up?

(*COUGH COUGH* totally not just pushing my dad swap agenda nope nuh uh *COUGH*)

i just imagine nightmare sneaking into his room at night to curl up near his bed like a dog, and IMMEDIATELY skedaddling when he senses him wake up.

This poor kid is freshly dead (alive? Born?) he is in Desperate need of comfort 💀 but it's not like he's gonna ask for it outright.

And i horrendously need someone to hold him and give him warm food and new clothes and toys to play with and blankets and tuck him in at night and Hold Him and feed him medicine when he's sick and read hin bedtime stories and rock him to sleep and give him a comfort plushie or blanket or item of sorts and HOLD HIM and-

ahem, so anyway, what do you think? How differently do you think he would've ended up? Cuz i think it'd be a lot different if nightmare was shown care by someone for once and comforted by someone who wasn't a fellow traumatized six year old.

And, yknow, was an adult who knew what they were doing and didn't hate him for no reason 💀

Ooooh :D

Yeah I definitely think he would’ve grown up a much different person, cause he wouldn’t have relied on himself to survive, he wouldn’t experience the constant fear of the many ways he could get hurt or die

He definitely wouldn’t have starved on negativity cause he didn’t know how to balance it anymore

And if he was actually raised by a loving parent that’s actually present in his life to guide him through it enough to find a healthy outlet for the horrors he experienced, as well as help him with his emotional, mental, and physical health a lot better, his life would be a lot easier

I think he still would be a lot more grumpy and a bit aggressive than he was before the corruption, and the Apple incident would still have a great impact on his psyche, he’d still hold a bit of fear inside, but that fear won’t end up guiding all his actions, and it definitely wouldn’t lead to him becoming power hungry, doing whatever he deems necessary to obtain it

Hell, even with how the corruption twists his happiness from something pure to finding joy in the misery of others, I still think with a loving parent raising him, he will find healthy outlets to his emotions, whatever they may be

I think he might eventually tell his parent figure about what happened with him, with his mother, with his twin, maybe even Dream would find himself in a lot better circumstances when he awakens from stone, finding a brother patiently awaiting him, finding himself waking up in warm welcoming arms, I definitely think it’ll contribute to the twins’ relationship being a lot better, a lot healthier

Their trauma would still put a few wrenches in their journey, but it definitely wouldn’t go so sour and bitter, Nightmare would be a lot more open towards Dream’s love and affection, hatred won’t taint his heart and cause their relationship to go so wrong

Generally, I definitely think it’ll be a lot more fluffy and slice of life-ish, which is super wholesome to think about

Now as for Blue specifically being the father figure, only two words, FUCK YES.

But I feel like, as a very traumatized lil child who doesn’t know any better, who had adults hate, hurt and even try to kill him, Nightmare would simply not trust Swap, not immediately

So it’d be really fun to see Nightmare actually warm up to Swap first way before he takes Nightmare in to raise and take care of him, it’d be fun to see what Swap might do to gain Nightmare’s trust enough for Nightmare to even let him within 10 meters without running away immediately or attacking him

May I also present some suggestions for another parental figure that could be really fun to explore? Color, I’d love to see him take care of a little newly corrupted Nightmare dhhdhdhd

Anyway *cough* this is such an adorable possible multiverse *cough*

[help-itrappedmyself]

Liminal Jason part 3

For those of you that saw the blip earlier, when I tried to post this but it broke cause it was too long, here is the real thing. Masterpost for earlier parts.

Sorry again. And slight tw for panic attack

Jason woke up slowly, taking in his surroundings as he adjusted to being awake. It was quiet, and a little humid. He was on a bed, could feel the sheets beneath him, and he wasn’t restrained at all. There was a moment of confusion, because when you wake up after being attacked like that you usually end up dead or a hostage. There was a creeping realization dawning in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. He opened his eyes, not wanting his suspicions to be true. But he was in a holding cell in the cave, and he realized what must have happened. Then he was pissed. 

He let out a growl, pushing to sit up on the bed. He thought they were doing better. He thought his family trusted him again. His growl was angry, foreboding, telling of the danger and anger in his thoughts. But his head was pounding from the sedative. They knew he hated needles. Hated drugs. Why would they do this to him, trick him like this when they knew how he felt about it. The haze in his head, making his thoughts heavy, and doing nothing but reminding him of all the harm drugs have done to the people around him. He stopped growling, hoping the quiet would help. Much less angry, the clouds in his head starting to make him sad and breathless. He hopes the effects wear off soon. He can’t focus. There is something important that he is missing. He is forgetting something, the spiral of his thoughts and emotions starting to lean towards hysteria. He’s alone. Trapped and alone, mind heavy with fog. He can’t think, why is he stuck here? His breath starts coming faster, increasing while his heart starts to race. He tries to keep quiet, and calm down. A whimper escapes him as he finds a corner and slides down the wall. Then he heard a keen. Close, probably coming from one of the other cells. The sound cuts through the haze. Important, a strike of clarity hitting him with a pulse as he remembers the kid. There was a kid with him. 

Danny. Jason hears him call out again, a sharp keen of panic-confusion, and Jason needs to help him. Jason stumbles up, leaning on the wall for support. He heads towards the door, but he was familiar with how the cells worked. He reached it and of course it was locked. He attempted to manually override, but the pad inside the cell was locked down. The cell can only be opened once someone on the inside clears whoever is inside it. Created for instances where one of them has been incapacitated by a new strain of fear gas, or a new Ivy concoction. To hold someone until an antidote can be created. There was no getting out of here before the other came by. 

Hopefully, they’re on their way now, seeing him awake on the cameras. Jason has some choice words to be had about his situation, angry seething inside him as the panic from earlier recedes. 

Danny lets out another keen, breathy and biting and Jason hears him start to panic. Jason still has to do what he can. He can’t reach him, but he can try and calm him down. They’re in this together, and Jason is going to do whatever he can for the kid. He let out a rumble, steady and calm in response to Danny’s cries. His rumble is filled with annoyance, but still said okay-here-safe. 

Danny is silent for a moment before he hums back a confused-trust. It’s closer, louder, like Danny has moved to be right on the other side of the wall from Jason. This kid, who just had his world destroyed, came here alone and afraid, and he trusts Jason. Screw yelling at the Bats. Danny needs him, and priority one is getting Danny to a place he can feel safe. 

A soft churring sound leaves Jason, sweet and caring, and Jason hopes the kid knows that he is going to do everything he can for him. Then Jason hears Danny let out a short purr, a quiet susurration, that ends as quickly as it starts. Jason is stunned by how much faith Danny is putting in him. How much Jason cares for this boy he just met. 

The bats can pry this boy out from his cold, dead hands.

[archangeldyke-all]

giggling so bad imagining R shaving her bush and sevika being like oh my god do u hate me?!?! what did I do?!?! how can I make it up to u I'm sorry pleeeeeease never do this again we can talk it out next time please 😭😭

LMAOOO

men and minors dni

last month, your period crept up on you, and you woke up half convinced you'd been stabbed in your sleep.

you and sevika didn't even try to salvage the sheets, just throwing them in the trash before re-making the bed. your pajamas were ruined, and, grossest of all, your crotch was a sticky, bloody mess.

so, this month to avoid any more incidents, you've been sleeping on a towel in anticipation, wearing a pad to bed just in case, and... you've shaved.

you haven't shaved in years. you and sevika are both bush enjoyers, and neither of you have ever felt the need to take a razor to your pits or legs since you started dating. finding a razor to use is almost impossible, but you manage to find one buried in the far back of your bathroom closet.

you feel so... cold. and smooth. you're hyper-aware of the feeling of your underwear rubbing on your skin. it's strange. not unpleasant, but strange. with one last look down your pants at your hair-less pussy, you shrug and crawl into bed.

you think that's the end of it.

you go to sleep easily, waking up about an hour later when sevika crawls in bed behind you. she kisses you gently and you hum, wrapping your arms around her before you both fall asleep.

in the morning, though, you wake up to a horrified gasp.

"what!? what is it, is someone breaking in?" you ask, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. as you pull your hands away, though, you don't find sevika sitting beside you where she should be. she's hovering on top of you on all fours, a horrified look on her face. "sevika, what?!" you ask, your heart pounding in your chest.

"you shaved?!" sevika cries. you blink, your mind still half asleep, before finally looking down at your crotch.

you burst into laughter as you do. sevika's pulled your pants down your thighs in your sleep, clearly trying to give you a nice wake up call, and she's just now seeing your bare cunt. "sevika, for fuck's sake, i thought something horrible happened!" you laugh.

"something horrible has happened! why the fuck did you shave!?" sevika asks, her eyes wide and heartbroken. "d-did i piss you off, or something? whatever it is, baby, i promise i'll make it up to yo--"

"sevika!" you cackle. sevika pouts as she looks up from your pussy to your face. "baby, i shaved because my period's on the way and i didn't wanna deal with the mess again."

sevika's looking at you like you've lost your mind. "wha-- fuck that!" she whines. you chuckle. "what the fuck am i supposed to do when i'm goin' down on you now? my nose is gonna get all cold, i won't have anything to run my fingers through..." sevika looks seriously upset. you giggle just a little at the absurdity of the situation, then reach up to cup her face.

"it'll grow back, baby." you promise. sevika frowns.

"but then you'll just shave it off again!"

"no, i won't babe." you say. "not if you feel this strongly about it. plus, it's a lotta work-- i was scared to death i was gonna cut one of my lips off or something."

sevika chuckles. "thank you." she sighs, kissing your lips. you grin.

"thank you. y'know, most people have to deal with the opposite-- their partners forcin' them to shave before any intimacy at all... i'm glad you prefer the option that requires the least amount of work possible for me."

sevika giggles and kisses you. "i am pretty amazing, aren't i?" she asks. you nod.

