#a miracle that you see me as someone that can give you something / that makes you want to be mine

[21stcenturyvoice]

It is never easy to be an immortal, seeing all your loved ones spend their lives in your presence and then disappear like dust as the years goes by… no. It’s never easy, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. I can’t count the many days I’ve spent watching my grandchildren play at the park, so many that now it’s their grandchildren playing instead. And you know, my dear? Each of them is as beautiful as you were. Not all of them have the same eyes, but they all sparkle of the same joy and mischievousness, or maybe I see it because I crave to see yours one more time. It’s unbelievably funny knowing that I’ll win the “Youngest Passing Uncle” every year for eternity. Do you know what is also funny? That I’ll always be able to play with my nieces and nephews no matter how old I get or how hyper they are, I will always be able to pick them up, make them fly over my head and catch them right in my arms. I’ll always have a little something to give on their birthdays, that little something that belonged to someone that came before them that truly loved it just like they do, sometimes that little something was yours. It’s also exhilarant to see my descendants struggle with their teenage children and come begging for advice, how could I ever leave my family? They each make me so proud, just for existing. Each of them is a miracle that gets the chance to shine bright in the span of a lifetime and then disappear, beautiful like stars in the sky that brighten the darkest nights. Each one of them is, has been or will be a star in the beautiful constellation that has been this family tree. Their light shines so bright compared to my own bleak existence lived as a spectator of their greatness. I truly am blessed to see their own possibilities, their dreams come true, watch them fall in love and show just how life is supposed to be lived. But being an immortal is never easy. Not when you see the pain of your children when they can’t find it in their hearts to get out of bed in the morning, to try it just even one more time, one more day. Not when you hear the pain in their voices as they cry their souls out, when they tell you oh-so-tiredly that they can’t do it no more. So no, being immortal is never easy, but at least I can hold all my children and grandchildren in my arms when they die and they don’t have to feel cold and alone even if I can’t follow them. I know that caring of the living is my job, just as yours is to take care of them when they’re out of reach, my betrothed, but for once I wished I didn’t have to part with them like I had to do with you.

Most immortals become the angsty “everyone I have ever loved is gone” kind of immortal. You, on the other hand, instead took it upon yourself to be a loving presence to entire generations of your chosen family, because they are descended from someone you once loved long ago.

[t00tsmcgee]

Rook as a companion banter episode seven : Lucanis

Banter written with my Rook in mind. Read more about him here.

Part 1 (Neve) | Part 2 (Bellara) | Part 3 (Davrin) | Part 4 (Harding) | Part 5 (Taash) | Part 6 (Emmrich) | Part 7 Lucanis |

-

Lucanis: “You eat garbage.” Calais: “I feel like I’m being accused of something?” Lucanis: “Not literal garbage but I saw you fish out a flat sandwich from your pack the other day and eat it like it hadn’t been in there for two days.” Calais: “It was still good. The cheese was a little hard and sweaty though.” Lucanis: *Shuddering*

Lucanis: “What do you like to eat?” Calais: “I like fries and chicken and fried chicken.” Lucanis *quietly whispering* “Ayayay..” Calais: “I also like fried fish.”

Calais: “I liked that salad you made.” Lucanis: “It’s a Nevarran recipe. Blood orange salad.” Calais: “I’d had it before, but it was never this good.” Lucanis: “Every salad is better with cheese and some kind of nut.” Calais: *chuckle* Lucanis: "What's funny? ..Oh." *sigh*

Lucanis: “Aren’t most Nevarrans vegetarian?” Calais: “Most, yes.” Lucanis: “But not you?” Calais: “No. I’m only just really discovering that food can be something besides sustenance. I want to experience as many flavours as I can.” Lucanis: “I’m glad you’re having fun.” Calais: *fondly* “I blame you.”

Lucanis: “What about drinks?” Calais: “I like almost everything, but I don’t drink alcohol. Always just kind of tastes like paint thinner to me.” Lucanis: “What about warm beverages? Tea, coffee, hot chocolate?” Calais: “I’ll take tea over coffee any day.” Lucanis: “Who hurt you?”

Calais: “You know, Lucanis, I appreciate all the effort you make to take care of us.” Lucanis: “Someone has to. It’s a miracle you didn’t all contract some disease before I was here to cook for you.” Calais: “I didn’t have much choice.” Lucanis: “No?” Calais: “Rations are rations. We just ate what we were given, back at the Necropolis.” Lucanis: “That explains a lot, actually.” Calais: “So your food is a real treat. Just wanted you to know how much I’ve been enjoying it.” Lucanis: *Warmly* “Thank you.”

Lucanis: “Don’t even think about eating that sandwich you still have in your pack. I saw you take it with you when we left.” Calais: “It’s just a cheese sandwich, it stays good for a while. Maybe a bit stale but-” Lucanis: “Unacceptable. If you want to eat that at least let me toast it for you.”

Calais: “Hey, Lucanis?” Lucanis: “Yes?” Calais: “Will you teach me how to cook?” Lucanis: “You never learned?” Calais: “Not really. I mean I can fry an egg just about, and I read books about it, but I see the most wonderful illustrations in those books, that make my mouth water. I want to be able to make those!” Lucanis: *Chuckles* “Sure, I can teach you.”

Lucanis/Spite: “Spirit One reminds me of home.” Calais: “What was home like, Spite?” Lucanis/Spite: “It was home. Where I belonged, until she did this to us.” Calais: “I’m sorry, Spite. You didn’t deserve it.”

Lucanis: “So how is that you can see Spite when no one else but I can?” Calais: “I’ve always been able to speak to spirits in this way. If one has manifested as a possession I can see them hovering around the person they’ve possessed because that person tethers them to this world. Otherwise I have to draw them here with my magic.” Lucanis: “But Spite can touch things when you’re around, too.” Calais: “He uses a little bit of my power to manifest that touch.” Lucanis: “Doesn’t that tire you out?” Calais: “No, I barely notice. He’s very careful.”

Lucanis: “You’ve taught Spite how to paint.” Calais: “Actually I didn’t teach him anything. He just.. took a brush and went for it.” Lucanis: “He seems to like it.” Calais: “I think it’s a way to express himself when he’s lost most of his ability to do so.”

Calais: “You have fun painting don’t you Spite?” Lucanis/Spite: “Yes! Many colours giving shapes to emotions!” Calais: “And your colours are so well chosen.” Lucanis/Spite: “Yes, he likes it!” Calais: “I like it very much. Can I have one to hang on my wall?” Lucanis/Spite: “No! Its mine!” Calais: *laughing* “It was a compliment, I like it so much I want to look at it all the time.” Lucanis/Spite: *snarling* “Fine! Pick one! But only one!”

Lucanis/Spite: “The Spirit One is hurting.” Calais: “Oh, that’s just my leg. It always hurts. Don’t worry.” Lucanis/Spite: “Perhaps we can help.” Calais: “How?” Lucanis/Spite: “We can fly. We can carry!” Calais: *laughing* “As exciting as that sounds, it’d be a little impractical. But thank you, Spite.”

Lucanis: “You seem fond of Spite.” Calais: “I’m fond of you too, Lucanis.” Lucanis: “I know. But Spite listens to you. I spent the best part of a year with him and he hardly ever listens to me.” Calais: “Well I do speak to spirits for a living. It’s kind of my thing.” Lucanis: “Makes being around you hard, he constantly wants to speak with you.” Calais: “I’m sorry. I’ll try to engage less.” Lucanis: “No, it’s alright. It makes Spite calmer to talk with you. I had an actual night of sleep the other day, after he spent all evening talking with you. I think you’re good for him.” Calais: “He’s adorable, once you get past all the anger.” Lucanis: “I enjoyed your company, last night.” Calais: “And I yours. That was some very good tea you made.” Lucanis: “It’s no problem. I’m glad you enjoyed.” Lucanis/Spite: “Should have kissed him!” Calais: “What?” Lucanis: “No! Nothing, please, ignore him.”

Lucanis: “You’re getting better.” Calais: “At what?” Lucanis: “Cooking. For a while I wondered if my lessons were actually landing, but that pot roast you made yesterday was delicious.” Calais: “Thank you. I learned from the best.” Lucanis: “Well-” Calais: “And the most handsome.” Lucanis: *clears throat* “I’m not sure that’s relevant.” Calais: “Helps me pay attention to you.” Lucanis/Spite: “*cackle* He thinks you’re handsome!”

Lucanis: “Cal, would you maybe like to learn how to dance?” Calais: “Dance? Why do you ask?” Lucanis: “I was taught how to dance for social occasions and official parties. It’s a fun way to exercise. You said you struggled with regular work outs, this might be easier, for your leg.” Calais: “You’d do that for me?” Lucanis: “After everything you’ve done for me and Spite? Of course.” Calais: “It’s not transactional, Lucanis. But yes, I would like to learn. Thank you for thinking of me.” Lucanis/Spite: “He does it a lot!”

Calais: “Kind of sad we don’t have music to practice dancing to.” Lucanis: “I suppose we could give Spite a violin and see what he produces.” Calais: “I like my eardrums in tact, thank you.” Lucanis: “You think it will be that bad?” Calais: “Do you remember when he tried to play my piano?” Lucanis: “Ah.. say no more.”

Lucanis: “You seem quiet, ever since we returned from Treviso.” Calais: “You let Illario live.” Lucanis: “Yes. I don’t have enough family that I’d happily execute whatever shredded pieces of it are left.” Calais: “Family isn’t always blood.” Lucanis: “And blood isn’t always the answer.”

Lucanis: “Mi amado, I would like to take you to Treviso soon, meet my grandmother officially. She’s invited us for tea.” Calais: “Are you sure? She didn’t seem to think much of me when we rescued her.” Lucanis: “She’s going to have to get used to you, whether she likes it or not.” Calais: “What do I even say to her? ‘Hello Mrs Dellamorte I’m in love with your grandson?’” Lucanis: “I’d leave out the question mark at the end.”

Calais: “Papi Chulo.” Lucanis: *Hard exhale* “What?” Calais: “Viago said I should call you that, that it was a cute Antivan nickname for one’s lover.” Lucanis: *Deep sigh* “You don’t listen to what Viago says. Ever.”

[alackofghosts]

a miracle that you see me

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

Cryptid Bruce

Martha and Thomas Wayne struggled to have a child for years and Thomas meets a shady man who tells him that a child will come to them soon

Thomas just ‘??? okaaaaaay’s him but in a week, Martha bursts into his office looking frazzled

“We’re being haunted.”

“….”

“Don’t give me that look, Thomas Wayne. The Manor. It’s haunted. Alfred! Tell him we’re being haunted!”

And Alfred comes in, also looking frazzled but to a lesser degree.

The two explain that things are moving around the Manor without any kind of explanation, but Thomas doesn’t believe them. Until he notices things in his office also being moved. The weirdest event is when they start hearing a child’s giggles. No explanation. None.

Not until Thomas, sleep deprived after going over paperwork for one too many hours, pops into the kitchen and…there is a child. Sitting on the kitchen counter.

The child, a boy, turns. Grins. Waves.

“Hi, daddy.”

—

Bruce, they name him, can melt into shadows. He finds it hilarious. Martha thinks she’s going to go grey at her young age. She adores him. Thomas adores him. He’s their son now.

The Waynes have a mysterious child, but they keep their private lives very private, so maybe they just successfully hid a pregnancy? And then a child. For…three years. They think Bruce is three, at least.

Despite how odd of a child Bruce is, they love him dearly. He’s some kind of miracle. A…very weird, possibly magical(?) miracle.

—

Dick thinks his adoptive father is strange. Extremely strange. Bruce makes absolutely no noise when he moves. He doesn’t cast shadows but he seemingly is able to *blend into them*. His smile, whilst genuine, seems a little too sharp.

He thinks he’s a vampire.

Bruce laughs so hard, he doubles over.

“No, but I am the Batman, so I guess you’re not far off.”

“…is this a joke?”

“Nope.”

“A dream?”

Bruce pinches him and Dick yelps.

Bruce doesn’t explain to Dick what he is, because he doesn’t have a clue himself. He just…is.

—

But when Jason comes along, he has a million and one questions. Bruce blinks at him.

“How did you do that? You literally *melted* into the shadows!”

Bruce shrugs.

“No. *No*. Explain.”

“I…can’t.”

“You said no secrets, B!”

Bruce puts his hands up defensively. “It’s not a secret! I really don’t know! It just…kind of happens.”

Jason stares at him. Bruce stands there. He seems to flicker? The edges of his body go a bit transparent and Dick knows he only does that when he’s stressed.

“Leave him alone, Jay. He’s telling the truth. He’s just…like that. But he’s still Bruce.”

It takes Jason two months to accept it. By then, his questions are more from genuine intrigue and wonder. He hides under Batman’s cape and somehow it’s spacious? It can even fit Dick at the same time. No one (but Bruce) can even hear them when they’re under there.

And then one day, when he goes to take a nap under Bruce’s cape, someone else is there.

“….B?”

“…”

“You know what I’m going to ask.”

“…”

“*Bruce*.”

“No real names, Robin.”

“No one can hear me!”

“…I didn’t kidnap him.”

“What his name?”

“Timothy Drake.”

“FROM DRAKE INDUSTRIES?”

And Tim wakes up, rubbing his eyes. He looks exhausted and way too skinny, and all of a sudden, Jason understands why Dick has cooed at him the first night Bruce brought him home.

“Um…hi.”

“B, we’re keeping him.”

Jason doesn’t need to see Bruce’s face to know he’s smiling.

—

Damian just…appears. Bruce suddenly understands his parents’ reactions to his first appearance because nearly the same exact thing happens. Bruce wakes up from a nap. He doesn’t need to sleep very often, something Tim finds incredibly annoying, declaring it to be *unfair*. He wakes up, and curled against his chest is…a boy. Who looks a *lot* like him.

“Uh.”

The child wakes up, blinks at him w striking green eyes.

“Hello Father.”

What the fuck.

