#always and forever... that's my man you know how it is..

[sirxlla]

Hey! Can you make a hc of the batboys with their S/O getting wasted and claiming they have a boyfriend when they are their boyfriend. Thanks

You're Drunk & Telling Them You Have a Boyfriend

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

Dick: "Uh, Uh. Get your slimy hands off me, Miiissster...I know karracheee." You slurred your words as he held you up in his arms to get you to the limo, maybe drinking so much at the gala was a bad idea. You made what your drunk self believes is karate hands at him.

"Wow, Karache? Really?" He laughs as he slowly lowers you into the limo onto the long seat.

"You'll seee...you'lll seeee I promise." You slurred as you rolled over face down into the long leather seat.

"Oh no, I'm sure I will, Pumpkin."

"Who you callin' pump-e-kin? Thats- I- Onllyyyy my boyfren allowed to call me that." You said a bit aggressively; it was like a baby bunny trying to take on a lion: attack = a hundred, damage = zero. You quickly fell asleep. The booze got to you, and when you got home, he had to remove you from the seat, your face red where the leather stuck to your face. He unzipped and pulled your dress off and your shoes and let you go to bed before kissing your head.

"G'Night, Pump-E-Kin." He teased you even though you couldn't hear it. "Pump-E-Kin." He whispered to himself with a huge grin before heading to the shower.

Jason: "Ohhhhhh, slow your roll, Muchachos. I got a boyfriend." You said as you waved your finger in Jason's face when his fingers even grazed your hips.

"Oh, yeah, who's this boyfriend? Tell me about him." He so badly wanted to know what drunk you would say about him considering he's never seen you drunk before.

"He kicks names, takes asses." You giggle, not even noticing or thinking for a millisecond that you said that phrase wrong.

"He takes asses? Is that what happened to yours?" Jason was always quick with it and it was even more fun with the idea that you were drunk.

"Hey, that's not nice. I'm gonna tell my boyfriend." You huffed like a cute angry kitten.

"Oh, yes. Please do tell your boyfriend. I'd love to know this boyfriend." He was making the most out of this moment; he'd cherish this forever and tease you just as long.

"Jay-son" You sounded it out as you went to call Jason, slowly scrolling through your phone. "Jay-son" You kept scrolling.

"You got a picture of this Jason?"

"I got millions." You pulled up a picture and showed him.

"Hmmm, this guy is pretty handsome. He looks familiar? I don't know where..." He watched as you zoned out while looking at the picture.

"I just love him so much." You turned into a puddle of tears within a few seconds. "He's everything to me."

"Awww, Babygirl. It's okay." He said as he hugged you and rubbed your back as you sobbed over the man you were right next to.

Bruce: "Y/N, that's more than plenty. No more drinks for the night." He tried to get the drink from you and could if he really needed to.

"You can't tell me what to do, you're not my boyfriend." You down another shot, and before it, you're trying to dance on the bar.

"I- Im, Yes, I am." He looked so confused at your words and how you were claiming not to be his girlfriend.

"My boyfriend's Batman. You know?" You made yourself look like you had pointed little devil ears. "Like Na Na NaNa Na Ba Batman!" You giggled completely out of it before nearly slipping on the bar

Of course, Bruce caught you before you fell too far. You started laughing so hard from being so intoxicated. He carried you out of the bar while paparazzi took pictures of you. If the alcohol in your system didn't have you disoriented, then the flashes from the cameras sure did. They gave you a horrible migraine which slowly pulled you out of your drunken state and back to a sober one.

"Mmmmm...my head feels awful." You grumble as Bruce helps you inside the manor.

"I'm sure it does, you had a lot to drink. We should get you out of those heels and into bed."

"What even is the difference between and manor and a mansion." You asked as he kneeled down to take your heels off.

"Well, A manor is a large estate with a historic significance and is a primary residence. A mansion is a large house that is over 7,000 square feet." He explains as he sets your heels down in his large walk-in closet.

You look at him with a face of complete confusion. Bruce laughs and smiles as he heads back over to you, taking your dress off.

"If you're still interested in the morning I'll explain it all to you." He took his mother's pearls off your neck before laying you down. Bruce put you under the covers and tucked you in like a little kid.

"Good Night, Beautiful." He kisses your forehead and heads down to the Batcave to work on a case he's been trying to break.

Tim: "Don't touch what you can't buy, Bub!" You said as Tim politely tried to guide you away from the party with a hand on your lower back.

"What are you even talking about?" He laughed as he slowly herded you like a cat towards the kitchen on a higher level so you could sober up somewhere quiet.

"Do you think Taco Bell called themselves that because it sounds like Del Taco? Is that like who came first the chicken or the egg? Mmmm, my boyfriend would know..." You grab your phone to call your boyfriend, which makes Tim give you a look of almost humorous astonishment. He laughs as he picks up the phone.

"Yes, Baby? What can I do for you today, Sweetheart." He asked as he stared at you, trying not to laugh.

"I'm with this guy, and I asked him if Taco Bell came first or Del Taco, and he doesn't know...Do you know?"

"Taco Bell, I believe, Honey." You hang up your phone before looking back at Tim.

"My boyfriend said Taco Bell."

"Your boyfriend sounds really smart."

"Oh, he really is and he's so nice to me. He got like so so many squish mellows, and they're so soft." You start getting emotional, and he can see the tears in your eyes, and he realizes he needs to get you into bed quickly because the last thing he needs is to carry you through a lot of drunk party-goers.

Tim very slowly gets you back to your room and gets you laid down on the bed you two share. He grabs a squish mellow that he knows you love most and puts it in your arms.

"You know my boyfriend would really like you; you're so sweet and caring, just like he is. He wants to make sure everyone's safe and happy. He's like a cute lil guy and he's just so amazing."

His heart swells about five sizes, and he thinks it might burst. It's sweet how loyal you are when you're drunk but also how highly you think of him, it means the world to him. Just as he thought he couldn't love you more, Tim finds himself being sucked deeper and deeper into the hole that is his love for you.

Damian: "Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah. No. I have a boyfriend and he'll kick your ass." You said as you waved your finger in his face as you swayed from side to side.

"Yes, I know I am your boyfriend." He asks with a stern and annoyed look.

"Then what did I eat for breakfast and the color of my underwear?" You slurred with a smug voice.

"Cinnamon French Toast, and they're Burgundy; I know cause I made you breakfast, and I bought them."

"They're red." You giggle, which is bothering him even more; he's annoyed mainly because he needs to get you out of here. He's worried about the company around here, so therefore, he's worried about you.

"Burgundy is a color of red, Babe. Come on, we need to go. Come on, Beloved." He tries to help you up on the floor before you turn into dead weight in his arms.

"Well, isn't that just great?" He picks you up and puts you over his shoulder to get you out of the bar. Some creep acts like he might try Damian like a dumbass, he stops them in their tracks with just a single glare and his resting bitch face.

"Ha, Ha. Pussy." You laugh at the guy as Damian gets you out of the bar and twords his car.

"Hey. Hey, don't antagonize people. Lay down." He says as he puts you down in the back of the car. "Be good." He gets in the drivers seat and starts driving to the manor, he calms as he gets you both further and further away from that sketchy bar. He glances back at you every so often as he drives.

Once he parks the car he gets out and picks you up to get you inside. Between the front door and his bedroom theres a large pool of drool on his shirt from you. He smiles and lays you down before taking your heels off. Damian heads of to shower and change before climbing into the bed with you, gently moving hair away from your face that was stuck in your chapstick.

"Get some sleep, Beloved."

Send me prompts if youd like. ♡

Masterlists

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: movie quotes associated with your future relationship

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will give you movie quotes that associate with your future relationship. I hope you enjoy this reading!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Patreon Masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

Pile 1:

"I think I’d miss you even if we’d never met." – The Wedding Date (2005)

"You complete me." – Jerry Maguire (1996)

"I wish I knew how to quit you." – Brokeback Mountain (2005)

"I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly." – You’ve Got Mail (1998)

"To me, you are perfect." – Love Actually (2003)

"I love you. I’ve loved you for nine years. I’ve just been too arrogant and scared to realize it." – Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011)

"It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you." – The Fault in Our Stars (2014)

"You're my person." – Grey’s Anatomy (TV, but still iconic!)

"You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you." – Pride & Prejudice (2005)

"You are my greatest adventure." – The Incredibles (2004)

Extended reading

Pile 2:

"You make me want to be a better man." – As Good as It Gets (1997)

"I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her." – Notting Hill (1999)

"After all... I'm just a man, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him." – Parallel moment in Notting Hill (1999)

"They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops… And that’s true." – Big Fish (2003)

"Sometimes you love a person for all the reasons they’re not like you. And sometimes, you love them for all the reasons they are." – Juno (2007)

"You had me at hello." – Jerry Maguire (1996)

"You were my new dream." – Tangled (2010)

"I wanted so badly to be good enough for you." – The Notebook (2004)

"I love how she makes me feel, like anything is possible." – 500 Days of Summer (2009)

"We’re like two peas in a pod, but one of us is cracked." – I couldn’t find where this was from, but this fit so perfectly I couldn’t not add it

Extended reading

Pile 3:

"It’s like in that moment the whole universe existed just to bring us together." – Serendipity (2001)

"I will return. I will find you. Love you. Marry you. And live without shame." – Atonement (2007)

"I love you. I knew it the minute I met you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to catch up." – Silver Linings Playbook (2012)

"You and me. It’s a forever kind of thing." – Unknown, but very fitting!

"Our love is like the wind. I can’t see it, but I can feel it." – A Walk to Remember (2002)

"It was always you." – The Vow (2012)

"I know we’re supposed to be together. I knew it the first time I touched you." – Twilight (2008)

"I waited for you for 99 years, and you were 2 hours late." – The Age of Adaline (2015)

"It's not over. It was never over." – The Notebook (2004)

"The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." – Moulin Rouge! (2001)

Extended reading

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

For the small prompts you asked for; nerdjo with a goth gf? Hope this helps!

.°⋆🖇₊˚ෆ teddy’s notes: i’ve mentioned before that i’m not overly fond of nerdjo and haven’t read more than 2 fics with it, but yk i had to leave my own version too though i’m sure it’s nothing special. enjoy tho!!

gojo satoru was, by every definition, a nerd.

thick-rimmed glasses that were always slightly askew, oversized sweaters with math jokes no one found funny but him, and an obsession with random scientific facts and digimon that he couldn’t go a single day without sharing. his white hair was perpetually messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times while deep in thought about something ridiculous—like how he could theoretically create the perfect dice roll using quantum mechanics.

and then there was you.

black nails, silver rings on every finger, sharp eyeliner that could probably cut a man if you wanted it to. you wore chokers and fishnets like they were second skin, your wardrobe was almost exclusively black, and you carried an aura of don’t talk to me unless you want to get your soul sucked out.

yet, somehow, this overenthusiastic nerd had managed to worm his way into your heart. somehow.

right now, he was lying across your lap, staring up at you like you hung the stars in the sky. “babe, did you know that black holes distort time so much that if you watched someone fall into one, they’d appear frozen forever?”

you looked down at him, one brow arching. “you are a black hole, satoru.”

he gasped, clutching his chest. “because i’m mysterious and powerful?”

“because you suck the energy out of me with your constant science facts.”

he pouted, adjusting his glasses with unnecessary dramatics. “rude.”

you rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched. despite his insufferable rambling, you couldn’t deny that you found him… endearing. not that you’d ever say it outright.

he pushed himself up, resting his chin on your shoulder as his fingers played with the silver chains around your neck. “y’know, we’re basically a perfect balance. yin and yang. light and dark. nerd and goth.”

“nerds and goths are kinda like mortal enemies,” you deadpanned.

“pfft, not true. goths are just nerds with fashion sense.”

“…that was actually kind of insightful.”

he grinned, smug. “i am the smartest man alive.”

before he could launch into yet another tangent about IQ rankings or some other nonsense, you grabbed his jaw and pulled him into a kiss. it was slow, deep, and entirely effective in shutting him up.

when you finally pulled away, he blinked at you, dazed, his glasses slipping down his nose. “whoa.”

“you talk too much,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip.

he swallowed, then grinned. “you like it.”

you rolled your eyes again, but this time, you didn’t argue.

[heliosunny]

Helloooo!!! Sorry to bother, but Could we get a part two of your Yandere!Mydei x Neko! Reader? Its really given me interest and I think it’d be cool, them marrying and all and how would reader react to it? How would it go? Would reader end up enjoying the marriage or suffer in it?

Yandere!Mydei x Neko!Reader [2]

Visit [part 1]

Days turned into weeks, then months, life at Mydei’s estate had become… normal. At least, as normal as it could be when you lived under the same roof as a man who seemed hellbent on making your life difficult—in the most infuriating ways possible.

The maids now treating you with respect (if not a little wariness, given your close relationship with Mydei). You had found small ways to be useful, helping organize documents, assisting in the gardens, and occasionally running small errands for Mydei’s work.

You had gotten used to everything.

Except him.

Because somehow, no matter how much time passed, Mydei always found new ways to tease you. And you never saw it coming.

One morning, you were walking through the hall when

“My, my. Has anyone told you how adorable you look when you’re lost in thought?”

You flinched, ears twitching violently as you whirled around. Mydei was leaning against the wall, watching you with that damn smirk of his.

“You—” You exhaled sharply. “Can you not sneak up on me like that?!”

“I wasn’t sneaking” he said. “You were just too distracted to notice.”

“What do you want?”

He stepped closer, towering over you. “Nothing much. Just enjoying the view.”

“Stop saying things like that!”

“Oh?” His smirk widened. “Would you prefer if I whispered it instead?”

You bolted. You can hear his laughter followed you down the hall.

Another time, you were in the library, trying to reach a book from a high shelf. Just as you were about to grab it, a hand easily plucked it away. You huffed, turning—only to see Mydei flipping through the pages, his expression casual.

“…Mydei.”

“Yes, pet?”

You held out your hand. “Give it back.”

He hummed, tapping his chin. “I don’t know… What will you give me in return?”

“It’s my book!”

“And I’m simply holding it,” he mused. “Now, if you really want it back, perhaps a little please, my dear lord might do the trick?”

You lunged for it.

He lifted it higher.

You jumped.

He stepped back.

This continued for a full minute before you finally grabbed onto his arm, using your weight to drag him down.

Both of you tumbled onto the couch, you landing half on top of him.

You stiffened as Mydei’s arms settled around your waist, his breath warm against your ear.

“Well, this is quite bold of you, pet” he murmured. “If you wanted to be in my arms, all you had to do was ask.”

You flew off him.

The book?

You completely forgot about it.

His victorious chuckle haunted you for the rest of the day.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how comfortable you became in his estate—you would never get used to him.

----

You had woken up expecting another normal day.

Instead, you found yourself curled up in the blankets, significantly smaller than usual.

Your ears twitched. Your tail—wait, your tail?!

You looked down, and instead of hands, you had small, soft paws.

You had… transformed. It was rare—so rare that you barely even remembered the last time it happened. But maybe, just maybe, it was a side effect from when you had sacrificed one of your lives to save Mydei.

Panic flickered in your chest.

You had to find a way to change back before Mydei saw you like this.

The bedroom door opened.

“Pet—” Mydei’s voice started casually before he stopped, scanning the empty bed.

A deep frown tugged at his lips. “Where did you run off to this time?”

Your fur bristled. He was already assuming the worst.

…Well.

Maybe this was an opportunity.

He doesn’t know it’s me.

If he thought you had simply gone out, then you had time to figure things out. A little harmless wandering wouldn’t hurt, right? And so, you took full advantage of your new form, slipping out of the room undetected.

For the first time in forever, you explored the estate in your small, feline form.

You darted between the hallways, slipping past the maids’ feet, leaping onto high bookshelves with ease. You even snuck into the kitchen and stole a snack—not that anyone could blame a harmless little cat, of course.

But the best part?

Watching Mydei suffer.

He waited in the main hall, arms crossed, golden eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Still not back...” he muttered, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair.

The longer you stayed hidden, the more irritated he became.

Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair before grumbling, “When they come back, I swear I’ll keep them locked in my room for a week.”

Maybe you should stay like this a little longer.

You continued your little adventure, enjoying the rare freedom that came with being small and swift. The estate was huge, and in this form, it felt even bigger. You weaved through the garden, basked in the sunlight by the windowsill, and even had a little fun swatting at the occasional falling leaf.

It wasn’t often you got to just… relax without Mydei teasing you every five minutes.

Speaking of him, you found him near the entrance of the estate, still looking for you.

You perched on a high wall, ears twitching as you observed him. He looked mildly annoyed.

“They’re still not back” he murmured to himself, fingers running through his hair. “Where in the world did you run off to, pet...”

You watched, amused. If only you could tell him.

That’s when his gaze flicked up and locked directly onto you.

“A cat?” Mydei tilted his head, his irritation fading into mild interest.

Your tail flicked.

He didn’t recognize you.

Perfect.

You were about to hop away when suddenly—

“Come here” Mydei said, his voice taking on that damn smooth, commanding tone.

Your body reacted before your brain did.

Before you knew it, you had leapt down.

Right into his arms.

…What?

You blinked, startled at yourself.

“Well, well. Aren’t you obedient?”

You screamed internally.

Why did you listen?! It had to be instinct—some part of you still used to following his commands.

Noticing your frozen state, Mydei chuckled, gently scratching behind your ears. “You’re quite the cute little thing, aren’t you?”

He brought you inside, casually petting your fur as he read through paperwork.

“You’re quite the well-behaved cat” he mused, fingers lightly scratching under your chin. “Unlike a certain someone I know.”

You flicked your tail against his hand in protest.

At dinner, he set a small dish of food beside him.

“For my little guest” he said.

You glared at him but ate anyway.

At some point, he held you up, his eyes analyzing you closely.

“…Why do I feel like you remind me of someone?”

Maybe it was time to run.

The moment you finished eating, you bolted.

Mydei barely had time to react before you dashed out of the room, paws barely making a sound as you disappeared into the halls.

