#and dib is the one who gets lifted up with the '

[eupheme]

— double the pleasure, triple the fun

[part iii of come on and show me | masterlist]

logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

rated e - 5.6k

tags: MMF threesome, mutual pining/crushes all around, dirty talk, poly relationship, multi-tasking, the world's worst romantic porposition, oral sex, vaginal fingering, ass play (fingering & rimming), double penetration, creampies, fluff and feelings

a/n: massive thank you to the wonderfully talented @avocado-writing, who kindly beta'd this for me! 💖

“Are you asking me out?” It comes slowly, in a rough rasp. 

It’s you that turns then, your eyes finding his. Your smile is sweet - a swirling heat of hope in your belly, “Depends on your answer.”

There’s something dark in his eyes. A curl of his lips, as his head dips. A kiss pressed against your spine, then lower. 

“Come on Wilson.” Logan husks, “Let’s get our girl ready.”

(Or, your two becomes three.)

“God, I want him to put a baby in me.”

Wade’s sigh rumbles beneath your ear, where your head cradles against his chest. 

Legs entwined as you stretch out together on the couch - a late-night wind-down after your boyfriend spent the evening picking out his To-Do List at Sister Margaret's.

To kill. Not fuck, apparently. Something he was quick to clarify.

“What are you watching?” Your eyes pull away from your own phone - seventeen chapters into an enemies-to-lovers slow burn you haven’t been able to put down all evening. 

A little stretch, as your head tilts to face him - knuckles propped under your chin, “That video has been looping for like, ten minutes.”

“And yet, still not long enough,” He sighs, flashing the screen at you, “Sir Mix-a-Lot, you never miss.”

The video flickers, a quick and skillful transition of clips - your eyes squinting at the screen from your angle.

“Is that... Logan?”

“Close, baby girl.” His finger boops against your nose, “Huge Ackman.”

There’s a little shake of your head, as your shoulder lifts, “I don’t know who that is.”

“And thank god,” He grins, letting the phone drop onto the cushions. A shift, as his hands dips against the small of your back, “If you did, you would divorce me so fast-“

Your eyes roll, as you bite back a grin, “I wouldn’t.”

“Definitely, maybe.”

Wade grunts as you push yourself with a huff - head dipping to press your lips against his. A low swirl in your belly, as his eyes go soft and his smile goes dopey. 

“I love you, Wade Winston Wilson,” You grin back, “New fake boyfriends and all, apparently.”

He hums, head tilting.

“And what about not-so-fake boyfriends?”

Your brow furrows.

“You are talking about Logan now, right?”

Wade’s knuckles brush your cheek, the humor in his eyes turning searching, “What do you think?”

And what a question it is. 

You’ve talked about it often. The occasional partner had cycled in for a night or two, but there had never been someone that struck you both like Logan had, arriving in your lives like a storm of thunder and lightning.

And you can’t deny that there’s feelings. Obvious ones, apparently, with how you acted in the past. Wade was still teasing you about your jealousy - you never had a handle on that emotion in the way he did. 

That innate knowledge of how he felt about someone, trusted them. Flirting was easy, but you’ve seen the way he looks at Logan, too.

It was different. Special.

“Two musketeers becoming the full set,” He holds his fingers up in front of you, two and then three, “Only unlike them, we’re fucking.”

You let out a sound of dissent, with the lift of a shoulder. 

“Oh, worm?” His brow raises, “Guess Disney wasn’t ready for that, either. Dibs on the religious one, then. I am a man of the cloth.”

“It’s a bad analogy, there’s four of them.”

He chuckles indulgently, “Okay, now I think you’re making things up-“

Now it’s your hand reaching, a finger tapping against his lips.

“I’d like that. I think Logan being our… boyfriend-” The word sends a rush of heat to your face as you stutter over it, Wade’s eyes gleaming.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking cute.” He crows, “We’ve fucked nasty-style and you can’t even say boyfriend-”

Your face buried in his chest, his name a muffled whine. A beat as the laughter still rumbles in his chest, before you peek at him.

“Do you think he wants that, too?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Wade hums, “That man is at least a 6 on the Yearning Richter scale. Felt by all, many frightened.”

You brighten at that prospect - your brain is already slipping ahead, “Do you think we should like, plan something? Ask him together?”

“Oh, don’t worry, gorgeous.” Wade grins.

“I’ll handle it.”

It's strange, seeing Logan in your space.

A good strange. A strange that feels nice - the subtle sweep of his eyes, as he takes in your apartment. The bag slung over his shoulder already tucked in your room, set on the ottoman at the foot of your bed.