Dick slams his way into Bruce’s office, followed by Jason and Tim, who are bickering with each other.

“DAAAAAAAD, THEY WON’T SHU- oh. Steal another kid?”

“…he just appeared.”

“That’s the excuse you used for Jason.”

“No. Literally. I fell asleep. No kid. Woke up. Kid.”

“My name is Damian.”

“That’s no fair. You came pre-named?”

Damian is as odd as Bruce. Actually, he’s weirder. And stabby. Bruce finds him *delightful*. He adores him.

—

Dick is Nightwing, Jason is Red Hood (no death, he just thought it was a cool name), Tim is Red Robin, and Damian’s Robin.

Bruce is Batman. Despite being in his late 30s, he still looks like he’s in his mid 20s.

—

Batman stands in front of a bank robber who’s going on about their evil bank robbing plans. Nightwing pops his head out from beneath Batman’s cape.

“Can you get to the point?”

Red Hood pops out next.

“I’m getting bored.”

Red Robin follows.

“This is sad.”

Damian.

“Scum.”

Batman sighs.

“Why are all of you here?”

“Missed you.”

They all chime in.

The robber.

“How…how the *fuck-?*”

“Language. There are kids around.”

“B, I’m 23.”

“Says the boy taking a nap in my cape. And I was talking about Red Robin and Robin.”

“…’s comfy.”

“I’m eighteen???”

“F- Batman! I am not a child!”

There’s some shuffling sounds, no doubt Red Hood moving over to ruffle Robin’s hair.

“Whatever you say, Tiny Demon.”

And then Red Hood shrieks.

“No stabbing your brothers, Robin.”

“He called me small!”

“…you are.”

“This is insulting, F- Batman. I will grow to be as big as you. No. *Bigger*.”

The robber watches in confusion, mild amusement, and horror.

Batman sighs.

“We’ll talk about this later. Now, you were saying? Blowing up the bank, terrorizing the people.” Batman yawns. “Anything else?”

“Just take me to Arkham. I think I’m insane.”

[creamecafe]

hii could u write something for Dae-ho set in the mingle game and its basically just him protecting reader and always keeping them at his side. 🫶🫶🫶

"As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you"

Summary: What the request says

Pairing: Dae-Ho x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, comfort, pining

Word Count:

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

It's a miracle that you have made it to the third game. You were sure you were going to die in the second game, but thanks to the team you had, you were more than determined to still stay alive

Out of all them, there was one that you kept looking at. Dae-Ho. You couldn't help but find him cute. This certainly wasn't the place to have feelings as you could die before telling him.

It was the same for Dae-Ho, trying to make sure everyone is ok and that the team survives. But it was something with you.

He felt safe with you, and wanted to protect you. Even if it meant giving his life for you.

The announcement for the third game came, you were worried, but wanted it to be over it. Dae-Ho noticed you being anxious and asked if you okay

"Are you okay?"

You stopped zoning out and looked at him with your heart pounding.

"What? Y-yes I'm ok thank you." Nodding trying to reassure yourself.

"I think this might be the last game I play in." You chuckled knowing deep inside you dreaded the idea

"Hey look at me."

You did as he said. "Don't say that, you have us."

He held out your hand to hold it. You looked at it and hesitated putting your hand out but you held it. A tight squeeze was given but not too rough. It was a sign of reassuring.

He gives you a smile and you did too not of full happiness but someone is here to care about you.

All of you guys were called for the game. You got up and stayed close to Dae-Ho. He looked back at you and nodded. You did the same.

It was the same, climbing up those colorful but dreading stairs to the next game. Every minute or two, Dae-Ho made sure you were right behind him.

You finally reached the game and saw a carousel in the middle with horses and so many doors of different bright colors for a Pre-K setting.

"Welcome to your third game." The woman's voice from the previous games you heard came on the speakers.

"The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Turning your head to look at Dae-Ho, he's already looking at you.

You quickly look away not to make the situation worse. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable as well.

"All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

"Oh this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging." Jung-bae exclaimed.

"Yeah. Instead of hugging, we go into those rooms" Dae-Ho mentioned.

"If the number is bigger than six, we'll get the additional people we need." Gi-Hun

And if it's less than that? You thought in your mind

"But what if it's smaller than five? Like three or four

You turned your head to Dae-Ho. It's like he read your mind exactly.

"No matter what happens, don't panic. Let's stay calm," Young-il nods. "We'll make it out together. Here."

Those words echoing in your mind, there wasn't enough time to doubt if your group would stick with you.

You've seen how quickly people are to turn against each other especially in the Red Light, Green Light.

But you're more than determined to stay alive, just to see Dae-Ho's face every chance you get.

Young-il puts the back side of hand out to form a truce. One by one, everyone is putting their hands on top of each other. You were the last one.

"Y/N. Are you in?" Gi-Hun asks.

Dae-Ho looks at you with worry in his eyes. You had no choice and no knowledge of trusting others in this game, so you put your hand out on top.

Dae-Ho becomes relieved at this.

"One, two, three. Victory at all costs."

Sighing at this with relief, you guys begin to spread out. The carousel is starting to spin

People scream out in fear. Lights go out and the light in the middle where horses out lights ups and music plays.

Children are singing about holding hands and ringing around.

Dae-Ho holds your hand lightly. He grazes your hand with his thumb. You don't look at him, as you fear you'll die doing so.

It suddenly stops. The number is 9. People are running out frantically pairing in groups of 9. Dae-Ho doesn't let go of your hand.

"We need 3 more." You said. Your group ran looking for 3 more.

A old lady, her son and another woman goes up to you guys.

"Are you guys 3?" Young-il asks

"Yes we're." The old lady nods frantically.

"Quickly we got to get into a room" Gi Hun exclaims

Your feet were starting to move, but the grip of Dae-Ho holding your hand made you move even faster.

All of you guys rushed into a room and closed the door. The room was filled with heavy breaths. There was a click on the lock meaning that the room was closed and nobody can get in or out.

Right now, you have never been more grateful to be alive in playing a game

It wasn't long before you heard gunshots, and it was safe to assume it was those who didn't pair up or get into rooms in time.

Now that you're safe, you look at Dae-Ho and he does too.

"Is everyone ok?" Dae-Ho asks

There was a lot of yes. That answer might change throughout the game seeing how long each of us might last.

The door lock clicked and you guys were allowed to come out. There were bodies on the floors and blood splattered. "Take off your mind off those bodies or you'll be one of them" Your mind was telling yourself.

"We got this" Dae-Ho talks to you

"We do" You smiled. Don't know how many smiles it will take to keep going, but you're ready to prove his point.

The game started again and the carousel spins. You hold out to Dae-Ho's hand.

Now the number was 4. Young-il grabs Jung-Bae and goes to find two more people. That's left Gi-Hun, Jun-Hee, Dae-Ho and you left.

There was no time to waste. All four you ran to a room and locked yourself in. Gi-Hun was looking around for Young-il. You pulled him back in.

The gunshots came again. The lesser the number, the more likely people will betray each other.

How long this game will last, you don't know. All you know is that you have people here to help you. Even if it's just one person, it makes all the difference.

The doors clicked and it was time for another round. The panic and adrenaline of it all keeps coming back. But Dae-Ho is making sure you're by his side, even if he may die in the game as well.

Six the group was. Dae-Ho said you and him were going to go and find another group. Luckily you did and you managed to still be alive locked in a room.

Now it all came down to the very last game. There were less people than the game started. You wanted to finish this for once and for all. While the carousel was spinning and music playing, you place yourself in movement ready to run and holding Dae-Ho's hand.

"2" The voice said.

It felt like time was going slow once it announced the number. Everybody is rushing to get into a room. Time's running out.

You felt a hand pull you back and you fell to the ground. Dae-Ho heard your scream and saw someone trying to stop you from going into a room. Someone else was already in the room that you guys were planning to go into.

Dae-Ho could go into the room and that would already make it two. But he's made it too far to leave you.

He ran and punched the guy that pushed you. He put you back on your feet and dragged the other guy out. He slammed the door shut and the timer just came to zero. The guy on the other side begs and bangs on the door.

A pink guard shoots him and the noises stop.

"Are you ok?" Dae-Ho rushes to you.

Still shaken at what happened, at the fact you almost died if it wasn't for him to save you, you nodded.

"Yes I am. Thank you."

There was a moment of silence between you too as you were catching your breaths.

The door clicked and you both came out.

"Y/N! Dae-Ho!" Both of your names were being called

Gi-Hun, Young-il, Jung-Bae and Jun-Hee run up to you guys and you all hug each other.

"I'm so glad you guys are ok." Jun-Hee smiles

You're also relieved that everyone else is fine and made it out alive. You could return back to the dorms.

Walking down back the stairs and into the dorms, everyone was mostly silent but some talked.

You ran up and tapped Dae-Ho on the shoulder.

"Hey Dae-Ho?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"You could have gone into the room where the other guy before you dragged him out, why didn't you?"

Dae-Ho took a pause before responding.

"I have lost many people when I was a marine, seen people get killed in front of me. I can't let it happen to you."

He starts to become close to you but not too close.

"As long as I'm still alive, I'll make sure you're fine. That's a promise I tend to keep Y/N."

Those words stuck with you. You could die in the next game, but right here at this moment is a reason to keep going.

Taglist:

@hobinistaworld

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[weird-is-life]

okay okay okay but spencer dating someone who loves books just as much as him if not more and they gone over it and derek is like damn there’s two of them 😭😭😭

Hii lovely, ty for this cute request. Hope it's at least a little good🙈warning: fluff, like one swear word, pet names, (0.5k)

Spencer literally begged you to bring him lunch today. Not because he is feeling particularly hungry, but because he hasn't seen you in a couple of days, and has missed you like crazy.

And you, lovely as always, couldn't say no to him. Not that you would. You have missed him like crazy, too!

It's almost 1 in the afternoon that you finally come. You have the warm package of food in one hand and in the other something that looks much more heavier.

Spencer spots you immediately as you open the glass door to the bullpen. He goes towards you, and before you can say anything more, Spencer has you in his arms.

He gives you a quick but loving embrace and a soft kiss. It's swift, because he doesn't want to violate the pda workplace rules or anything.

"Hi, handsome," you greet him again, smiling big, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart, so ridiculously much," Spencer tells you as he ushers you towards his desk.

He notices the heavier looking bag in your hand, takes both bags instantly from your hands, and raises his brows in question at you. "Did you pack a lunch for a whole army?"

You chuckle, because by the weight of the bag you definitely could have fed a whole armada. Spencer chuckles in return, putting both of the bags on his desks.

You give a still slightly shy nod to all the team members that are currently in the bullpen. Meaning Derek, Emily and JJ.

"I just brought you a lil something," you say sheepishly, pointing at the heavy bag. Spencer eyes the bag with suspicious face while you sit in Spencer's chair, innocent smile on your face.

He opens it, and instantly gasps. "No way. No fucking way, " he beams at you. Eyes sparkling like some kid's in a sweets shop.

Spencer reaches into the bag, and pulls out not one, not two, not even three, but four chunky books. The thickest of them is a book that Spencer's been trying to get for a while now. It sold out everywhere, and by some miracle, you found it in your favourite antique book shop.

"How did you get this? Oh my god," Spencer questions happily, leaning down towards you to peck your lips again.

"It's a secret," you beam back at him. Just happy to see him happy. Spencer drops the book, and goes to hug the life out of you, deciding that the kiss wasn't enough. Squeezing you oh so tightly.

"Spencer, you're gonna break my bones," you chuckle as he finally let's you breath again.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Thank you, I love this so much. I can't wait to get home to read this," Spencer tells you, his eyes softening.

"We can have a reading night then. 'Cause I bought myself one book too........" you start to tell Spencer as you make yourself comfortable at his desk, while he unpacks his lunch.

From a few desks away, Derek murmurs to the girls, JJ and Emily, in amusement, "there's two of them now."

"Maybe we are just seeing double?" Emily jokes. Though she finds you two adorable.

"Remind me to never accept their invitation to a fun night at their place." Derek deadpans, and the girls laugh.

But you two don't seem to notice their amused attention on you. Too interested in the books sitting on Spencer's desk, and too interested in making the book reading plans for your night.