For a second, he just sat there, blinking at the now-empty space beside him.

“Running away already?”

His amusement didn’t stop him from standing up, golden eyes glinting as he chased after you.

You weaved through the garden, slipping through bushes and around hedges, your small form making it easy to avoid detection.

Or so you thought.

Because when you finally made it to a tall tree at the edge of the estate and climbed up to safety, a shadow loomed below.

“There you are.”

You looked down.

Mydei stood at the base of the tree, arms crossed, an expression of clear amusement on his face.

“You really thought you could escape me?”

Then, to your absolute horror, Mydei climbed up after you.

Your instincts screamed at you to move, to get higher, to escape.

So when Mydei finally reached up to grab you, you lashed out.

A startled scratch landed on the back of his hand.

You froze, realizing what you had just done.

He looked at his hand, a small scratch marking his skin.

Your ears flattened, guilt washing over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and licked the wound.

Mydei went completely still.

“That’s not how you treat a wound” he said, though his voice was more amused than scolding. “Honestly, are you a cat or a troublemaker?”

You huffed, lightly swishing your tail.

With an exasperated shake of his head, he reached out—this time, more carefully—and scooped you into his arms.

“You’re coming inside. No more running off.”

Even as he carried you back, even as he got someone to properly treat his hand, even as he kept you close for the rest of the evening—

You had a feeling he was never going to let you live this down.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You shifted slightly, feeling warmth pressed against you—something solid, something comforting.

Your ears twitched.

Wait.

Your ears?

Your tail?

Your eyes snapped open, and you quickly looked down at yourself.

Hands. Fingers. A normal-sized body.

You were back to normal.

Which meant—

A slow, sinking realization hit you as you felt the steady rise and fall of someone else’s breathing right beside you.

You turned your head—

And came face to face with Mydei.

His arm was draped around your waist, holding you firmly in place.

You were in his bed.

What. The. Hell. How did this happen?!

You wracked your brain, trying to recall the night before—but all you remembered was him carrying you back inside. At some point, you must have fallen asleep, still in your small form.

Which meant—he had probably taken you to his bed to keep an eye on you.

But now that you were back to normal, you had to get out of here.

Slowly—very slowly—you tried to move.

The moment you even shifted, Mydei’s arm tightened around you.

“Mm… Trying to escape again, pet?”

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Then why are you trembling?”

You were trembling. Your body was practically vibrating with embarrassment. This was not good for your heart.

“I—um—”

Before you could say anything else, he suddenly reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“…Back to normal, hm?” His voice was softer now, “Shame. I rather liked carrying you around.”

Nope. You were leaving.

You quickly tried to roll away—only for his grip to pull you back.

“Ah, ah. Not so fast.”

You squeaked. He chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered state.

With a sigh of mock disappointment, he finally loosened his hold. “Fine. I suppose I can let you go… for now.”

You didn’t waste another second, bolting from the bed.

You had spent the entire day hiding.

The embarrassment from that morning still burned in your mind, and there was absolutely no way you were going to let Mydei see you again so soon.

Unfortunately, your stomach had other plans.

By the time evening rolled around, hunger had fully betrayed you.

Your ears flattened as you peeked out from your hiding spot, making sure the path was clear before sneaking towards the kitchen. If you were quick, you could grab something to eat and disappear again.

You didn't believe in your own eyes. Standing at the stove, sleeves casually rolled up, was Mydei himself. You nearly turned around immediately, but your stomach let out a small, betraying growl.

Mydei didn’t even turn around.

“I was wondering when you’d finally show up. Hiding all day must’ve been exhausting.”

You swallowed down your embarrassment and shuffled over, cautiously standing beside him.

“…You cook?”

He smirked, stirring the pan. “Occasionally.”

The warm scent of food filled the kitchen, and despite your shame, your tail gave the tiniest flick of anticipation.

Noticing this, Mydei chuckled.

“You must be starving.”

You refused to answer, but your stomach growled again, exposing you.

Without warning, he picked up a piece of the food with a fork and held it up to your lips.

“Here, eat.”

You hesitated.

He raised a brow. “What, suddenly shy?”

Your ears twitched in protest. He was doing this on purpose!

Still, hunger won in the end.

You leaned forward, taking a bite.

…It was good.

Really good.

Your tail swayed slightly before you could stop it.

Mydei noticed immediately.

“You like it?”

You quickly turned away, trying to hide your reaction. “It’s… decent.”

He chuckled, clearly seeing right through you.

But instead of teasing further, he simply fed you another bite.

And another.

Until you realized—

You hadn’t even picked up a plate.

You were just standing there, letting him feed you.

Just as you were finishing your meal, the sound of approaching footsteps caught your ears.

A man strolled into the kitchen, dressed in deep navy robes embroidered with intricate golden thread. His jewelry glimmered under the warm candlelight—rings, necklaces, even a few delicate chains woven into his sleeves.

Your ears perked up.

Shiny.

The man exuded a regal yet laid-back air, his dark brown hair tied back loosely as if he didn’t care much for appearances, despite the wealth he clearly carried.

“Mydei!” the man greeted smoothly, giving a short nod. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Mydei sighed. “That depends. If you’ve come to dump your problems on me again, I may have to reconsider allowing you in.”

The man laughed. “Oh, don’t be so cold. I bring interesting news.”

You barely paid attention to their conversation because you were too distracted by the gold. It wasn’t your fault! It just—sparkled.

You stood behind Mydei, eyes locked onto the shimmering rings as the man casually gestured while speaking. The way the candlelight bounced off the metal, the soft clink they made whenever he moved his hands—

Your tail flicked in fascination.

Mydei noticed. His golden eyes glanced over his shoulder at you, catching the way you were so entirely focused on his guest’s accessories.

And yet, you didn’t care.

You just kept staring.

A chuckle escaped his friend. “Well, aren’t they an interesting one?”

That was when you finally snapped out of it, realizing how obvious you had been.

Heat rushed to your face, and you quickly straightened up, clearing your throat as if that would erase the past minute.

The man smirked in amusement before offering a slight bow. “Elias Von Luthen. A pleasure to meet you.”

You hesitated for a moment before murmuring your own name in response.

He smiled, then added, “I must say, I don’t often see Mydei with company. You must be rather special.”

Your ears twitched, and Mydei merely sighed. “Don’t start.”

Elias ignored him, continuing, “Actually, I came here because I’ve been dealing with a rather elusive group. My companion has been helping me, but we could always use more sharp senses.”

He paused, glancing at you.

“If you’re interested, you could accompany me. It would be beneficial to have another of your kind along. You’d be well compensated, of course.”

You blinked. You weren’t entirely opposed to the idea. The thought of traveling, using your skills, and even learning from another hybrid was tempting.

But before you could even consider it, Mydei spoke first.

“They’re not going anywhere.”

Elias raised a brow. “Oh? I wasn’t aware you had them bound to you.”

“I don’t. But if you think I’d let my dear companion run off with you so easily…”

He leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking toward you.

“…Then you clearly don’t know me well enough.”

Elias finally stood, stretching his arms as he let out a satisfied sigh. “Well, this has been quite the pleasant visit, but I should be on my way. My friend is probably wondering if I got kidnapped.”

He turned to you with a smirk. “If you ever change your mind about my offer, you’re always welcome to find me. Though… judging by Mydei’s reaction, I doubt you’ll get far.”

Your ears twitched, and you glanced at Mydei, expecting a sharp remark or at least a smug retort.

But strangely… he said nothing.

He merely watched Elias leave with an unreadable expression before turning on his heel and walking off without a single word to you.

Weird.

Usually, he’d at least tease you about your staring or make a sarcastic remark about Elias’ offer. But this time? Nothing.

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or suspicious.

Hours passed, and you didn’t see Mydei again.

At first, you assumed he was just busy. Maybe he had some business to attend to. Maybe he was just giving you space.

But when you asked the maids if they’d seen him, one of them hesitated before replying:

“His Grace? He left the estate for something. We’re not sure what, but he seemed… oddly pleased about it.”

…That definitely set off alarms in your head.

Because if Mydei was pleased about something, it always meant trouble for you.

Meanwhile, in the depths of the city’s underground market, Mydei was browsing through a selection of rare and enchanted artifacts.

He held up a small, shimmering vial, speaking smoothly to the vendor.

“This,” he mused, watching the liquid shift inside, “will definitely do the trick.”

Oh, he wasn’t letting you off that easily.

If you thought he’d forget how easily distracted you were by shiny things…

Well. You were about to sorely underestimate him.

That night, you were restless. Mydei still hadn’t returned, and the silence was starting to get suspicious. You knew he wasn’t the type to just disappear without reason—especially after Elias’ visit.

Something was definitely up. But no one knew where he went, and that was even worse. Just as you were about to give up and retreat to your room, the main doors finally creaked open.

Mydei strolled inside, his coat draped lazily over one shoulder. He looked too pleased.

You immediately took a cautious step back. “...Where did you go?”

His smirk widened. “What, no ‘welcome home’?”

“You’re up to something.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, delicate vial filled with a swirling, shimmering liquid.

Your eyes caught the way it sparkled under the chandelier light.

Your instincts locked onto it immediately.

Shiny.

Wait.

You forced yourself to blink and look away. “...What is that?”

Mydei hummed, casually twirling the vial between his fingers. “Oh, just something interesting I found. Nothing too important.”

“If it’s nothing important, then put it away.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why? Does it bother you?”

You knew that tone. That was his teasing tone.

Which meant he definitely had bad intentions.

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Hmm.”

The next thing you knew, he popped the cork open.

The scent hit you instantly.

Your instincts flared.

Your pupils dilated before you could stop them.

The air carried something sweet, enticing, almost hypnotic. Your tail twitched, and your body suddenly felt too warm.

“What—what is that?”

You took a step back, but your body felt wrong. Your senses were sharper, your ears picking up even the faintest rustle of fabric as Mydei took a step closer.

Your claws itched to grip onto something.

Oh hell no.

You spun on your heel to run.

But before you could even take another step, Mydei effortlessly caught your tail.

“My, my,” he mused. “Are you reacting to it?”

“Y-you—this—this is—!”

He gave the slightest tug on your tail, and your breath hitched.

Your instincts were screaming at you, but not in a way you could control. The warmth in your chest made you restless, and Mydei’s smirking face only infuriated you further.

So, you did the only thing that made sense in the moment.

You bit him. A sharp chomp right on his wrist.

“Ah—” Mydei barely reacted, only letting out a small chuckle, though you felt the slight tension in his arm. “Oh? That’s adorable.”

You glared up at him, ears pinned back.

“I hate you” you hissed, teeth still sunk into his skin.

“You sure about that? Because you’re still holding on.”

Your tail bristled, and you finally let go, stepping back with a sharp huff.

Unfortunately, you moved too quickly, causing something to topple over.

A loud clatter echoed through the hallway.

“My lord?” A servant’s voice rang out from the other side of the door. “Is everything alright?”

Your ears flattened in panic. If they walked in right now, they’d see the absolute mess you had caused—your ruffled clothes, Mydei’s slightly scuffed sleeves, and the very clear bite mark on his wrist.

You lunged for the door and quickly locked it before she could push it open.

Mydei chuckled, leaning against the desk like he was thoroughly enjoying this. “Hiding the evidence now?”

You shot him a glare.

“Everything’s fine!” you called out, trying to sound normal.

“…Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Then, reluctantly, the servant’s footsteps faded as she left.

You let out a breath of relief.

But your problems were far from over.

Because Mydei was still holding that damn vial.

Your eyes flicked toward it.

Surely… surely it wouldn’t do anything to a human, right?

You lunged.

Mydei’s eyes widened slightly at your sudden movement, but before he could react, your hand smashed into his, knocking the vial loose.

Time seemed to slow.

The shimmering liquid tumbled through the air. It spilled all over him.

The scent immediately intensified, and before you could even process what had happened—

Your instincts snapped. Your ears twitched. Your body moved on its own. You pressed yourself against him and, without thinking—

You licked him.

Right on the neck.

Mydei was more than shocked.

You, however, did not stop.

Your tongue dragged over his collarbone, your hands clutching onto his coat as you instinctively nuzzled into him, your body overcome with warmth and an undeniable urge to—groom.

You had never been this overwhelmed before.

And yet, all you could focus on was how good he smelled, how nice he felt, and how much you wanted to—

“Ah.”

His voice rumbled in amusement.

You froze mid-lick.

Slowly—very slowly—you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

Golden eyes gleamed with pure satisfaction.

“My, my,” he murmured. “This is far better than I expected.”

Your soul left your body.

You tried to move away.

You really did.

But your body betrayed you, instincts still running rampant, and instead of pulling back—

You licked him again.

---

Finally, finally, it was over.

Whatever effect that damn vial had on you finally faded, leaving you exhausted, drained, and wanting nothing more than to curl up and disappear from existence.

Your body gave out, and before you could stop it, you instinctively popped back into your full cat form—small, fluffy, and completely sprawled out on top of Mydei.

You were too tired to care.

And, surprisingly… he didn’t move you.

You barely registered the way his hand rested against your fur, his fingers giving one last teasing scratch before he finally drifted off.

By the time morning arrived, you were back to normal.

And Mydei was gone.

You sat up, ears twitching, eyes darting around the room in slight panic.

He wasn’t here.

Lucky.

You weren’t sure if you could face him right now—not after what happened. Your tail flicked, a deep shame curling in your chest as you remembered every single embarrassing thing you did.

You licked him.

Multiple times.

You needed to erase that from history.

But more importantly—

You needed to ban that damn vial from existence.

Without wasting another second, you bolted out of bed, snatching up a pile of blank parchment and a stick of charcoal.

You were going to make it very clear that such a thing was never allowed in this house again.

It took hours.

But by the time you were finished, the entire estate was plastered with your angry little sketches—hastily drawn pictures of the accursed vial, each one crossed out with a big, aggressive “X.”

Some were on the doors.

Some were on the walls.

Some were even on Mydei’s office desk.

And to your absolute satisfaction, no one stopped you.

The servants said nothing.

Mydei—who had definitely seen them—said nothing.

He probably thought it was hilarious, but at least he wasn’t teasing you about it.

Yet.

For now, you stood back and admired your work, hands on your hips, tail flicking in satisfaction.

Good.

That thing was never coming back.

[saintvainglorious]

Fics I Enjoyed in February - DC Comics Fic Rec List Part 3

To the shock of precisely no one, I'm still in DC Comics hell. Enjoy the fruits of my labor (reading so so many fics)

Here's fic recs Part 1 and Part 2!

Individualized Education Plan by @cowboysorceror & @deadchannelradio (General Audiences, 7k, 2024) Dick goes to Damian's parent-teacher conference. Damian endures the consequences of Dick being an extraordinarily attractive man. Left me wheezing on my bus ride to work, this fic is hysterical.

“Richard,” he says, in tones of the deeply suffering, “this place is a hostile environment. I must be collected post-haste, as after this latest indignity I am dropping out. Come at once, or I may die here.”

In Service by @smilebackwards (Teen & Up, 13k, 2023) Bruce refuses to let Tim be Robin. Tim, still determined to help, asks Alfred to let him train to be Bruce's next butler. I could not stop squeeing as I read this, deeply wholesome and great worldbuilding to boot.

Tim rings the doorbell of Wayne Manor for the third time in as many days, and for the third time, Mr. Pennyworth opens the heavy oak door. He looks tired and careworn and Tim knows for certain that he’s choosing the right thing now. Mr. Wayne isn’t going to let him anywhere near the Robin suit, but maybe Tim doesn’t need it. There’s another tack he can try.

this year's love by @flybynightwing (Teen & Up, 20k, 2023) A thoughtful and tender exploration of how Dick and Kory might get back together post-Infinite Crisis, featuring Tim being a little troll, Dick & Kory having So Many Issues to work through, and Donna not getting paid enough to deal with this.

Dick and Kory get back together while on vacation. It goes beautifully. If only vacations could last forever.

descartes by @deadchannelradio (Teen & Up, 5k, 2024) Jason finds out how weird Slade acts towards Dick. Yet another fic by deadchannelradio that had me cackling out loud.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jason decides aloud. “Next time I see that man, I’m gonna kill him.” “No, Jason, do not,” Dick says in the same tone Jason uses to tell his dog not to chew on his boots.

The Threat by @jackhawksmoor (General Audiences, 2k, 2022) Damian has some pointed opinions about the way Bruce treats Dick. A gripping Damian POV fic - I love a Damian who expresses how much he cares by via emotional manipulation, and Bruce's reaction is equally tantalizing.

"What are you talking about?" His father sounded puzzled. He had that tone in his voice that Damian always hated to hear. That careless, American tone. His father had never needed to earn his place in a family, so the idea that someone could take it away from him if he wasn’t worthy of it hadn't even occurred to him. Not yet.

A Talon After My Own Heart by @wildsofmarch (Teen & Up, 13k, 2022) A surprisingly well-adjusted Talon!Dick goes on a mission for Slade. I rec the whole How to Train Your Talon series, but this one's my personal favorite. They're so damaged your honor it's great.

There’s a Talon lying on his floor, guzzling his good whisky, when Slade walks into his safe house in San Francisco. “What are you doing here?” he says as he draws his sidearm and slides the safety off. Robin — Dick, he reminds himself — showing up unannounced is never a good thing. “Relax. I’m not here to kill anyone,” says Dick.

Leap, Fall, Fly by @malcyon (Explicit, 15k, 2019) Post-Red Robin, Tim and Kon go on patrol together, and then they go home. This fic is 100% my headcanon for how Tim and Kon would get together if they didn't start dating while Tim was Robin. Gorgeous, peak, no notes.

He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused. “Dude. I have, like, four.” Kon figures some stuff out. Tim helps.

Putting both hands over my mouth, I can only hope nothing's gonna come out by @hmslusitania (Teen & Up, 26k, 2024) Tim and Jon (now both in their 20s due to Jon's canon aging-up) pretend to date. Kon and Damian proceed to lose their minds. Funny, angsty, and ultimately really heartwarming.