He fits in, you think. Tucked into your couch as you put the finishing touches on dinner. Too used to being in their shared space at Wade’s. Of stolen moments when Althea was out. Hushed moments when she was home, muffled moans and bitten-back sighs.  

It will be nice to be able to take your time. 

They had arrived together, and there had been a certain thrill to that, too. 

Wade's knock that mimics the opening beats of "Smooth", before the door burst open. Funny to think about them crammed in a car together - they took Althea's, Wade tells you, when you later asked if they'd walked.

How he was already turning to you to referee, as you tip your head to kiss his cheek. 

"All I'm asking is if we're both sheathing our swords in the same scabbard, then why is he getting his panties in a twist about me putting my clothes in his bag?"

"Ignore him, sweetheart," Logan softens, leaning into the matching kiss you press against his jaw, "Been doing that for the last two months. It's good to see you."

And it is. Good to see both of them, something warm glowing bright in your chest.

The round table that always felt a little big for two feels perfect now - tucking between each other as dinner passes in a warm jumble of savory aromas and comfortable conversation. 

Smiling at the way they're both as engaged with your stories about your day, as you are about the work they've been doing together.

"-absolutely vaporized. It was disgusting, babe." Wade grimaces, "I was fine of course. Red, and all. But Lo here, eeugh. Still scrubbing the blood out of the nooks and crannies."

Logan makes a grunt of acknowledgement, "Had worse."

"Worse? Worse than getting gut-mist blasted across your chest?"

"I'll help, if you want." You offer, "Haven't seen your new suit yet."

At Wade's request, you try to keep out of his business - other than the stories he shares, the occasional repairs of his suit. Doesn't want his life mixing, not after what's happened in the past. 

Dutiful boyfriend by day, mercenary by night. And also sometimes, by day. Evenings, weekends.

It’s an unsteady schedule, but it's one you've grown accustomed to. Maybe that’s what helps make this easy, the way you’ve already adjusted to mutant-regenerative-boyfriend-life. 

But it doesn't mean you're not curious. That you don't appreciate certain aspects - especially when they come in tightly wrapped in leather and lycra. 

And when you eventually rise to collect dishes, it's Logan that beats you to it. A finger sternly pointed towards the couch, Wade's hand at your back - already guiding you towards it, as you protest.

"Least we can do, sweetheart," Logan smiles, "Can't remember the last time I had a meal this good."

"Excuse me," Wade gasps, as he slips on elbow-length mis-matched gloves,"Did my midnight toaster strudels mean nothing to you?"

It's your turn now, to sit on the couch. To watch, as Wade supervises. The quiet talk that swiftly turns to bickering. A yelp and a splash of hot water, before he's retreating.

Sinking down on the seat next to you, as your thoughts swirl. Soft memories of past shared evenings, and the planting of something that you’ll tend to carefully, hoping it will flourish. 

"You're looking at him like he's got balls on his neck," Wade’s arm slings around your shoulders, tone knowing, "Got something on your mind, gorgeous?"

Your nose wrinkles at the visual, but then you turn thoughtful.

"Just like seeing both of you here." Your smile is soft, "It feels right, you know?"

He hums in agreement, and you glance his way, "Do you feel that way too?"

"Feels as right as Ryan Reynolds playing me in my upcoming biopic."

That has you cocking an eyebrow - whatever reference he's making flying over your head, "And that's... good?"

"Yeah, baby." He grins.

"Really fucking good." 

The hunger follows you into the bedroom, after. Your question about dessert gets swiftly turned around on you - hands catching at your waist. 

Threats and promises  to devour you instead - that the ice cream you bought can wait - as lips press against yours. Another mouth at your neck, in your slow and often-interrupted journey to the bedroom. 

Ganging up on you again, almost as if it were planned. 

And you’re not sure if it was, or whether they’ve unconsciously become more in-sync, between their hours together at the apartment and in their work. 

More alike than they are different, at their core - something you’re not sure you’d be able to convince them of, even though you see it.

It’s sweetly familiar, when you finally fall into bed together. Clothes already stripped off, a messy pile mixing together against the woven floral rug as you fit together. 

Spit pools on Logan’s tongue, as he sucks on his teeth. A low tilt of his head before his lips are parting, letting it drop where he has your thighs nudged apart, belly pressed down against the bed.

Warm, where it hits the cleft of your ass. His hand follows - a broad palm curving against soft skin, tugging you open. 

“What do I have to do to let me have you here?” Logan’s thumb smears his spit against the tight ring, voice low and honey-smooth. 