[vexxandra]

25 predictions for 2025 (pick-a-card reading)

happy new year sillies <3 01-01-2025 ☆

disclaimer: all of my readings are just for fun, you write your own story every day of your life, dont let me tell you how to live it

pile 1 > pile 2 pile 3 > pile 4

pile 1

biggest theme: change

reflexion and redirection are major elements of the new year

breaking free of past shackles : discarding old things

miracle year, a lot of wonderful things are coming

be selfish. you are in charge of your own happiness

you will learn to love yourself this year

fulfilling year especially in terms of career or academics. make sure to properly prepare in order to gain an edge over others

early bird gets the worm mentality

"winter arc" mindset the whole year. "lock in"

first six months will be very busy, you'll focus on yourself and not have the time for romance

learning how to collaborate with others

big lesson: learning how to work through burnout

august 2025 will be a very happy month for you

potential summer fling, will reginite flames you didn't know you had

some kind of soul fulfillment, could potentially be romantic or personal

imbalanced feminine energy, learning to reconnect with your divine feminine

a turbulent period will occur (im hearing mercury retrograde)

last half of the year might be grey

sleepy energy, taking things slower

make sure to rest, dont push yourself to move when sluggy

you're going to end the year with a nice energy. i see you surrounded by lots of family, friends and people you hold dear

if last year did not feel chrismassy, dont worry, because this year will

an extra message about children and new families. pregancy within you or another may occur

releasing all anxieties caused by this year, and a lot of reflexion

overall a pretty good year, some guidance i might give would be to not push yourself over the edge, and try not to drink too much caffiene <3

pile 2

biggest theme: self love

i get the feeling you've lost someone very important this year, most likely a break up, but you still have feelings for them

disillusionment and prioritizing yourself are big themes for this year

you're going to recognize that this person was pretty toxic and will take them off of their pedestal

learning how to fall in love again, with yourself and with life

reconnecting with your femininity

a lot of themes about toxicity and distancing yourself from people that don't have your best interests at heart

crown chakra healing by taking one day at a time (a LOT of light purple imagery in this reading)

very tumultuous first few months of the year, you'll feel like your life is flipping upside down and rightside up for a while

reconnecting with your spiritual guides and your spirituality/religion will bring you peace

if you're not religious, exploring some concepts may occupy your time

potential new romantic interest, but you must fall in love with yourself first

advice i can give would be to start something new, and to spend a lot of time by yourself. take yourself on dates and spend time with loved ones

sleep is very important this year, maybe consider starting a dream journal

i feel like most of you will get into some kind of artsy hobby this year. this can be anything from visual to musical to physical, but i can see it becoming a big passion

learning how to be more flexible in your thoughts and actions is a big lesson

springtime (particularly may) will be an amazing period

indie movie life in the spring, it'll feel like your life is straight out of a book

productivity, creativity, and happiness will be at an all-time high

you'll meet so many new people during this time, and im seeing some travelling too

child-like energy, almost like a giddy joy

make sure to not forget your responsabilities, i can see that you might be too caught up in your excitement and forget to balance work and play

overall very good year. it might not feel like it right now, but things are guarenteed to get better <3

some guidance i would give would be to reflect on your past, but never to dwell in it

pile 3

biggest theme: new beginnings and hope

amazing potential, i can see you're carrying something precious from 2024, and wanting it to grow in the new year

it will, but be sure to wait for the right time and approach it with dedication, consistency and care

strong foundations are laid, but be sure to not be reckless

good communication and problem resolving skills are going to be very important this year

flexibility and detachment are going to be vital too, dont try to control situations and dictate outcomes

forgive others for their mistakes but be sure to be assertive too

for those in a romantic relationship: this relationship will last a long time <3

messages about changing your identity, there will be a time when you dont recognize yourself, take some time to reconnect with your inner values

"lucky girl syndrome" mindset. you'll be attracting so many blessings this year

abundance really is yours this year, the cards are showing so many blessings coming your way

affirm to yourself that you have everything you desire, and it will appear

summertime will be an extremely happy period for you. i see a lot of happy memories being made, and a lot of productivity as well

the end of summer and fall might be when things slow down a little, i see a little more uncertainty and anxiety, but it will all pass

big emphasis on relationships this year, but mostly romantic

for those currently in a relationship, here is confirmation that your person is a soulmate and will be in your life long-term

for the singles out there, you'll soon meet an amazing person (timeframe: june or july)

in terms of academics and career, your year will be pretty tame

there will be important decisions to make, and that might stress you out, but the outcome will be good

bottom line: the ending of this year will be good, and there's nothing you can do to change that

important lessons you will need to learn will be to think things through before acting upon them, hanging with people you feel truly appreciate you, and walking away when you feel they don't

appearances may be deceiving, make sure the people you surround yourself with have your best interests at heart

do not compare yourself with others, this year will hammer in that lesson time and time again

overall a very good year, some guidance i would give would be to guard your heart from people with negative intentions. there are snakes and backstabbers everywhere, keep yourself safe <3

pile 4

biggest theme: self-improvement

this year you'll return to your roots, fully shedding your old life to try and reconnect with your innermost values

reassess what works for you and what doesn't, i sense a lot of toxcitity in your life

this year you'll develop many new relationships with many new people

these relationships will provide interpersonal insight: remember that you are who you surround yourself with

this year, you'll practice setting boundaries

its never aggressive to be assertive, and those who matter won't mind

despite the heavy focus on new relationships, prioritize yourself

going on walks, meditating, journalling and going on solo dates are all amazing ways to start to feel comfortable alone

this year will be full of endings, dont resist it, embrace it

change isn't inherently bad, just like how difference isn't inherently bad

very financially stable year, you'll be more open to taking career risks

if there were any financial struggles in the past year, take comfort in knowing there will be little to nothing of the sort in the future

be careful to not be boastful about your finances though, as its better to succeed in silence

you create your own happiness, you are the main character, stop relying on others to save you

this year, you'll stop seeking others validation and look inside of yourself to find what you've been searching for in others

you'll be stepping into a bad bitch energy this year, one that feels comfortable being alone or with others

strong leadership is something you'll be developping this year, as well as strong manifestation skills

you want it, you're going to get it!!

go after all of your goals this year, hesitance will do you no good

i can see that at the end of the year, you'll emerge a totally different person

you'll be more confident, self-assured and more joyful (i sense that autumn is an important time period)

overall, this year will be a fresh chapter in your life

you'll shed the old you, bad habits, and negative aspects to make way for a life and personality that's authentically you

some advice i would give would be to not be afraid to stand apart, dont worry about the opinions of others

speak of success, and it will come to you <3

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr Gaiman!

I don’t have a question but I just wanted to let you know how much I sincerely appreciate the minority representation in Good Omens. I’m a person with a physical disability, and seeing someone like me on the screen is so rare. And when it does happen, there’s usually something I take issue with, like a depressing image of this person who hates the fact that they’re disabled and can’t live a happy or independent life. The way that Liz Carr’s disability is worked into her character is so cool, I can’t tell you how much it means to have a character like that in a fantasy setting just exist as she is and use her powers to make the world around her more accessible rather than changing herself. I don’t know if you realize how wonderful of a message that is to send to young disabled people. Fingers crossed for a greenlit season 3 so we can see more! 🤞

Thank you so much! When we approached Liz to play the angel Saraqael it was because we loved her as an actress (and I'm thrilled that people responded to her so well).

Once we knew Saraqael was going to be played by Liz then I got to write them a wheelchair and give them miracles to make the human world more accessible (that pointed out perhaps some of the ways it isn't) and we asked Amazon to cover many tens of thousands of dollars in CGI to make the Heavenly wheelchair float, and they agreed.

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 1;

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware 

A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.

A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know. 

Love you all madly.

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

Part 1;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange. 

More brown than purple—an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.

The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption. 

Joel Miller is here for something more specific.

Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it. 

What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.  

Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge. 

“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one. 

Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re alike. If not in designation, then in heart. 

It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy. 

It’s why he’s here. 

And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.

Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness. 

That’s what they promise you by coming here. 

It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state. 

You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. 

“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him. 

He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life. 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.

Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened in his life. There was no word for it. It just was. 

But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize. 

They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street—halfway mark between his shop and house—though they never talk about religion, which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion. 

God’s still under review. 

He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them. 

Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off. 

But Joel is distracted. 

The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part. 

Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha. 

He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!

Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day. 

It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A maple tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long. 

Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all. 

Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be. 

The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter—has—who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance. 

The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s what he looks like to the other people in this room, as well. 

“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” 

Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company. 

The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter. 

That counted very much in Joel’s book. 

An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday afternoon weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch. 

Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said. 

It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change. 

“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.

“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need… more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.

“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.

“That easy.”

It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible. 

The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body. 

“We’ve got a newcomer today, sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”

There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks there’s gotta be some sort of medical condition going on there, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out. 

The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur. 

An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name. 

It’s a girl.

She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such. 

And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all. 

At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks. 

He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.

That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple. 

“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”

“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me even having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and Joel wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” 

Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disembodied. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before. 

He’s the one to look away first this time. 

As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.

He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other. 

Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, also. It’d been pure chance, really, that Joel had met her. That she happened to know Tommy. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact she’s got a countenance about her that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. Whatever the case, she’d pulled the truth of his estranged brother from Joel’s mouth like teeth, made the connection to the man she’d met as a fly fishing guide in the Tetons. She was kind enough to keep Joel updated on his brother on the rare occasion he mustered up the courage to actually ask. 

She always made him ask. 

Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity. 

That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such. 

I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He’d been a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense of the word. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her. 

So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother to. 

As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness, aware of his hovering. 

The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him. 

Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and neat. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table. 

Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry. 

Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers skip over the pastries, choosing once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.” 

The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before—sharp, burning his nose—it’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.

“Puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”

He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. But all he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth. 

That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything? 

She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound. 

“You stink.”

He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.

He does know when he became such an asshole. 

A pause: mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little crazier.

He might be losing his mind. 

She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious.

 “Excuse me?”

Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting around smellin’ like that.”

Oh god, shut up. 

“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, pursing that prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously. 

He hasn’t the damndest clue. 

She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.

Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives Joel her name. 

In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process. 

And now he knows you. 

-

“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” 

Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray.

 “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”

Incredibly handsome. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea. 

One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!

Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial humiliation, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socialization or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky. 

It’s true, you’re alone. 

So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of. 

You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the most gruesome sort. 

Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution. 

“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” 

“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine but beautiful, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it. 

Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man. The laugh tells you so.

Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. That mimicking gleam. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these, after all. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this. 

Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog. 

You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face. 

“So. You come here often?”

He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now. 

“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”

He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months, just about.”

“And you like it?”

“Is this the sort of place one likes?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You never know what you might find.” You think he watches your mouth as you finish chewing, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.” 

Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly going shy again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought. 

“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this. 

“When?” 

“Before this place.”

“Before this place? Nothing.” You smile at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing. 

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I’ve always been here.”

“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head, frustrated frown slashed across his face. “You sing, right?” He pivots. 

“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another. 

“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now. 

Such fun. 

“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts. 

He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you. 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”

“No singing?”

You shake your head. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, flirting with him, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”

“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”

“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, heart break. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”

“No working for it.”

Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then. 

“Did you want to sing?”

“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”

“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.

“You did say, yes.” Now, your smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him. 

Your gaze flits over the crowd, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat. 

“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”

“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.” 

Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands. 

His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.

“But you know, I wanted to say…”

“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply. 

“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”

You blink once. Sit back. “I see.” 

“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.” 

Being the house, or not? 

“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.

“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”

“That’s no way to be.”

“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.

“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old linoleum, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew. 

“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hanging head turns to peer at the handsome face. He stares back. 

There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another. Hook the line, hook the line, reeling each other in—

His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.

He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones. 

Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Watch that serious stoicism crack. Have him say clearly what it is he’s come here looking for. At the exit, the alpha and omega are gone now. —Certain that, with him, the experience could be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’ve ever come across, but also more stern, maybe…angry?—taking in that wide mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like. 

“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.” 

Yes, tell me. “Something like what?”

“Someone like me.”

“An alpha?”

That was something, you knew, some people were interested in. The experience of being with someone of their own designation—that power struggle.

“No,” he looks away, cringing. Strange, the word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”

You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line. 

Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to let go.

“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”

“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”

“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” 

You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.

“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy. 

“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” 

Discreetly, you slide closer to him, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.

“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”

“Harder at what? Thought you didn’t want to try?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.

You shrug. “Everything—I don’t know. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.” 

“I’m afraid of getting older.” The dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.

All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface. It frightens you.

Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing. 

All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters. 

“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go. 

Hadn’t he?

But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats. 

“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t. “A distraction?”

“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.” 

You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, maybe you’re not supposed to understand. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.

He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out. 

“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.

“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park. 

“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”

“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow. 

“From where?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. 

The truth is, he’d kind of stunk to you too. Maybe in a good way. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. 

Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement of watching him follow you.

“I don’t think you know it.”

Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted. 

And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?

“It’s Joel.” 

You think it sounds right. 

“I might—know it,” he insists—you smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”

“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back. 

He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic. 

“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”

His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold. 

“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”

Your heart gives a demanding thump.

 “We’re not going to be friends.” 

When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. 

“And I’m not that young anymore.”

You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.

“That’s what all young people say.”

Part 2;

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[hoshifighting]

       hoshi + wet dream(z)

— “teacher, please, don't make me stand up” hoshi thinks when he just realized he had a wet dream about you, his roomate, at class.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, inspired by ''wet dreamz'' by j.cole (just a hint of it), oral (f. & m. receiving), dry humping, cock riding, mentions of handjobs and jerk off.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

soonyoung’s dead to the world, head down, cheek smushed against his arm, that dumbass hoodie string sticking to his lips. honestly, you’re surprised he hasn’t drooled yet. professor kim’s yelling about some kid in the front row not having their project finished on time,

but soonyoung? yeah, man’s out cold. he probably crashed after staying up too late again, messing around, doing who knows what. typical. you try to take notes while glancing at him every few minutes, but then something shifts—his leg jerks under the desk, his face scrunching up like he’s in serious trouble.

and that’s when you notice his fingers flex, the furrowed eyebrows, the faintest shift of breath slipping through his lips like he’s...no, no way. your eyes narrow, and you kick the side of his foot, just to check. the dude grumbles in his sleep, biting his lip hard.

oh god, this idiot’s having a wet dream. right here. in class. you’re both gonna get expelled.

meanwhile, in soonyoung’s head? oh, it's something else. it’s you, of course. you’re wearing that tight little top, the one with the low cut that gives him a peek every time you lean over his bed to wake him up for his dance recitals. and you’re smiling at him, all innocent and sweet, but your hand is somewhere down his stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, tugging him closer, stroking his cock, making him moan your name in this barely-there voice.

and just like that, you tap him on the shoulder, your voice cutting through his dream like a slap to the face, “soonyoung, you good? you looked like you were having a nightmare or something.” trying to keep it lowkey so the whole class doesn’t start looking over. your hand's still resting on his shoulder when you see his eyes snap open, like he’s been hit with a lightning bolt.

nightmare? nah, he wishes. he blinks up at you, disoriented as hell, blinking twice to focus. the way your boobs are hanging in front of him in that low-cut shirt? shit. it’s like his dream didn’t even end. he can barely breathe, eyes glued to you as you lean in, not even noticing the way his gaze drops right to your chest.

he shifts again, pressing his thighs together under the desk, praying to whatever god is out there that professor kim doesn't make him stand up, because, fuck—he’s so hard it’s practically poking through his jeans. if he stands up right now? boner’s definitely gonna slap someone in the face. maybe the fella sitting in front of him.

he panics, trying to will it down, but nah, not when he remembers the way your tits jiggle when you run to catch the bus with him, or how you’ve always been so nice to him, helping him clean up his absolute wreck of a dorm room like you actually care. you’re so fucking nice. and hot. being sweet like that makes you even hotter.