"the fuckin' best." you agree.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[thesassypadawan]

Make Them Blue (Will x WifeReader) *Blurb*

Summary: It’s No Nut November and your hubby decided to join a ‘friendly’ office pool with his fellow suits.  Everything was going well until the heating/cooling at work breaks.  Drenched in sweat, his only thought is coming home and taking that long yearned for shower.  Which you are more than happy to give him with your tongue. 

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut.  Sweat kink, one smexy dilf, yummy cinnamony/earthy taste, and…Will’s skilled fat dick.

Notes: Happy No Nut November all you, lovelies! 🤍💙

- You know you’re being obvious, not discreet at all.  Unable to stop staring since he came home from work this evening.  Watching intently at the way his powder blue shirt clings to his perspiring body; rides up to reveal the dewy crease of his hips; how the stains under his arms look so…scrumptious.

- “Come here…”  Will’s skin glistens, appears to shimmer in the soft flickering glow of candlelight.  “I only want a little…”  Eyes focus, tracking a drop of sweat roll from behind his ear; down his throat, his chest.  “Please…”  Splatters onto your cheek; trickles into your eagerly waiting, open mouth.  “Daddy…”

- Drunk off his essence, off his aroma.  Breathy moan escapes you when the familiar salty flavor coats your tongue yet again.  That cinnamony, earthy, distinct masculine scent fills your lungs once more.  A truly intoxicating cocktail, you’ve come to learn and love…crave and need.

- Opening wider, pressing your lips to his jugular.  Sloppily dragging across his pulse point; swirling, tracing the curve of his adam’s apple.  Collecting, enjoying each savory bead.  All the while greedily sucking, leaving pretty pink blotches in your wake.  Accepting each of his… 

- Steadily he thrusts, deep into your inviting warmth.  “Only a little, baby girl?”  Grunting, groaning; low, raspy voice rumbling through your tastebuds…the rest of your pleasure-weakened body. “Seems like a bit…extra than that.”

- “M-Mew,” you squeak happily, meekly.  Continuing to lap blissfully at his flushed flesh; gathering another small mouthful, letting it pool on the tip of your tongue.  “Sorry, didn’t me-mean to go so far…make y-you lose.”  Before hungrily swallowing it all, licking your lips.  Cooing in satisfaction…gaze locked with his.  “Y-you just taste too go-good, can’t hel-help myself.”

- “Don’t…was only a matter of time…until I cracked.”  Using his strength…his weight, Will pins you against the bed.  Driving you further into the soaked sheets; heat enveloping you, washing over.  Desperate moan escapes you, low growl from him.  The force behind those hips increasing, growing erratic; wild, almost feral.  Heavy, full balls slapping wetly against your bottom.  “Can’t keep me out of this perfect pussy…for long.”

- Crashing together, capturing your lips in a messy kiss.  Your legs weakly try to wrap tighter around, hike higher on his damp waist.  Fingers fumble, scramble for perches on his clammy back.  Only to slip, slide in a futile attempt to bring him even closer; to smother and drown yourself in his smell.  Pathetic whine bubbling up from you throat.

- Breaking apart, looming and hovering above.  “What's wrong…wifey?”  He pants, sputters; warm, labored puffs of air fan your face.  “Still want…more?”  While he prods, bruises your poor cervix.  Fat droplets raining onto your chin, neck…between your cleavage.

- Leaning forward, his tongue trails across the swell of your breast.  “Course you do…”  Ascending, sweeping up each bead along the path.  “Always want more of…”  Mixing it with his saliva, creating a tantalizing blend.  “Your hubby’s taste…”

- That he forces into your gaping maw, down your parched throat.  While drenching your trembling, shuddering walls with your third favorite delicacy.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @theoriginalsinner28, @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo, @fredswrite, @anisangeldust, @catachlysmicjedi, @anakinstwinklebunny, @xhunnybeeex

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[alisdarkwrites]

Yan! Oikawa and iwa Drabble <3

Fem pov

Tw: noncon, stalking, yandere behavior/themes, drugging, bullying, implied murder briefly mentioned, they put their cum into the drink (is that a tw?)

A/n: I feel like I talked weird in this but I kinda enjoy it and ahhhhh I’ve been gone so longggggg

Mdni

Everything is under the cut!

Oikawa falling inlove with someone so unpopular and insignificant to him that he can’t help but ask himself why? Why fall for her?

To cope with it Oikawa starts to make fun of her. The way she looks, dresses, acts. Despite the fact that he loves every single one of these things.

When he finds out iwaizumi feels the same way about her he isn’t happy at first. But as their feelings for poor, unsuspecting girl they have a crush on spiral into mad obsession they can’t help but work together.

Oikawa has some of his more insane, deluded fan girls stalk his darling, while iwaizumi takes out the trash. He scares off any potential suitors, whether by threatening them, or a more permanent solution.

Of course this isn’t enough! So oikawa throws a party, inviting everyone including his darling.

It’s perfect!

He has iwaizumi go up to her, acting all nice. Iwaizumi flirts with her a little bit and then offers to get her a drink. Once he goes off he has oikawa get the special little drink they made for her <3

They know it’s terrible, putting a sedative and a tiny bit of their cum into the drink but it’s ok… you’ll forgive them right?

Iwaizumi goes back to you, all kind and sweet, it’s to bad you don’t notice that gleam in his eye.

Once it finally kicks in, he asks if you need some rest. Of course you accept. Iwaizumi would never do anything bad right?

He brings you to oikawa bedroom, gently placing you on the bed. He leaves, locking the door behind him. You can’t help but drift into a deep, deep sleep…

When you wake up you can barely move. It’s hard to open your eyes but when you eventually do you see Oikawa in front of you. He beams at seeing you wake up. You feel someone wrap their forearm around your neck, putting you in a chokehold. You look up and realize it’s Iwaizumi.

You try to escape but your limbs feel so, so heavy. Iwaizumi grabs your arms, holding both of the with only one of his hands, pressing them out against your stomach. That’s when you realize that you were naked.

You started to freak out, begging them to stop and give you your clothes back. But oikawa just laughs and rubs you on the head.

Oikawa removes all of his clothes, gently pressing his cock against your hole. You beg him, beg and beg and beg him to not do this but nothing you say detours him.

He forces himself in

It’s painful, a burning sensation. It hurts before it’s even all the way in. Your telling him that he’s to big, that it hurts, but he just kisses you on the head.

His pace doesn’t make it any better. The second he thinks you’ve had enough time to adjust he pulls out most of the way. You feel relieved for a few seconds before he slams back in.

It goes on for hours, constant begging for it to stop and him mercilessly thrusting into you. Iwaizumi just kisses you, telling you that it’s ok <3

[yizhou-time]

[ 20.08 ] mafia!hongjoong — hurt to comfort (?)

warning/s: mentions of kidnapping, is this a sickfic 😭

rina’s notes: LOOK WE ALL SAW IOMT I COULDNT NOT???? i havent proof read because i dont do that baddies trust their instinct :) also i love writing for hongjoong it's so easy because like omg i love him

“i’m a grown adult, san.” you frown at the man looming over you. he shakes his head and pulls his handkerchief out of his suit pocket. he considers handing it to you but watches you as you cough and moves to wipe your nose for you. “i’m an adult with a cold, you’re doing too much.”

he continues to wipe your nose, even hongjoong walks in. “an adult who was kept in a flooded basement. you wouldn’t be ill if you weren’t put in that situation. a situation that you were put in because of us. stop downplaing everything please.” he puts the handkerchief on your bedside cabinet and strokes your hair before walking out, giving you and your boyfriend some space.

the door softly clicks shut and hongjoong slowly teeters your way. he can’t bare to see you in a hospital bed and knowing it was his fault makes his heart hurt more. “i- you don’t deserve this.” he sits in the chair next to you and waits for you to finish your coughing fit before grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss on the top. he keeps it close to him, resting his forehead on it as he apologises. “i’m so, very, sorry, my love.” he kisses your hand again and continues to whisper apologies.

you take your hand out of his grasp and place it on his cheek. “i’m too ill to be angry and in too much pain to be upset.” he leans into your hand and turns his head to kiss your palm. “finding out about your little business through men who took me off the street wasn’t great but, hey, what can we do.” you laugh quietly, trying to find some comfort in joking however hongjoong being here was much more comforting.

“i promise i was going to tell you, i needed to so you could have someone with you but i didn’t and now-.” he reaches up and pushes hair stuck to your head behind your ear. “in all honesty, i wasn’t sure if we would be able to continue this dance we were doing. my heart wanted to but my head worried about things like this and look what happened.”

you shake your head at him. “you can’t talk about leaving me now.” he watches as tears well up in your eyes. “too much is going on for you to talk about that now, not when we need each other the most. who’s going to cuddle you at night when you’re already too hot? who’s going to bring me jelly when i’m upset?” his stoic face cracks a small smile and you giggle quietly.

“who’s going to be doing all that, huh?” he leans further into your hand and you stroke his cheek, mirroring his smile. you pull away from him and move across the bed to make more room, hongjoong gets the message almost immediately and stands up to join you. he pushes the duvet out of the way and lays down next to you.

he covers himself with the duvet and opens his arms for you to place your head on his chest, you do just that and wrap an arm around him. hongjoong hugs you and kisses the top of your head with a small frown. “let’s hope next time you’re ill it’s because you want to kiss in the rain again.”

his steady heartbeat is enough to lull you into a deep sleep quickly, after all you’ve been very busy these past few days and ending it in your boyfriend’s arms was all you could ask for now. he listens to your somewhat soft breaths and it’s music to his ears. you probably will wake up with a sore throat tomorrow and more sick than you were today but he’d rather you were sick with him than alone in your house or stuck in that basement. once he’s sure you’re down for good he closes his eyes, regardless of how uncomfortable he is all he’s needed the three nights without you is to have you back in his arms.

yeosang, yunho and seonghwa stand outside the small room, watching through the glass window on the door. small smiles fall on their faces as they watch their fierce leader fall into a state of tranquil. it was the calmest they’d ever seen him. they hadn’t seen your more intimate moments, san had been the only one to properly get to know you while the rest had only met you when hongjoong dropped you home or he was being dropped off to meet you. seeing him cuddled up was odd but it was what he deserved.