“How unethical would it be to let him keep thinking we’re dating just to try and figure out what the hell is wrong with him?” “On a scale from ‘this is completely hinged behaviour and not weird at all’ to ‘cloning him unsuccessfully ninety-nine times’?” Tim nods. “I don’t know,” Jon says. He thinks about it. “Probably like a four.”

Shoulders by @bluegarners (General Audiences, 4k, 2024) Robin!Dick has a close call on patrol. Bruce is catastrophically bad at expressing love. I rotate Bruce's choices and dialogue from this fic around in my mind like a rotisserie chicken.

It’s as he’s assessing Goon #1’s shoulders that he hears it. Grhk. The sound of someone choking. (You are ten-years-old, and the world is wide open before you. You don't yet know how to worry for yourself. It is your father's job.)

Truth Serum is The Worst by @jackhawksmoor (General Audiences, 3k, 2022) Bruce is truth serum-ed and is very unwell about it. Nightwing!Dick is there to help. Bruce's stream-of-consciousness dialogue (and Dick's reactions) are totally engrossing; the love they have for each other looms large here.

Batman gets dosed with a truth serum and unexpectedly spends most of the time talking about how desperately he loves his children, how awesome they are, and how he wishes he was better at being a father.

i'll grab my light (and go with you) by @havenesc (General Audiences, 3k, 2024) Dick helps Robin!Jason after the kid gets into a fight at school. Sweet, spot-on-characterization for both of them.

“Come again?” “I…” Now, the tone is sullen, even in hesitation. “I got into a fight.” Dick glances at his far wall, still a little sleep-hazed as he puzzles together what exactly about a scrap requires a phone call. “With Bruce?” Dick asks tentatively. “At school,” Jason clarifies, and oh, yep, there’s the difference. That one’s a no-no.

the only people on a stranded boat by @unicorncoalition (Mature, 5k, 2023) It turns out that Dick will call Jason if he ever has to hide a body. I've reread this fic multiple times since first discovering it, it's a gem. The scenario is unhinged, the emotions are raw, and the dialogue is perfect.

When Dick contacts Jason in the early hours of the morning to ask for help, Jason is so thrown by the request that he drops everything and drives to Bludhaven. He is not expecting to find Dick dissociating next to the dead body of an unfamiliar man, nor is he ready for the revelations that follow.

i never noticed the clouds gather round (oh, how fast we fall, how slow we drown) by @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters (Teen & Up, 5k, 2022) Batman!Dick has a flashback, and Damian makes a deduction. I'm very picky with stories on Dick's family members finding out about Nightwing #93, and this one handles how Damian might react so flawlessly it hurts.

It's raining on a rooftop in Gotham and Batman isn't getting up. (Dick dissociates after a bad patrol and Damian comes up against the outline of something his mentor never wanted him to see.)

the higher fidelity by birdsofthesoul (Teen & Up, 3k, 2020) Bruce and Dick go on a road trip scavenger hunt to find a runaway Damian. Dick indirectly confronts Bruce with his questionable parenting decisions. The conversation they share in the diner lives rent free in my mind.

Bruce goes sheet-white, looking like Dick’s just cut him to the quick, and Dick can’t help but think they should have booked a flight, discretion be damned. This — this is why they don’t do road trips. Cars are like confessionals, cramped spaces built for coercing confessions, and neither of them are good with words.

O'er These Mountains I Would Fly by @lurkinglurkerwholurks (General Audiences, 2k, 2019) After saving an injured baby bird, Dick and Damian drive out to a wildlife rehabilitation center. A wonderful edition to the "Damian slowly learning to trust Dick early on in the Batman!Dick era" genre.

“Nervous?” Grayson asked. They had been driving for over half an hour, and this was only Grayson’s fifth attempt at conversation. It had been an unusually quiet ride.

and the shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light by @popsunner (Teen & Up, 5k, 2020) Post-Dick's death, Tim tries to be a brother to Damian. Featuring Tim's grieving headspace, his evolving relationship with his brothers, and his enduring status as the Emotional Support batkid.

Damian is around a lot more since Dick died, hovering like he’s looking for something that isn’t here anymore. It’s alright. Tim is used to playing the part of ghosts. Or: Dick is dead. Things change.

[jaredpadonlyyyy]

𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏’𝙎 𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝙐𝙁𝙁

• 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙔, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏, 𝙁𝙇𝙐𝙁𝙁

• 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝘿𝙉𝙄 𝙄 𝙒𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆 𝙔𝙊𝙐

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙐𝙉𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙑𝙀 𝙎𝙀𝙓 (𝘞𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴) 𝙋 𝙄𝙉 𝙑, 𝘿𝙊𝙂𝙂𝙔 𝙎𝙏𝙔𝙇𝙀, 𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙐𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉, 𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙀 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙄𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙂.

You and Sam have been in a fight since the last hunt that almost went wrong. You knew it was Sam’s fault but he thinks it wasn’t, so it got you both in a fight and not talking. It’s been almost two weeks and even for Dean, it was weird to see both of you fighting since you two have been together since you were both children and almost never really fought like at all so it was weird to him. You both still slept in the same bed, in the same room. He was your husband after all and no matter how angry you are with him, you still love him to death. He’s been the love of your life like forever. You were in the kitchen like you always were.

Dean walked inside the kitchen and sat down. “Whatcha cooking?” He asked clapping his hands as he licked his lips knowing that your food was always so good. You didn’t answer and it made Dean’s smile fall. “Hey.” He called out making you snap out of your thoughts. “Yeah.” You turned around as he stood up the chair he was sitting on. “Are you okay?” He asked as you turned off the eggs you were cooking and sigh “honestly, no.” Your eyes watered as Dean stood in front of you. “I miss him.” You let out a sob as your voice broke. “Then talk to him.” Dean said as he grabs you from your shoulders and pushes you out the kitchen. “I can’t.” You told the Winchester man.

“Yes you can, now go.” He said kicking you out as he walked over to the food you were doing.

You scoffed as he smiled over at you as you rolled your eyes and walked back to your room where you last left your husband sleeping. “Oh, and my the way, I’m going on a hunt to help a friend out.” Dean called out. “Okay, see ya.” You waved him off as you walked to your room. You softly opened the door to your room and saw Sam was still sleeping, which was not normal for him. But you knew how exhausted he was.

You pulled over Sam’s shirt throwing it aside, leaving you in only your underwear, since that’s all you sleep in and got inside the sheets facing your husband as he opened his hazel eyes to see you facing him very close. “Hey.” You said softly as you both looked at each other. “Hey.” He greeted back to you softly as you look all over his face. “I’m sorry.” Sam told you before you can speak. You smile as you got closer to him. “I was going to say sorry as well.” You told him as he immediately hugged your figure bringing you closer to him. “I know you were trying to protect me and I got angry over it.” You said softly as he smiled.

“And I get that you can protect yourself, you’re a badass hunter, trust me I know.” You both chuckled. “My job isn’t to only protect innocent people and get them home safely. But my job is to also to protect my wife when I feel like she’s in danger.” He spoke softly. “One thing I will always do is protect you when i feel like you’re in danger.” He said and you nod at him as you understood. “I understand.” You softly told Sam.

You both smiled and leaned into to a sweet kiss as you smiled into the kiss as well as Sam.

There was a knock on the door and you and Sam lifted your heads as the door opened, but Dean was not looking inside. “You both decent?” Dean asked as you gasped. “Dean my whole ass is out.” You said as you and Sam both chuckled, joking with the Man. He turned to both of you as you both laughed at him.

“Anyways I’m leaving.” He said as Sam sat up on the bed. “Where are you going?” Sam asked him as he turned with a smirk. “Arianna asked me for help on a hunt.” He said making you sit up with the sheets close to your chest at the sound of your best friend’s name. “Are you two together?” You asked Dean as he smirked even wider. You glared at him as his smirk fell. And then you smirked as you realized something.

“No way, you like her.” You said making Dean’s eyes widen for a moment and he scoffed. “No, I don’t.” He denied it. “Oh, man! This is good.” You and Sam were laughing as he blushed. “Just so you know.” You said. “She likes you too.” You wink and his mouth dropped. “Wait really?” He asked making you smirk so big at that. “I knew it! You do like her.” You said as he sighs. “Okay, yes I do.” He said making you clap your hands and laugh. “Okay, go don’t keep her waiting.” You told him as he started to close the door. “Please use protection!” You yelled hearing him let out a loud groan making you and Sam bust out laughing at him.

After Dean left it’s been a day and all you both have been doing is having make up sex.

Right now you moan loudly as he slammed into you as he had you bent over the map room table. Sam’s hand came down, making contact with your ass in a slap making you moan louder at the pleasure plus the sting of the slap. “Fuck, Sam.” You gasped as he brought up your leg going in deeper. You had to hold him back as he was in so deep. He wasn’t a small man by any means. He was very long and thick and you could feel how your pussy scratches out as he’s fucking you. It’s been two days since Dean left to be with your best friend and it’s been two days since you and Sam have been going at it. Your legs felt like they were about to give up as your pussy walls start to flutter. “God, Sam!!” You gripped on to the table.

You looked over your shoulder as he gripped your hips and slams harder making your legs shake from how delicious he was hitting your sweet spot over and over again. “Aah!” You gasped. Sam holding your hips up as your pussy flutters around his cock making him groan. Letting out a grunt Sam pulled out making you get on your knees as he pumped his cock in front of your face. “Fuuuck!” He grunted as he shot out his release onto your mouth as you open.

Swelling him, your lips took him in bobbing your head up and down making Sam groan loudly as he leaned onto the map table as he kept on moaning. Grabbing onto his thighs you kept on going making him gasp over and over again at how good it felt at how you were giving him some head. His cock twitching as he started thrusting his hips fast and hard into your mouth. “I’m coming, fuck!” He lets out closing his eyes as it was becoming way too much for him. He grabbed your hair making you gag as he held you there making him grunt loudly as he cums again.

Pulling out he winced as he looked down at you as his dick soften, lifting you off the floor as he looked at how fucked out you were. Dean leaving for two days. You both didn’t know what got into you both as all you did was have nothing but amazing rough sex.

Sam leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips making you sigh as tiredness was starting to hit your body from the two days of activities you both did. Pulling away you looked up at him, his hands gripping your hips. “I love you, Sam Winchester.” You whispered to him as you looked up at him with some kind of tenderness in your eyes. “I love you, too.” He said back giving you the same look you were giving.

After that Sam took care of you, helping you shower, getting dressed, and finally you both were inside the sheets cuddling as you both watched something on Netflix, your eyes starting to get heavy from the day.

You and Sam had fallen asleep, Dean found you both knocked out with Netflix still playing.

𝙎. 𝙒𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

[damimami1994]

GIRRRLL this is going to be a long one so get ready ✍🏼

First of all I want to kiss your beautiful brain because the way you write for Old Man Logan is just AHHHH!! (meaning oh so great lol)

The tension between these two from the moment it started is so exciting and electric. I absolutely loved how the reader pushed his buttons and never let down from what she wanted and knew what he wanted too. It was driving him crazy and I was EATING IT UUUPP!!

“Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin.”

“He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You're a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole.”

^COME ON!! This man needs this and craves it so bad, the way you describe his feelings is fabulous.

Lub the two quotes below make me absolutely feral!!!!

“ ”Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.” ”

“A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?” “

When you teased this earlier I knew I was in for a ride and now that I know the whole thing I’m like YEESS because he was ruined the moment he stepped in to the house (well really when he decided to pull over)

The angst you created while they were apart but coming back together was divine because she always knew he would come back and as time passed it showed their love building even if they weren’t always together, they didn’t need to because they just knew. 🥹🥹

I loved too how he thought she was a mutant because of how intuitive she felt with him and I’m like hello Logan she loves you and accepts you!! I wanted to shake him so many times like man look with your eyes but he will always think he’s undeserving and she’s there to prove him wrong!! Speaking of undeserving when he tries to push her away again, I loved how fierce she was and didn’t let him get away with it

“You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” “

^OoOo!!! Yes reader tell him what he needs to hear since he wants to run away and push you out (even though afterwards I’d love him forever because come on lol) Sassy Charles too was the best 🤣 it just kept going with the trash talk Logan needed to hear lol

The porch light being the guiding light through the relationship was such a beautiful way to show their love. It was simple yet had so much meaning. She was never going to quit on him and he was always going to come back even if he didn’t feel deserving of it 😭❤️ Was this your run on thing you talked about having?

*one more note is this was one of my favorite things she said to him explaining how she just feels him and she says

“ "This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until...there you are." “

Ohhh to have that with someone especially Logan is a dream because no matter the angst, heart ache, they’d always end up together, in love 😭

Thank you for the happy ending too because I couldn’t not DEAL if they didn’t get it!! Amazing job Lub 👏🏼💐

Come A Long, Long Way

SYNOPSIS: His days are long and his nights are longer. He comes to you during those hours when the rest of the world stills, lured in by something almost like fate. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 12.2k

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, scars and healing; gratuitous sexual tension; mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption; dirty talk; frottage; nipple play; surprise appearance by Charles; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; sex with feelings; cowgirl; mating press; creampie; brief mentions of Laura; happy ending because I said so

A/N: The idea for this story came to me through a song--My Fair Lady by Kaleo. I was struck by this verse: I'm weary from my travels // I've come a long, long way // I haven't felt a woman // Since last that I was here // Oh, won't you bring me whisky // And run your fingers through my hair? // Oh, won't you whisper sweet words // Oh, so softly in my ear? I thought, "Wow, that's so Old Man Logan" and this is what I birthed from that. This may be one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I sincerely hope you think so too. Huge, huge thank you to @yxtkiwiyxt for betaing this for me and making the final draft what it is; you helped end this in such a beautiful way. Thank you to @saradika for the use of her graphics. And as always, I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

He shouldn’t care about the car pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking as the rain pours down. 

For three days, Logan’s entertained a rowdy bachelorette party, chauffeuring them from bar to bar, dinner to dinner. The scent of cheap perfume and desperation still linger inside the limo, the drunken, whispered advances still burn against his skin. 

He’s tired. Exhausted down to his very marrow and he wants nothing more than to crawl onto his sagging mattress and steal whatever amount of sleep his shattered mind will give him. 

So, no. He shouldn’t care about the car. 

But he finds himself easing off the gas, the limo starting to slow as he nears. He feels drawn, like a month to a flame, as if some unseen force has wound itself around his sternum and is pulling him forward. 

Pulling him to you. 

As the limo approaches, he spots you crouched down by the front left tire, struggling with a lug wrench, the tool slipping in your rain-soaked fingers. He can almost hear the curses spilling from your lips as you glance up and look towards where he’s sitting. 

Logan knows you can’t see him, not well anyway with the headlights shining directly upon you and the rain pouring down in sheets, but he swears you find his gaze, your eyes seeming to pierce down directly to his soul. He feels the flutter of something deep in his chest and he feels exposed, like a raw wound that hasn’t quite healed. 

For a moment, he hesitates, and wonders if you’re a siren, out here in your element to lure him to his death. Then your gaze drops and the thought dissolves but only just. Before he can talk himself out of it, Logan’s throwing the car in park and opening the door. 

The rain is frigid, the cold biting at his skin as the downpour soaks him down to the bone. You glance up at him as he approaches, your fingers loosening around the wench but still keeping it firmly in your grasp. Straightening up, you push wet strands of hair out of your face, your fingers trembling from the cold. 

“Need a lift?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. What he should do is swap out the old tire for the spare and let you go on your way. But those eyes of yours are piercing him again, the hook you’ve sunk deep in his sinew pulling taut once more and Logan feels compelled to take you home. 

For a few moments, you continue to silently assess him, your gaze flitting between your car, the limo behind him and back to his now soaked frame. Then, you stand and open the driver’s side door, tossing in the wrench and pulling your purse close to your chest. You follow him to the limo and climb into the backseat as Logan slips back in behind the wheel. 

He glances back at you through the rearview mirror, watching as you lean back into the seat, your wet clothes clinging to every curve of your body. Which is another thing he shouldn’t care about and yet…

Clearing his throat, he turns up the heat. “Where you headed?”

“North. About twenty miles or so.”

Logan nods and shifts the car into drive, heading back down the road as the rain continues to come down. Several minutes pass in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers. Finally, your voice breaks through the silence, soft and lilting. 

“Got a name?”

“Who’s asking?”

A half smile tugs at your lips as you slide from the seat and slip into the row directly behind the partition. Logan can feel the damp of your skin as you lean into his space, the scent of rain flooding his nostrils almost intoxicating. You say your name and wait for him to respond in kind.

“Logan,” he answers, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Logan?” you ask, his name dripping from your lips like honey and just as sweet.

Logan stiffens, his grip tightening on the wheel as your words cut through the night. There’s no pity in your tone, which he’s silently grateful for, but an unsettling mixture of curiosity and understanding.

At the best of times, he doesn’t like anyone trying to scratch below the surface, to worm themselves into all the soft and vulnerable bits he tries so desperately to hide away. Now that he’s older and feeling every bit of his age, the weight of his bones threatening to drag him down with each step, he likes it even less.

“It’s not kind to anyone,” he answers, turning his head just enough to glance sideways at you. 

You tilt your head slightly, a wordless noise humming in your throat. “Maybe,” you concede, voice soft, like you’re mulling over his words. “Except your life has carved itself into you a little more than most.”

He wants to be annoyed, to slam his foot on the brake and send the limo careening into reverse back towards your broken down car. But something stirs in him, thrumming in time with the pulse beating in his veins—a spark of irritation mixed with that pull that’s been gnawing at him since he first saw you. 

“You a therapist or somethin’?”

You chuckle softly, the sound low and intimate, as you lean back into the seat, finally putting some space between you. “No. Just intuitive.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you through the rearview mirror with a scowl. “Intuit less. Just tell me where I’m goin’.”

A soft, chiding “tsk” falls from your lips and you shake your head, but Logan doesn’t miss the smile playing on your lips. You give him directions to your house and for moment you both sit in silence but the air remains heavy with unspoken tension. 