“dude, what the hell?” you frown, and he feels guilty for all of a second, ‘cause you’re just looking out for him, being a good roommate and all, and here he is, thinking about how badly he wants to—

“uh, no—no, i’m fine,” he stammers, swallowing hard, forcing himself to look anywhere but at your cleavage. jesus, how are you real? you’re too fucking hot for your own good. “just—uh—tired, y’know?” his voice cracks, and it’s a miracle you don’t ask why he’s shifting so awkwardly in his seat, arms crossed tight like he’s hiding something.

you blink, clearly not convinced but too busy to care. “okay, well, maybe you should get some sleep tonight instead of staying up watching dumb youtube videos.”

he laughs nervously, shifting in his chair, again, trying not to let his boner ruin both of your lives. “yeah. yeah, totally.”

but honestly, he’s praying the class ends soon, ‘cause if professor kim makes him stand up, his whole life's over.

the class ends, and the signal bell’s barely even faded before soonyoung’s out of his seat. like, out. he snatches his backpack and casually—well, tries to be casual—slides it in front of him, covering the situation in his pants like his life depends on it. which, yeah, it kinda does. you watch as he bolts for the exit, practically crashing into the doorframe on his way out. you’re left blinking, a little confused.

“where tf are you going? we still have p.e,” you type, texting him quickly as you pack up your own stuff.

a few seconds later, your phone buzzes.

soonyoung: dorm.

what the fuck? you stare at the screen, baffled. you know this man loves dodgeball more than life itself—hell, he’s usually the one pelting people with those foam balls like it’s the olympics. but now? he’s bailing on p.e.?

you shoot off another text. “??? bro, dodgeball’s about to start, what’s your deal?”

his response comes in almost instantly, a little too fast.

soonyoung: not coming. sick.

right. you raise an eyebrow, but whatever. his loss. maybe he really is coming down with something, ‘cause skipping p.e. is like skipping oxygen for this guy. but, as you head down to the gym, you can’t help but wonder if something’s off. especially the way he bolted earlier.

halfway through dodgeball, it clicks—oh shit. it’s gotta be you. he’s been weird since you woke him up in class, and now, you’re running around in your sports bra and high-waisted shorts, the same ones you always wear. that might explain it. he’s probably freaking out over that damn wet dream, too embarrassed to face you.

good. let him sweat it out for a bit. serves him right for ditching.

by the time you make it back to the dorm, you’re drenched in sweat, breathing a little heavy from running around like a maniac all period. the heat from dodgeball is still clinging to your skin, and all you want is a cold shower. you toss your bag onto the couch and kick off your shoes, stretching out your arms as you step into the kitchen.

soonyoung’s there, standing awkwardly by the counter with a glass of water, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for like, a second before darting away. something’s definitely up. he’s acting weird.

“yo,” you call out, wiping a hand over your forehead, “where the hell did you go? you missed dodgeball, man. you feeling alright?”

he shrugs, not looking at you. his face is all tight, like he’s focusing way too hard on drinking his water. “yeah, just… didn’t feel like it.”

“didn’t feel like it?” you echo, narrowing your eyes at him. “you love dodgeball.”

he just grunts, and you catch him glancing at you, real quick, before his gaze shoots right back to the floor. you follow his eyes and—oh. oh. right. your sports top’s soaked through, sticking to your skin, and you can literally feel his eyes tracing every damn inch of it. it’s not like you’re trying to be a tease, but something about the way he’s avoiding you makes you want to push him a little. just to see how much more uncomfortable he can get.

“you sure you’re okay?” you ask, stepping closer, watching his ears turn red. “you’ve been acting weird since class. did something happen?”

he shakes his head so fast you think he’s about to give himself whiplash. “no, nothing happened. i’m fine.”

yeah, right. you chuckle to yourself, brushing past him toward the hallway, but not before you notice the way his eyes drop again, glued to the sweat clinging to your back, the way your skin’s gleaming in the low kitchen light.

“whatever, weirdo. i’m taking a shower.”

you leave him standing there, all fidgety and red-faced, as you disappear into the bathroom. you close the door behind you and smirk, wondering just how long he’s going to keep up this act.

you step out of the bathroom, towel slung over your shoulders, hair damp and sticking to your neck. the warmth from the shower did little to wash away the tension in your head, the lingering feeling that something was off. soonyoung hadn’t said more than three words since you got back to the dorm, and it’s weird. too weird. normally, he’s all over you, making dumb jokes, bugging you about something, throwing himself onto your bed like it’s his second home—with wet hair to freak you out. only for him now be holed up in his room, glued to his phone, avoiding you like the plague.

and for some reason, you hate it. the silence. the way he’s brushing you off. you’d rather have him drenched in rainwater, messing up your sheets like always than whatever the hell this was.

hair dripping slightly onto your t-shirt, you pad over to his room. the door’s half-open, and there he is—soonyoung, sprawled on his bed, phone in hand, scrolling like he’s actually interested in whatever’s on the screen.

you don’t say anything at first, just step into the room and sit beside him, sulking as you grab onto his arm. your fingers squeeze lightly, and you glance at him, expecting some smartass remark or at least something. but all you get is a quick look from him, eyes darting from you to the phone. nothing more. then he turns back to the screen like you’re not even there.

“seriously?” you mumble, rolling your eyes. his silence is starting to get to you now, and your frustration boils over. fuck this. you reach over and snatch the phone right out of his hand, holding it up in the air, out of his reach.

“what the hell—” soonyoung tsks, sounding more annoyed than anything. annoyed, yeah right. he sits up quickly, leaning in close as he reaches for it, but you keep it out of his grasp, grinning despite yourself.

“tsk. give it back,” he grumbles, his hand wrapping around your wrist, but you refuse to budge. his eyes flash up to yours. “seriously, y/n. stop.”

you tilt your head, eyes locking onto his, something playful and challenging bubbling up in your chest. “not until you stop being a weirdo. what’s your problem? you’ve been acting like i’ve got the plague since class.”

he tugs at your arm again, trying to reach the phone, but you just hold it higher, raising your eyebrows at him. your other hand grabs onto his shoulder to steady yourself, and you’re both so close now that you can feel his breath on your neck.

you want him to say it first. to admit whatever the hell’s been going on in his head.

“come on, soonyoung, just talk to me.” your voice softens a little, though there’s still a teasing edge to it. “you’re not really pissed, are you? what, did i embarrass you in class or something?”

he huffs, falling back against the bed again, hands covering his face in frustration. he mumbles something, but it’s too muffled to understand.

“what was that?” you press, your hand still gripping the phone. you lean in closer, hovering over him, trying to peek through his fingers.

he groans, louder this time, and lets his hands drop to his sides, staring up at the ceiling like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “just… forget it, okay? you’re making it worse.”

“worse? worse how?” you shift, sitting cross-legged on the bed now, leaning over him with your phone still clutched in your hand. your knee brushes against his hip, and you see his jaw tighten for a second. “soonyoung, come on, talk to me. why are you acting so fucking weird?”

he lets out a long breath, rubbing his palms over his face like he’s trying to scrub the answer out of himself. his lips press together, eyes squeezing shut before he finally mutters, “i didn’t want you to see… that.”

“see what?” your voice drops lower, curious now, your hand letting the phone slip down beside you. you’re so close to him now that your hair is starting to drip on his shoulder, but neither of you moves away. you watch the muscle in his neck tense as he swallows hard, lips parting slightly.

“you,” he finally breathes out, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. his cheeks are flushed now, the embarrassment clear in every line of his body, but he doesn’t look away from the ceiling, not even once. “i—fuck, i was dreaming about you. okay? in class. and then you woke me up, and i—shit, i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about… you.”

you smirk a little, shaking your head. “so… wait, you’ve been avoiding me because of a dream?”

he groans, hands covering his face again. “it wasn’t just a dream, okay? it was—god, this is so fucking embarrassing. you were… you know.”

“no, i don’t know,” you tease, shifting your weight slightly so you’re leaning in even closer. “why don’t you tell me?”

he glances at you then.

“you were all over me,” he mutters finally, his voice low, “in this tight shirt, and you wouldn’t stop touching me. it was fucking killing me, okay? i woke up and—god, i just couldn’t look at you. i’ve never seen you like that before, and it… fuck, it messed with my head.”

you raise an eyebrow, not quite expecting that level of honesty. but something in you can’t resist pushing him a little more. “so that’s it? you were just… turned on, and now you’re too embarrassed to even be around me?”

he groans again, this time louder, pressing his hands into his eyes. “yes! fuck. yes. happy now?”

“actually?” you grin, leaning back slightly. “yeah, kinda.”

he looks at you, “you’re the worst.”

“yep.” you sit back up, holding his phone just out of reach. “but i’m also not giving you your phone back until you stop acting like i’ve got cooties or something.”

he rolls his eyes, sitting up again, this time without the fake annoyance. there’s a look on his face you can’t quite read, somewhere between embarrassment and frustration, and it makes your stomach flip. maybe there’s more to this than just a dream.

“you’re really not gonna let this go, are you?” he asks, voice softer now.

“nope,” you say, smiling. “not a chance.”

he sighs, shaking his head. “fine. just… don’t make this any weirder than it already is, okay?”

you glance down at his lips, and something inside you shifts. you tilt your head slightly, eyes locking with his as you whisper, “trust me, i won’t.”

and before he can react, you lean in, pressing your lips against his. it’s soft at first, a hesitant brush of mouths, but then you feel him melt into it, his lips parting as his breath hitches. the kiss deepens, and soon enough, you’re straddling him, your thighs pressing into his hips, and his hands—hesitant at first—grasp onto your waist, unsure but needy.

the second you feel his grip tighten, you take control. your hands snake around his neck, pulling him closer as you grind down against him, making you feel the hard length of his cock, even through the fabric of his sweats. his breath catches, a quiet groan escaping from his throat as your hips rock against his.

soonyoung’s head falls back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded as his fingers sink into your skin, he doesn’t know what to do with himself—he’s trying to keep up, but you’re driving him crazy. his hips jerk up to meet yours, but it’s too much, too fast. he’s never been this turned on from just kissing before, and it’s almost awkward how quick his body responds to you.

“slow—fuck—slow down,” he gasps, hands slipping to your hips, trying to hold you still, but you only smirk, grinding down harder.

“sensitive already?” you tease, your breath hot against his ear, your fingers trailing down his chest, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“yeah,” he breathes, his voice shaky. “fuck—sensitive. really sensitive.”

you pause, frowning a little as you tilt your head to look at him. “why?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his hands still gripping your waist, trying to keep you from moving. he just looks at you, his eyes full of something that feels like shame, waiting for you to piece it together.

and then it hits you. oh.

“did you…?” you ask softly, your voice dropping a little as you lean in, your lips brushing against his jaw. “did you have to touch yourself after the dream?”

soonyoung swallows hard, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he nods, barely. “yeah,” he mutters, almost like he’s admitting some deep, dark secret. “i couldn’t… i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you.”

for a second, you just stare at him, processing the confession. he was jerking off, thinking about you—and now here you are, straddling him, grinding against him. “shit,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him, your fingers tracing lightly over his chest. “you’ve been thinking about me like that?”

“how could i not? y/n-nie” he sulks, his hands trembling slightly as they slip under your shirt, his fingers brushing against the damp skin of your lower back.

you smirk, leaning down to kiss him again, this time slower, deeper, letting your tongue slip into his mouth as your hips rock slowly, teasing him. his hands tighten on your back, pulling you closer, but you can feel him trembling beneath you, his body so tense.

“you want me to stop?” you ask against his lips, voice low and teasing. “because i don’t think you do.”

he shakes his head, the movement jerky, his breath coming in quick gasps as you continue to grind against him. his fingers slip into your hair, damp from the shower, tugging gently as he lets out a soft, desperate sound.

“no—don’t stop.”

and that’s all you need.

you push yourself off him, just enough to slide your shorts down, tossing them aside before settling back down on his hips. the feeling of your bare skin against his sweats makes you shudder, and you see the way his eyes go wide, dark and blown out with need as you shift, grinding your bare pussy against the bulge in his pants.

soonyoung groans, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands grip your thighs, trying to hold you steady. but you don’t give him a second to recover. you grind down hard, dragging your slick cunt over the fabric of his sweats, and he’s almost delirious from the sensation.

“fuck—fuck—y/n—”

you smirk, leaning down to kiss him again, your lips brushing against his as your hand trails down his chest, tugging at the waistband of his pants. “you’ve been thinking about this, hm?”

“yeah,” he gasps, his hips jerking up to meet yours as you slip your hand under his waistband, fingers brushing against his cock. “god, yeah.”

but you don’t give him what he wants. not yet. instead, you slide down his body, trailing kisses over his chest, his stomach, your fingers tracing the waistband of his sweats before tugging them down. you don’t even bother taking them off completely, just pulling them down enough to free his cock.

you wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly as you lean down, your breath hot against his skin. he’s sensitive—too sensitive—and he’s almost squirming under your touch, but you keep going, taking your time, watching his face as you work him up even more.

“you’re so fucking hard,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the base of his cock, and he lets out a choked sound, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

you don’t stop. you slide your hand up and down his length, your thumb brushing over the tip, slick with precum, and then you lean down, your tongue darting out to lick along the underside of his cock.

you slide down his body again, this time lowering yourself between his legs, your mouth hovering just above his cock. you can see the way his whole body trembles, his hips jerking up slightly as you take him into your mouth. you don’t rush—no, you take your time, swirling your tongue around the tip before sliding your mouth down, taking him as deep as you can.

soonyoung lets out a broken sound, his hands flying to your hair, gripping tightly as you work him over, your mouth wet and slick as you suck him off. you can feel him trembling beneath you, his whole body tense, but you don’t let up. you take him deeper, your throat tightening around him as you swallow, your tongue flicking over the tip every time you pull back.