“his suit’s going to be creased.” yeosang shakes his head, still smiling.

“yeah, but he’ll buy a new one.” yunho looks at his friend then the couple.

seonghwa observes the scene in front of him. everything was right now, they were altogether. “come on, let’s get cleaned up and we can sort through everything tomorrow. i’m sure hongjoong wants to be there for it.”

[meracyn]

hi can you please write a one shot of kwon x fem! reader who has strict parents and one day kwon helps her escape her house to go with him? tysm if you do this!

TRAPPED || kwon jae-sung

a/n: ok guys by tomorrow im gonna be editing these posts and make them actually worth looking at, no lazing off this time 😭 but i like this idea actually. ive heard some songs that would relate to a scenario like this, whoever you are anon, ur a genius fr

The tension in your house was unbearable.

Your parents, being both professionals, always pushed you to meet their expectations. They barely gave you freedom, let alone make your own choices as you grew up.

It felt so suffocating, so tiring. You were so sure you would end up going crazy any day by now.

What kind of parents were so strict they always had to monitor every. single. thing of their child’s life?

Yours.

And that was why you couldn’t wait to escape.

The night was thick with silence, creating a heavy atmosphere. You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling before turning your head to the side, where the window was.

The moon hung low in the sky— a soft, silvery glow adorning the rows of houses underneath. You got up slowly, careful not to wake your parents. The walls were pretty thin, which only made it more difficult for you to have privacy, as they could hear almost every little thing you would do.

As you got closer, you opened it. The cool, chilly air embracing your body as the breeze played with your hair.

Outside your window, the world was silent. The leaves swayed gently on the trees, the streetlights being dim and faint in the distance, barely cutting through the darkness.

You began to think. About your future, your parents, and your boyfriend,

Kwon Jae-Sung.

It seemed impossible to get into a relationship due to your overbearing parents, but you managed somehow, and haven’t gotten caught so far– which made it the perfect reason to leave.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the rush of adrenaline clashing with the quiet serenity of the night. Would it be worth the risk? Leave behind your future, your goals, everything just for some silly romance?

Every step you took felt like glass so fragile, that with one little mistake, would break.

You focused again on the scenery outside, just beyond the houses, staring at the open gate in front of you. So close, yet so far away at the same time.

The night seemed to be endless, full of possibilities—if you just took another step.

And you did.

Cautiously going back to your bed, you picked up your phone, just as you received a new message—it was him.

I’m outside. Can you get out on your own or need help?

Stay there. Your fingers quickly tapped the screen. I can manage

This was it. There was no turning back now.

Grabbing your bag and shoes on, you took a deep breath and began to climb out the window, heartbeat pounding in your ears with each movement you took. You held onto a nearby tree before stepping down, finally touching the ground.

Without bothering to look back, you ran away.

Kwon was standing outside of the car, a smile forming on his face as he noticed you.

“You made it,” He said softly, holding onto your hand as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t know what the hell is going to happen now,” You blurted out, having mixed feelings between anxiety and excitement.

“I told you I’d get you out. ” He whispered, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes. “And I will.”

As you both got in the car, Kwon started the engine, driving away. You looked back at your house one last time.

For the first time in years, you finally felt free.

[hevs-dreamworld]

Iris:

“Hmm, if I had to explain my day in the life. Before I moved in with Nazo and Seelkadoom, I usually got up at around 2-3PM and start doing my skincare and hair. Depending on the day, I’d also use that time to get any shedding scales off my face, arms, and tail. Once done I would get ready for anything I had planned that day. If it’s a day off, I’d go hang around the city and get some tea at my favorite cafe. I can’t say where, because I don’t know who’s around me at the moment. Either that or I’d hang around my friends, or go visit people at the homeless shelters and orphanages. The little ones at the orphanage always have amazing ideas for their home. I just hope I can give enough support to where they can grow up healthy and let their dreams become reality.”

“If it’s a work night? I’d get dressed up for work, let my makeup artist do my makeup as I do vocal warm-ups, and then go perform. Afterwards I go visit with my regulars and then go through all the gifts with my boss, clock out, and go home at around 6:00AM. Get home at around 7-8:00AM, do my skincare, then go to sleep. My skincare schedule fluctuates, but I try not to skip a day.”

“With Nazo and Seelkadoom, it’s pretty much the same, but I wake up later than the other two, and Seelkadoom goes to work with me since we have a similar schedule. However, I noticed that me and the whole group of villains have gotten closer the past couple of months.. I’m glad they’re starting to trust me at least a little bit!”

Nazo:

“I usually get up pretty early to pick up Iris and seelkadoom. They both get off work at around 7:00AM. Whenever Iris goes to bed, me and seelka tend to train for a couple of hours at our gymnasium. It’s small, but it’s proofed to the maximum possible standard for our levels of power. It’s also been recently sound proofed since we’re going to be hosting a lot of events this year. Once done with training and seelka goes to bed, I get into my workings. Get in contact with anyone who sends me out a contract to help with anyone particularly dangerous, check on the event venues I have reserved for the year, quick check on the market to see what’s happening, and then I go do my daily care. If I don’t have any emergency contracts, I tend to take my time and enjoy a glass of tea and read some books about history. If I have no contracts that day, then I spend it with seelka and the others. Otherwise I spend a lot of time reading, drawing, writing, anything to really fill in the time. Although, recently me and seelkadoom have noticed that we’ve been hanging around Iris a lot. Honestly. I’ve been going out a lot more because of her, and it’s helped me get to know her more as a person than just a guest. It feels nice, knowing she’s warming up to us. I mean, even with the weird sleep schedules, we always find a way to spend time together, and I can appreciate that.”

Seelkadoom:

“Much like Iris, I wake up pretty late in the afternoon and do my daily tasks. Chores, checking emails from the office, and checking the work group chat and see what happened when me and Iris are out. I’m telling you, stuff gets quite spicy when we’re not there. Anyways, I usually then get dressed and head out to whatever errands needed to be run. I usually do this with Nazo, but sometimes Iris tags along to get a look at the upper city she hasn’t seen yet. Don’t get me wrong, the lower city is gorgeous, it’s arguably prettier and safer than the upper city. However, the upper city is usually reserved for the ultra wealthy, but it’s also the busiest part of the city due to a lot of the shopping being there. So, it gives her an excuse to explore while we do errands! Once that’s done, I get ready for work and Me and Iris head to the casino!”

——————————

@hunniegl4zed @thebreadmeower @sonic-au-collision

for the characters!! how would u describe ur day to day life??

First question for the characters!!

[striveattemptfail]

maybe it's a little too early (to know if this is gonna work) | Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson, 5.2k, M

@poolverine-week: Day 6 – Sharing Clothes

Summary: Five times Wade steals wears Logan's clothes, and one time Logan wears Wade's suit. Rated for allusions to sex, but nothing explicit. Takes place some time after the movie’s events; assume Logan and Wade are back-up X-Men. Read on Ao3

A/N: Thank you to B @broosepayne for helping out with random details + thank you to @fuckselfloveihatemyself for suggesting "impersonation" for the final scene. Shout out to the Manga Hoes server for listening to me bitch about finishing this fic lol. Un-beta'd and I apologize /o\ Title from You Look Good In My Shirt by Keith Urban—just be grateful I didn't give this fic the exact same name lmaooo

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[ Wardrobe Status: Nothing / Wearing Wade’s Clothes ]

The first morning he wakes up in Wade’s timeline—his new universe—Logan has on nothing but a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of highlighter pink Hello Kitty boxers. He desperately needs something to wear aside from what are basically undergarments because he came into this world with nothing but his X-Men suit.

Or what’s left of it anyway.

Which is why, once he finally gets up from the pull-out bed, he sees Wade trying on the jacket that the TVA gave him after they destroyed the Time Ripper. Wade is in front of the only full-size mirror in the apartment, twisting his body every which way to inspect the jacket.

Then, he catches Logan’s reflection in the mirror.

“Morning, peanut!” he greets, turning around to face him with a smile. “I’m trying this on to see how it fits on me.”

“Uh, yeah. I see that,” Logan says with brows furrowed. “Why?”

“I was thinking about grabbing you some clothes but need a reference for your size.”

“Bub, that jacket is too big even for me.”

“...okay, yeah,” Wade eventually concedes, “but it’s the only thing you own that isn’t shredded to pieces from the Time Ripper.”

Unfortunately, the moron has a point. As it is, the boxers Wade loaned him are a bit tight on his waist, and the collar of the shirt is snug on his neck, but it’s not like Logan’s in any position to complain.

“I have to swing by Target to grab supplies for Dogpool anyway,” Wade continues before making kissy faces at the dog in question. “We need to get you some treats, huh, little missy? Yeah! And then we’ll get honey badger some clothes that actually fit him!”

And, well, it’s not like Logan is keen on stepping outside of this apartment in the brightest colour he’s ever worn in his over 200-year existence. It’s also not like he even has the funds to buy himself a hotdog from the street vendor around the corner, much less purchase anything for a new wardrobe. So if Wade wants to go out and buy some clothes for him, Logan isn’t going to stop him.