Logan pulls off the highway, beginning to wind through the smaller streets of the town as he gets closer to your place. The thought of this ride ending, of you leaving this car, both thrill and disappoint him. 

“You believe in fate?”

The question cuts through the silence, pulling Logan’s focus back to you. He glances at you briefly, your expression thoughtful as you wait for him to answer. 

“No,” he finally says, voice flat. 

A soft hum escapes your throat. “Unsurprising. But don’t you think, Logan,” you begin, leaning back into his space, “that maybe fate is what brought us together?”

You have that knowing look in your eye again, a sly smile tugging at your lips. As if you’re in on some cosmic secret he’s not privy to. It unnerves him. 

But it intrigues him, too. 

“I think a broken down car brought us together.”

“Or maybe life decided to be kind to you,” you challenge. “To bring me to you.”

Logan turns into a quiet subdivision as your words rattle around in his brain. The rain has mostly subsided, but is still falling in a gentle drizzle as he pulls up in front of your house, a single porch light illuminated in welcome. It looks small, yet homey, the kind of place he could have seen himself in once if life had been kinder to him. 

“You should come in,” you say as you gather your belongings. “Get out of those wet clothes.”

Your eyes meet his again through the review mirror, a mischievous glint in your gaze and an even more sinful smile on your lips. 

It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone. The thrill of finding a partner for the night having lost its luster around the time his bones started to ache. More often than not, his sexual escapades involve his own calloused hands and memories from when he was a younger man. 

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.” 

Logan sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, contemplating whether or not to follow you into the house.

Your offer is tantalizing, ripe for the picking, and the baser part of himself wants to accept—follow you into sin. You’ve already injected yourself into his veins, he might as well see the high through. 

The rational part of his brain knows he should leave, throw the limo in reverse and tail it back to the life he’s carved out for himself in the desert. Experience has hardened him, left him unable to, or maybe unwilling to, open himself to others. He doesn’t need whatever it is you think you can offer him, no matter how alluring and sweet your words may be. 

The weight of his wet clothes against his skin begins to feel almost suffocating and with a low curse under his breath, Logan steps from the limo and follows the path you took up the porch and into the house.

A trail of water leads from the front door to a small laundry room just off the foyer and then damp footprints lead deeper into the house. He can hear the low rumble of a dryer as he steps further into the space, the squeak of his shoes against the hardwood doing nothing to hide his approach. 

Logan finds you in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, standing in only a pair of mismatched underwear, the damp fabric barely concealing what’s underneath as you gently swirl a glass of whiskey. A second, untouched glass sits next to your hip on the counter. 

“You seem like a whiskey man,” you say, your smile curving around the glass as you take a slow sip. “Did I get it right?”

Stopping in the doorway, he flexes his hands at his sides, and wills himself to move—forward, backward, he’s not quite sure. The muted light catches along your curves, the damp sheen of your skin enticing, the dark outline of your nipples and curls between your thighs acting like a beacon. Logan can feel himself hardening against his slacks. 

He can smell you—bright and earthy and wholly intoxicating. Your heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick, but steady, betraying no fear. 

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now,” you say and he has half a thought to wonder if you can read his mind. 

A sly smile spreads across your face as his eyes finally meet yours, a knowing edge to your expression that further sets him off balance. 

“What’s happenin’ here?” Logan finally rasps, his voice low and rough. 

You give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you grab the glass next to you and take a step towards him, your movements slow yet deliberate. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as you approach him. 

“That’s up to you,” you reply, handing him the glass. “You can get out of those wet clothes and enjoy this whiskey with me, or,” you pause to step closer, “you can walk back out that door and pretend like you weren’t curious about what’s waiting for you here.”

Logan’s fingers grip the glass in his hands just a little too tight as you stare up at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. You’re challenging him, daring him to act, and he knows the minute he breaks, he’s done for. He won’t be able to stop. 

You risk another step closer, leaving barely a breadth of space between you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can smell the rain on your skin, as your closeness overwhelms his senses. He wants to drown in you. 

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask in a whisper, your fingers trailing along the edge of his belt buckle. 

Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin. His free hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, halting your teasing fingers before they venture any further. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying and threatening to snap.

“You sure this is what you want?” His voice is low, all gravel and grit as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened by a hunger begging to be fed.

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as you press yourself fully against him, soft and warm. Rising up onto the balls of your feet, you drop your gaze to his lips before flicking your eyes back up to his and ghosting your mouth along his jawline. “Stay with me,” you whisper, sliding your hand up his chest. “Just this once.”

Logan’s restraint snaps. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering against the floor, but neither of you seem to notice. His hand moves to the small of your back, wanting to press you impossibly closer as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding. 

You respond in kind, a whimper dying in your throat as your fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer. A growl tumbles from his lips as he trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and tasting as he goes, his tongue finding your pulse point and sucking. His hands roam freely, his calloused fingers sliding over your smooth flesh, palming your hips and gripping you as if you’re the only thing grounding him to earth.

He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You’re a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole. 

You gasp as he nips at a spot just below your ear and he smirks against your skin, the sound spurring him on. “Tell me where your room is, or I’m fuckin’ you right here on the table,” he husks, his voice thick with desire, breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips swollen and eyes dark, you reach for his hand and wordlessly lead him past the living room and down the small hallway to your room. Once inside, he pulls you back towards him, mouth slanting back over yours, stealing the very air from your lungs. 

His cock is almost painfully hard as he walks you towards the bed, only pulling his mouth away from yours as your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Instead of sitting back on the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt, easing them open before sliding the fabric from his shoulders. There’s an eagerness to your movements, your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle as he sheds his undershirt and tosses it somewhere behind him. 

Logan watches with a hooded gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as you shove his pants down his legs, barely getting them past his knees before you’re reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements and you gaze up at him, licking your lips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We have all night.”

A shiver runs through you and then his mouth is on you again, hungry and all-consuming. He drinks you in like a man parched, lips and teeth mapping the curve of your jaw, the solid edge of your collarbone as your pretty little moans and gasps fill the air. You tilt your head back and offer yourself to him, your hands grasping at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle to keep him close.

His hands are rough against your skin as he slides them up your sides, tracing the soft, damp skin below the band of your bra. Unfastening the clasps, he trails the fabric down your arms, his eyes darkening as he finally takes in your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice dripping with raw want.

Any final restraint he has evaporates and he kicks the last of his clothes off before tightening his hands around your waist and setting you down on the bed. Logan steals the gasp from your mouth as his body covers yours, easing himself between your thighs and thrusting once against your clothed cunt.

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to wet the skin. “Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.” 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, his teeth bared. A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?”

Logan lets out a deep, guttural sound, something between a growl and a groan before he slots his mouth back over yours and follows you into temptation.  

“Figured you’d try and sneak out.”

Logan whirls around at the sound of your voice, claws slowly unsheathing from between his knuckles. Blood wells up from the wounds, dripping between his fingers as he finds you dressed in an oversized shirt, the hem just concealing the edge of your panties. Your expression belies no fear as you take in the metal jutting out between his skin, your eyes alight with an acceptance he’s not use to. 

Fear, disgust, repulsion, but rarely acceptance. 

Slowly, he retracts his claws as you move further into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to grab and moisten a washcloth before coming to stand in front of him. Logan instinctively pulls away from your touch, but you’re undeterred, taking his hands in yours and wiping the blood away from his skin. Your movements are gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing slits.

Washed of blood, you finally glance up at him. “You can stay, you know.”

“I’m not the stayin’ kind, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of those slow, knowing smiles tugs at your lips as you release his hands and Logan actually mourns the loss. “We’ll see,” you say with a shrug, stepping back just enough to put space between you. “I don’t think fate is done with us yet.”

Your words hang in the air like smoke, curling around him and pressing into his skin. He wants to argue, the words burning on his tongue, but he doesn’t. Because despite his earlier claims that he didn’t believe in fate, he can’t deny the unnatural pull you have on him. A pull Logan doesn’t necessarily dislike.

At his silence, you lean up and press the faintest of kisses to the corner of his jaw. “I’ll leave the light on for you,” you whisper into his skin.

It’s then he knows—he won’t be able to stay away. 

Logan shows up at your door again two weeks later. 

He’s been driving around some bigwig CEO, chauffeuring him from conference to conference during the day and dropping him off at random hotels during the night. When he gives Logan the address to tonight’s hotel, Logan knows instantly he’s in trouble. Just his luck the hotel is in your town. 

Pulling off the freeway, he feels that familiar tug behind his ribs. His hands itch with the want, the need, to turn the wheel towards you instead of the address on his GPS. Since that night, you’ve haunted him, your face showing up in his dreams, waking with the sensation of your softness burning into his skin. 

Logan knows he could stay at the hotel or sleep in the back of the limo like he’s done so many times before. But as he slowly inhales at his cigar and waits for Mr. CEO to stop fingering his mistress in the back seat and get the fuck out, the need to be near you only grows stronger. 

And damned if he knows why. 

He doesn’t need a relationship, or whatever the hell this is. Enough of him has been spread to others, for better or worse, and he’s already worn thin. The last remnants of any family he has are hanging off a very precarious ledge and he can’t bear the heartache of more loss if he opens himself to you. 

But as much as Logan keeps telling himself he’s closed off, fortified against anything new, he can feel himself bleeding through the cracks. 

By the time he finally turns down your street, it’s well past a respectable visiting hour. Most houses are dark for the night, but not yours. The front porch light illuminates just like it did two weeks ago and the dim lights of the kitchen shine through the pulled blinds. You’re up and a frisson of anticipation shoots through him. 

He parks the limo and stamps out the cigar before walking up your driveway. As he approaches the door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. While your final words to him were open ended, did that give him the right to just show up in the middle of the night? 

You open the door as he contemplates and when his gaze finally focuses on you, he relaxes. A well worn robe is tied around your waist, your hair tied up in a messy bun, your face cleaned of makeup and yet you’re more alluring to him than you were that night in the rain. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confesses, stepping just a bit closer towards you. 

A slow, soft smile spreads across your face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you reply. You open the door to allow him entrance and he steps in after you. 

Logan follows you into the kitchen, where you already have a glass of whiskey ready for him. Handing him the glass, you nod your head towards the living room. “Come. Relax for a bit.”

He follows you into he living room, the single lamp casting a soft glow within the space. You settle onto the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you and turning yourself towards him as he joins you. For a moment, neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like it always is around you. 

“You look tired,” you say, finally breaking the quiet. Your voice is soft, a sense of familiarity laced in with your words, as if you understand the magnitude of his fatigue.

Logan huffs as he swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Honey, I’m always tired,” he replies. “Comes with the territory.”

You give a small hum, your head tilting to the side as you assess him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Logan freezes at your words, his eyes flicking up to your face. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and guarded, like you’ve peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready to expose. And yet, you’ve been doing this since the beginning. Finding the cracks in his facade and wedging yourself in until the gap widens, uncovering the raw nerves underneath.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his tone challenging.

You gaze remains steady and calm, holding a softness that unnerves him more than the question itself. “Because it’s written all over you,” you say simply. “I see it in your scars, in the way your hands are always clenched, as if steeling yourself against a blow that’ll never come.”

Logan exhales a low, humorless laugh before taking a long sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. “Don’t even notice it anymore,” he lies, shifting in his seat. 

Your mouth tugs into a gentle frown as you shift, crawling closer to where he sits. You pluck the glass from his fingers, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. Logan watches as you swing your legs over his lap, your robe riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of your thighs. 

The weight of you against his lap sends a rush of arousal down his spine and he can feel his cock stir in his slacks. If you notice, you ignore it, instead reaching for a small bottle of lotion on the end table and squeezing a dollop into your palm. You rub your hands together twice before reaching for his right hand. 

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath. 

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more. 

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand. 

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time. 

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand. 

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers. 

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

Logan slides his palms up your thighs and around your hips, pulling you flush against his lap, your clothed center pressing against the fly of his slacks. He doesn’t miss the gasp that falls from your lips or the shift of your hips as you try and press closer. 

That thrum of aliveness begins to churn in his veins as he slowly unties the sash of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall to the side. You’re bare underneath and Logan can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the center of your chest. 

“You dress like this jus’ for me?” he asks, dragging his lips towards your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, working into a taut peak beneath his tongue.

Your fingers wind themselves into his hair, holding him close. “Yes,” you breathe, a whimper falling from your lips as he moves to your other breast. “Only for you.”

A surge of possessiveness rushes through his veins and Logan can feel the prickle between his knuckles, his claws threatening to unsheathe at the thought of you with another man. Instead, he doubles his focus onto you, his beard scraping against your skin as he licks a hot stripe across your nipple. “Damn right, only for me,” he growls. 

You shift your hips in response, seeking more friction against the hard length of his cock pressing against you. Logan groans, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, urging you to move against him. The soft, wet heat of your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties and his slacks sets his control on a razors edge. 

Logan leans back slightly to lock eyes with you, your pupils blown wide with want, your skin flushed with desire. You find his gaze, hazy with pleasure, but focused and then you smile at him, bottom lip pinned between your teeth. 

“And you, Logan,” you whisper, your hands sliding down the column of his neck, “you’re only for me.” 

That hook you’ve lodged in him sinks deeper and he’s too far gone to care. The mystery behind your presence in his life is one he’s willing to spend the rest of his days unraveling so long as you stay right here, continuing to bewitch him with the beauty of your soul. 

Your allure was more potent than any pheromone, more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac. In his waking moments, Logan found his thoughts drifting to you more often than not and the frequency between his visits grew shorter and shorter until he found himself lured into your embrace almost every night. 

He was good at lying to himself, writing off these visits as nothing more than comfort—the need to find warmth in a world that so seldom offered him that luxury. But that lie grew bitter, warped in the liminal space between midnight and dawn where you stripped him down to his very bones, saw through the gruff and grit he wrapped himself in. Saw him as something more than the sum of his sins. 

Logan couldn’t hide from you and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Those carefully crafted walls that surrounded him cracked and crumbled, turning to dust at his feet. In that mysterious way of yours, you always knew what he needed—a warm meal; your tender, healing touch as you helped him stitch the worst of his wounds; the soft, pliant feel of your skin on his as you kissed him deep, the kind of kiss that burned like wildfire and whiskey.

God help him as your gravity pulled him in closer, your orbits circling tighter and tighter, destined for an inevitable crash. 

“What am I to you?”

Those five words root him where he stands, flaying him down to his very marrow. Logan should have expected this question, should have known that eventually you’d ask. 

He wants to tell you the truth, speak those words that burn against his tongue, begging to be said.

He wants to tell you of his need to find you when the days are long and the nights are longer. When the weariness he feels in his bones aches more than usual and seems to bleed into his very soul. 

When he needs to feel something more than the hollowness that seems to grow inside his chest. The slow carving away of his humanity that’s been scraping closer and closer to emptiness for years. 

When he needs to be wrapped in warmth and set afire by something almost like love. Like home. 

But he says none of this as he gazes over at you sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest. You look small sitting there, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before. 

And instead, he remains silent, praying you’ll let the conversation slide. But he knows better. 

You glance up at him, your gaze piercing straight through the heart of him and then you devastate him with three simple words. 

“I love you.”

The air punches from his lungs and for a moment it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Your words tear through him, cutting deeper than any knife, and his hands curl into fists as you slice him open. 

“Don’t,” Logan rasps, his voice rough, barely more than whisper. He avoids your eyes, knowing that if he looks and sees the sincerity in your gaze, it’ll be his undoing. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Your voice cracks with emotion as you push away from the table, your arms wrapping around yourself. “What about those words can’t you hear?”

His jaw clenches and for every step you take closer him, he takes a half step back, as if he’s trying to distance himself from the truth beginning to swirl between you. You can’t love him. Loving someone has brought him nothing but misery and pain, loss and suffering and he’ll be damned if he drags you down that road. 

So, instead he lies, the words bitter in his mouth. 

“This ain’t love, sweatheart,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “This is fuckin’.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth and your expression twists into disbelief, the beginning of tears welling in your eyes. “Fucking?” you bite back, your voice trembling but still firm. “You think after all these months that this is just fucking?”

Logan doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, jaw clenched so tightly he could shatter bones. He can’t say yes. If he does that, if he voices that lie into existence, he’ll have to spend the rest of his days remembering the look in your eyes right now—destroyed. 

Your breath starts to shudder as you continue to step closer towards him. And he can feel you, warm and comforting, even though you shake with barely contained anger. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is,” you demand, your voice thick with emotion. “Tell me that when you come to me in the middle of the night, broken down, bloody and bruised, it’s just fucking. Tell me that when I touch you, hold you, love you, that it means nothing.” 

He remain silent. 

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” Your trembling voice matches the shake to your hands, your fury pouring off you in waves. “You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

Logan nostrils flare at the insult and he can feel the prickle of his claws between his knuckles. He knows his rage isn’t with you, but himself. And yet he can still feel his lips curl into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you seethe, your voice now raw, pain bleeding through every syllable. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie.”

His jaw clenches impossibly harder and he swears he can taste bone. Then, he finally meets your gaze head on, eyes flashing. “You think this ends well between us? You think I get to have somethin’ like this? Like you?” Logan’s voice cracks in a way that he loathes. “I can’t—”

The crack of your palm against his face is deafening. He barely moves from the impact, but emotionally you’ve landed him on his ass. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unblinking.

Logan stands there, immobile, as he processes the sting of your slap. It doesn’t hurt, not physically. It’s the fact that you did it, the fact that you’re standing in front of him, chest heaving from the effort of your breathing as if you just ripped yourself open for him.

“Get out of my house,” you seethe, your voice softer than before, deflated.

Your words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. They shouldn’t wreck him and make him feel like he’s been ripped apart limb from limb. He should relish them, the push, the shove. He should revel in the confirmation that you’re finally seeing him for what he truly is—something undeserving of all the warmth and love you’ve given him. A stray animal that never should have been fed.