“fuck—y/n—please—”

he’s close, you can tell.

his fingers twist in your hair, tugging just enough to pull you off him, your lips slick and spit-slicked. his chest heaves, eyes glazed, but there's something different about the way he looks at you now.

“wait, wait” he breathes out. “please.”

and before you can even think to argue, he’s moving, flipping you onto your back with a suddenness that makes your head spin. his hands are already on your thighs, parting them with this desperate, greedy energy like he’s been dying to do this. you’re still catching your breath from everything before, but the second you feel his warm breath ghosting over your core, it’s like everything sharpens again.

he's focused, his eyes locked on your pussy like it’s the only thing in the world that matters right now. his hands grip your thighs, pushing them wider apart as he leans down, his tongue darting out to lick along your slit, the slickness from how worked up you are already makes his job easy, and he groans at the taste, the sound vibrating against your skin in a way that has your toes curling.

“fuck,” he mutters, before he dives in fully. his tongue presses flat against your pussy, lapping up every bit of wetness before it circles around your clit, teasing but never giving you enough. you feel your hips buck up, seeking more friction, but his hands hold you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“soonyoung,” you breathe out, your voice shaky, “fuck—don’t tease.”

he doesn’t say anything, but his mouth works faster now, tongue flicking over your clit before he sucks it into his mouth, just enough pressure to have your back arching off the bed. but it’s not just his mouth that’s driving you crazy—it’s the way his fingers slid to work at the same time, sliding up and down your inner thigh, teasing, but never quite touching where you need him most.

“shit,” you hiss, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against you. “more—fuck, soonyoung—more.”

he lifts his head just enough to look up at you, his lips shiny, slick with your wetness, and the sight alone nearly makes you cum. “more?” he echoes, but he’s already slipping one finger inside you, slow and deep, crooking it just right to hit that spot.

“fuck—yes—there—” your head angles back, your fingers curling tighter in his hair, and he takes that as his cue to add a second finger, pumping them in and out slowly while his mouth goes back to your clit, his tongue swirling around it.

and then he stops, thinking, before diving in again. instead of just keeping his mouth on your clit, he presses his tongue flat against it, then flicks his wrist, his fingers twisting inside you, almost like he’s trying to find a new angle, something that’ll drive you absolutely crazy. and it does. you’re not even sure how he’s managing to do it—his mouth, his fingers, everything working in perfect sync to build that pressure deep inside you—but it’s fucking working, and you feel like you’re losing your mind.

“holy shit,” you gasp, your hips grinding up into his mouth, chasing the friction. “holy fuck, soonyoung—what are you—”

he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t fucking stop, and you feel the tension in your belly building, higher and higher, until it’s almost crazy to hold it. his mouth is relentless, his fingers curling and twisting inside you, and you can’t even form words anymore—just a mess of moans and gasps as you get closer and closer to the edge.

your orgasm punches you, crashing over you so hard that your vision goes white for a second, your body tightening and shaking as you cum undone beneath him. you feel the way his fingers slow down, coaxing you through it, while his tongue keeps flicking over your clit, softer now, gentler, but still enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure.

you’re breathless, your body limp against the mattress, but soonyoung doesn’t stop. he stays between your thighs, his fingers slowly pulling out of you, but his mouth is still there, kissing and licking you clean, like he can’t get enough of your taste.

“fuck baby,” you breathe out, your chest heaving as you try to come down from the high.

he finally looks up at you, his lips swollen and shiny, and he doesn't even wipe it out. “taste even better than i imagined.”

you let out a shaky laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “yeah? you’ve been thinking about that a lot?”

“more than you know,” he murmurs, before he leans in again, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “but now i can do the rest in peace.”

you lock eyes with him, your lips brushing against his, “not before i ride that dick.”

the way soonyoung’s eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat, almost makes you laugh. he looks like he’s about to choke on his own spit, his face flushing red as he processes what you just said. “wh-what?”

“you heard me.” you slide your hand down his chest, feeling the way his muscles twitch under your touch, “been thinking about it for a while now. riding you. sitting on it. licking it. you want that?”

he swallows hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips—a habit of him, and you can tell his brain is short-circuiting. the way his hips shift beneath you, the way his fingers tighten their grip on your thighs, he’s already imagining it—has been imagining it.

fuck, probably for a while.

“you—y/n…” his voice is shaky, almost like he can’t believe you’re saying this out loud. “i—fuck, i thought about it—but like… i didn’t think you…”

you raise an eyebrow, leaning down so your lips are barely an inch away from his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “didn’t think i’d want it too? didn’t think i’d think about how i’d bounce on that dick? how i’d feel you filling me up, stretching me out? yeah, soonyoung, i’ve been thinking.”

he lets out this choked sound, his hand slipping from your thigh to wrap around your hip, like he’s trying to ground himself in reality. “fuck—you can’t just say shit like that…”

“why not?” you roll your hips down against his, feeling the hardness straining through his pants. “thought you liked me being honest?”

soonyoung’s eyes shut tight for a second, like he’s trying to get a grip, but you can feel the way his cock twitches under you, betraying him. and honestly, it just makes you want to push him further.

“been thinking about how it’d feel,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his jaw. “how your cock would slide inside me, how deep you’d get if i sat on it, how fucking good you’d feel—hmm”

you smile, leaning back to look at him, loving the way his pupils are blown wide with lust, the way his chest is rising and falling so fast it’s like he’s running out of breath. you reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants.

he lifts his hips without thinking, helping you pull his pants down enough to free his cock, the sight of it making your mouth water. he’s bigger than you imagined—hard and thick, the tip already leaking.

“holy shit,” you mutter, wrapping your hand around it, giving it a slow stroke that has him hissing through his teeth. “so this is what you’ve been hiding from me, huh?”

soonyoung can barely speak, just nodding like his brain is short-circuiting all over again.

you shift your hips, lining him up with your entrance, slick and warm from how fucking wet you are already. and then, slowly, you sink down on him, taking him inch by inch, watching as his face contorts/

“oh fuck,” he groans, his head falling back against the pillows. “fuck, fuck, fuck—so tight—so fucking good—”

you can feel every inch of him, stretching you, filling you up completely, and it’s so good, delicious, you pause for a second, letting yourself adjust, your hands splayed out on his chest as you look down at him, smirking at how fucked he already looks.

“you good?” you ask, breathless, and he just nods frantically, his eyes wide and desperate as he looks up at you.

“yes, yes, yes!” he stammers, his voice cracking.

“well,” you grin, starting to rock your hips slowly, “just wait till i really start.”

he lets out a broken moan, his hands flying to your waist, but he doesn’t try to stop you—just lets you set the pace as you start riding him, just to tease him, before gradually speeding up, rolling your hips down against him in a way that has both of you gasping.

“so—hmm—so fucking perfect,” he mumbles, his fingers digging into your skin as he tries to hold on, but you can tell he’s losing it. his breathing’s all over the place, and his hips keep bucking up, trying to meet your movements, desperate for more.

nothing could’ve prepared him for this—not in his wildest, dirtiest, late-night fantasies. the way you suddenly prop yourself up on one knee, the other leg still pressed into the mattress, your whole body lifting up just slightly before you drop back down on him—it’s fucking insane.

the first time you do it, he swears he blacks out for a second. his entire world narrows down to the way you’re bouncing on his cock, the obscene wet sound of your slick every time you slam back down, and the way your tits are moving in rhythm with your body—fuck, it’s like he’s stuck in a trance.

“oh shit—shit,” he chokes out, his hands scrambling to grab onto your thighs, your waist—anything—but he can barely hold on. you’re riding him like you’ve been waiting for this moment, like you know exactly what the fuck you’re doing, and he’s just trying not to fucking implode.

the thing is—there’s no hesitation in you. no shyness, no slowing down to check if he’s handling it okay. you’re just going for it, like you knew this was going to ruin him, like you wanted to see his fucking end. your nails dig into his chest, using him as leverage as you move, your body fucking perfect, hips rolling and grinding.

“y/n you're gonna—” he can barely form a sentence, his breath coming out in ragged, desperate gasps. every time you drop down, your pussy squeezes around him, tight and hot and perfect, and it’s too fucking much. he feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous, like one more bounce and he’s done for.

“what's wrong, soonyoung?” you tease.

and fuck, he knows you're joking, knows you’re playing, but the way you say it just kills him. he lets out a strangled groan, his hips bucking up involuntarily, and you gasp as you feel the shift, your body jerking forward, hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

“ah!—” you bite your lip, eyes fluttering closed for a second, and the sound you make—that surprised moan—goes straight to his fucking brain.

soonyoung’s hands fly to your waist, his grip tightening, trying to hold you in place, trying to slow you down, because fuck, if you keep this up, he’s not gonna last—there’s no way. but it’s like you’re on a mission to break him. you grind down on him, hard and slow, then lift yourself back up only to slam back down again, your tits bouncing in a way that’s impossible for him to look away from.

“fuck," he grits out, head falling back against the pillows, his entire body going rigid as he tries to keep it together. “y/n—fuck—i can't hold it”

but you’re not listening. you’re in your own world now, riding him like it’s second nature, like this is what you’ve been waiting for all along. and fuck, he can feel how wet you are, can hear the slick sound of your pussy every time you drop back down on his cock.

“oh my god," he groans, his voice cracking as he feels you tightening around him, “you're—fuck, you're so—”

“so what?” you ask breathlessly, your lips curling into a wicked smile as you look down at him. your hands slip up to his chest, pushing him down against the mattress, your nails dragging along his skin, and he fucking shudders beneath you.

“so fucking perfect,” he finishes, his voice strained as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. he feels like he’s on fire, like every nerve in his body is screaming at him to hold on, but you’re making it fucking impossible. you’re going to fucking kill him.

you lift yourself up again, your back arching, and for a second, soonyoung thinks he might fucking pass out from how fucking good you look. your hair falls in front of your face, sticking to your skin from sweat, and your tits bounce with every movement, the low cut of your shirt leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

he watches, completely hypnotized, as you plant your feet on the mattress again, one knee still bent, the other leg propping you up—and then you jump on him again.

he chokes out, his head jerking up from the pillows as his body goes rigid beneath you. the way you’re moving now, bouncing on his cock, your ass slamming against his hips.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, the words barely coherent as his hips buck up into you involuntarily, chasing the heat, the tightness, the fucking heaven of your body.

but you don’t slow down. if anything, you speed up, your pace becoming almost frantic as you grind down on him, hard and fast, your nails digging into his chest as you chase your own orgasm. and fuck, he’s right there with you.

“shit, soonyoung—” you gasp, your voice cracking, “feels so fucking good—”

he umbles something incoherent making you laugh, breathless and ragged, and the sound sends a jolt straight to his cock. you whisper, leaning down to kiss him hard.

the moment you tell him to come for you, it’s like his whole body loses it. soonyoung’s grip on your hips falls, eyes roll back, head slamming against the pillow.

his whole body tenses up, the heat in his stomach bursting into flames, and the orgasm hits. he feels it rush through him, all the way down to his toes, the release so intense it almost hurts. his cock twitches deep inside you, and he’s spilling into you, his body convulsing, he can’t stop moving, his hips jerking up into you as he tries to ride out the high.

you feel him coming inside you, making your walls tighten around him, squeezing him as you throw your head back, gasping, your thighs shaking as you grind down on him.

he watches you, his eyes barely open, completely mesmerized by the sight of you cumming on top of him, your mouth open, your body trembling.

your hips move slower now, grinding down on him. you collapse on top of him, your body going limp against his chest, both of you drenched in sweat.

soonyoung let out a ragged breath, his arms wrapped around your body, his fingers tracing shy patterns on your skin. it felt like a gift after the best time of his life.

[buckyalpine]

Did You Hear

Fluffyy crack fic and nothing else. Imagine Tony Stark's shy new assistant sitting at the kitchen island for breakfast, getting a cup of tea before heading to the lab. She's sipping from her steaming mug when a very pretty super solider walks in from his run and the heat rising in her cheeks isn't from the hot Earl Grey.

"Mornin' y/n" He gives you a polite smile while he makes his way to the fridge and you had to silence the squeak that nearly escapes your lips. He's in a pair of snug grey sweats which are resting sinfully low on his hips and his tight black t-shit showing off every divot and curve of muscle on his torso. You bite you lip as he bends down to grab a cold bottle of water, silencing a squeal with a sip of tea.

"Morning, Sergeant" You give him a smile and the lopsided grin he gives you as he goes on about his day leaves you giggling and kicking your feet. You were just about finished your cup when Nat walked in next, looking you up and down with a shake of her head.

"Bucky was here, wasn't he" She playfully rolled her eyes knowing the effect the brunette had on you. "What happened this time"

"Bucky has a cute butt" You giggled, while Nat snorted at your flustered state. "And slutty thighs"

"Do you ever plan on actually telling him"

"No!" You vigorously shook your head. That was out of the question for you; you were happy to admire the soldier from afar. The last thing he'd want is to have to deal with is the playground crush you had on him anyway, it was a miracle he even noticed you. "He doesn't even see me that way"

"Well, guess we'll never know" She sassed as you slipped off the stool to make your way to the lab.

"I'm happy to admire God's work from a safe distance!" You called over your shoulder while Nat shook her head, smirking to a third person you didn't see who was lingering near the kitchen, very happy to listen intently to the conversation that was taking place.

The one that was supposed to be a secret from Bucky's ears.

That wouldn't do.

-

"Did you hear?" Sam grinned, sauntering over where Bucky was sparring with Steve, both men panting after already going for a few rounds. "Word on the street is you have a cute butt"

"What" Bucky deadpanned while Steve smirked, watching the heat in his friends cheeks already starting to creep up to his ears.

"Mhm, that little tush of yours has been getting a lot of attention lately"

"From who" Bucky's face scrunched up in confusion, frowning when Sam cackled, clapping his shoulder.