He grunts his assent as he makes his way to the kitchen, muttering a gruff Fine as he starts on a cup of coffee.

Later, when Wade leaves for Target, Logan grabs the now tossed aside TVA jacket.

If he happens to take a sniff of it once Wade’s out the door (inhaling the scent of cloyingly sweet body wash, hot sauce, and something Logan is fast recognizing as Wade), it’s simply because he wants to know whether it already stinks after yesterday’s events.

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[ Wardrobe Status: One Load of Staples ]

Luckily for Logan, Peter and Dopinder volunteered to help Wade clothes shop when he went to Target. Apparently, Wade wanted to buy all sorts of brightly coloured cutesy shit—like much of his own clothing, allegedly so the two of them could match—but Peter and Dopinder manage to rein him in and grab a few staples. T-shirts, jeans, sweatpants, boxers, socks, and a pair of shoes that’ll fall apart in about a month if Logan has to guess.

It’s enough for him to survive on until he can buy more clothes, and enough to produce a load of laundry once the day arrives. Luckily, the apartment has a washer-dryer combo in the unit, so he finishes the single, meagre load of clothes he owns in no time. He’s bringing them to the bedroom to put away when he finds Wade already inside, standing there in nothing but the smallest pair of tighty-whities Logan’s ever seen on a man.

“What the fuck,” is all he can say.

“Hey, honey badger!” Wade greets, normal as ever, as if he’s not exposing miles of skin and taut muscle that Logan would love to—

He messily dumps his clothes onto the bed, scowling at Wade.

“Why the fuck are you naked?” he demands.

“Oh, please, I’m hiding all the goods,” Wade brushes him off. He turns back to the heap of clothes on the hamper, presumably to find something that doesn’t smell like wet dog or weeks old nastiness.

Shit. The damn briefs aren’t even large enough to completely cover Wade’s ass, and Logan can see a hint of cheeks peeking through.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Logan rolls his eyes, hoping that his frown hides the conflict inside him.

With a smirk that can only spell trouble, Wade faces him again to thumb at the waistband of his underwear. “Would you rather I take them off?”

Logan growls, averting his gaze to the small mound of clothes he has to put away. He angrily starts folding things, breath coming out in huffs that he hopes convey annoyance.

“Jeez, who pissed in your coffee this morning, kitty cat?” Wade complains, letting go of the waistband. “It’s not like I’m rubbing one out in front of you.”

“Shut the fuck up, bub,” Logan spits, throwing down another folded shirt.

The problem—like most things—is because of Wade.

It’s hard enough to share any amount of space with him, much less sleep in the same bed together every night, and Logan’s only a man. He might be too proud to admit it out loud (especially to a blabber mouth like Wade), but god fucking damnit somehow the fucker’s gotten under his skin. He makes Logan crave for more than innocently spooning in the early hours of the morning, want more than stolen glances when he thinks Wade isn’t looking.

It doesn’t help that Wade flirts with him constantly. People used to chastise Logan for how aggressively he pursued Jean back in the day. Now, he knows it’s nothing compared to the constant boner Wade has towards anything that speaks to him.

Logan needs to stop this train of thought—thinking about Wade’s boner is only going encourage his own.

“So, why are you naked?” he asks, probably angrier than acceptable for a conversation like this but, fuck, does Wade bring out the asshole in him.

“Technically, I’m not—”

“Fine, almost naked, you annoying prick.”

He looks up to find Wade with narrowed eyes, shooting him a dubious look that can only say, Are you serious?

“Obviooouslyyy,” he drawls out, rifling through the hamper again, “I thought I had more clothes left.”

Logan looks at the mountain Wade’s digging through. “Wait, you’re completely out of clean clothes? How the fuck did that happen?”

“I don’t know!” Wade throws his hands up in exasperation. “Ask the author!”

“I have no idea what that means,” he admits. “Anyway, why are you only in underwear?”

“What? You want me to steal some of Blind Al’s shit?” Wade pauses then, clearly mulling it over. “Actually, now that I think about it, her tracksuits would look great on me. They’d fit like baby clothes on a high schooler but it could be like a Y2K revival. Juicy Couture à la Wade. I’d smell like mothballs and old lady all day but it’d be worth it, I think!” He ends the rambling with a toothy grin.

Logan doesn’t dignify that with a response. He scrubs a hand over his face with a sigh.

“Just... put on some damn clothes, bub.”

“Fine.”

Wade—probably in an attempt to piss him the fuck off, as usual—stares at him with a piercing gaze, maintaining eye contact with Logan as he grabs a white t-shirt from the folded pile and slides it on.

Logan just glares at him, jaw clenching tight.

The worst part is that he’s not even mad that Wade’s grabbing shit that he just folded. For some fucking reason, there’s a small but very loud part of Logan deeply satisfied to see Wade in his clothes again. He hasn’t worn anything of Logan’s since trying on the TVA jacket that first day home, but seeing him in one of Logan’s tees is apparently doing something for him.

Wade spins in place, and Logan notices that the hem of the t-shirt barely covers Wade’s crotch, skims the peak of Wade’s pert ass. Once he faces Logan again, he pinches the sides of the shirt like he’s holding a skirt, dipping into a small curtsy.

“Is that better, oh, prudent majesty?” he taunts.

Logan finally snaps.

Before he’s even conscious of it, he’s striding over to where Wade is still staring at him, his expression turning confused though still playful.

“Woah, big boy, I didn’t think you’d be that pissed—”

Logan grabs his face and cuts him off with a kiss, Wade making a surprised noise against his mouth before finally kissing back. Even though Logan is leading, Wade still gives as good as gets, his tongue darting into the cavern of Logan’s mouth when he gasps for air. He’s not sure how long they suck face for, but when Logan finally pulls away, a satisfied noise rumbles through his chest at Wade’s stunned but amused face.

“Finally got you to shut up,” Logan teases, words coming out shallow and thin.

“Oh, it’ll take a lot more than that, old man,” Wade quips back, and another purr builds in Logan’s chest when he hears the gravel in Wade’s voice. Wade throws his arms over Logan’s shoulders and crashes their lips together again.

Neither of their laundry gets finished for a long while after that, both of them too caught up in seeking pleasure from each other. Most of Logan’s freshly laundered clothes lie wrinkled on the bed for hours until he remembers to put them away. Wade doesn’t even start on his own laundry until Logan tells him that Althea would definitely kick his ass if he wore her stuff.

But he continues wearing Logan’s shirt until his own clothes are finally clean, so Logan can’t complain at all.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Half Complete + A New Suit ]

They’re suiting up for an X-Men mission when Wade snatches the Wolverine cowl before Logan can put it on. He’s still in the middle of zipping up when he spots Wade grabbing it out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t even need to turn around to know that the dipshit’s already wearing it.

“Give it back,” he says absentmindedly, buckling in the last straps of his suit.

He turns around and shoots Wade a flat look, correct in his assumption that Wade put it on. Typical Wade, he’s wearing his Deadpool mask underneath the Wolverine cowl.

“How do I look?” Wade asks, voice lilting with anticipation.

He looks like someone threw up primary colours on his head and decided to call it a mask.

“You look like someone threw up primary colours on your head and decided to call it a mask.”

Wade gasps, clearly offended. “Rude!”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Just hand me my fuckin’ cowl, bub.”

“Mmmmm, no.”

He never makes shit easy. Logan can only sigh.

“Wade, we gotta leave for the mission brief,” Logan reminds him. They’re about to leave on time for once, and that never happens. “Gimme my goddamn cowl.”

Wade ignores him, as he often does, sauntering over to Logan with a sway in his hips, and Logan quirks a brow at him. He knows what that walk means, and suddenly heading to the X-Mansion for a mission is becoming the last thing on his mind.

Wade drapes his arms over Logan’s shoulders, and Logan automatically places his hands on Wade’s hips. Even beneath both masks, Logan can tell that Wade is waggling his non-existent eyebrows at him once they’re pressed close together. “Wanna inspect the wind resistance on these blowjob handles yourself, peanut?”

Logan snorts. “No, because I don’t wanna see my own mask sucking my dick.”

“Aww,” Wade whines, and Logan can hear the pout in his voice even if he can’t see it, “you’re no fun!”

“‘Sides,” Logan murmurs in his ear, low and sultry, as he pulls Wade closer, “I like seeing your face when we’re together, bub.”

He moves a hand from Wade’s waist to slightly lift his Deadpool mask at the collar. He then ducks his face into the curve where Wade’s neck meets shoulder, mouthing at the now exposed skin there. He smirks when he feels the catch in Wade’s throat.

“I thought we had to leave for the mission brief?” Wade mocks, but it comes out breathy and very pleased by the turn of events.

Logan hums mischievously, nipping at Wade’s neck. “Don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Cool cool cool,” Wade babbles, body pressing against Logan’s, all hot and eager. “I just—oh, fuck, honey badger—I was just thinking—”

“If yer thinking, then I ain’t doin’ this right,” he grumbles, words starting to slur together because there’s something else he’d much rather be doing with his mouth. The hand he still has on Wade’s waist travels to his crotch. Wade bucks his hips into Logan’s open palm with a husky groan, already half-hard.

“You’re doing everything so, so right,” Wade gasps, hips rutting into his grip. “It’s just—ngh—you better be the one taking off this suit, because I did not spend five whole minutes and half a thing of baby powder squeezing my ass into it just to—oh, shit!—strip it off again.”

With a final lick to his pulse point, Logan pulls away just enough to look at Wade. He smirks at the way Wade is panting, puffs of breath hitting his face in needy bursts despite the fabric covering Wade’s mouth.

“I gotta take off your clothes?” he confirms. Wade nods jerkily. “S’not a problem with me.”