Logan swallows, his throat tight as he gives you a small nod. And then he does the only thing he knows how to do. 

He turns. And he walks.

His legs feel like lead, each step a feat and his brain is screaming at him to turn around. To fight. To beg. To plead. To say something, anything. 

But he doesn’t.

Logan exits the house, the front door slamming shut behind him. As he steps off the front step, the porch light above him clicks off, plunging the house into darkness. Your guiding light is gone, lost in the storm of his destruction.

Of all the wounds he’s ever taken, of all the scars that mar his skin, nothing has ever bled quite like this.

Charles watches with sharp eyes as Logan enters the old water tank and shuts the door behind him. The older man is in his wheelchair, tending to his plants as Logan walks around the place, picking up random bits of trash and the tray from breakfast. 

A soft “tsk” falls from Charles’ lips and echos in the small space. “Will you ever learn, Logan?” Charles’ voice seems tired, weary. 

Logan pauses and looks over at him, irritation already prickling along his skin. “Stay outta my head,” he snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table. 

He doesn’t need this, doesn’t want Charles sifting through his mind, seeing those pieces of you he so deeply cherishes. Pieces he doesn’t deserve. Pieces he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have within his grasp again. 

“She loves you,” Charles continues, seeming to ignore his request. 

Logan strides over to where Charles is sitting, unable to keep the ire from boiling over. He wants to sweep all the plants to the floor, destroy the one creative outlet Charles has, retaliate for the way he presses into the fresh bruises on his mind. “I’m begging you, just—”

Charles lifts the spray bottle beside him and directs the spray in Logan’s face, showering him in a fine mist of water. Logan freezes, water dripping from his face as his lips tighten in a thin line. He grits his teeth, an ache already blooming in his jaw. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he growls. 

“Are you a cat?” Charles asks, lowering the bottle. “No? Then stop being such a pussy.”

Logan stares at Charles, the vulgarity of the of man’s words leaving him temporarily speechless. He scrubs a hand down his face, wiping the rest of the water off with the sleeve of his shirt, scowl deepening. 

“You’re pushin’ it,” Logan warns. 

Charles simply smirks, finally setting the bottle down on the table. “Someone should. God knows you won’t push yourself. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath and steps back from Charles, sitting down on the bed across from him. The old metal springs groan beneath his weight. He wants a bottle of whiskey, to quiet the thoughts in his head, at least temporarily, and fall into a drunken stupor. Anything but flaying open his feelings, especially his feelings about you. 

“What are you so afraid of?” Charles asks gently. “That she’ll see all your broken pieces?”

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

Charles raises his eyebrow. “No? Logan, she’s already seen them. She knows what you are and she’s still here.”

“That’s not the point!” Logan roars, his voice echoing off the metal walls. His breathing comes out in short gasps and he knows he needs to rein himself in. Not only for himself but for Charles. It doesn’t take much to trigger a seizure these days and he doesn’t need the stress of this conversation to become a catalyst. 

Charles remains quiet, expression calm and Logan hangs his head, his voice softening into something raw. “It’s not about what she knows. It’s about who, about what, I am. I don’t deserve her.”

Bracing his elbows on his legs, Charles leans forward, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “She knows all that, Logan. And she chooses you. Every night you come to her, she chooses you. How can you not see that?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the weight of Charles’ words hang heavy against his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, seeing the callouses and crisscrossing scars. His body is a physical map of violence, each faded pink line a story of pain, regret and death. 

But you’ve never seen them that way. You’ve only ever looked at them with reverence, traced your fingertips along each one and wondered about their stories. Made him feel whole instead of broken and used. 

“You have a choice to make, Logan,” Charles says, interrupting the silence. “Let her in…or keep running. Don’t make her choose for you.” 

For days, Logan’s mind is plagued by replays of his last moments with you and his conversation with Charles. His already sleepless nights are further tormented by dreams of you, the devastated expression on your face haunting him.

The memory of your face, the crack in your usually steadfast voice, the tremor in your hand after you struck him. They all play in a nauseating loop in his brain, punishing him in a way he’s never felt before.

His life reverts to autopilot—drink, fight, drive, but nothing quells the gnawing ache in his chest. He couldn’t stay in the smelting plant with both Caliban and Charles staring at him, watching his every move as if he were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Charles was running out of medications, a few days supply left at most, and Logan knew he was better off leaving Charles in Caliban’s care than his own.

Now, he sits on the edge of a dingy motel bed, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes are dry and heavy with exhaustion and his skin is itching with that familiar want to be near you. It started as an annoying tug, but has now grown into a maddening want.

He knows he should ignore it. But he was never that strong.

Before he can talk himself out of it, convince himself that this is an astronomically stupid fucking idea, he’s on his feet, keys in hand and driving down those lonely roads towards you.

It’s late when he reaches your house, like it usually is, and he half expects the porch light to remain dark, a cold, bleak reminder of how badly he’s fucked up. Instead, he finds that single porch light illuminated, shining like a beacon of hope. Logan walks up onto the porch, but you don’t open the door like you’ve done so many times before. 

He contemplates leaving, turning around and getting back in the car and drinking himself into a semblance of sleep. But then he hears you, your heartbeat echoing beyond the wooden frame, as steady and as comforting as it’s always been. Logan pauses, wondering if he should try the knob and come inside—if you’ll even let him.

If you even should.

With a sigh, he lowers himself to the ground, his joints aching in protest as he rests his back against the door. “I’m not good at this,” he finally says, hoping you’re listening. “I’ve been alive for too long. Seen too much shit.” Logan pauses, his words burning in his throat. “I’ve lost too many people.”

He hears you shift behind him, your head thudding softly against the door as you listen. His relief is almost palpable knowing you’re there, that you’re at least willing to listen to him. Leaning back, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a heavy breath. “The only way I know how to keep people safe is to push ‘em away. And I need to keep you safe.”

The words feel foreign leaving his mouth, as if they’re uncovering a truth he’s long kept secret. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, raw and honest, and the truth of his words burns. Logan can still hear you on the other side of the door, your breathing slow and steady, yet laced with something—hesitation, maybe, or hurt. It makes his chest ache in a new and unfamiliar way. 

“I’m tired,” he continues, his voice softer. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, sweetheart. Tired of fightin’ when all I want—” Logan swallows hard. “All I want is you.”

The porch light hums above him, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets, but the silence that follows is almost deafening. 

Logan doesn’t deserve you, he knows that. You should turn him away, tell him to leave, to kick him back to the desert to lick his wounds alone. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner, their lover. He’s not sure if he ever has, really, too hung up on all the ways he paints himself as a bad man. Someone unworthy. 

Except with you, he finds himself wanting to fight. To prove he’s not as hard and unyielding as the metal bones inside him. That somewhere deep inside him there still lingers warmth and affection and the capacity to love. 

He’s bracing himself for the worst when he hears the faint sounds of the lock turning. The door creaks open and he shifts to look up at you. One of your well used blankets is wrapped around your shoulders, your hair tousled from sleep and your eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. Logan’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as you stand there and he turns to face you, pushing up onto his knees. Your expression is carefully masked, betraying little of your underlying emotions, and he carefully crawls forward, testing the waters of how close you’ll let him get.

His knees ache as he kneels on the hard concrete, but he’d crawl through glass if you asked him to. Slowly, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he nuzzles his face into the softness and warmth of your belly. Your comforting scent floods his senses as he waits for your anger, your rejection.

Instead, you sigh, a long pent up breath released in a steady exhale and your fingers sink into the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close to you. “You’re an asshole,” you finally say, though your tone lacks any venom or spite.

Logan feels it then, the tension slowly easing from your body as you allow him to sink further into your frame. His heart lurches his chest, the faintest flicker of hope fluttering against his ribs.

“Yes,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“You hurt me.”

He pulls back as you gently push at his shoulders and sink down to the ground in front of him. But you don’t push him away any further and instead, lace your fingers through his. “I should tell you to fuck off,” you continue, your eyes focused on where you’re touching him. “But I can’t.”

His voice comes out in a whisper. “Why?”

Your eyes meet his and your gaze pierces straight through his soul. “You know why.”

And he does. In truth, he thinks he’s always known, long before you ever spoke those three little words out loud. Words so simple, yet so profound. Words he rarely speaks, while others casually toss them around. Words he has rarely felt, but with you feel as natural as breathing, as the sun rising in east.

Words he’s still afraid to say, despite everything, despite every cell in his body screaming at him.

You look at him like you know, because of course you do. You’ve always known him, in that uncanny way of yours since he first saw you standing in the rain. So instead of ire or disappointment at his lack of response, you simply squeeze his hand, grounding him to your reality. 

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady. “Not yet.”

Logan looks at you, his brows furrowed. He can’t fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve you, your patience, your unwavering belief in him. “You make it hard not to,” he finally rasps, his voice rough and uneven. “Love you, I mean.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, raw and jagged, much like him. It’s close to what you want to hear, but not quite. And yet he sees something warm and bright blossom on your face. 

You lean in, raising your free hand to lightly trace the curve of his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “You’re a man of action, Logan,” you say, pressing in closer, your breath mingling with his. “Wanna show me instead?”

This—this is a language he’s fluent in. 

Using his lips, tongue, hands and cock to write on your body all the words he cannot say. He’s mastered your shape, the way your hips curve beneath his palm, the softness of your belly and breasts, the heat between your thighs stoked hotter only by him. He knows exactly where to press, where to nip and suck and tease to elicit all those pretty little moans and gasps of pleasure. 

Logan’s already drawn one orgasm out of you, his fingers still thrusting against you as you ride out your high, your thighs shuddering against his forearm. You’re flushed and breathy as you reach for him, urging him up from between your thighs.  

You pull him close, fingers sinking into his hair as you lick into his mouth, not caring that your slick still stains his beard and lingers against his tongue. He swallows your gasp as he knocks your knees apart and slots himself between your legs, his cock heavy against your belly. 

He wants you. In all the ways he can think of and not just like this, naked and pliant beneath him. He wants your sleepily whispered hellos each morning and your softly murmured goodnights each evening. He wants the warm, weighty press of your body against his as you sit on the couch beside him sipping whiskey. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. 

As his kisses grow more fervent, you grow impatient and push at his chest, urging him back. “Lie back,” you command softly, your breath damp against his lips, “Let me take care of you.”

He wants to protest, deny you this request. This is supposed to be about you, about using his body to show you all the things his words can’t say. He’d spend the whole night between your thighs, using his mouth, tongue and fingers to worship if you’d let him. But there’s something in your gaze that forces him to comply and he gives in, rolling onto his back. 

You straddle his thighs, your slick cunt sliding along the length of his cock. Logan groans and his hands reach for your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he encourages you to move. “This is s’pose to be about you,” he husks as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth. 

“Oh, it is,” you answer, licking your lips as you brace your hands on his chest. “Who else can get you hard and needy beneath them?”

A low growl escapes from his throat. “No one.”

A wicked smile curls at your lips as you drag your heat along him, the blunt head of his cock nudging your clit with every slow, deliberate rock of your hips. The sensation has his control unraveling and he slides his hands along your thighs to palm the curve of your ass. 

You press into his touch, continuing to roll your hips as you lean forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You see,” you murmur, “this is for me.”

Reaching between your bodies, you grasp him in your hand and line him up. Slowly, almost tortuously slow, you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. A sharp inhale escapes him as your warm, tight walls surround him and Logan knows this feels different. 

This isn’t merely fucking anymore, the melding of flesh for the pure sake of pleasure, of briefly escaping the nightmare of his life, of finding solace in sin. You’ve somehow managed to bleed yourself into him, to wrap yourself around his heart. 

You feel as if you’re a part of him, lodged deep between his ribs and that if he were to try to remove you, he’d kill himself in the process. A part of him knows this feeling has always been there, back when you first entered his limo. The feeling threatens to choke him, to fill his love soaked lungs until all he can breathe is you. 

He loves you. 

Pure and unfiltered and it terrifies him. 

“I—fuck, I,” he chokes out, the words caught in his throat. “I feel—”

Your hands run over his chest, up along his collarbones, your fingers blazing a trail over his skin. “I know, Logan,” you whisper, your hips rocking languidly against his. 

He grips your thighs, almost tight enough to bruise, helping guide your movements, but also prove to himself you’re real. Logan’s chest heaves as he watches you ride him, your hips rocking harder, faster, dragging moans out of both of you. You lean back just enough to change the angle, driving him deeper and he bucks his hips, meeting your thrusts with a force that has you crying out his name.

And yet it’s not enough. He needs to wrap himself around you, twine his fingers through your hair and hold your mouth to his until he’s completely consumed you. His hands slide up your back towards your waist and he pulls you down against him, mouth hot and insistent against your neck as he continues to fuck up into you. 

In one fluid motion, Logan grips your thighs and flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, cock still sheathed deep within your cunt. You arch beneath him as he sets a brutal, devastating pace, the raw intensity of his movements stealing short, gasps breaths from your lips with each thrust. A shiver ripples through you as he draws a nipple into his mouth, his name tumbling from you like a prayer.

“Fuck, there it is,” he growls. “I love all those little sounds you make.”

His choice of word isn’t lost on either of you and your eyes meet his as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint red crescents as you cling to him. “Logan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as he hits that soft spot deep inside you. “More.”

“You want more?” he rasps, gripping your thighs and pulling them higher around his waist. The new angle has you crying out, the sound echoing in the room as he continues to slam into you with a force that has the bed creaking beneath you.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” you moan, your head tipping back. 

Logan takes advantage of your offering, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin in a way that’s sure to leave a burn come the morning. There’s a possessiveness to his touch, a need to claim you, to prove to you that this is all he needs—your embrace, your warmth, your love.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he growls against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies and finding where you’re joined. He can feel himself pounding into you, your combined arousal coating his fingers as he finds your clit and begins to rub in tight circles. “So goddamn perfect. You were made for me, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your cunt flutters around him and he knows you’re close, your thrusts against him growing erratic. He feels his own impending release, but he needs you to come first, needs to feel you shatter against him. His fingers press more firmly against your clit and with a breathy moan, your body tenses, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes into you.

“That’s it,” Logan groans, his own thrusts faltering as he feels you tighten around him, pulling him in deeper. “Look at you, comin’ so pretty for me.” He slows just enough to prolong your release, his thrusts deliberate as he draws out every ounces of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him. 

It’s overwhelming—the sensation of you beneath him, around him; the cling of your fingers to his shoulders; the warm, damp breath against his neck; the absolute perfection of this moment right now. In all his years on this earth, he’s never experienced anything like this. The desire to completely consume someone, body and soul, and be consumed return. He wants his dying breath to be your name.

Something inside of Logan snaps, and as you try and catch your breath as you come down from your high, he presses your legs higher, folding you beneath him in a way that has his cock pressing deeper than before. The change has you whimpering and he looks down to find your expression as wrecked as he feels. He pauses his thrusts just long enough to grasp both your wrists and pin them above your head before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you with an almost ruthless intensity.

“I love you,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, his control quickly unraveling with every whimper and cry of his name. “God, I fucking love you.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t even realized what he’s said. Then he looks down at you, your gaze trained on his face and that soft, knowing smile of yours on your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, “I know. I’ve always known.”

Logan lets out a rough, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling with the weight of his confession. Any response he has dies in his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his entire body wound tight. He’s so fucking close, can feel his orgasm coiling hot and tight in his gut, but it’s more than your warm heat drawing him in—it’s everything. 

“Tell me,” he grits out, his hips chasing, chasing, chasing that release.

You lean up as much as you can with your hands still pinned above you and lick an open mouthed kiss against his lips. “I love you, Logan.”

And that’s all it takes. He groans into your mouth as he finally lets go, his body tensing as his release crashes into him. He spills himself deep inside you, shallowly thrusting into your cunt as his rhythm slows.

Logan releases your hands, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, of heartbeats slowing, the two of you tangled in the aftermath.

Logan’s restless and unable to sleep despite your smaller frame tucked alongside him, the weight of your head resting against his chest. From his periphery, he can see his phone illuminating with unread texts, no doubt from Caliban urging his return. Charles has been deteriorating faster than Logan cares to admit, his mind gone more often than not, raving about new mutants. He needs drugs faster than Logan can procure them.

His mind churns, the reality of the outside world looming closer and he contemplates slipping from your grasp when you shift, curling yourself further into him. You don’t speak, not yet, but he can tell you’re alert, floating somewhere in that space between sleep and full wakefulness. Your fingers start to move of their own accord, the gentle pressure of your fingertips tracing over an old scar along his ribs, mapping out an old battle he no longer remembers. 

Beside him, his phone buzzes again and Logan sighs.

“Sounds important,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

He wants to keep ignoring it, stay wrapped in the quiet cocoon you’ve thrown around him, but Logan knows he can’t. It’s a cruel reminder of the chaos that plagues him beyond the sanctuary of your embrace. 

“You can go to him, Logan,” you continue, fingers never stopping their slow path along his skin. “I know you’ll be back.”

“How,” he starts, licking his dry lips, “how do you always know?”

Logan’s asked versions of this question before. You’ve always brushed him off, given a coy answer and steered the conversation towards something else. For a moment, he thinks tonight will be the same.

But then you answer.

“I can feel you,” you answer softly, your breath warm and damp against his skin. “I just—” You pause and turn to look up at him and then disentangle yourself from his embrace. “Stand up,” you urge, nudging at his side until he complies.

He blinks at you in confusion, but you just smile at him, soft and sleepy, and gently cup the side of his face. “Now, close your eyes.”

Logan does as he’s told, chasing after your touch as you step back from him, settling somewhere beyond him on the bed. “I’m going to move and you tell me where I am.”

The soft rustle of bedsheets follows and then, stillness. You’re quiet, but he can sense you, just off to his right, but too far away to touch. “My right, but farther back in the room.”

You move again, keeping your movements light. Again, he pinpoints you, this time towards his left, closer, but still too far away to grasp. “Left.”