"Tony's cute lil assistant" He says with a wink, noting the immediate change in Bucky's demeanor, his frown falling off his face, replaced with a very pink blush.

"You mean y/n?"

"Uh huh. Must've been those slutty grey sweats you've been running around in"

"Slutty?"

"Extremely. Especially with those thighs"

"And how do you know this" Bucky struggled to bite back a smile, not wanting to get his hopes up until he was sure. "There's no way she-

"Heard her talking to Nat this morning. She sounded real excited after seeing you and your cute butt" Sam gave him a swat causing him to yelp.

"Hm. Interesting" The soldier nodded already looking towards the showers so he could rinse off and find you.

"Yeah, yeah, go find your girl" Steve shoved Bucky off the mat with a grin. Bucky jogged off to the lab right after a shower, purposely throwing on a new pair of his snug joggers. He smirked as he walked in seeing you fully focused on a small creation Tony created, tinkering away without noticing him.

"Hey doll"

"Ser-sergeant!" You squeaked in surprise as he strode inside, dropping the gadget you were working on, "What can I help you with"

"Sam told me something earlier", Bucky shrugged casually while you stayed frozen in your seat, your heart rate picking up the closer he got. "Was wonderin' if you knew anything about it"

"What's-what's that" You fidgeted nervously, his baby blues staring at you intently, loving how flustered you looked.

"Someone said something about me having a cute butt"

"Oh" You looked like deer in headlights, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

"Oh?" Bucky smirked while you hid your face in your hands, ready to sink to the floor and hide under the table, he must have thought you were such a pervert. "And something about slutty thighs-

"Not just your butt! All-all of you is cute all over" You squeaked out before slapping a hand over your mouth realizing you were making it worse.

"All of me, huh" Bucky pried your hand away from your face, cupping your cheek instead, the cool metal of his arm soothing your hot skin. "So you do think I have a cute butt and slutty thighs"

His thumb came up to pull your bottom lip away from where it was caught between your teeth, smiling at the little nod you gave him, too scared to open your mouth.

"Well I'm glad"

"Y-you are?" You shyly whispered, nearly whining when he brought his other hand to hold your face gently, his lips brushing against yours.

"Mhm, means I can do this" You went limp in his hold, every muscle in your body turning into mush as he kissed your lips sweetly, the gentle peck feeling like he'd stolen your breath away. "Don't faint on me sweets" Bucky chuckled as he pulled away, seeing the dazed look on your face.

"Such a cute butt" You whispered to yourself, eyes growing wide when you realized you said that out loud. You buried yourself in his chest making Bucky grin, kissing the top of your head.

"Want to grab coffee with my cute butt?" Bucky tipped your chin up to look at him, "I'll even bring my slutty thighs" He threw in with a wink.

"Promise?" You giggled while he slipped in his hand in yours, leading you towards the door.

"Scouts honor, doll"

[misslovasstuff]

Writing prompt: Them taking about their lover

op men x fem!reader

with: Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Buggy.

author’s note: oh to be described by hot pirates that would die for me hehe. Enjoy ~

please support me here (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)：ko-fi

Sanji:

“Ah, - he rests his elbows on the table, pupils dilated and somehow taken the form of an heart as his face rests on his palms. - she…”

The moment you are mentioned in the conversation, Sanji completely melts. His mind now travels distant lands where he imagines you and his surroundings become dust.

“She completely devastates me. - he closes his eyes and starts describing you. - Eyes that lure me in even with the shortest of glance, a smile that determines my fate, the touch of those hands that are grown among prickles of roses and yet have remained so soft that when caressing my skin so gently, I feel like I am healed from everything that has hurt me. Ah, for my love I could talk for hours. She… she is someone I thought I could ever meet. A miracle.”

Zoro

He puts his sake down for a moment, eyes lowered as he looks down whilst thinking. Suddenly he chuckles and shakes his head.

“That woman will be the death of me. - Zoro says, leaning against the chair with a sigh and a smile. - She’s an open book, easy to understand, at least for me. The way she smiles and lightens up every time she sees me… it warms my heart. I hear my name falling out her lips and my whole body just shivers from the sound of her voice. Sometimes while I’m training she’ll walk by to visit me. Those are the times I cherish a lot since we don’t get to be alone together for a long time. Small pecks she gives me during the day, notes that she sticks to my swords, lipstick marks on my clothes…- his pushes his head back, staring at the ceiling as he covers his bashful face. - What a woman she is… I can never get enough of her.”

Luffy

“Ah, she’s amazing! - his eyes shine brightly at the mention of your name. - we have known each other for a while now.”

Luffy smiles, voice deepening as his cheeks turn slightly pink.

“We met as she tried to save my life. That type of courage, I’ve seen only in a few people. - he begins explaining. - Anyone that looks at her can feel how genuine she is: her kindness… she has helped so many people and yet fails to see how she has helped me the most by opening my heart to so many new experiences. I don’t know what it is, perhaps I’m always too full when I look at her and my stomach feels heavy, my eyes get fixated on her as she watches over the horizon, the one I used to observe but now I completely ignore it, as if I’ve found something more beautiful to look forward to.”

Buggy

“Uh?? Why would you ask me about her?”- with his voice high pitched eyebrow raised, Buggy is taken a bit aback but soon calms down his protective instinct. - Well, there’s no reason for you to know but I’ll say it anyways because I’m so proud of my girl.”

He smirks, crossing his legs as he sits comfortably whilst beginning his description:

“A total babe, tall and curvy, so beautiful that my hands shake upon first touching her. - his eyes soften a bit, so does his voice. - Her laugh is the most precious thing ever in my world. She chuckles at my jokes and makes me laugh too. Not only is she fun, but my sweetheart is my biggest support. There is no one who believes in me like her. And… if I can become the man that she hopes I can be, then I could make her the happiest, like she makes me. A man like me saw her and truly believed that I had found the treasure that was meant for me and I’m willing to guard her with my life.”

[loveinhawkins]

”How do you do it?” Eddie asks.

The question slips out far too late at night, anxiety thrumming in his chest—he’s not escaped the feeling ever since the boathouse, when he simply couldn’t sleep, felt like a fox just waiting for hound dogs to get his scent, ready to run—

Steve doesn’t need him to explain further, as if he can somehow hear a whole lot of what Eddie’s not saying: like when he picked up the phone an hour ago and hadn’t even let Eddie tie himself in knots, had just said, so easily, “I’ll come get you,” like it wasn’t a huge inconvenience, like he’d been the one to call Eddie instead.

He’s considering Eddie from where he lies in bed, leaning on his elbow, and he’s still got the covers off pointedly—and that’s a big thing, Eddie thinks, a big thing he doesn’t know what to do with, because they’ve not talked, not really, not got much beyond the dizzying relief of still being alive.

But even fraught with profound lack of sleep, Eddie doesn’t think he’s misreading the look in Steve’s eyes.

I know, those eyes say, illuminated by the warm light of the bedside lamp. It’s okay, there’s no rush. I’m right here.

Eddie’s never seen that kind of look before. Not towards him.

“Sometimes Robin sleeps over,” Steve says thoughtfully. “And sometimes the kids are around, and they’re so annoying and I get, like, three hours, tops.” He says it with all the fondness in the world. “And sometimes I’m alone, and it’s fine.”

“What about the other times?” Eddie can’t help but whisper.

If it were a reasonable hour maybe he wouldn’t dare to ask at all, but exhaustion’s worn down the filter in his head—at this point it’s practically see-through.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, they’re shit,” he says with such honesty that Eddie nearly asks it again, how do you do it?

“But then it’s, like, a new day,” Steve says slowly, like he’s carefully weighing up what to say, “and I can… drive.” The pause tells Eddie he means go to someone. “Or, like… call, if it’s really bad.”

Hey, I’m glad you called, man, Steve had said when Eddie got into his car earlier, like they were just going to the movies or something normal—like Eddie wasn’t shaking, forehead pressed against the passenger window.

Eddie feels his throat close up a little. Tries to sniff as quietly as possible.

“Eddie,” Steve says patiently. He moves back in the bed. Gives Eddie space. “C’mere.”

Steve keeps the lamp on which helps; this isn’t the boathouse, Eddie thinks, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his body. Even that feels like a miracle.

He’s just resigning himself to lying there, staring up at the ceiling so at least Steve can get some rest, when Steve turns and catches his eye, still wide awake.

“Tell me about The Lord of the Rings,” Steve says.

The tightness in Eddie’s chest loosens; he laughs in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Eddie turns so he’s facing Steve properly, attempts a casual shrug, knowing already that it’ll be too rigid. “I don’t know, man. We, uh. We kinda lived through Mordor already.”

His hand twists in the bedsheets, knuckles turning white.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had…

Steve’s hand reaches across, eases Eddie’s grip on the sheets, like he’s saying, neither did I. Just give it a shot.

“The shire, then,” Steve says.

Eddie smiles. “Steve Harrington,” he says, suddenly finding enough lightness to tease; he’s missed it. “Are you asking me for a bedtime story?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “We’re just gonna lie here and talk.”

And they do.

Steve asks questions which works out for the best—Eddie can’t quite remember the last time he read the books. To tell the truth, anything that happened before March often has a kind of fog over it.

He’s sure he’s dropped at least a couple of plot points somewhere along the way, but Steve never once complains that he’s not making sense, just gently prompts Eddie until… until…

“Mm, I know what you’re doing,” Eddie mumbles through a yawn that catches him unawares.

“Oh, do you now?” Steve says, sounding smug. God, Eddie loves him. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.” Eddie says. His eyelids are heavy. “Um.” He yawns again. “Where… where was I?”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Steve says. It sounds like he’s smiling—Eddie would check, but it’s suddenly impossible to keep his eyes open.

It’s okay, he thinks hazily, melting into sleep without even thinking about it. He can ask Steve in the morning.

There’s no rush.

[bunny-1111]

Blow out your candles - Theo Nott x reader

Description: you hate your birthday, your boyfriend Theodore tries to make it the best day for you, but only makes it worse, until...

Word Count: 1.1k

Fluff/Angst

Likes, comments + reblogs appreciated my loves xx

...

"One more sleep" Theo jestered, throwing an arm around you in the busy hallways of the Hogwarts morning traffic.

"Don't remind me" you muttered, wanting to hide in his chest

"Wait till you see what I got you" he teased, a smirk growing as he watched you

"Hey! I told you nothing, not fair!" you whined

"I can't wait, you're gonna love it, and you're gonna love your birthday baby" a cheshire grin painting his face

"I can wait" you say rolling your eyes, before the conversation could continue he pecked a kiss on your lips, before running off to class.

Now stuck walking by yourself, alone with your thoughts, you were becoming overwhelmed, since you were a child you despised your birthday.

With your parents always away, you spent most of your milestones alone, from as young as four years old, it was your Grandmother that would keep you celebrated, taking the morning to gather and make flower crowns, then spend the rest of the day wearing them. When she died, so did your birthday as far as you were concerned.

As time passed, you grew in age and in contentment. You now preferred your birthday to just pass as any other would, that's how it was supposed to be this year as well, until Pansy opened her stupid mouth a month ago, reminding everyone you would be eighteen soon.

Theodore reminded you everyday since then, he was basically a human countdown for your least favourite day of the year.

Now less than twenty-four hours away, you couldn't bare the thought.

Now, the night before the dreaded day, you hoped, by some miracle, Theodore would fall, hit his head, and forget.

That did not happen, the sun blared into your eyes as your boyfriend ripped open your blinds early birthday morning

"Wake up birthday girl!" he practically yelled

"No" you groaned sinking into your pillows, you hands throwing your blanket over you head, make this go away you thought

Theodore tore your blankets off you, and jumped onto you and began blabbering about the plans of the day, he was so happy your birthday fell on a Saturday, you hated it, if you had class you could avoid all of this.

He moved you to sit upright, and continued talking about a day full of surprises

"I hate surprises" you complain

"Well you love me, so you'll like these ones" he returned, gently caressing your face with his warm hands

"Why can't we just sleep the day away in my bed, that's what I want" you said

"Tough luck, sweetheart, let's go" he smiled prompting you up

In the great hall, your friends waited for you, smiles one their faces, waiting to welcome you. Theodore insisted they go around and give you their presents one by one, followed by stating all the things they love about you.

It was embarrassing to say the least, you felt so out of body.

As the hours passed, Theodore did not talk about anything else, reminded everyone, it was getting progressively unbearable. It never ended, he had something or someone waiting for you everywhere you turned.

You knew how much he cared, how hard he was trying, you loved him, and hated yourself for being so displeased at his actions.

By nighttime, you were counting down the hours till the days end, you entered the common room, a chalkboard centring the space, a big 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' written for everyone to see.

You and your friends sat on the couch, when Theo entered, cake in hand, candles lit, your friends began to sing and clap. One final protest.

No, no, no.

You told him so clearly, no cake, and absolutely no singing. Spare me some fucking dignity you wanted to scream

He just didn't listen, placing the cake close to you, waiting for you to blow out your candles.

You threw your head back, tears stinging your eyes, breath, you reminded yourself. When breathing wasn't working you choose to get up and storm to your dorm, hot, frustrated tears flooding your face.

You ran into bed, and continued crying, perfect, you thought, this is what you wanted, right? To push Theo away, to be alone, to feel like shit, to act like shit, congratulations, you're officially a year older and officially a shitty person.

When time passed, there was only 15 minutes left, a knock on your door.

"Please don't come in" you begged

He of course didn't listen, twisting the doorknob, opening and closing the door behind himself.

Theo carefully approached you

"I'm sorry" he almost whispered rubbing your back, meeting each others sad eyes.

"No, I'm sorry" you sigh

"Can I give you your present?" he asked so politely

you nodded, inhaling a sniffle.

"Close your eyes" he requested, you did

You could hear him reached into his pocket, and place something on your head, reaching up to feel what it was, your heart dropped, immediately opening your eyes, head clocking to your mirror, to be met with a flower crown decorating your hair.