And he drops to his knees, unbuckling Wade’s utility belt to do just that.

They do eventually get to the X-Mansion—just 30 minutes late, and they completely miss the briefing. Colossus looks at both of them in disappointment when he relays the abridged version of the mission objectives while they fly to their destination on the X-Jet. Frankly, Logan only half listens to the giant, completely unapologetic in his lack of focus. Being distracted is well worth it as he mulls over the events of the past hour.

Because Logan discovers that, while he might not get off on seeing his own cowl blowing him, he doesn’t mind when he’s on his knees looking up to see it thrown back in pleasure.

At least as long as Wade’s the one wearing it.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Signature Items Acquired ]

The next time they leave together, it’s to meet Vanessa and Dermot for bowling. Logan’s ready before Wade is, waiting in the living room because apparently how long it takes Wade to decide on an outfit completely depends on how he’s feeling.

Thankfully, today isn’t too awful. He’d only worn the Deadpool mask in the morning because he, quote, “felt like skewered chicken intestines,” and nearly cancelled on bowling altogether. But after an orgasm from Logan and cuddling from Mary Puppins, his mood had turned around.

All of which means that Wade is now in a mad dash pulling an outfit together. Logan knows better than to try and help him or force him to hurry up, so he’s left on the couch quietly grumbling to Mary about how he thinks Wade looks good in basically everything he wears.

He’s proven absolutely right when Wade finally steps out of the bedroom. Logan barely registers the full outfit because he’s completely focused on one item.

“How do I look?” Wade asks with a sly grin, walking over to the mirror to inspect himself. He twirls in front of his reflection while smoothing down the leather of the jacket he’s wearing.

Logan’s jacket.

He’s unable to put words together with the way his brain is currently short-circuiting. He grunts in response anyway, knowing that Wade will keep talking even if he doesn’t reply verbally.

He’s proven right yet again because Wade continues without missing a beat. “You think I should switch styles? Give yours back and get my own? Jackets aren’t really my thing though... Oh! What if I got a cape instead? It’d help for ‘no capes’ AUs to actually shed a cape, huh? Has there ever been a DP with a cape? I don’t remember seeing one when we fought the Corps.”

He hums a contemplative sound as Logan stands up from the couch, making his way over to Wade.

“Maybe I need to test trial this,” he continues to ramble, “maybe I can borrow Cable’s shawl-cape thing!”

Even Logan is surprised when he immediately interrupts Wade’s babbling with a stern: “No.”

Wade’s eyes snap to his, confused by the sudden harshness and increased volume in his tone. He makes a questioning noise and shoots Logan a displeased look.

Remembering that Wade will only ramp up how annoying he is if Logan bosses him around, he shakes his head and tries again. “I mean, just—you can, uh, keep mine.”

He clears his throat, eyes darting away to take in how the jacket fits on Wade. It’s a little loose on him, a little too broad because Logan’s chest is a bit wider than his, but it sits well on his frame nonetheless. After awkwardly patting Wade on the shoulder, Logan’s hand slides to Wade’s bicep, then down to cuff where Logan thumbs at the leather there. His fingers bump Wade’s hand and he feels electrified by the touch.

When their eyes meet again, Logan’s relieved to find Wade’s face as red as his own cheeks feel. He’s not entirely sure who leans in first but their lips meet halfway. The kiss isn’t demanding or dirty, neither of them trying to turn it into something that would lead to sex for once. It’s different from when they usually make out, just soft and lingering, and Wade gasps when Logan’s tongue gently licks at the seam of his lips.

At some point, they wrap their arms around each other, because when they finally part for air Wade’s cupping Logan’s jaw and his hands are on the small of Wade’s back.

He eventually grumbles out, “Keep it, it suits you.”

“Oh.”

It takes a moment for Wade to shake the dazed look off his face, but he recovers by flashing Logan a knowing grin. Logan rolls his eyes fondly.

Of course, the little shit did it on purpose. He should’ve known the moment Wade stepped out with that giant smile.

Afterwards, when they finally meet with Vanessa and Dermot at the bowling alley, Vanessa’s smirk and raised eyebrow are well worth it because Wade keeps the jacket on.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Full Closet ]

Logan’s been gone for almost a month because of an extended X-Men mission. Between stakeouts, recon, strategizing, and actually nabbing the bad guy, it’s the longest he’s been away since Wade and Althea’s apartment became his home.

He walks in and unceremoniously dumps his duffle bag and the rest of shit by his shoes, throwing his keys on the sidetable by the door. Despite it being well into the afternoon, the apartment is surprisingly quiet. He figures Althea is out for “bingo” (likely a coke exchange) but Wade and Mary Puppins’ lack of noise makes him suspicious.

Until he hears the snoring.

He pads over to the pull-out bed to find Wade and Mary napping together. Wade’s curled around her, snoring with his face buried in her very sparse amount of fur, and Mary’s tongue sticks out as she huffs out quiet, little snuffles of her own.

But what catches Logan’s attention is Wade wearing one of his flannels.

It’s one of the thickest he owns, made for colder weather and blistery autumn breezes, a dusty yellow and blue with snap buttons. It’s large on him—like everything else Logan owns whenever Wade wears his clothes—but this particular flannel is loose on Logan, so the fabric almost drowns Wade in a pattern of faded checks.

And like every time the moron steals his crap to wear, Logan’s stomach flips in a way he can no longer ignore.

He’s not sure if they’re exclusive or not. They fall into bed together as easily as they fight side-by-side on missions. But it’s impossible for Logan to tell if Wade is serious about half the flirtations streaming out of his mouth when the idiot’s easy affection gets directed at anyone that looks at him twice.

And as much as he’s loathe to admit it, Logan wants so much more than that. He wants Wade’s lingering looks to mean something other than platonic nothings. He wants the softer kisses they share to be more than a break from sex. He wants Wade to need him the way Logan needs him. Hell, he wants Wade to annoy him in ways that Wade would never bother anyone else, because at least then Logan would know that he means something different to the motherfucker, something more than a roommate he hooks up with.

He wants just Wade, all of him, full stop.

He gingerly sits on the mattress, trying not to jostle the two napping Deadpools too much with his weight, and he reaches over to gently stroke Wade’s cheek with a thumb. Feeling emboldened when Wade doesn’t stir, he leans down to press his lips onto Wade’s forehead.

“Well, g’morning to y’too, honey badger,” Wade slurs at him, voice thick with sleep.

Logan abruptly jerks away, eyes wide, and the movement is enough to jostle Mary Puppins from her slumber. She hops off to nap in her own bed after a grumpy growl, leaving Wade alone on the mattress. He attempts to swallow the sudden lump in his throat before clearing it with a cough.

“S’four in the afternoon,” Logan mumbles. Pinching his lips into a flat line, he awkwardly sits next to Wade rustling around in the sheets. His eyes catch the flannel falling open to reveal that Wade is also wearing one of his tank tops.

Logan takes a deep, stuttering breath.

Eyes still closed, Wade blindly flaps his hand around until finding purchase on Logan’s shirt. He tugs Logan back down, and Logan curls over to kiss him softly.

“Welcome home, peanut,” Wade breathes onto his lips. “Missed you.”

He touches his nose to Wade’s. “Missed ya too, bub.”

Wade’s face splits into a slow, easy grin, pulling Logan into laying down. Logan follows him without a thought, gathering Wade into his arms.

“You’re wearin’ my clothes again,” he whispers.

Wade hums, nuzzling into his chest. “S’cold, and it smells like you.”

A pleased purr escapes Logan before he has a chance to stop it, and Wade giggles at him, kissing his collarbone before falling right back to sleep.

They don’t talk about what they are after that, but it’s at that moment when Logan finally realizes that maybe, somehow, Wade feels the same way about him too.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Wearing Wade’s Clothes (Again) ]

The TVA brings them in because they need help with some lady going after Deadpool variants. It would be a fruitless endeavour since Deadpools can’t die (well, except Nicepool) if it weren’t for the fact that the fucker apparently stole a weapon that disintegrates things to oblivion.

“Shouldn’t the law of physics stop that from happening?” Wade asks, gesturing at the screen when B-15 presents the mission to them. “‘Matter can’t be created or destroyed’ or something like that?”

“That’s energy, idiot,” Logan corrects him.

Wade just shrugs. “Hey, don’t blame me for failing physics twice!”

He turns to Wade with a confused grimace. “Who else would I blame then?”

“The teachers, duh!”

“Anyway,” B-15 interrupts, hitting a button to show another slide, “this variant’s got a fascination for destroying the indestructible, but she’s going after Deadpools because she has tritanopia, or blue-yellow colour blindness. She can see shades of red the easiest, hence, sticking with Deadpools as her target.”

“That’s so stupid,” Wade says and Logan can only agree. “There are, like, dozens immortal superheroes in red and she chooses li’l ole me? Seems like the writer copping out of coming up with a better plot, I-M-O.”

“We also believe Mary was double-crossed by the Deadpool in her timeline, giving further motive to go after his variants.”

“Hmph! Now isn’t that just convenient?” He crosses his arms. “Wait, ‘Mary’?”

“Yes.” B-15 shows another slide, this one a close-up of the woman—Mary’s—face. “She’s a Typhoid Mary variant. Have either of you encountered her before?”

“Not in my world,” Logan answers.

“I admittedly did not keep up with Netflix’s Daredevil long enough to meet Bloody Mary, no,” Wade says.