It makes you jolt, a soft sound pulling from your throat. Squirming, as his thumb comes back - rolling the pad against you. 

“She, shit-” Wade groans, as your mouth leaves his cock - the tip glistening as it drops against his belly, “Only lets people she’s dating fuck her ass.”

“Wade!” You whine, as your thighs try to close - Logan’s spreading to keep you open. 

A low rasp of a laugh, “Is that right?”

“Not me though. If you’re curious.” Wade hums, his arm still slung under the pillow, “Sometimes even a first date is too slow.”

Dark eyes drag up, to the shift of hips. Over the leaking cock, lying flushed and hard against Wade’s belly - something like hunger in the slow sweep up to the pulled-wide grin.

“This is you handling it?” You hiss.

“You’re acting like the man invented the elevator.” Wade shrugs - shifting to push himself up on an elbow, “Trust me, there is nothing more romantic than a ‘what are we’ conversation slipped into a discussion about double penetration. We’re multi-tasking, gorgeous.”

Some of the tension eases, with the way he smiles at you. There’s not an ounce of worry in his expression, only the dark shadow of desire, highlighted with humor. 

Waiting until you smile back, before he fixes Logan with a pointed look. 

“Look. I’m gonna level with you,” He sighs, as if divulging something imperative, ”Until you’re ready to commit to being Mr. Y/L/N, then fifth base is just gonna be out of the question.”

There’s the shake of a head, a low huff behind you. The slight stroke of fingers against your skin.

“Are you asking me out?” It comes slowly, in a rough rasp. As if putting pieces together. 

It’s you that turns then, your eyes finding his. Your smile is sweet - a swirling heat of hope in your belly, “Depends on your answer.”

There’s something dark in his eyes. A curl of his lips, as his head dips.

A kiss pressed against your spine, then lower. 

“Come on Wilson.” He husks, “Let’s get our girl ready.”

A moan rips from you. First, from his words - the jolting butterflies in your belly, a pooling warmth. The sound lengthening, as his tongue flattens where his fingers had teased. Your back arches as Wade pumps his fist, before throwing a filthy “I-Told-You-So” smirk your way.

It glances off you. Your fingers curled in the sheets, as Logan shoulders your thighs further apart. A wet swipe that travels from your cunt to your hole, smearing your slick and his spit against your skin. 

A finger nudging against you, as Wade leans - hand fumbling for the handle of the bedside table. 

“You think you can take both of us?” Logan purrs, as he carefully works you open. A fingertip sinking inside you, as you whine. 

”What, you think we were joking about role-playing?” Wade scoffs,”Why did you think all the dinner knives were missing? Lost ‘em all beneath the bed.”

There’s a shuffle, as he works himself further beneath you. A bottle of lube dropped on the bedspread, as his fingers reach - petting against your clit.

“Tried two before, didn’t we gorgeous? Me and the Pulverine, as we call him.” Wade coos, “Not as big as you, of course. But definitely a lot more sparkly.” 

“Toy’s not the same thing,” Logan hums, as you clench around him. Sinking deeper, slowly pumping, “‘s gonna be a tight fit, baby.”

The sensations are already overwhelming. Wade’s fingers slipping down - fitting one, and then two fingers inside your slick pussy. His thumb nudging against your clit, teasing.

Logan’s weight against you, shifting as his hips grind into the mattress. The messy swirl of his tongue, more spit added to the mess. His thick finger already feels like a lot, pressed down to the knuckle. Slow in the way he works you open, the hot embers in your belly roaring brighter.

“I want it.” You moan, “Want both of you.” 

Wanted it for a while now. Wondered if they’d take you like this. If you’d be able to take them, stuffed so full you could barely draw breath. Wanting to know what it feels like to come, with both of them pressed to the hilt inside you. 

Words fail you, soon after. There’s the cold smear of lube against your skin, a second finger notched. Your cry muffled with the press of Wade’s lips, tilting your face to his as their fingers find their rhythm together.

That steady swirl against your clit. How you’re clenching around them, your arousal slick on Wade’s palm. The sharp rhythmic slap ringing through your ears as you pant into his mouth. Logan’s teeth against the soft curve of your ass, a muffled groan as he fits a second inside you. 

It’s a mimicry of later, but it’s enough. Something bright burning in your belly, fueled by their desire. Hot breath against your skin, Wade’s cock grinding into your hip. 

“Come on, gorgeous.” He murmurs against you, “Let me feel you come with his fingers buried in your ass.”