You gasped, turned to him and threw yourself into a hug, he held you tight as you cried "How did you know" you enquired

"I wrote your mother" he shrugged, attempting a smile

"One more thing" he continued, handing you a letter

"What's this?" you questioned

"Trust me, darling, just read it" He said, kissing your forehead.

Birthday Girl. Read the front, opening the parchment you almost choked when you recognised the handwriting, it was from your grandmother.

Hi sweet girl,

I will be long gone by the time you read this, but did you really think I wouldn't be there in some way on your 18th birthday.

I love you endlessly, I am picking flowers for you above, stay gentle, regardless of what this world throws at you, and remember the times in the fields, crafting our crowns, baking your cake, laughing, smiling, don't lose any petals without me!

The things I would do to spend just one more birthday with you, child.

Think of me always, as I do, you.

Love you, my flower girl.

-Grammy

You almost dropped it in shock, eyes rescanning, rereading a hundred times

"i- How" you stuttered out

"You mother saved it, she wasn't going to send it, so I went and got it for you myself" he admitted

"You did this for me" You cried

"I love you" he hushed

"I love you so much" you returned, pulling him into your bed.

Before you both drifted to sleep, you faced him, "Best birthday ever" you whispered, kissing you, he grinned

"I'm so sorry teddy" you repeat

"Enough of that, alright, I know it's hard" he sympathised

"You've changed everything for me, I think I love my birthday again, thank you my darling boy" you cry happy tears

He held you tighter.

As you sleep your birthday off, the smile on your face doesn't leave you.

requests are open <3

[ghxstmxchine]

ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇꜱ

☆ ᴀ/ɴ: letting myself be a teensy bit self indulgent on my first post bc this is my favorite thing ever. super excited to start posting more on here!

☆ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ: SFW // includes: Miles, Hobie, Miguel & Pavitr (x gn!reader) // w.c: 0.8k

ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ

Not the biggest fan of people stealing his clothes especially when everything he owns means so much to him, but when it comes to you, he’s always willing to make exceptions

He might be a bit shocked when you show up wearing the jacket he’s been tearing his room apart looking for, but he’s quick to reassure you that you can keep it and even wants you to take it

It’s different when it comes to you, he knows it comes from a place of love. You adore him so much that you want at least something of his to keep with you, especially with how busy his schedule tends to be

It’s not a one way agreement though, he most definitely returns the sentiment by taking something of yours. He likes having something that reminds him of you, it makes him feel safer sometimes

Will completely deny that it’s yours whenever you point it out, but his smile is giving him away as you chase him around trying to reclaim your jacket.

“Miles, is that my jacket?” “No? I bought this.” “It’s literally my jacket.” “Okay, then why does it fit me so well? Might as well be mine” “Miles…”

Goes clothes shopping but keeps you in mind while buying stuff

ʜᴏʙɪᴇ ʙʀᴏᴡɴ

Always so quick to compliment how something of his looks on you, He can’t help but be such a flirt and it’s a nice surprise to see something he loves on someone he loves, he has to make sure you know how good you look 

When it comes to things such as his battle vest, he offers to make you one or at least teach you but you stubbornly only take his which he teases you for plenty because you can’t seem to get enough of him

Since you both seem to be sharing it anyways, he’ll let you add on pins or patches that you like. He also never complains if you accidentally tear it because it’s just an excuse to add another patch

When he takes your clothes he’s very loud and proud about it, walking around shamelessly in something you own. (“Don’t I look good? Almost looks better on me, don’t you think love?)

Claims that your clothes are much more comfortable than his but he’s not one to ever care about buying new things so he definitely takes advantage of anything you may have just bought

He’s very careful with your clothes, it’s almost a miracle how he never gets anything (dirt, makeup, blood, etc.) on it. For someone so punk he's so stubborn with keeping your things clean & undamaged

ᴍɪɢᴜᴇʟ ᴏ'ʜᴀʀᴀ

He’s tricky, he’ll be a bit annoyed if it’s anything he needs at the moment but doesn’t complain if it’s anything else. He might make a comment about making sure not to ruin it but with the way he’s looking at you all day, you know he’s all bark and no bite

Flips some possessive switch on in his head and suddenly he’s looking at you like you’re some meal, he gets a lot more touchy when he sees you in something of his but won’t admit it

Even when he asks you to give it back to him by the end of the day, he never pesters you about it again, too busy staring at how good you look

Very, very rarely will ever take anything that’s yours. Half of the time it’s on accident when he’s trying to find something of his in the dark bedroom, and it’s even harder to get him to admit that it’s yours

He’s too scared he’ll ruin something of yours if he gets into a fight, especially since you take such good care of what you steal from him. He’d rather accept small things like bracelets or rings to wear

Make him one of those friendship bracelets and he’ll wear it till it falls apart

ᴘᴀᴠɪᴛʀ ᴘʀᴀʙʜᴀᴋᴀʀ

Will completely gush for hours about how good you look in anything of his. He feels so honored that you chose something of his to wear, especially if it makes you feel comfortable

He just can’t get over it, he’s such a hopeless romantic and you wearing his clothes is automatically so romantic to him. He’s also super quick to offer up something of his if you ever need it

It always smells so good, he takes super good care of his belongings and has a very distinct cologne he wears that rubs off on everything he wears. Also his clothes are super soft, overall they’re very comfortable

He’s not one to take anything without asking, he could be freezing to death and still make sure with you that it’s okay for him to take a jacket. He’s very big on respecting others’ belongings

Wears your jacket with him on patrol sometimes, much like Miles he finds it comforting to have something from you while he’s patrolling, especially on taxing days

Washes and folds everything before returning it to you because he’s just an absolute sweetheart. He’ll let you keep anything of his for as long as you want, he’s not one to complain

[eupheme]

— the season for second third fourth chances

[part v of sugar, sugar] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 4.5k

tags: holiday fluff, reader references/celebrates christmas, misunderstandings, light angst, references to canon-typical anxiety, violence, wade's cancer diagnosis, and death, references plot events in DP 1 & 2, sexual innuendos/implied smut, feelings

With the holidays on the horizon, your afternoons are filled with preparations for Wade’s annual holiday party. With baking and cookie decorating, finishing up wrapping presents - and maybe even a little Christmas miracle, when you find yourself running into a familiar face.

"What?"

It slips from you, as your eyebrows shoot up - glancing down at the piece of cardstock. Before you're adding -

"Why?"

Wade huffs, his finger tapping against the text that loops across the top.

"Don't give me that, Sugar. I spent ages picking out the right font, I know the contrast is enough for you to read it clearly."

And he's right. You can definitely read it, even without the coarse coat of glitter making the headline sparkle.

‘Spread Some Christmas Cheer’

The letters arching above a photo of Wade. His suit on, of course, as he lounges across the lap of what appears to be a mall Santa. Dread in the man’s once-twinkling blue eyes, as one of Wade’s legs drapes across the velvet red suit, the other kicked high against the back of the padded red chair.

‘With Wade Wilson's Winter Wonderland’ in script beneath - with dates and time for his party listed below.

"I can definitely read it," You acknowledge, "I was just asking what, as in what made you take this, and maybe even where, because-"

"Oh," He chuckles, "Yeah, I'm absolutely banned from JCPenney, but worth it, right? This is my best-looking card yet."

You can't help the smile, "It's definitely something."

He grins, "So, you'll come? I heard there might be a certain someone there."

"Is that right?" Your tongue pokes against your cheek.

"Mhmm. Pretty sure he sees you when you're sleeping. Definitely know if you've been naughty or nice, and I know for a fact I've seen you in his lap-"

There's a sound of disgust, as your nose wrinkles, "Okay, can you not talk about Logan that way? I don't need a Santa comparison in my head."

"Just thought I'd spice some things up for you. It's nothing to be ashamed of, we've all had a crush on the big man."

"On who?" There's a rough voice behind you - Logan hand fisted around the fleece jacket tugged from the back of the armchair.

"He knows what I'm talking about," Wade points, "I'm just saying, if Santa needs help handling that sack of his, I'm so fucking down."

"Jesus fucking Christ." An arm curls around you, as Logan glances at the invite, "Wait, this is this weekend?"

"Yes, this weekend," Wade sniffs, "We talked about it yesterday."

"Wasn't home yesterday." Logan's eyebrow cocks, "Or the day before."

"Well, I talked about it with somebody." Wade shrugs - another tapped finger at the bottom of the card, "Anyways, blah, blah, blah. It’s all here, proper name, place name, backstory stuff... just be there, because I know where you live-"

"We'll be there." You interrupt, biting back your smile, "Want me to bring anything?"

Wade's look turns pleased, and then thoughtful, "Well, I was going to get some cookies from Yeastie Boys Bakery..."

The words trailing off, as you groan - already so over the new bakery in town, their stupid jingle and 'viral' cupcakes that taste like shit.

"Don't even talk to me about them."

You can feel the way Logan's hands brace on your shoulder. The low, "he's kidding sweetheart-" rumbled in your ear.

"Guilty." Wade's hands spread wide, "Was just trying to rile you up into offering some of your own splendid wares. Al still talks about the ones you brought over last year. If it’s not too much work…"

The sentence trails off, as he bats his brown, pleading, puppy-dog eyes at you.

"Lead with that next time, asshole." Logan sighs.

"It's not." You answer automatically, though you're already mentally running through your schedule.

The presents you still have to wrap. The loose ends of Wade's gift that you still have to weave in. Another trip to the grocery store, for certain - you'll have to bake at home, since it's a favor.

There's a kiss pressed to your temple, as Logan moves around you.

"I know that look. Don't push too hard, honey." He finishes shrugging on his jacket, "I’ll see if Laura and I can help you out tomorrow."

Wade's voice chiming in, “And let it be known I am formally offering to help, but-”

You huff, “Thank you, but you’re still banned from my kitchen, Wade.”

Still not over the surprise of your gingerbread appearing with piped anatomically correct additions, after you had left him unsupervised last year.

The kiss goodbye you share with Logan lingers, a grateful press of your mouth against his. Wondering what you did to deserve such a man, still ready to pinch yourself every day.

A look in his eyes that matches yours, as he steps around Wade, who still lingers.

"Thanks, Sugar." He grins, "And remember - you better be good for goodness sake-"

You groan, as you shove him out the door. Logan's fingers curling around the collar of Wade’s jacket, the other tugging at the handle.

Unable to help adding your usual farewell, “Be careful out there, okay? Come back safe.”

Not that they need it, not with their powers. But it still feels like a charm, tucked carefully into their pockets as they head out together again - off on a new mission.

"I’ll take care of your Sugar Bear.” It's sung out, muffled behind the closed door. “Love you byeee!"

A sigh, as you shake your head.

Guess you have some work to do.

Your pen marks another item off your list, as you inch your cart through the too-busy grocery store.

It’s already half-filled with other last-minute items. Another couple gifts, now that official date of the party looms on the horizon - you can’t leave Peter, Ellie, and Yukio out, after all.

A new decorative Christmas plate for the cookies - you had lost yours in the impromptu disc golf match that Wade hosted at the apartment last year.

Last you heard, it was still on the roof next door.

Molasses, brown sugar, and spices for gingerbread. A fresh box of food coloring, for the sugar cookies - you were out of red, from last year as well.

A pack of powdered sugar drops down into your cart. Reaching for a second, just as another hand bumps against yours.

Twin apologies chime, as your eyes flick to the side.

Instantly recognizing the woman next to you - the sheepish look on your face cooling.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen in recognition, “Hey.”

“Hi, Vanessa.” You offer a half-smile - the last dregs of your annoyance with Wade vanishing, as you rest the second bag on top of the other.

A beat, before you manage, “How are you?”

“Good. Office party,” She wiggles her own bag, before it slips into the basket at her elbow, “You?”

“Um, I’m good, too.” You shrug, “And no, uh… friend’s party.”

Wade seemed mostly over the disaster that happened close to two months ago. More prone to forgiving and forgetting - gracious, in a way that you could be, when you wanted. That you were, most of the time.

After all, it was easier, to let something slide off your back when it came to a personal grudge. You could be an adult and move on, then.

But it was still hard to forget how crushed Wade had been. How you knew that she knew he had been cooking for her the night she stood him up- a drunken confession that he had seen the notification that she had watched the stories he had snapped for his social media stories.

And even if he was over it, you weren’t sure you were.

“Wade’s party?” She guesses, and it makes you blink.

Wondering when and how she had been invited. As far as you knew, her name hadn’t passed his lips in weeks.

“Yeah.” Your eyes search hers - the tightness in them, how she bites the inside of her cheek, “Are… you?”

“Undecided,” Her lips lift. A breath, before she’s asking, “How’s he been lately? Is he…”

You can’t help the small frown, a mark deepening between your brows, “He’s good.”

A half-truth, before you tack a little more on, “Sure he’s appreciating the extra space. Fixed Al up with a Murphy bed, and Logan’s been staying with me a lot lately.”

“Oh. I thought-” Vanessa’s sentence trails off.

She looks lost for a moment. A glance downward, picking at the manicured edge of a nail.

You haven’t seen her like this before. Too used to her confidence, those sharp edges that you lack.

Pity flickers through you.

“I really have to go. If I don’t start these soon, I’ll be up all night.”

It comes out apologetic - and you realize, you actually mean it, “But why don’t you swing by my apartment in a bit? I’m gonna be baking all afternoon, but I make a mean boozy hot chocolate.”

The look she gives you is tinged with relief.

It’s enough to make you wonder what you’re missing.

“Wait, what?” You yelp - for the second time, in forty-eight hours.

There’s a smudge of flour on your sweater. Holiday music pouring through the speaker on your counter. Vanessa carefully inching the gingerbread cutouts an inch apart.

A shoulder lifting, as she repeats herself, “I said I thought he moved on. With you.”

Not knowing, with the way she had come late to the party where you had met Logan. Left early, with her new corporate schedule.

You almost over-pour the ground cinnamon into the second batch. Tipping it back into the jar, as you let the spoon clatter against the counter. Her head tilts, at your expression.