B-15 presents them with further details: Typhoid Mary’s known abilities and weaknesses; how she has dissociative identity disorder on top of her colour blindness; how she managed to acquire the worst weapon available from the arms dealers she was supposed to take down; how her alter apparently took over and decided to go after invincible mutants until she finally got even with her world’s Deadpool. The TVA did try to intervene, but she ended up killing every agent that went after her before stealing one of their TemPads and consequently going on her multiversal manhunt. B-15 makes it absolutely clear how imperative it is that they do not kill Mary or destroy the weapon so the TVA can keep them both under tabs.

Then, she reveals the TVA’s plan to capture her: They want Logan to pose as a Deadpool variant in the timeline they believe she’s going to strike next. Typhoid Mary’s current M.O. doesn’t account for superstrength so he should be able to break out of anything she traps him in. Meanwhile, Wade will be in the shadows, using a tranquillizer gun to incapacitate her once she’s busy with Logan.

Logan groans internally while Wade claps his hands in delight.

“Ooh!” he practically squeals, patting Logan on the shoulder with unrestrained excitement. “Finally, it’s my turn on the other side of this trope!”

B-15 shakes her head and sends them on their way.

The suit the TVA provides him fits perfectly, and he notes Wade’s heated, lingering gaze on him once he steps out of the dressing room. Luckily, another agent gets them through a portal before Wade starts on a tirade that would no doubt be filled with inappropriate innuendoes about Logan.

The mission is executed almost laughably easy. Typhoid Mary’s telekinetic and telepathic abilities are so low-level Logan’s shocked that the others she went after were able to be taken down so quickly.

(“Plot armour, peanut,” Wade said when Logan had asked B-15 about this. “She needed to last long enough to meet us!” As usual, Logan had chosen to ignore him.)

Like the TVA discovered, she lures Deadpools by spreading rumours he can’t ignore, adding a honeypot stash filled with weapons he loves. Geared up in Wade’s suit, Logan “falls” for her trap: entering an abandoned warehouse meant to shelter an upcoming gang targeting Deadpool, but secretly only houses her. Once Logan finds the crate of weapons meant to entice Wade, Typhoid Mary wastes no time in capturing him. She points a giant ray-gun of sorts at his face after wrapping him in the warehouse’s chains with her telekinesis.

He feels the faintest compulsion to stay still, which is probably her telepathy trying to subdue him. But she’s nowhere near the level of other telepaths Logan’s encountered, like Jean or Cassandra Nova, and the compulsion is easy to ignore. The chains are slightly harder to deal with in comparison, but he’s certain he can get out of them without too much trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Wade moving into place.

During Logan’s silent assessment of the situation, Typhoid Mary apparently began monologuing. He doesn’t let her get a chance to finish though, breaking out of the bonds around his torso with sheer force and grunting at the exertion. He slices the chains around his ankles with his claws, the metal cutting like butter against the adamantium.

“What?!” she screams. “A Wolverine-Deadpool variant? How?!”

Logan doesn’t even open his mouth for a reply because Wade shoots a tranq dart in her neck. She falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Wooh! No scope oneshot K/O, baby!” he hollers, skipping over to pick up the weapon Typhoid Mary dropped. “God, I’d love to take this home with us,” he bemoans as he assesses it, “I can finally stick it to Cable and show off my own badass, futuristic gun!”

“That won’t be necessary,” B-15 announces, suddenly next to them. A group of armed TVA agents begin to file in from the portal behind her, a few of them attempting to grab the weapon from Wade while others lift Typhoid Mary away for custody.

The aftermath of the mission would be just as easy if isn’t for Wade bitching about giving up the gun. After B-15 debriefs them, she and Logan spend entirely too long demanding that Wade hand it to her.

“I’ll give it back if we can keep this suit for pookie here,” Wade eventually offers, pointing at Logan.

“What?” Logan asks. The suit’s not bad but he has no reason to wear it again once he takes it off. “Why—?”

“Deal,” B-15 immediately agrees.

Wade begrudgingly relinquishes the gun, giving it a flying kiss goodbye before taking Logan’s hand. B-15 opens a portal to their apartment and guides them through. “Thanks for the help, gentlemen!” she says, waving a hand at them. They both wave back, and the portal closes.

Logan looks down at the Deadpool suit he’s still wearing. “Why the hell did you want—mmph!”

His lips are suddenly bombarded with hot kisses, and he growls when Wade opens his mouth his tongue. He didn’t even notice that Wade took off his mask.

“God, you look so fucking good in my colours,” Wade moans, hands roaming all over Logan’s body. “Is this how you feel whenever I wear your things?” Logan makes a noise of assent, too busy mouthing at Wade’s jaw to give a proper answer. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Logan starts moving them towards the bed—Christ, he hopes Althea is gone because there’s no way he’s stopping what Wade’s started. His cock is already taking interest, and only gets harder when Logan bumps his hips into Wade’s. They tumble onto the pull-out in a feverish heat with Logan straddling Wade’s thighs.

He’s licking at Wade’s pulse when the dumbass gasps, “Oh my god, I’m gonna fuck a variant of myself.”

Used to Wade’s non-stop yammering even during sex, Logan mindlessly replies, “‘S still me, bub, I ain’t a variant of you.” Foolishly, he adds, “Besides, that’d be weird.”

“What? Why?”

With Wade groping his ass, Logan actually has to pause getting his hands under Wade’s suit to think about an answer.

He finally lands on: “It’d be like fucking your own clone.”

Wade actually stops everything he’s doing—hands no longer kneading his cheeks, mouth pulling away from him. Logan groans, knowing his brought this on himself, and dips his forehead to rest on Wade’s shoulder.

“What? You wouldn’t?”

“No, because that’s weird.”

“I’d fuck my clone.”

“Course you would.”

“T-B-H, I’m so pro-clone fucking I’d just have an orgy with all of them. Who’d be better to fuck me than me, right?”

This, by far, is one of—if not the—stupidest conversation Logan’s ever had with a person. Somehow, his dick doesn’t flag, and he’s still irrevocably fond of Wade’s random chatter. He kisses Wade before he can start on another tangent, cupping his perfect idiot’s face softly.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, but knowing the smile he’s got on, Wade isn’t going to listen to him.

Wade’s answering smirk is a challenge. “Make me, peanut.”

——————————————

(More notes on Ao3.)

[n0tamused]

Do you have any Avenchurin headcanons please, anything you got to feed us?

A/n: I have some unreleased hcs that I wrote some time ago for a friend that I hope you enjoy!

Contents: Aventurine x GN! Reader, fluff, sleeping hcs, hand holding hcs, his reaction to different forms of affection from you, all sfw

Sleeping

-Aventurine and cuddling are something that somehow occurs rarely, yet they go hand in hand so well 

- The man needs comfort more than so many others it's undeniable, and once he warms up to you he really does crave that physical touch and affection a lot more openly. He needs it more and more until he's all but crawling into you, slotting himself between your arms without a word in silent worry you might not accept him

- But you do and when that settles in his mind he really clings on. He wraps his arms around you and does not let go, nuzzling into you, your neck, your hair, your chest, your back, all depending on your positions and preferences at the moment 

- His favorite position would be something face to face, or rather front to front as he does like to nuzzle into your neck a lot so it's not really eye to eye lol

- He prefers hugging you from the back and cuddling like that when he doesn't really want to face you if he's got something troubling him and he just wants to feel as if he's enough to hold you. Just some little trick he plays with himself ig

- loves when you run your fingers through his hair, and often falls asleep like that, his hold on you slowly growing looser as he slips into slumber

-He has a tendency to seek you out in his sleep at times, he just needs to feel your warmth, especially when the days get rougher and days become darker. You’ll just randomly wake up with his head on your chest or his hand holding yours.

-Aventurine and sleep can vary from time to time and depending on the activities during the day really. He isn’t exactly constant with his sleep schedule. So if he’s had a long, tiring  and busy day he would sleep for longer and go to bed earlier, with his mornings consisting of a few “five more minutes please” if you try to wake him up. His work time doesn’t start too early anyway, so please don’t wake him (his words, not mine)(wake him up)(he needs to get to work-)

- On the other side, if he didn’t have much to do during the day or the activities were more on the satisfying end for him, he does tend to have some form of late night “zoomies” and doesn’t go to bed until at least 1am. It’s not like he is jumping around the house and bouncing off of walls, but he is still talkative, a big chatterbox, and could definitely use a walk to blow some energy off before finally deeming himself tired enough to attempt falling asleep. Playing card games with him also is a nice way to unwind, even if you're too tired to speak, Aventurine will talk for the both of you.

-However, sometimes he stays up for another reason, and that being his own emotional state that comes back to bite him in the rear just when he thinks he has forgotten enough about it, but ignoring it only postpones the issue. Staring at the bedroom ceiling until the early hours of the morning and with his head clouded with thoughts, he tends to just …exist.. Sometimes he cries, sometimes he feels he’s too numb to even do that. Either way, his sleep is fucked wholly in this scenario, and he has half the thought to take a sick day for himself

-As for bed sharing and cuddles - Aventurine doesn’t mind sharing in the slightest, if anything it can be quite comforting. He only makes an exception to this rule when either one of you needs privacy and some time to yourselves. He doesn’t really care if you happen to steal his blanket either. Take it, he’s used to sleeping however and can sleep in most positions, warm or cold. In terms of positions - he doesn’t have a favorite

-As for cuddles, in the start of your relationship he likes to fall asleep solo, with you there if you’re already sharing the bed, but he will crawl to you, be it due to his dreams or in some half asleep- half awake faze in the middle of the night

-He goes for either his head on your chest or in your neck or spooning, can be quite the big cuddler as you grow even closer

Hand holding

- He has gloves on a lot of times but when he goes to hold your hand he does stop to take a glove off, he really does prefer skin on skin contact and, although a minute detail in day to day life, he appreciates it a lot

- If you two are walking he does prefer to hold your hand in a way where your fingers interlock together, just feels so safe and warm and y'all can drag eachother around comfortably and it also shows a side of Aven he often hides. 