A final movement, this time even closer, your proximity flooding his senses, sending a rush of warmth down his spine. Logan reaches out, finding the curve of your hips, hands tucking underneath the shirt you had slipped on earlier in the night, splaying his palms against your back. He opens his eyes and meets your gaze, alive in the predawn glow.

“How did you know?” you ask, looping your arms around his neck.

Understanding dawns on him, the answer so simple, yet so profound. Pinpointing where you were had nothing to do with his heightened senses and everything to do with just you—the way you’ve molded yourself to him like a second skin. “I could feel you,” he answers. “I could—I just knew.”

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. Logan sighs into your mouth, his eyes fluttering close as you press your forehead to his. “It’s like that,” you whisper. “This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until…there you are.”

His phone continues to buzz, growing more insistent as the soft blues and grays of the morning bleed into more golden hues. With a reluctance you both feel, Logan peels himself away, finally answering the phone with an irritation he doesn’t bother hiding. 

You watch him go, standing on the porch with the light casting a halo around your head. Your smile is gentle, but stained with worry and yet you remain stoic, the steady pillar holding up the fractured remains of his life.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too. 

The last one hundred miles have dragged on for eons, the road before him stretching into an almost infinite distance. Logan finds himself darting his eyes towards the dashboard clock, growing increasingly frustrated when the numbers move only a few minutes at a time, the slow passage of time seeming to taunt him. 

It’s been months since he saw you last, though no fault of his own. His memories are hazy—a swirling fog of confusion, pain and burning fever. He’s not even sure how he survived, whether it was modern medicine or sheer stubbornness. Or something more. 

You believe in fate?

Your words echo in his mind, soft and sweet, and he feels a familiar pang of longing in his chest. 

Fate or not, something kept a spark alive in him, pulsing through his veins with each sluggish beat as he slowly and painfully healed. His wounds are still pink and tender to the touch, more of his skin marred by death and destruction. 

As he turns into your subdivision, the night quiet, a cold, creeping anxiety snakes along his spine. What if you’ve given up on him? Figured this last absence was the real deal, all his idle promises of staying away finally coming to fruition. 

But as Logan drives down your street, he sees it—the single porch light illuminating in the night. Acting like the beacon it’s always been, leading him safely to land. 

To you. 

Logan pulls into the driveway and shifts the truck into park. Turning in his seat, he glances back towards the young girl curled up on the backseat. Laura’s face is relaxed in sleep, her hands tucked protectively under her chin. She fell asleep several hours ago, the soft rhythm of the tires against pavement lulling her to sleep. 

Logan’s been many things in his life. Son, brother, fighter, friend. Lover. He never thought he’d add father to that list. While he can’t quite find it in him to call himself that just yet—even though Laura readily and easily calls him dad—he no longer denies the protectiveness he feels towards her.

Easing the door to the truck open, Logan steps out and gently shuts it behind him, loathe to disturb her just yet. 

Here he is showing up at your door like he always has—late, quiet, and carrying a heavy weight he feels only he can shoulder. His hand is poised to knock, knuckles clenched, but he pauses, unsure if he even has the right to be here. 

But then there you are, the front door opening to reveal your tired but relieved face, months of worry etched into your skin, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears. 

“Logan,” you breathe, pulling him gently by the wrist and leading him inside. You don’t ask why he’s there. He suspects you already know. 

The air inside the house is just as he remembers. Warm and inviting and laced with the faint, comforting smell of you. Logan inhales deeply, letting the scent settle somewhere in the parts of him that still feel alive, that thrum with the memory of your touch. 

Your fingers still linger against his wrist and he can feel the heat radiating from your body, but you’re not close enough. And yet, he’s afraid to reach out, pull you into his arms. Afraid of the pity or obligation you’ll feel to comfort him, to allay all his fears.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently cup the side of his face, your nails scratching along his jaw. Logan flinches slightly, his body so used to pain these past months he’s almost forgotten the tenderness of your touch. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, a ragged breath falling from his lips and his head dips forward. 

“C’mere,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he slides his arms along your back, pulling you against him. You feel real and solid and alive pressed this close. Never one for overt physical touch, Logan’s surprised by how much he missed this—the simple act of just holding you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, his breath warm and damp against your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything, unsure where to even begin. The weight of his grief, his weariness, feels heavier than any burden he’s ever shouldered before and it’s almost desperate the way he clings to you. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. If you were to let go, he’d fall apart. 

Logan doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the hot trail of tears against his cheeks. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as you hold him. 

“I couldn’t feel you, Logan,” you whisper into his neck. “Several days of just…nothing. I thought that—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat, but he knows what they are just the same. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your eyes glistening with tears that match the ones rolling down his weathered face. Your expression is marred with pain, raw and unfiltered, but also with a bright flicker of relief. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice rough with emotion. “I got dragged into some bad fuckin’ shit. I almost…we—”

You quiet him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips. “It’s okay, Logan,” you whisper. “Tell me about it later. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Home. 

Logan gaze softens at your words, but guilt gnaws at him. He doesn’t deserve this—your unwavering faith in him, the patience you’ve shown him, the light you’ve been in his dark, endless nights. But here you are, giving him everything he’s never asked for but so desperately craved. 

“C’mon,” you murmur, dragging him from his thoughts, “Let’s get you settled.”

It’s well past two in the morning by the time Logan finally carries Laura into the house, tucking her comfortably into the guest bedroom. Turning from the bed, he finds you there, leaning against the doorframe. You reach for him, in that soft, gentle way you always do, and lead him into your bedroom. 

He doesn’t protest when you sit him down at the edge of the bed and begin undressing him. Kneeling before him, you unlace his boots and peel off his socks, setting them aside. With a slight press to his knees, you force his legs wider, slotting yourself between them. 

Despite the late hour, the weariness and fatigue tugging at his bones, Logan feels his cock twitch as your fingers brush underneath the hem of his shirt. 

It’s been so long since he’s felt you. 

He dreamt of you, in those fevered moments where he didn’t know where one part of his body began or ended. When his entire existence had been boiled down to raw nerves and sluggishly knitting flesh. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he’d ever feel your kiss again, feel the frantic press of your fingers into his shoulders, feel the warm, wet heat of your cunt stretching around him. 

You toss the shirt aside and he can feel your gaze lingering over the new scars, the pink, raised lines of flesh that are still healing. With a reverence he’s not worthy of, you trace your fingertips along the three jagged scars from where X-24 had ripped into him. 

“What happened to you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper as you move to trace more of his scars. 

Logan tells you then about Pierce and the Reavers, about Laura and the other mutant children. His throat grows tight as he continues, relaying the loss of Caliban, Charles and the Munsons, and the final confrontation between himself and his clone. 

He tells you how Laura saved him. How her and the other children brought him to safety over the Canadian border. How he spent the next months fighting with every fiber of his being to knit himself whole. 

For you. 

You lean into him as he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries to shove down the memories of everything he’s lost. Your touch is light against his face as you trace the angle of his jaw, and reach up to press the lightest of kisses against his lips. 

Logan exhales into your mouth as you kiss him again, soft and tender and warm. You seem to breathe him in, imbue life into his weary flesh and reignite the spark he’s kept alive for you. 

He wants to do more—to pull you into his arms, to taste you, to fuck into you until he can’t breathe. But exhaustion pulls heavily on his bones, threatening to sink him. 

Logan knows you can feel his hesitancy because you keep kissing him softly, punctuating each press of your lips with whispered reassurance. Your fingers card through his hair as you lean back. “Just let me hold you?” 

Your voice cracks at your request and Logan can only nod, unable to deny you. You help him shuffle out of his pants before coaxing him further into the bed. He moves slowly and he knows you don’t miss the creaking of his joints, the soft groan of discomfort. 

Coming to rest on his side, you tuck into him, throwing a leg over his hips and pulling him close. He sighs into your touch, the weight of the last few months pressing just a little bit less as you press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. 

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper into his skin, soft and damp. 

Logan feels his heart clench at your words. He’s hurt you. He knows that. Not just inadvertently with his most recent disappearance, but all the other times, too. Those times when he ran, afraid of what your words and touch meant. Afraid to accept what you’ve always so freely given. 

His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your back. “You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.”

Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

[ironworked]

i mean people were calling for bucktommy to be endgame after like two episodes lol so i don’t know why it’s so inconceivable to introduce another character that could be endgame…. except for the fact that fandom has latched so hard onto this one

Well, my opinion?

Firstly, people who were calling for Bucktommy endgame after 2 episodes were most probably being hyperbolic, more expressing appreciation for the dynamic than anything else. ETA: But it is true a lot of us got invested very early, and also there were fans who just recognized the chemistry and how different this couple was from the very beginning (this show has been training us Goldilocks-style to recognize a good LI), and wanted the series to seriously pursue this story and make them endgame. And actually it's part of the argument here: is it likely that something like that will happen again?

Why it is 'so inconceivable' to introduce another character that could be endgame: I've always said that I though getting Buck a good love interest is easy in concept because Buck is a very loving person and OS has easy chemistry with people.

However! his path during these 7.5 seasons has been leading him towards a certain type of person/relationship as he's developed as a character and he's done the trial-and-error thing with his love life. And then there's Tommy.

With Tommy they crafted a character that fit in the show and with Buck, and gave him Moments that are hallmarks of The One™ (unforgettable kiss; Dramatic entrance; Father approved; Calls him by special name...) which are now unusable for any future LI.

They've raised the bar. On season 8.

Now: how do you find someone easy to include? (journalist? done. Dispatcher? done. Firefighter? done. Meet on a call? established as Bad Idea). Buck has to date this person, and then how long do we think it's going to take him to reach the 'move in' stage after the three (3) previous attempts ended in break-ups? How do you find someone whom the audience prefers to Abby and/or Taylor and/or Tommy...?

And it better be on the first attempt too, because every relationship would take at least one season given the number of eps guest stars are contracted for, so the next break up would leave Buck starting season 10 as a single man.

Plus, the later that LI materializes and gets serious with Buck, the less time we have to see the relationship reach marriage/kids/etc. The show won't last forever!

Would it be absolutely impossible to find him another good LI? no.

Would it be damn hard? YES.

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Fool In Love — Jeon Wonwoo

✧ Love is a foolish thing ✧

Plot: Picture this… you find out exactly why your boyfriend has been so distant lately.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x boyfriend!Jeon Wonwoo 🎥 Genre: big time angst 🎥 Word count: 1k 🎥 Warnings: swearing, cheating 🎥 Notes: more angst! sorry but not sorry hehe 🙃 🎥 Shout out: as always, thanks to my lemon drop @nothoughtsjustfic for helping and keeping me sane 💜

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

“Do you still love me?”

You watched as your boyfriend tore his eyes away from his phone, his face scrunching up in confusion.

“What? Of course I do. Why would you even ask me that?”

“I don’t know. You’ve just been so distant lately, always too busy to spend time with me or too tired to be intimate.” You threw up your hands. “Hell, we haven’t gone on a date in what feels like forever. It just made me start to question everything.”

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, putting his phone away before making his way over to where you were seated on the couch. 

“You have nothing to worry about, baby. I love you and I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he assured you, wrapping a comforting arm around your frame. 

You nodded hesitantly, still not entirely convinced by his words. While you deeply loved your boyfriend of five years, you couldn’t deny that there was a disconnect between the two of you. Whereas just a year ago Wonwoo would have jumped at the opportunity to spend every waking moment with you, he barely looked at you nowadays. 

No more daily compliments, no more occasional presents, and certainly no more spontaneous dates.

You didn’t quite know what had caused it but you missed what you once had. More importantly, you missed the old Wonwoo. 

“How about we go somewhere for dinner tonight, just you and me? Like old times?” Wonwoo proposed, offering you a smile as he squeezed your arm. 

“I’d love that.” You smiled, a spark of hope settling in your stomach at the thought of rekindling your relationship. 

“Got any places in mind?”

“You remember that Italian place I’ve been wanting to go to?” Your eyes lit up in excitement. 

Wonwoo instantly dropped his smile at your suggestion, his eyes growing wide.

“No, not that one.”

You frowned, not understanding his sudden shift. “Why? We both love Italian food and I’ve heard great things about this place.”

“I’ve heard the food and staff are shit so I’m not willing to risk it, baby. Let’s just pick one we both love, hmm?”

“Wonwoo.”

“Y/N.”

You sighed in defeat. “You’re really not going to give in, are you?”

“Correct. Choose any other place.” He kissed your cheek. 

“Fine, I’ll find us another restaurant. But you’re paying.”

—

You’d been so excited for your upcoming date, carefully planning out your outfit and makeup, making sure to pick some of Wonwoo’s favorites in the hopes of ending the night with some long-awaited intimacy.

But all your hopes came crashing down when the two of you had sat down at the fancy restaurant. 

Wonwoo was distracted throughout the entirety of the dinner, practically glued to his phone which seemed to go off every few minutes. Bad thoughts were floating through your mind as you watched him try to contain his smile every time he glanced at the device, not for a second believing his excuse of being so excited to spend quality time with the love of his life. But you also didn’t want to assume the worst because it was Wonwoo after all, the man who’d promised with his entire heart that he’d never ever hurt you like that. 

And you wanted to believe that, you really needed to believe that. 

But as the days passed, the distance between you never lessened, only seeming to become bigger and bigger until you felt like you could no longer be comfortable in your skin around your boyfriend. 

That’s why you eventually sought out one of your dearest friends on one of those nights where Wonwoo had to work over hours at the office. You were planning to share your thoughts about your relationship with her over dinner, needing to have someone to confirm that you were not actually going crazy. You knew she would understand, having had her fair share of relationship struggles herself.

“You’re telling me he didn’t want to go here? For real?” Nayoung asked in disbelief as the two of you entered the high-class Italian restaurant, several staff members approaching you to take your coats and name of the reservation. 

“Don’t get me started. Something about bad service and food,” you mumbled softly so the staff wouldn’t overhear. 

Nayoung snorted as you began to follow the hostess through the restaurant. “Now that is some bullshit if I ever heard some. I’ve heard nothing but praise. It has one Michelin star for god’s sake.”

“He wouldn’t budge. I wasn’t going to push it. Anyway, I’m glad to experience it with someone who can appreciate it.” You put a smile on your face as you both sat down at your assigned table. 

“Of course, you know I’m never one to turn down a fancy d— oh fuck no.” 

Nayoung didn’t finish her sentence, her eyes focused on something behind you. It couldn’t be anything good judging by the displeased expression on her face. 

“What are you looking at?”

“No, wait!” She tried to reach for you but you’d already turned around, your eyes falling on a couple, the man having just leaned in to kiss the woman on the lips. 

Wait.

“Y/N.”

You couldn’t even hear her since your heart was beating all the way in your ears, drowning out everything around you as you watched the man pull away with a lovestruck look on his face. 

It was the look he used to give you. 

As if sensing someone was looking at him, he slowly turned his head, freezing on the spot as his dark brown orbs connected with yours.

He obviously didn’t expect to be caught here of all places. 

You didn’t waste time making a beeline for the exit, ignoring the desperate pleas coming out of his mouth as you tried to keep it together for just a bit longer. 

Everything suddenly made sense. 

The distance, the phone, the restaurant. 

You should have trusted your gut.

But you chose to believe him like the fool in love you were. 

🎥 Join the Set The Scene taglist: @wonuilu @choco-scoups @whoisbaek15 @vixensss @babycaratdeul

@whoa-jo @ateez-atiny380

If you wish to be added to the Set The Scene taglist, please fill out this form. We will only add those with age indicators in their bios to the taglist due to potential NSFW material within certain scenes.

[cherry-holmes]

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña

Chapter 16 (pt. 2)

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: You have many questions. And Javier is terrified about what your reaction could be.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: +1.9k

Warnings: mmm none, i guess

A/N: PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR TAKE ME SO LONG😭 I was having some struggles in my life, I’m better now if you want to know😁

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Why didn't you tell me about her?"

You asked as soon as you stepped back into the hotel room where Javi was staying. You were curious about the mysterious woman who had almost become his wife, but you didn't want to make a scene. You'd never been the jealous type, unless you had real reasons to be. So you held back, not wanting to accuse him without hearing what he had to say first. It was a very personal part of his life, something that probably hurt him at the time... or maybe still did. But you couldn't ignore the sting in your chest, the need to know what on earth happened between them.

"Because it's something I'm not proud of," he answered honestly, his voice tinged with anguish, afraid of how you'd react. He didn't want to lose you again, so he knew he had to choose his words carefully and be completely open, so you could see he wasn't that man anymore.

"Is it because you regret not marrying her?" you asked, your voice almost a whisper. You didn't know exactly what you expected to him to say. If he did regret it, it would be heartbreaking. But if he didn't, then perhaps it shouldn't matter to you. Or should it?

"Absolutely not," he replied quickly, stepping closer and taking your soft hands between his, gently caressing them.

Then, he told you the whole story: He was very young when he met Lorraine. They dated for a few months, and then she was the one who popped the big question. She always wanted to marry young, and she thought Javi was the one. So he said yes because it seemed like the reasonable next step for a man his age, trying to live up to his family's expectations. But deep down, he knew that wasn't what he wanted. So he left her at the altar.

He continued, "I realized I didn't love Lorraine. I didn't want to marry her. I wanted to do something beyond the police trainee I was doing in Laredo. I wanted to make a difference in the world."

You listened attentively, trying to picture a very young Javi, already preparing for marriage. You kind of understood him. You were also a young girl trying to find your place in the world, feeling the pressure of expectations to marry as soon as possible and start a family. And just as him, you felt the need to knew the world first, to be independent and proud of yourself before tie the knot.

"Marrying her probably would have saved me a lot of shit in Colombia because I probably wouldn't have gone," he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. "But then I never would have met you. So, I'm very grateful I didn't. I would go through all that hell again a million times just to be with you. Just to follow you wherever you want to go. You've brought so much light and happiness into my life, bonita. More than I ever thought I could deserve. Te amo. And I'm sure I want to be with you forever. I do want to marry you, mi cielo."