“You haven’t thought about it? I know you’re both close.”

In another world, perhaps.

Another life - one where you hadn’t met Logan when you did. Hadn’t spent months cheering Wade on, those once barely-there flickers of interest fading to something solidly platonic some time ago.

Your head shakes, the words coming slowly, “It’s always been you, Vanessa. Everyone knows that.”

The corner of her lips lift. Fingernails tapping against the aluminum pan.

“I thought so, too.”

You frown, “Is that why didn’t you show? When he asked you over for dinner?”

Vanessa laughs then, rueful.

“The dinner.” Her eyes flick away, going back to a memory - a beat, before the snap to yours, “Yeah. I wanted to go. I uh, just split with Dermot. From work.”

You nod, remembering - overhearing the conversation at Wade’s birthday.

“He wanted me to move in. Said he saw a future with me, but when it came down to taking that step…” Her lips press together, the lift of a shoulder, “I’ve never seen myself with anyone else. Only him.”

Only Wade.

“But… then I saw you with him. The stories he posted. The two of you cooking, dressed up like a date.” It comes in a rush, “I thought, incorrectly, apparently-”

“He was cooking for you.” There’s a furrow in your brow, trying to piece together the way she saw it.

The sundress you wore for Logan. The captions that tipped towards lewd that you had tried to get him to delete - jokes about “getting lucky”, or the chicken not the only thing “being stuffed tonight”.

She nods, “I’m getting that now.”

“I think you still should have gone.” It’s starting to make sense, but you can’t help the reproach in your tone, ”He was devastated.”

The look she shoots you is defensive. Vanessa had always carried an intensity you lacked, and you take the full brunt of it now. Your fingers curl into fists for strength, not letting your gaze drop first. A beat, before she nods.

“I guess it’s just become easier to run.” Vanessa admits, “Defense mechanism. Get out first. Ironic, I know.”

You frown, not knowing, “Has that… has that happened before?”

“Which time?” Her laugh is close to a scoff, as she sighs.

Your eyes drop now, as you go back to your work. Back to measuring, tipping the spices into your mixer. The words coming slowly.

”He hasn’t told me a lot. Just a bit about last time. About…” You search for the words, feeling guilty. “About him not doing enough. That you wanted him to do something meaningful, and then the stuff with the Avengers, and…”

The words die, when you see her face.

Sorrow and anger, with the sharp shake of her head, “I never gave a damn about the Avengers. That was all Wade.”

A sigh, as she collects herself.

“I just wanted him to find his passion again. He changed… a few years ago. Something happened, a really close call. He fixed it, but he wasn’t the same after.”

A breath, before she adding, “He took it hard. Guilt, I think. All I really wanted was for him to talk to me. To let me help him, but he never let me in because he didn’t want me getting hurt again. He shut down, and stopped talking to me.”

The mixer hums. A beep of your timer, as the minutes tick down.

“You know Wade. Always has a joke ready. Never wants to get serious if he can help it. It’s stupid, but we... drifted.” Vanessa’s throat bobs as she swallows, “I was dealing with my own shit, and when he pushed me away, it reminded me of last time.”

She catches your expression again, as the dough tips out of the bowl. The furrow of your brow, as you swap it for a chilled portion in your fridge.

“It’s been a recurring theme,” It comes out blunt.

Her look turning considering, then, when the frown doesn't waver.

“Do you love Logan?”

The rolling pin slips in your grip. Pressing too hard, denting dough.

“I-,” You breathe. The question unexpected, leaving you wholly unprepared, even as your heart beats out the answer.

Her expression softens, “You care about him.”

You nod mutely.

“What would you do, if Logan just - disappeared? No trace of him, just gone in the night?”

Her question hangs. A physical ache in your chest at the mere thought, one that leaves you unable to breathe. Pieces starting to click together - little bits of what you know, forming some sort of photo.

“Is that what Wade did?”

She nods, “It was right after his cancer diagnosis. He was going through a lot, and just - left. For years. I thought… I thought he had died. I mourned him. It crushed me.”

You can’t help but reach across the table - hesitant, in the way you squeeze her arm.

She lets you, a look shot your way. Defending him, unable to help it.

“I get it, though. I get that it was a lot. I’ve forgiven him. But…” Her teeth pinch at her cheek, that guilt coming back, “When he started pulling away, I thought it was happening again. I couldn’t live through that again.”

You finish for her, “So you left first.”

She nods.

Silence lingers. Nails tapping on the countertop, fiddling with the silver rings on her fingers. The heat of the oven curling across your arms, as you swap one tray for another. Setting it aside to cool.

“You should go talk to him.” Your voice cracks through the quiet, when you turn - hands bracing against the counter.

Her eyebrows raise, “And say what?”

”Tell him what you told me. That you were just scared.” Your voice softens, “He invited you to his party because he still *wants* you in his life.”

She blinks, silent.

“I’ll help you,” You coax, “Logan’s already coming over tonight.”

Your eyes flick down to your phone, checking, ”Uh, really soon, actually. I’ll go next door with you, and bring Althea back with me. Give you two some time to catch up.”

Vanessa’s fingers cards through her hair - pushing back the long strands, the words coming slowly, “I don’t know…”

“Wade is crazy about you.” It comes out bluntly, and it’s this that pulls her attention.

You’re already swiping a container off the counter. Filling the bottom with sugar cookies baked this morning - cut into trees and mittens, decorated with buttercream and sprinkles.

The lid snaps on, as you hold it out to her.

“Trust me?”

Her eyes meet yours, and you can see the swirl of emotions across her face.

You smile and finally - she nods.

She follows a step behind, as you leave the apartment. The hallway chilly, the entrance bringing in a dusting of snow across the carpet, with the revolving holiday traffic.

The closing front door downstairs echoes with your own, as you head the next apartment over. Knuckles rapping against the wood, fingers mentally crossed.

A voice ringing out, muffled, “If you’re part of Rudolph and the Red-Hot Reindeers, you’re a day early-”

Opening to reveal Wade, dressed down in a shirt and sweatpants with his Deadpool logo patterned across them.

“Oh, hey Sugar.” He smiles, “What’s up?”

“Well,” You stall for a second, trying to figure out what exactly to say, “Is Althea home? Was wondering if she could help me with something.”

Wade chuckles.

“Fat fucking chance, she’s two episodes into the Golden Bachelor right now and she’s sure as hell not moving-” The words die out as Vanessa moves into view, the container in hand.

He goes silent, for the first time you can remember.

“I have the same streaming apps as you, I’m sure I can convince her.” Your shift - a hand touching at her shoulder, urging her forward, “And maybe you could do me a favor, too. Taste test these for tomorrow?”

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear you. His eyes lingering on Vanessa, his face bleeding from surprise to confusion to hope, as he takes her in.

“Yeah.” He manages after a long moment - clearing his throat.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, not with the way Al enjoys a cup of piping hot tea as much as you do - along with the promise she can watch her beloved show in peace. Almost giddy in the way she makes for the door, cane in hand and Dogpool tucked in the crook of her other arm.

The door just shutting behind you before she’s hissing, “What in God’s name was that?”

You shush her, eyes flicking back towards the apartment. Almost jumping out of your skin when it’s followed by another voice, this one pitched low.

“Seconded. Busy afternoon?”

Logan leans against the wall, Laura expression clear with the pull of her brows. Thirded.

“Something like that.” You herd them inside your apartment, before they can be overheard - not that Wade was listening, you’re sure.

The door is barely shut, before they’re rounding on you. Your own hands on your hips - a nod directing them towards the kitchen table, laden with bare gingerbread cookies.

Al tucked in the armchair, spun around the face the bustle of the kitchen, her show long forgotten.

“You’re stalling.” Laura points out bluntly, as you hand her the bag of icing.

Your tongue tucked against your teeth, as you shoot Logan a look. His eyebrows raised in response, eyes sliding over to the brick wall that separates your apartment from Wade.

“I’m not,” The word strings out, “It’s just, like, it’s not a big deal, right?”

She scoffs.

Althea’s cane taps the ground, “Something happened, and you’d better spill.”

“Alright,” Your fingers spread in front of you, “I ran into Vanessa at the store today. And we got to talking, and I invited her back here. I think she regrets what happened between them.”

There’s a snort of derision, and you can feel yourself starting to bristle.

“We all have our opinions, myself included-” You allow, as another noise interrupts you - lower and more gruff this time. You spin, shooting Logan another look.

“But I think she was genuine. I’ve certainly had my fair share of… miscommunications,” His expressions softens at your words, the corner of his lips curling as you shift to face Al.

“And I got some really good advice once from someone. Something about ‘talking about it’, and that’s what I encouraged her to do.”

“Hope you’re right,” Al sighs- but there’s a smile there, hidden in the way her lips press together, “That boy is more sensitive than my left tit in a snowstorm.”

“Jesus.” It’s muttered, at your shoulder. Logan’s head shaking as he joins Laura, the hint of a smirk as she works on piping a set of angry eyebrows.

Your eyes roll, “I am.”

Spinning back to face the table, as you grab your own bag of frosting.

“After all, it’s Christmas,” You can’t help but throw her way, from over your shoulder.

“And isn’t that the best time for a miracle?”

Logan’s arms wrap around you later, as you snap the last lid in place. Finally done with your last-minute idea - decorating each of the gingerbread to look like your friends.

Laura slipping out a few minutes ago, intent on staying until the end. Just as determined as Logan to see things through, even though you tried to get her to leave a few times - worried about the weather, the long drive back to the mansion.

The slight smile as her eyes rolled - with your affection towards her, you forget how impervious she is.

Althea long asleep in the couch, the quilt Logan’s borrowed so many nights before tucked around her. Ambient holiday music still pouring through the speaker, your attempt to drown out the enthusiastic reunion taking place next door.

Can’t bring yourself to mind. More relieved than anything.

And you deserve it, you suppose.

“You did a good thing.” It’s murmured into your hair, as you finally relax into him.

Arms curling beneath his, wrapping around his broad back to embrace him. You hum with contentment as his lips brush your temple.

“Don’t know if I can manage a miracle,” His lips curve when you lean back, eyes flicking up to meet his, “But if there anything else you might want for Christmas?”

Your teeth sink into your lip, as you grin.

The answer is easy, as your face tips towards his.

“Just want more time with you.”

Logan huffs, as his hand dips down. Cupping soft flesh, kneading - as he tugs you the rest of the way. A grin, just before his mouth presses against yours.

“Mm. Hope you don’t mind celebrating a little early, then.”

Red and green have exploded in the apartment next door - the flamingo lights that spill from the kitchen replaced with blinking bulbs. A tree that you’re truly unsure how it fit through the door, much less the narrow hallway, tucked in the corner.

You and Logan had helped decorate it earlier in the month - Wade directing from the couch, as the two of you and Althea arranged the ornaments. A ninja star zip-tied to the top, but with the lights turned low, and the swirl of snow coming down outside - it’s cozy.

It’s familiar - faces you’ve come to know well, known to love, fill the space. The cookies are a hit, sweet exclamations as they find the ones that represent them. Woolen and knitted sweaters, bodies tucked together on a hodgepodge of surfaces.

And perhaps, you do end up on Logan’s lap. His thighs spread wide in an armchair Wade found on the curb, out of place against the brick walls and industrial windows with its floral pattern.

Your eyes meeting Wade’s from across the living room, anticipating the tease.

But he only smiles back.

Something soft - an arm slung around Vanessa’s shoulder. The ‘white elephant in the room’, as he had cheekily alluded to it, addressed with a carefully placed piece of mistletoe.

Side-eyes and stunned silence easing into smiles, when you all saw the way they looked at each other.

And when he corners you to tell you thank you, you know the bone-crushing hug is not just for the handmade red-and-black beanie and scarf that you had gotten up early to finish for him.

The rest of your gifts don’t quite reach the same level, but you’re pleased all the same. Laura’s smile shy as she tries on the Docs you caught her eyeing, ankle twisting as her eyes dip down.

Logan’s arm tightening around your waist when you hand him the wrapped package. His eyes lingering on yours until the paper is loosened, a pleased hum when he sees the lined leather jacket you picked out for him.

“Your first winter with us in New York,” You smile, “Can’t have you catching cold.”

Something to keep in warm, when he tinkers on the bike stashed in the basement. To protect him, when he’s not in his suit. Better than that the faded fleece he’s lifted from Wade’s closet.

And even though you’d been fairly certain he’d given you your gift last night - and again this morning - there’s still a pretty card tucked into your palm. A piece of paper folded inside, next to sentiments that made heat rise to your cheeks.

A photo printed out - a cozy little cabin, the roof lined with snow. Framed with a thick ring of woods and surrounded by wilderness. The reservation dates and details marked out in the text below.

“A vacation?” You can’t remember the last time you’ve been away. Excitement surging at the thought of spending a week tucked away with your boyfriend, “For us?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” Logan husks, “Found a nice little place up north. Just you and me.”

His fingers flex against your waist, his face tipping up to yours, “Would you like that?”

“I’d love that.” You smile.

You love him.

You’re certain of that - a name for that warm weight in your chest that’s been there for weeks. Since the beginning really, coming to a full flourish with the conversation the day before.

Maybe with the turn of the new year, you’ll pluck up enough courage to tell him.

For now, you beam at him. Pressing yourself close - entwining fingers that squeeze. Hoping he can read the soft look you give him, the words murmured out, in the little bubble you’ve found yourselves in.

“Merry Christmas, Logan.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, before he tugs you down to meet him.

“Merry Christmas, Sugar.”

after part iii, i could not leave our bff wade with a sad ending!!! 💖 for a little bit early on i toyed with the idea of making this series a poly one (before come on and show me) hence a couple little references throughout (and the reason to keep the breakup in the first place) (which I still have beef with in the movie, BUT I did my best). thank you for checking out this series, it might be one of my favorite things I’ve had the pleasure to work on and seeing the love on it has been so amazing 💕