- side note(?): Aventurine would love to just pretend for a day or two. And by that I mean he'd love to take you to a planet where both of you are just two nobodies with no names, and he'd love to change out of his signature attire and just be a nobody with you, enjoying the small "meaningless" things with you on this unknown world. In short- being human with you is his fantasy, a dream

- back on track- he prefers if you hold his right hand since he doesn't want you to feel his left one shaking when he's afraid/nervous (if I got the order wrong, don't mind me, just flip em around)

- but if you insist on holding his left arm, he prefers if you hold him by the elbow a lot of times instead of going for your usual interlocked fingers

- if you insist further, he sighs softly as you hold his shaky hand and he internally melts too, occasionally. It does comfort him when you caress that hand or play with his fingers or the rings he wears on them. It gives him something else to focus on and it brings the cacophony in his mind down

Reactions to different ways of affection

- Aventurine has a rather similar reaction to most displays of affection but that doesn't mean they're any less genuine, and there's always a small variation in the way his eyes light up or how big his smile is - it's just that an ordinary person wouldn't quite catch these variations 

-Sometimes, if you manage to catch his reactions on camera they can be quite the precious keepsakes

- How Aventurine melts into the palm of your hand when you cups his cheek, leaning some of his weight into it like an oversized cat and looking at you with shimmering, colorful eyes that just scream "oh how much I love you", his cheeks dusted with faintest of reds

- How Aventurine chuckles, laughs, when you give him a kiss on the cheek or on his temple without any warning sign you'd do anything like that. His hand scratches back at his nape as he waves it off but teases you simultaneously. How could you ever miss the sheen of want in his eyes, the way they glaze over and look at you for the rest of the evening in silent admiration

- Most favorite of all, and especially during the night, Aventurine loves the feel of your fingers through his hair. He looks and feels calmer, he feels human and he feels seen. He feels all his sins and worries melt from his body to get soaked by the mattress beneath him. And he hums shortly, low in his throat as he slowly feels sleep cloud his mind like heavy, comforting mist. And he has the most important person in his life in his hold... he's holding the whole world in his arms tonight.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[icarusredwings]

Trying something new, be kind.

Baby talk. 1/2

Ft. Wo-wo, mama, and 'essy

A Sfw very little Wade fic

Cws include: Brief mentions of adult fun, truama, brief discussion of death, an unexperienced caregiver, an uncomfortable caregiver, cursing, struggles/ happy ending.

Coming home, Wade was quiet. Too quiet.

"Wade?" He calls.

"Last time I heard him he came to hug me for a bit but he didn't awnser me when I asked what he was doing." Al mutters, half asleep on the couch.

"Oh.. well I got food so don't nod off just yet. I'm gonna make that alfredo stuff you like."

"Mmh.. You're a good kid, Logan."

"Althea, I'm older than you...Remember?" He says, setting down the bag of ingredients in the kitchen.

The old woman waves her hand. "Yeah yeah... just wake me up when you're done."

"Alright. Swear you'll wake up? Don't go dying on our couch." He tells her jokingly.

"Bah! It's my couch, I can die on it if I want too." She smiles, pulling the blanket up a bit.

Sometimes she did this, and it was starting to worry Logan. She was forgetting little things more, taking more naps, not wanting to move a lot either. Something about her back? Either way, Logan was terrified. He's already lost so many to old age, he didn't want to see her go too. And thinking about what it would do to Wade scared him more.

It's not until he checks the bedroom to see Wade W sitting, sucking his thumb, and playing house with his action figures and the doll house that Vanessa bought him a couple of years ago.

"Darlin'?"

From the looks of it, he had Spiderman in the kitchen, an old woman on the couch, a doggy on the couch, two little girls upstairs, a barbie in the tub (that didn't fit at all) and a wolverine action figure in the bed, claws up and out.

It took him a second to process before smiling softly. He hasn't been this small in such a long time. "Did I have a nightmare?" He asks, watching as Wade takes the wolvie out of the bed, reaching up as if showing him.

"Yeah, I see. Mad little guy, isn't he?" Logan crouches, grunting a bit as his knees popped.

"God, how do you get down here? Dosn't that hurt your knees?" Logan asks, only to be given a dead stare. As if not processing what he was saying.

"Oh.. uhm.. these?" He pats his knees. "Ouches. Sometimes.."

His eyes light up, only to frown, looking concerned, his own hands coming to his knees. "...ow?"

"Sometimes... hey so... how big are you right now? Can you tell me?"

But there was that stare again, a small tilt of his head with such wide white eyes. Yeah.. that just about tells him everything he needs to know. Vanessa has told him about when this first started and how truely little he had become, not talking much, simply....staring.

"Well.. Kitty's going to make dinner soon. How about you come out and sit in the living room, okay? So I can see you?"

Another stare, his head tilting to the other side now, like a puppy watching its owner do something it had no concept of.

"Uh-huh.... right. Uhm... nevermind. Just stay in here, okay?" Standing again is when Wade begins to panic, making an urgent whine, putting his arms up. "MmMmh!!"

Blinking, Logan swallows, not exactly comfortable with this age. This was Vanessa's age. Not his. He was used to the 5 year old wanting to play stuffies or the smart alack 8 year old who ranted to him for hours about stars, planets, and dinosaurs.

So this was.. weird. New. Unexplored territory. And Honestly, he was fine with that. Totally fine with not knowing.

"Er...I-i don't.. this isn't-" He starts, having a subconsious guilty feeling in his gut for not wanting to take care of him, but also felt like he shouldn't be interacting with him. I mean- They did big adult things last night. And now he was giving him grabby hands? It felt wrong. And with Wade's truama? He didn't want to make it worse on accident.

"Ups?"

"N-no.. Wade.. I-...Im gonna go call Vanessa. Okay?"

"... 'essy?"

"Y-yeah. 'Essy. Erm.. thats ness right?"

" 'essy?"

Swallowing, he nods, leaving the room with his hairs pricked up on the back of his neck, a knot in his stoamch. Taking a deep breath, he dialed the poor woman twice. The phone range through to voice mail both times. "Shit- okay.. fuck.. uhm.."

So he goes to google, trying his best to look for awnsers only to become more disgusted with himself at what he saw. Why was there so much- He groans, trying to calm himself. He couldn't even ask Althea because she was sleeping, snoring away.

Okay. Come on, Howlett. It can't be this hard.. right? I mean, it's just like a regular ki- Oh come on! He's never had a kid this little before! Especially not alone. What was he supposed to do?

Another deep breath, feeling defeated, and put his face in his hands. A buzz comes from the phone, and just as he looks at it, it was like signing his own death certificate.

'Sorry, I'm working. Whats up?'

"When he was really young what did you do to him?"

'???'

"He's really little right now. What do I do?" He asks, trying to type coherently.

'Oooh okay. So ussually I would give him a cup and put on a movie. He was really cuddly too so sometimes I would just hold him.'

Before Logan could respond again, she sent another message saying she had to get back to work and that it will be fine. 'It's easy, don't worry' She said but Logan had his doubts.

Alright. Movies.. cups.. hugs. Got it. He could do that. He could do hugs and cups. That was normal.

Sighing, he puts the phone away, going to the kitchen as he made him his cup, just putting straight milk into it. He liked milk right?? Did tots like milk? Yeah- obviously. Come on- get it together.

Walking into the livingroom, Logan sets it down, going through movies as he remembered what Vanessa told him before, about singing princess movies. "Ariel it is" he thinks, clicking it on and shifted the coffee table so he would have room to lay or play- what ever it was he did.

Coming back to the room, he gathers up some blankets and his stuffies, taking them from the room only to drop them all infront of the tv.

"Wade!" He calls. "Got a cup for ya! And look its a princess. You like princesses." He says, but he doesn't come.

"Wade? Come on, Bub! I gotta make dinner still." This last part was under his breath, only to grunt, going into the room only to see him sitting in the same spot.

"What are you doing? Come on. Livingroom with mama. Lets go." He shifts, gestruing his arms to the door but Wade didn't move, infact the loud words made him frown more, looking at him with those big wide eyes, a deer in headlights.

Logan took a step forward, watching Wade lower his head, holding his small angry Wolverine near his chest, like he would take it away.

This is what Logan was worried about. Great! Now he was scared of him. How was he supposed to care for someone who was too scared to move?

Think, Logan. This isn't hard. Just carry him.

Grunting, he hesitantly puts his arms out, leaning over. "...come'ere."

Another head tilt, making him groan, slightly annoyed. "Wade. Uppies. Come on, kiddo."

Instantly, he smiles, crawling quickly to his legs and put his hands back up, still keeping mad wolvie in one hand.

Picking him up, a shiver went down his spine, suddenly feeling a sense of severe protection after Wade wrapped his arms around his neck, affectionatly nuzzling into his neck with a big smile.

Unconsciously, he hugged him tightly, holding his bum and rubbing his back. "...Hi honey."

Wait. What was he doing? no. No. No. No. NO.

He couldn't feel that way about him. Absolutely no way. That was wrong. Fucking instincts! Not everthing adorable is your kid damn it!

Shaking his head, he quickly walks to the livingroom, putting him down.

"Now. You stay. Sit and watch princess." He says, pointing at the Tv and shaking his head, watching as Wade whimpered, giving him grabby hands again.

"No, Wade. L-later..." He swallows, wanting to punch himself for feeling that way. He had hugged him the same way Gabby did after a long time of seeing him, and it had activated his instinctual parental habits.

Quickly, he walks away to the kitchen, rubbing his temples. "I can't do this shit.." he grumbles.