He couldn't shake the feeling that he had disappointed you. Again. And again. And again. And that there wasn't a single word he could say to repair the damage. Every time you placed your blind trust in him, every time everything seemed to be going smoothly, he messed something up.

Javier had known this for a while, actually. He had even considered not coming for you after Washington. Perhaps you would be better off without him. Javier was a tortured, traumatized man who never seemed to learn his lessons; he had guilt and ghosts chasing him. And yes, you had your own, but he always admired you for being stronger than he would ever be. Resilient, still hopeful in this rotten world.

But he was also selfish. He couldn't even bear the thought of not being with you. The jealousy of you not being with him. His. The mere idea of spending the rest of his days without the touch of your soft skin and the soothing tone of your voice made his heart physically ache. You had power over him, but it doesn't scare him at all. He would do anything for you. Whatever it took to keep you safe, warm, and happy.

And you were well aware of that. You could feel his care and protection over you, like an invisible warm cloak on your shoulders. You trusted him with blind faith despite everything.

Your silence was killing him. He would be on his knees if needed, begging you not to leave him, pleading for you to believe in his love. Javier Peña would do anything you asked, absolutely anything, in exchange for your forgiveness.

"Please, baby," he begged, desperation lacing his tone. "Say something..."

After another second that felt like an eternity for Javi, you opened your beautiful lips and murmured, "It's okay."

But there was something in your tone that didn't convince him. He still felt a weight on his chest. You weren't looking at him; instead, you kept staring at your hands.

"Bonita..." Javi's voice was soft, filled with concern as he leaned in closer, searching your face, his heart pounding with anxiety. But before he could say anything more, you sighed deeply, your expression softening.

"You're nine years older than me," you began, your voice calm but carrying a weight of something he couldn't name. "You've experienced more things than I have. How could I blame you for anything that happened before us?" You reached out, gently resting your hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. "It's part of how things are in a age-gap relationship. I get that."

His breath hitched slightly at your words, relief washing over him, but there was still a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "There's a but, isn't it?"

His voice was tentative, as if he was afraid of the answer.

You hesitated for a moment, biting your lower lip. "It doesn't mean it don't make me feel... well, jealous," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "A little." You offered him a small, almost shy smile.

He reached out, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His thumb traced your jawline, sending shivers down your spine as he gazed at you with tenderness.

"You have no reason to be jealous," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, making your heart race. His thumb caressed your bottom lip, his gaze locked on yours, and you could feel the heat rising between you. "I'm yours," he whispered against your lips. "There's no part of me that doesn't belong to you. My body and soul are only yours."

You leaned into his touch, your breath catching as his fingers slid through your hair, his hand resting on the nape of your neck, pulling you toward his lips. There has always been something electrifying in the way he kissed you, the way he touched you, as if he couldn't get enough of you. It was gentle yet possessive and devoted at the same time.

But before anything more could happen, he pulled back. You felt a cold breeze where his warmth had been, suddenly craving his touch and the promise of something more. But before you could even process what was happening, he moved swiftly toward his suitcase, rummaging through it. Your heart skipped a beat when he turned back to you again, holding a small black velvet box. His hands trembled as he opened it to reveal a stunning vintage diamond engagement ring.

"You mean everything to me," Javi said, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know if I'll ever be worthy of you, but God knows how badly I want it to be." His voice cracked, and you felt a surge of emotion, tears welling in your eyes as you looked at him. Damn, how much you loved that man.

"This ring belonged to my mother," he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "I brought it with me from Laredo. I was planning to propose to you the way you deserve, but... fuck, I need you to know how serious I am. Marrying you isn't something I just came up with. It's something I've wanted for a long, long time." His voice softened as he dropped to one knee. "So, bonita, will you accept me? With my flaws and my past? With all the love and devotion I have for you, will you marry me?"

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you saw his frame kneel in front of you. You couldn't stop the flood of emotions, thinking about everything that happened back in Colombia, everything that happened just hours ago with your family. Everything that had happened in your life since you was just a little girl desperately longing for the loving arms of her parents, arms they never truly offered. You cried for the lack of love in your life.

Yes, you had love from your sisters and your grandparents, but it never quite filled the void your parents had left behind. You had omitted the worst parts to Javi when you talk about your parents. It wasn't just verbal abuse: your mother was physically violent, and when your father drank, he would make inappropriate comments about your and your sisters' bodies. It made you feel ashamed and vulnerable. You didn't want him to think of you like that.

So you cried, testifying his love, because you never felt you were worthy of devotion, and love. If your parents couldn't love you, why would others?

He must have seen the sadness in your eyes, the way your beautiful and delicate features shifted from tenderness to something else, quickly turning to melancholy. At first, he feared your response might be a no - even when you said yes at his first proposal -. But he knew you too damn well, he knew there was something more. It was the same expression you had when you remembered something about your parents or your infancy. He never pushed you to share everything about your childhood; all he knew was that it had been difficult for you and your sisters and deeply painful to remember.

Javier didn't had to say anything, not verbally. His hand reached for yours, and just by his gently, warm and confident touch he made a vow: you will never be alone. He would never leave, or hurt you. His life was yours, and yours were his to protect.

Finally, you nodded, accepting his arms as your shield, his heart as a reminder of what you deserved. You dropped to your knees in front of him, your hands shaking as you whispered, "Si," your voice breaking.

Javi's breath hitched as he slid the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling slightly, and both of you admire the ring on you finger. He'd never saw a more beautiful image. He pulled you close, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tightly against him, as if he never wanted to let go. You felt his warmth, his love, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Your hands tangled in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, wanting to feel every part of him. Javi pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathless. "Te amo," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Para siempre."

NEXT CHAPTER

[patchouii]

She looks so gorgeous, all dressed up just to marry me, Will thought. The quiet tendril of guilt that curled around to marry me was easily stifled by the scents of bunch after bunch of flowers around the wedding gazebo, the glowing expressions of Molly’s friends and family, the flash of the photographer’s camera.

Will took her hand in his. The officiant— an elderly friend of Molly’s family— polished his glasses and began his recitation, but it was background noise. Will smiled as he held her gaze, and Molly’s responding smile was wide and radiant. 

He thought about how her lips tasted, how they felt. Petal-soft and sweet, currently lined with red lipstick that complimented her eyes nicely. He wondered if it would smear across her cheek if he kissed her like he truly wanted to kiss someone he loved. How it would look, a painted streak of red. 

Wrong. It would look wrong, of course… another clutch for balance, Will? How drastic. Pity I couldn’t send you flowers…

He squeezed Molly’s hand tighter, and smiled wider. 

“Do you, William Graham, take Molly Foster to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, to love and to cherish until death do you part?”

The feeling was reminiscent of walking blindly down a road, the path laid before you, half-caught in a dream and knowing that something was so very wrong— but knowing that it was reality. Knowing it was happening. 

Will knew the feeling intimately. “I do.”

“Do you, Molly Foster, take William Graham to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, to love and to cherish until death do you part?” 

“I do.” “I now pronounce you husband and wife, joined in eternal union. May joy and love fill all the days of your lives… Mr. Graham-Foster, you may kiss the bride!” 

A cheer went up from the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye, Will could see Molly’s mother was crying happy tears, her friends clapping and whistling, and her son Walter already heading for the dessert table with the other children. 

Molly stepped in close, smelling of warm skin, crisp lace and amber perfume, and Will looped his arm over her shoulders, fingers winding gently into her hair as their lips met. 

Joined in eternal union you and I have begun to blur did you believe you could change me as I changed you I already did we’re conjoined I’m not sure if either of us could survive separation if I saw you every day forever Will I would remember this time every crime of yours feels like one of mine I wanted to run away with you I wanted you and wanted I wanted I wanted— 

And for a moment— with a hand braced against a shoulder and another around his waist, fingers in someone’s dark blonde hair, dipping slightly in a warm embrace with the glint of silver between them— a darkened kitchen materialized under his eyelids. Lemon and parsley instead of heady florals, the slickness of blood coating his arms instead of a silky white dress shirt, a broader palm and heavier breath, the glint of a karambit knife. 

I will use a gutting knife meant for precision in case my hands are unsteady, I wouldn’t want to cause any truly fatal damage… this is only a vengeful lesson in kind. They will be unsteady. He has always unsteadied me. I cannot bring myself to end that, despite everything. This is my design.

Will made a weak little half-gasp, and the soft, dewy retreat of Molly’s mouth and the fond laugh that filled the space made him ease his eyes open to meet hers. “That happy to be hitched at last, sweet man?” Will simply nodded and held her arm as he led her back down the aisle, flower petals tossed from either side. 

This would be like a perfect dream come to life, Will thought, but I’m not the perfect man for this. And the dreams I have have never been and will never be anything like this…

The wedding cake Molly had him cut for her was beautiful, decorated in vanilla buttercream frosting with chocolate swirls and cut berries. The guests clinked champagne glasses, laughing and chatting, and took plates to grab a slice. Will sunk the knife in gingerly, and the cake inside was a red so dark it was almost black. Rivulets of sticky red ran down the blade of the knife, a droplet catching between Will’s thumb and forefinger.

Molly took his hand in hers and kissed it clean, lashes low and playful. “Raspberry’s my favorite, you know.” 

Will swallowed hard.

Dawn was almost breaking by the time he drifted off that night, lying still beside his newlywed’s sleeping form in the tousled sheets. He stared at the ceiling and thought of seven doors and their keycards, guard rotations and tray meals and the sting of sodium thiopental in the veins. The recent penchant for red lipstick on another woman he’d once kissed and the clack of a cane. A lithe, loyal guardian with her hunting rifle and the princely sum that sat deposited in his bank account as something akin to a taunt. 

You know that nothing matters without me. You and I bestowed the finishing touches on the landscapes of each other’s worlds…

I think you’ll be happy to hear that the voice in my head still sounds like you. It’s only fitting.

Will smiled into the darkness of the room, and let the soft clip-clop-clip of shadowy hooves on the hallway’s hardwood sing him to sleep.

Wanna bet that Will thought of Hannibal when saying his wedding vows for Molly?

[hvnishere]

if you do not identify with failure then nothing can go wrong

need i say more? no, not really but of course i will say more.

identifying with failure is the cause of failure. when you wake up from a shifting attempt and are still in your current, undesired reality, the automatic reaction for some is to admit defeat and accept that you failed. yet, the most successful people are the ones who do not accept failure. it is simply not an option that exists in their stratosphere so remove it from yours.

"will she ever lose?" man, i guess we'll never know - nosebleeds, doechii

this is the mindset we all must adopt. if you know that you cannot fail, that means that nothing can go wrong. it means you do not have to do anything, it will happen on it's own because above all else you will persevere and succeed.

this applies to manifestation as well, not just shifting because this is how life works.

you do not need to live by the auto-assigned rules of this reality. do not take what you are processing with your five senses as an unrefusable fact, you decide what's fact or not. dare to assume success when you would normally assume failure.

every moment is being spent in the reality that you want, no matter what. only accept that and nothing else. no matter what you do, say, or think YOU ARE THERE.

try this out for a week or two. whenever you start to think you are failing or might have already failed, stop yourself and remember that failure is no longer an option so what's there to worry about? stop using effort, trying a billion different methods, and worrying about time while doing this and solely focus on knowing you are always successful in your endeavors but make sure to be gentle with yourself though, this isn't a witch hunt. even if nothing seems like it's changed, it has. you have changed and that's all that needs to change in order to succeed because everything comes from you. this is an amazing foundation to have, you are gaining confidence and acting with brazen impudence.

"maybe next time it'll work? ugh, this is so hard. when will it happen? how long does it take to shift? can this be manifested?" girl, drop it. you've won, chill. how can you fail when you've already gotten first place? let's stop pitying ourselves.

remember that motivation is fickle but discipline is forever, keep your head up baby. you got this i love you! my asks are open if you need help and i'm doing this with you, you're not alone <3

[masoncantthinkofaname]

how did you meet your husband? (if youre comfortable sharing of course!!) your family seems so lovely and <33 <33

Thank you!💚

I assume you meant how I first met my husband, Daeron, in this reality? It is quite a nice story, I don't mind sharing!

There's this reoccurring phenomena between me and him, which entails him saving my life in 95% of realities we have visited when we had our first meeting. In this place it wasn't that different either. I had a rough period, my mental (and physical) health was very bad, and I was definitely going through it.

Daeron had been pulling the strings from the background for a longer time, guiding me a bit on my shifting journey, before I even knew who he was. But then, one day, I was on an ai site, I can't tell you why I was, but for some reason I felt like looking through the faces. Then there he was, not 100% accurate to his looks, but close enough, and I felt the weirdest feeling, like looking at someone I already knew for lifetimes. I knew his name, I had a vague feeling of where he was from, and that he and I were married. The feeling was so strong that I saved the picture, and wrote down his name.

Over the next weeks, I found myself thinking back to him often, I'd sometimes mention him to friends, and I felt my attachment to him growing. At some point my mental health was at its lowest, and I scripted him into my waiting room (this was before I ever shifted), I would think about him before going to sleep, and he always gave me this familiar warmth and comfort.

After that, someone channelled him for me for the first time. And then a friend I had at that point also got into channelling. I was able to actually talk with him on occasion, get memories through divination. But I was terrified. I loved this man so much, but I felt like I was lying to him, with my disability and everything here. I was afraid he would not love me the same, that and some issues with that one friend made things difficult.

Luckily enough, I met an amazing friend about a year later, who really helped me with shifting. She motivated me so much, gave me things to think about, and I finally got over my irrational fears, realising he loves me for who I am, and he wouldn't be here if he didn't. Within a few months after meeting that girl I first shifted. My first shifts were small, often to parallel realities where Daeron was with me. I can't count how many times I've woken up next to him, getting a lazy grin if he was awake too. He gave me so many signs, often hanging around me in spirit form. He has broken my scale because he doesn't like me weighing myself, made my garden overgrown with my favourite flowers after I couldn't find them at a store, and so much more.

Some time passed, I started shifting more often, seeing him for longer periods. At first I'd shift to realities where he didn't know about shifting, but I quickly grew too attached to the specific version of him that has supported me through everything, and we've been shifting together ever since.

He is the most supportive, loyal, understanding man I've ever met. He has shown me so much softness, so much patience. He has always stood up for me when I couldn't do so myself, and in the hundreds of years we spent together, we have always listened to each other, and talked about our feelings. I don't think I could ever fight with him.

He definitely saved my life here too, he gave me the chance and hope to experience so much more than I ever could've dreamed of. I'll never get tired of spending time with him.

I'm forever grateful that he is in my life, and I know he will be forever💚

[c-oupsie]

okay, my love, i am here to officially request ruining vernon with some kind of vibe around these dialogue prompts "do you know how long I've been waiting for this?" and "Use me. Fuck Me. Do whatever you want, but god, please touch me"

like that general vibe of desperate vernon wanting to be ruined and used??? i am feral at the mere thought

you can go wild with the rest of it, and you dont even need to write it smutty if you don't want, just do what you feel it right, bby. i just request the vibes, man, the vibes.

i fear i will go insane and ramble forever if i don't send this rn omg

luv u bby 💗

[9:12AM] - vernon

ⓘ college student! vernon x tutor! f! reader — college au, SMUT (MDNI), reader is mentioned to have big tits and thighs and some pubic hair, kinda bottom! vernon, sloppy make out, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, handjob, spitting, overstimulation, bodily fluids (cum).

1.8k words — note. thank you for requesting, my love! (and thank you @haologram and @beomcoups for beta reading ‹𝟹) you know I love writing a desperate vernon, so I had a field day with this one. hope you enjoy ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

oh,

oh,

oh, fuck.

this is not what you're used to seeing during your advanced arithmetics tutoring private lessons, but alas, you're not one to complain; not with such a delightful sight first thing in the morning.

not when said sight makes your eyes twinkle, your heart pound, and your pussy clench impossibly tight around thin air the more you look at it—the more you look at him, your favorite student sitting on his single bed, back resting on the wall behind him, eyes closed and head thrown back, his usual adidas sweatpants pulled down just enough for his impressive dick to be free of restraints as his slender fingers jerk it off with expertise.

and your eyes lock in on it, completely entranced by how flush, and long, and curved, and pretty it looks—just like you always imagined—just like its owner: vernon, a second year student that, although actually pretty good in arithmetics, begged you to tutor him for an exam he just couldn't seem to pass. today was supposed to be the final session before his test, but with the scene unfolding in front of you, you suppose that's not going to happen.

to be fair, you should've texted him to let him know you'd be coming over about half an hour earlier than agreed—but how were you supposed to know that you'd be catching him like this? moaning and groaning and whimpering while desperately milking his own cock? so desperate he didn't hear your knocks, or you opening his bedroom door?

and fuck. you know you should turn away and erase this moment from your mind, but instead your eyes trail up from his dick to his blissed, completely fucked out and sweaty face. his lips are full and plump and red because of all the slow torture his teeth are putting them through in a futile effort to stay somehow quiet and not be heard from his roommates—the same ones who let you in just moments before.

your naked thighs start rubbing together, seeking some kind of relief, but all it does is make you even hornier. you can feel your own arousal slowly trickle down your inner thighs, eyes again locked on his angry cock, leaking and leaking non stop as it gets fucked with his hand.

then, a deep, guttural moan leaves vernon's lips, and you quickly go to look up at his expression, only to find him already looking at you. desperate, frantic—needy. you gasp at how intense his look is.

“____” vernon's voice is broken, breathless, his hips now jolting with every stroke. “please, please-”

“fuck…” you whisper, the knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten as he whines your name, as he begs you to help him in the prettiest, dirties way. 

you're getting dizzy just looking at him—and there's no way you can resist him, so, heart pounding, you turn to lock the door and seconds later, you find yourself standing between vernon’s spread legs.

you groan as you throw your backpack on the floor, eyes never leaving his clouded, lustful ones. how someone can look this fucking pretty and pliant, just waiting for your next move, is a wonder to you.