[ultimate-shipper-trash-blog]

Pt 2. Of my one shot (will be posted as one big post on ao3)

Thank you for all the support! It's getting me through a tough time I'm going through rn in my travels. I had a short oneshot in mind like 1000 words but I think I'm gonna fluff it out.

-----

So it keeps...happening.

Eddie gets up, walks to the door, Steve's on the other side.

He pushes past Eddie and heads to his room.

Falls fast asleep.

He hasn't even been drunk the past two times.

This time is a little different.

Eddie's been sleeping next to him of course. How could he pass up the opportunity for something he's been dreaming about for years months weeks.

He can tell Steve's faking being asleep. He's breathing lighter, not the chainsaw snoring Eddie's grown used to. He's spread out like a starfish and Eddie is stiff on the edge of the bed. His face turned towards Steve, he can't resist staring at him.

Steve's eyelids flutter and Eddie's mind races with possibilities. Is he dreaming? Still awake? What's going on?

"Will you shut up and get over here," Steve mutters.

Is he talking in his sleep?

"Eddie." He opens one eye. "Get over here."

What the fuck.

He doesn't even have a second to panic before Steve reaches over and grabs him, successfully rolling him over into his arms.

"Finally." He nestles his face into Eddie's hair. "Give me a copy of your key I'm tired of waiting for you."

Eddie chokes.

"Steve." He strains. "What're you doing."

"Isn't it obvious? Sleeping."

----

Steve's a sweaty sleeper.

Eddie only knows because he wakes with his face in his BARE chest.

Yes he's been sleeping better since this started but at some point Steve's gonna have to give him an actual explanation.

How does he get out of this one? It's his trailer he can't exactly walk of shame it.

Steve's starting to wake up. He sniffles a bit and squeezes Eddie before letting go.

"Mornin." He rolls Eddie off and gets up.

"I'm going to work. Give me the key later."

....ok?!?!?! Eddie's sure he looks completely flabbergasted.

"Bye."

Eddie's watches him as he walks out.

Well...he's just gonna follow him. He needs answers. It's not like he hasn't been trying!

-----

"Ok!" He screams as he throws open the doors to family video. "I want answers!"

Robin looks at him in shock while Steve looks bored.

"What's this about?" Robin asks.

"Probably about us sleeping together." Steve says, bored.

"I'm...sorry...what's this?" Robin looks shocked.

"You know, that I've been sleeping with Eddie."

Robin whips to look at Eddie who doesn't look much better. They both are speechless, eyes wide, mouths open.

"No I do not know!"

"I'm restocking!" Steve yells as he walks past them into the back.

As soon as he's gone Robin stomps over to Eddie and punches him in the arm.

"OW!"

"What the hell doofus! You're sleeping with him? Why wouldn't you guys tell me! When was Steve even gay? I mean I know that- nevermind that's not important. You're dating!?!"

"No! I don't know!"

"How do you not know?!"

"We're not sleeping together! We're literally just sleeping in the same bed. We're...sleeping...together?"

Robin squints at him.

"You." She pushes a finger into his chest. "You better figure this out."

"Talk. To. Him." She jabs her finger into his chest between words.

----

Comment your thoughts! Comment your feelings! Comment!

I know it seems basic but I kinda had the thought of "what is Steve just took over the trailer because he needed to sleep without nightmares and then just never left"

More of this and my other oneshots coming soon!

I'll also be working on uploading everything I've ever written to my ao3 which is pinned on my profile

[dolligguk]

tu me manques . ꒰ jungkook ꒱

a certain someone that i know has been sick soo.. i wanted to write this

warnings : slight smut / mdni.

waking up, you sense a heavy weight on your body. your small, chubby arms wrap around jungkook as you pull your aching head up to plant a warm kiss on his fluffy, vanilla-scented (from his shampoo), hair.

jungkook whimpered and groggily looks up, plastering a warm smile as he whispers. "g'morning love"

"good morning, i have a headache and i need to pee, scoot over my love." you chuckle softly as he pouts, reluctantly getting up and rubbing his eyes before giving you one last kiss.

you smile, his muscular arms provided a moment of warmth to your shivering body before you enter the bathroom. doing your usual skincare and brushing your hair, you exit and try to find your fuzzy robe since you can feel the headache getting worse and you started to feel a little feverish.

before you can reach for the robe on your bed, the familiar musky vanilla scent and feeling of a muscular chest engulfs you. his tattooed arms wrapping around your waist and pierced lips find your neck. even though you were cold, in this moment you hold still. the feeling of your boyfriends body and scent embracing you make you close your eyes and smile sweetly. feeling his kiss near your ear, you chuckle.

"hm.. jungkook. absolutely not honey."

jungkook chuckles breathily. "dont want me?" he rasps.

"i do, you know that." you turn around and cradle his face in your tingly cold hands, your vision turning slightly blurry at the burn in eyes and dizzy feeling.

your precious boyfriend looked like a dream, attaching your lips gently, jungkook kisses you back. not roughly nor anything too long. sweet and gentle. his lips were so so soft, the feeling of the metal making you give in to the intimacy. his eyes were hooded, but opened. staring at you so dreamily and holding you like you're the most fragile thing in his world.

you pull back softly and stare into his eyes before letting your shoulders slump forward, your body going limp against his chest.

"dont leave kook, please. i need you home." you say in a broken whisper.

his heart clenches, his arms wrapping a little tighter around you as he walks forward and sits on the bed, grabbing your delicate waist and sitting you on his lap. his thumb caresses your cold hand, softly speaking. he hates that his favorite girl has to ask for his presence, and that the reason he walked in last night with you sobbing on his side of the bed- was all because of him.

"i won't amour, i-im so so sorry. im home now" he gently ran his fingers through your thick, soft hair. his warm fingertips reston you neck, press small kisses to your ear. "i love you, im so sorry baby" he rasps, reaching for the small blanket on the edge of the bed and draping it over the both of them. laying back against the bouncy white pillows with the pink lace that you begged him to sew on. the soft material was nothing compared to your skin, so warm against the crook of his neck.

"does baby want me to make love to her?" he gently whispered, his other hand going further under the lacey long slip.

"i might get you sick too" you say shyly, looking up at him as he licked his lips, raising his brows. god.. he was so hot.

"youre forehead is too" he chuckles. you widen your eyes realizing you said your thought too loudly.

as he leans forward his lips getting ahold of your lower lip, his fingers knead the soft skin of your inner thigh. you whine softly and squirm, a familiar buzz between your legs and he smiles against your lips.

"lets get rid of this mess, yeah?" he rasps, his fingers pulling the soaked panties aside.

[moirindeclermont]

Bridgerton folks, this is the end of this story. Thank you for all your support and encouragement! See you maybe tomorrow with a meme, definitely on Monday with Daddy!Colin (and I'll do also Pirate!Colin, and then starting on the 9th of December something really nice for the whole festivity period, so stay tuned...)

This is "5 times Colin Pen's first and one time she was his", enjoy!

(Moirin - post writing - would suggest a tissue... Fair warning)

---

"We kissed. Bloody hell, me and Pen kissed. I had the courage to ask her and she admitted it was her first kiss because she was waiting for me. I'm still wrapping my mind about that. I am completely obsessed with her and she was waiting for me. How blind must I be to not see her sooner? And yet, she asked me to ask her again about the kiss. I did and she nodded. I've not kissed a lot of girls (and a couple of boys... A couple of times, just to know) but that kiss felt like a revelation.

I heard so many people saying that when you find the right one, you just know. I didn't understand. Until Pen and I kissed. Was this love?

Just in front of me this whole time?

And as the kiss deepened and we started making out, I could feel my heart racing and my heart spinning. She was there the whole time. "

They separated for a beat before going back for another one. And ohhh that might be a problem. Because now that he knows what Pen taste like, he is not sure he can go back.

Turns out they don't need to separate because Pen is right on the same page with him. He whispered against her lips "I don't think you can rid of me now, Pen" and her smile was the best thing he ever saw.

The Serengeti? Way overrated.

The lights of New York at New Year's Eve? They could not hold against Pen kissing him and smiling like that. "I was hoping you'd say that," she said and their hands slide together.

Suddenly he feels like a real idiot, because he knew that she was his way before. He was just on the cusp of puberty, when Pen took his hand for the first time and he knew at such young age. He knew with a certainty that he had lost somewhen over the years. He knew that could never been something else like this.

It took years all over the world and a couple (or more) dreams for him to rediscover that deep truth he knew all along.

He told her about that and Pen shed a tear. "I remember that day, it's when I knew I'd never love someone the way I love you," and fùck, wasn't he about to say the same thing?

Pen told him about an exercise her therapist ask her to do. To describe a day in her future. "I don't need to read it, I know by heart."

She told him of a marvelous day waking up cuddled with her husband ("that's you", she said and his heart somersault), the kids (another somersault) home from school.

A walk near the sea or by the lake after breakfast and then while the kids play she and her husband ("me, me, me" was thinking Colin) writing by their desk, trying to not get distracted by each other presence like so often happens (a wink on her side, oh... He can't wait to get to know that side of her soon). A nice lunch together and then going on a little adventure in the afternoon all together.

And at night, after supper ad putting the kids to bed, finally she ad her husband will have some time alone ("I left it vague here, but if you want to, I can give you a description of the night as well," and Colin must have died there).

"I like that day," Colin says, as she sheds tears of happiness.

"It never felt like a possibility, until now."

That deserved another kiss.

Their second kiss. And yet it still feel it like the first.

"I wonder if our kiss would still be the same thrill in 50 years," Colin says and she is absolutely convinced it will. Colin is sure too.

"A life for first with you, seems like the perfect life for me," she says again, and as he takes her hand and kiss her, Colin whispered on her lips "I could not agree more."

The end