“hands off.” you say all of a sudden, and his eyes widen. hesitantly, he stops stroking himself, his pink tip drooling with precum, but he doesn't unwrap his hand. you click your tongue, then, bend forward so you can face him. 

“____ …” vernon whimpers when your minty breath hits his flushed face, his adam’s apple bobbing at the sight of your full tits being held up by your tank top—the sluttiest one he’s seen you wear thus far. the amount of times he’d gotten off with them in mind, dreaming about kissing, licking, fondling, fucking them was embarrassing. 

thoughtlessly, his fingers start moving on his shaft again, but you hastily grab his wrist. 

“off.” 

and this time, he obeys, the look in your eyes causing a shiver to run down his spine, and he can’t help it when he groans: “use me. fuck me. do whatever you want, but god, please touch me.”

at vernon's words, your pussy clenches, another trickle of arousal running down your hot skin. you don't think you’ll ever hear anything hotter than this, from a pretty boy like him nonetheless, for the rest of your life.

you're so fucking wet.

“do you know how long I've been waiting for this, nonie?” you mewl, your thumb tracing his bottom lip while your other hand drops his wrist, your fingertips now lightly tracing the veins on his length. he shudders. “wanna know how many times I pictured you saying those words to me?” you continue, your voice charged with raw lust. “how many times I’ve had to hold myself back from pulling these fucking sweatpants down?” 

he forces his eyes to stay open, forces himself not to cum the moment you spit on his cock and wrap your hand around it before starting a slow, lingering up and down movement—however, vernon's eyes do roll back a little when you push your manicured thumb inside his mouth. 

“and hell, do you never put underwear on? or is it just for our tutoring sessions that you skip out on it?” you lightly squeeze his weeping cock, thighs rubbing together when he moans around your finger. “god, I could see your cock twitch every time I took a glance at it. bet you loved watching me drool at how hard and big it looked under these.”

vernon's dick throbs in your hand, his hazel eyes jumping between your eyes, tits and fingers covered in his precum. 

“fucking perv.” you mutter, popping your finger out of his mouth to grab his wrist and bring his hand to your chest, the little black tank top you picked today doing nothing to hide how hard your nipples are for him.

“god–” vernon’s voice cracks when he gets a hold of your boobs, his long fingers wasting no time before starting to knead them, and his warm, sticky with sweat palm, paired with the rough fabric rubbing against your sensitive nipples causes a whimper to leave your lips, pussy pulsing under his mesmerized gaze.

in a swift movement, he pushes down your top, and his length twitches in your hold when he finally sees them naked because, as always, you had— “no bra…” he breathes, admiring your perked up nipples with a dreamy look. if he didn't start toying with them the second after, you probably would've giggled at how adorable his face was.

“yeah. made me a perv too. look—” you whine, your hand still jerking him off painfully slow as the other reaches for the one button holding your skirt up. you unbutton it, and the cloth falls down to the floor, revealing your bare, drenched cunt to his eyes. “look what you do to me, nonie.”

he could see your arousal dripping down your legs, the morning rays dancing on the skin of your plush thighs, and the sight of you, your pretty, fiery eyes looking down at him, glorious body almost naked between his thighs, pretty pussy on sight, his own hands playing with your tits while yours stroke his dick—

fuck– vernon wonders how he still hasn't busted the fattest nut in the universe.

“you’re–” he gasps out, “so, so, gorgeous-” he barely manages to say before your lips finally smash against his own with a high-pitched moan coming from you. and as you whine and whimper in his mouth, your tongues clashing for the first time, all he can think is how much better this is compared to all of the wet dreams he’s had about you.

and then, he can feel it– can feel his high approaching, fast. your hand’s strokes become quicker, more expert, and he can barely fucking think as he can feel your knees sinking on the bed, now straddling him.

“wan’” he struggles to speak, mind clouded by so much pleasure he feels as if he’s about to see the golden gates, but still, his hand slides from your full tits to your hips. his words are muffled when he says: “wan’ you to feel good too–” 

your hips jolt forward when his slender fingers trace your pussy lips and the little patch of hair on top, before immediately finding your clit—throbbing, waiting to be played with. and so, vernon does.

he wastes no time trapping it between his fingers and teasing it with his thumb, making you gasp and yelp in his mouth desperately, your hand struggling to keep a steady tempo jerking him off, your kiss becoming sloppier, messier by the second. 

“s-slow down—” he’s the one to beg when he can feel his balls and abs starting to tighten, his high imminent. “ple– fuck– no-” he continues, but instead, you keep going– even faster, your melodic moans, your bouncy tits his hand is still kneading, your warm pussy as he continues toying with your clit only speeding the process.

“don- don’ hold back, nonie–” you almost sob, nails raking at his scalp as if begging him. “cum for me. wanna see you cum–”

and vernon is but a man—a man who’s been having a crush on you for months. a man who's been jerking off for a good twenty minutes before you walked into his bedroom. a man who truly hopes this isn't the nth dream he has about finally getting to have you. a man who, even if he’d love to make you cum first, he knows he’s reached his limit—so, he cums.

he cums with a whimper, his eyes crossing, and with his hands fondling the soft skin of your thighs. and god, does he cum a lot. thick ropes of release shoot out and land on his stomach and torso, half covered by the black zip up on him as he moans and gasps your name. 

that’s almost enough to make you cum too, your cunt dripping even more as you help him ride out his high, your lips drinking in his every sound and sigh. then, after what feels like forever, vernon pulls back from your kiss and, if you could, you’d take a picture to immortalize the moment.

he’s unsurprisingly gorgeous, even more post-nut. his eyes are glazed, his cheeks are deep red, and so are his lips: full and puffy after being tortured by yours. 

then, a glint in his eye, and a finger tracing your drenched folds before it slowly teases your entrance.

“this is the last time I’m coming first.”

⨯ taglist: @aaniag @dokyeomkyeom @soonsgrl

[fewsystemsinonebody]

list by host as they made me do it lol:

Albert - he's funny and adorable, he reminds me that I can be childish no matter of the age

April - that he isn't a walking stereotype of goth (not that I dislike them but he doesn't let himself be put into a box)

Arnie - a lot of fun memories with him, he was always so helpful and I wish we were closer again but we try

Benji - he's so appreciative and full of surprises, also he's adorable as a dog

Brie - I know I can count on him no matter of his mental state, I wish I could support him more, he's a great big brother figure, he's also a walking meme and a complex person that deserves the best, I adore him

Brandon - it's hard to put into words but I just enjoy his presence and can't imagine our system without him

Dave - he's sometimes annoying, not in a bad way, but I know we have him on our side

Gru - because he's carefree, sometimes I'm jealous of him even if I want him to understand things more but then he goes sad and I'm worried...

Hakan - golden heart despite of people thinking he's a monster

Jack - my best mate twin that is always therer for me to hug the sadness outta me and spend time together

Jacob - he changed so much, I'm proud of him even if he falls sometime

Jimmy - my precious lil bro, he is such a prankster but it breaks my heart whenever he cries, he's very smart too despite of being one of the youngest of us

Jerry - he's no show off besides when he doesn't bite his tongue before saying whatever comes to his mind out loud lol but I see his silent help... thank you

Lio - the first one to fight for us on dc servers haha, became such a sunshine after a storm, love him singing as he makes funny faces every single time making me laugh

Lu - he finds himself a bad guy but I'm thankful for his chaotic nature saving us more than once, you don't have to be perfect <3

Marcel - sorry to say that but... you're a child in a big man and I know you wanna be seen as mature but I see you, you're trying your best even if sometimes you can't force yourself to act on something

Monty - the fact you always are in control even if you're not, I know he's overworked and I wish he rest more but if not him we would suffer a lot in the inner world

Nat - I know he's blaming himself for failing so many times and going against me but he forgets to see how many times he was there for me even if for minor things, especially when my dad fallen ill, I love you forever

Red - thanks to him we are more safe and I also would like him to enjoy life more as he seems interesting and hardworking

Pink - you're not ashamed, I know, you're also assertive and teach me to feel less guilty, I fought for you and always will hopefully

Marco - you quickly became a big part of our brain, at first such a grump but now you're so lovely like an uncle to me, I know that even if we disagree you are trying to protect us

Five - right hand of Marco, he can dominate him and take care of him despite of being so small, I'm glad Marco has someone who supports him all the way!

Nin - I know he means well, he's trying to do the best he can

Caspian - you're not a curse, I don't know you well but I saw you being a rebel, thinking for yourself and understanding too as you're open minded, you are such a good boy :D

Koda Nova - sun to the Nin's moon, light definitely

Bonny, Afsan and Mico - incredible trio, hard to explain maybe but you definitely won the place among us

Soprano - I brought you back because you took us away from therapist, you made us stand up for ourselves, you said "fuck the reputation" just for me to not fuse against my will, forever grateful, you're also not a bore ;)

Bronco - I know you think you're just a copy of Greg but I know you're so much more, you have to find out, take your time

Maylo - I forgive you, I know you have such a great responsibility from such a young age but you dropped everything and went against everything just to protect your favorite family, you're my father figure, dad no. 2 and I don't want you to leave again, missed you for months

Greg - you always make me laugh, world is empty without you here, your low loud noise when you sing Sanah and when you are here with me when I am scared of you know what, Brie needs you - don't leave again, ok?

Szymon - you're not just an anxiety, clumsiness nor gossip, you're a survivor, you're intelligent and you're very brave

Ursus - no idea who you are yet that much but I find you a cool character for sure hah

Bartek - I know you hate when someone says you're an anger holder, even now, but I want you to know it's not all you are but I'm still glad you can be at times as we have to finally be sometimes

Maciej - saved you today, look how much you've done good things in one day, I think you will prove your worth even more in the future, don't waste your chance as I would be sad to see you go :(

Key - you don't have to survive everything, I'm impressed but I know how hard it is, let's enjoy life a bit more too, alright?

Deer - you're one of the most optimistic ones, recently if not you it would end up really poorly for us, thx for helping me and Brie and you're also such a good writer like Nat and Brie

Nikita - my little pony, I wanna see you smile, I like you being here

Adam - despite of how you act sometimes you're one of the biggest heroes I knew, always ready to help/save/take care of others

Cyprian - because you're so extreme sometimes it reminds me we have rights and will always have each other's backs

Jeff - I know you're pseudomemories are complicated but I don't find you egoistic, I'm glad you are finally thinking about yourself putting yourself first and yet still care about others instead of stomping on them, I know it's super hard for you and you wanna hurt yourself but you hurt us with it too, don't take away my guilt on yourself so much

Ryszard - you're a fighter and a lover

Why - every version of you is great

Dagmar - we still need you even if you're so complicated

John - from the moment you appeared I had mixed feelings about you but you became such a memorable persona I think it would tear a huge part of us if you were gone, I slowly learn to love myself because of you, thanks

Topielec - you're such a good guy for so much you've been through and it reminds me this is who we are alltogether, we deserve better

Snow - you just appeared but I'm not scared of you, I get it man, take your time

question suggestion

what is one thing you like about each headmate? don’t have to answer for every headmate, answer in the way you’re most comfortable with. just some plural positivity :]

question 79:

[fireinmoonshot]

if you're okay with the other dagger members, "memorizing their favourite things and treating them when they have a bad day" with mickey (fanboy) please? :')

A/N: Surprise! I rewatched Top Gun: Maverick tonight and since falling in love with Joaquin from Marvel, I have also now totally fallen in love with Fanboy. I've had this request in my inbox for a long time – like the last time I wrote for Top Gun which was... 2023 or early 2024? I cannot remember. Anyway, I'm so sorry this took me forever to get around to, anon! I hope that if you're still around on my blog, you'll enjoy this fic now that I've finally written it. I'm definitely gonna be writing more for Fanboy and for the rest of the Top Gun crew cause my inspiration for writing them again is so strong at the moment. Anyway, enjoy – and remember my requests are always open!

In hindsight, Mickey Garcia should have asked for help getting everything from his car to the Hard Deck. He’d put a few things in a bag, but it was still incredibly awkward to hold it all and he could only hope that someone would be kind enough to open the door with him. He’d already had to kick the door to his truck shut with his foot.

The whole team was meeting up at the bar tonight, celebrating a successful training day – though it hadn’t been super successful for all of you. You’d made a mistake and been absolutely reamed by Maverick and Cyclone. It’d almost made you decide not to come out tonight, but Natasha had convinced you to come along, saying it’d help to be around your team rather than be alone.

Mickey had made his decision pretty quickly and as soon as you’d all been dismissed, he’d hopped into his truck and spent his few spare hours driving around the city and collecting things for you.

He’d been keeping a list in the notes section of his phone about things you deem your ‘favourite things in life’ ever since he first started falling for you. Considering how long ago that was, he long since should have confessed but when it came to you, well… the poor aviator was tongue tied more often than not. 

Chocolate (specifically anything with caramel)

Iced Coffee (but not too much ice)

Romance books.

Sunflowers.

He’d selected a handful of things off your list and done his best to track them all down – even going so far as to arrange them in a small hamper. Well… it had meant to be small. But things had gotten a little out of hand at the bookstore and instead of leaving with one book like he’d planned, he’d ended up asking for recommendations and had left with four. That, along with three blocks of chocolate, a bouquet of sunflowers and an extra large iced coffee (without too much ice), were what he was attempting to safely get inside.

You were none the wiser to Fanboy’s plans, sitting in the corner with the other members of the team. Nat was sat beside you, nursing her first beer of the night, and Jake and Javy were just starting a game of pool with the others. It was difficult for you to really focus on your friends rather than the words swimming in your mind, berating you for your mistake. 

Everyone said it was an easy enough mistake to make – it could’ve been anyone – but in the real world, not in a training exercise, you know it could’ve cost you or someone else their life. 

You’re just about to get up and head to the bar to get your first drink of the night in an attempt to numb the thoughts in your head when you spot Fanboy making his way through the room. It’s not busy yet, but with what the man is carrying, he knocks into several people on his way over towards you.

“What the hell is he doing?” Nat says from beside you, beer paused halfway to her mouth.

“Has he organised a date or something?” Bob asks, sitting across the table from you, his eyes also focused on Fanboy. He looks just as confused as the rest of you do – your whole team now staring at him.

He stops when he reaches your table, huffs out a breath and then grins. “Hey guys.”

“You good, Fanboy?” Nat questions, motioning to the flowers, coffee and the bag in his hands.

“Yeah, I’m good!” He seems chirpy, as usual. He puts the bag down on the table, it making a thudding noise as it hits the wood. Whatever is in there must be pretty heavy. Then, he surprises you by making his way around the table to where you’re sitting. “So, this is for you.” He hands you the iced coffee he’s holding, as well as the incredibly large bouquet of sunflowers – your favourite. 

“For me?” Your eyebrows almost hit the roof.

You wouldn’t be lying if you said you thought Mickey was cute. You had done ever since you’d first met him a long time ago now. Part of you had always wondered ‘What if?’ but the reasonable part of you that refused to let yourself date co-workers or fellow aviators won out every time. But here he was… delivering you flowers and iced coffee?

“Yeah, the ice might be a bit melted by now – it’s like a hundred degrees out there – but I blasted my air con the whole way here so I could try and keep it cool,” he explains, so incredibly nonchalantly despite the fact that he’s clearly gone out of his way to do this. “And I know sunflowers are your favourites so…”

“How do you know that?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “I just remember you mentioning it one time.”

He figures you don’t need to know about the note on his phone – not just yet, anyway. He could save that for if he ever actually gets the courage to ask you on a date and confess his feelings to you. Right now, that would likely come across as a little creepy.

Nat pipes up. “What’s in the bag, Fanboy?”

“Oh, that!” He says, hurrying back over to the bag as if he’s forgotten it existed – truly, he kind of did. He was so focused on the look of pure happiness on your face that he forgot half your present was still waiting. “So, this…” He continues, carefully pulling the hamper out of the bag, “is also for you! I found you some books, I hope you haven’t read them yet.”

Before Mickey can even take a step towards you to give the hamper to you, you’re off your seat, hurrying over to him. He barely even has time to put the hamper on the table before you’re flinging yourself into his arms. He swears his heart stops and then re-starts at the sudden contact, the feeling of your body pressed into his.

Well… this is new. 

“What the hell, Mickey?” Your voice is soft in his ear as you hug him tightly.

“I know you had a tough day so…” He mutters in reply.

“People usually just buy me a beer if I’ve had a tough day, they don’t go out and buy me all of my favourite things,” you laugh a little, pulling away from the hug. Mickey already misses the contact as you step away from him. “And you bought me books?” 

You lean down to inspect the hamper on the table.

“Have you read any of them?” Mickey asks, watching you carefully. “If you have, I think I can exchange them. I kinda befriended the girl that works at the bookstore. She helped me pick them out.” She also definitely thought Mickey was buying books for his partner, so that was probably why she was so helpful – he knows that.

“No, but I’ve heard good things about this one!” You point at one of them, then turn back around to look at him. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know? I really would’ve been okay with a free beer and some good company.”

Mickey shrugs, suddenly a little shy. “You deserve it.”

“Okay, this is sweet and all,” Nat starts, immediately reminding both you and Mickey that you’re in the middle of a bar surrounded by your team and it’s not just the two of you. “But this does not mean you get to sit in the corner and read all night, okay? And I want a piece of that chocolate – the caramel swirl one.”

You laugh at her, shaking your head at how blunt she is, and turn back to Mickey. You surprise him again by reaching out your hand, taking his and giving it a squeeze. It’s like an electric shock travelling up his arm. 

“Will you come sit with me?” You ask him. “We can read the summaries of all of the books you got me and you can help me decide which one to read first. Obviously when I get home, since I’ve been banned from reading here tonight.”

Mickey nods, already loving the idea just because it means he gets to sit next to you and spend more time with you. You don’t let go of his hand as you move back to where you were sitting before, making Nat shuffle up a bit so that Mickey can fit beside you on the booth. 

“You really made my day, you know that?” You squeeze his hand again before letting go so you can grab the hamper and start to get the books out.

He can’t help the smile that comes to his face. “I’m glad I could make you smile.”