You choke on your moan. Hips shifting, pushing one deeper and then the other as you chase the building high. The sharp stretch long spooling into pleasure, twisting around your guts, shimmering. 

“‘m gonna-” It’s breathed out, your eyes screwing shut. Focused on the countdown  that’s begun inside you, swiftly approaching with each crook of their fingers, “Fuck, I’m-”

Logan shifts, his breath ghosting against your spine, “Come for us, sweetheart.”

For us. 

Your face buries against Wade’s shoulder, as they bring you over the edge together. Working in tandem to take you apart, and they haven’t even really begun - fingers crooking and curling as a bright pleasure blooms in your belly. 

Wade had been right - it’s not the first time you’ve been full like this. But Logan was right, too. It’s different - the way you can feel them move together, as you whine. The orgasm ripples through you, the sensations drawing out as kisses are dropped between your shoulder blades. 

Soft crooning in your ear, but it’s all muted - barely aware of the palms that run across your skin. The press of mouths against your heated skin - until the pulses in your core fades, the room coming back into focus. 

They slip from you - first Wade, and then Logan. You’ve felt empty before but never like this, already missing the weight inside you. Craving more.

There’s a shift on the bed, Logan shouldering himself next to Wade, who you’re still stretched out on. 

“C’mere, baby. Fuck, need to feel you.”

Hand at your hips, coaxing you up. Encouraging you to straddle his thighs, but then Wade is tsking - reaching for you, trying to turn you around.

“Annnd I just gave myself a promotion to Director,” He adds with a long-suffering sigh, “When you want something done right, gotta do it yourself.”

Logan growls, as your weight leaves him, “The fuck you talking about?”

Wade’s brow arches, “The fuck I’m talking about is you doing this all wrong, peanut. When was the last time you partook in the devil’s threeway? Was it this century, at least?”

Hand gentle as he guides you to face away from Logan, your ass settling against the cradle of his hips.

“There you go,” He coos, “How am I going to give your pretty little kitty the attention she deserves if you have her all hidden away?”

Logan’s hard cock nestles against your belly, as your knees press into the mattress. Breath hitching as you gauge the size of him again. Hoping that the prep he did was enough - the soft buzz beneath your skin certainly has you feeling more than ready.

Slicking your fingers with more lube before they wrap around his shaft - a rough hiss sliding from his throat as they circle around, squeezing. Smearing it against swollen flesh, thumbing over the leaking head as you line yourself up. 

Wade shifting to watch, his head tilted against Logan’s shoulder, his fist already wrapped around his cock as you start to slowly sink down. 

“Sit on it, sweetheart, there you go.” Logan growls, as he breaches you. 

A sharp, inhaled breath as the tip sinks inside you. The building pressure and then the give - as you try not to clench down.

Pulling a rough sound from him. Fingers twitching at your hips - set on only steadying you. A rough edge creeping into his soft encouragement, “Nice and easy, baby.”

Another inch, but it feels like double. Sweat beading along the nape of your neck, as you stretch around him.

“Doing so good,” He rasps, “Take it slow.”

“Taking it like a fucking champ, baby.” Wade interjects, “Couldn’t have done it better myself, and Levy knows how often I thought about it.”

Your nails bite into his thighs, but it only makes his hips flex. Twin moans when it nudges him the rest of the way - your breath stolen when he’s seated flush inside you.

Not that different than when Wade’s fucked you, even with the length he’s got on Logan. But it’s the girth that has your lips parting - a ragged moan with the experimental roll of your hips.

“Pretty fucking sight.” Logan groans, through gritted teeth. Palms slipping around, gently tugging you back towards his chest.

His growl low in your ear, as his hips lift in an experiment thrust.

“Gonna stuff you full, gonna let us do the work.” He husks, a hissed breath when you clench around him. “Make you feel good, alright?”

Palming at your tits, as Wade shifts into position. Swallowing your begging, whined out “please-” as he kisses down your throat. 

Over your breasts. The back of Logan’s hand, against the curve of your belly. His fist still working at his cock, an audible moan of appreciation when he settles between Logan’s thighs.

“You look so good full of him.” It’s mumbled out against your hip, “God, I want to jerk off to this and let you use my cum as lube.”

Logan’s fingers tighten - pinching a peaked nipple as you moan, as kisses are peppered against your mound.

“Fuck us into your tight ass.”

You cry out, when his tongue flattens against your clit. Fingers teasing at your hole, dipping inside to test how full you feel. 

“Soaking wet, baby. You feeling good?” Wade croons, “Or does your greedy little pussy need more?”

“Wade,” You keen, desperate. Rocking into the slow pump of Logan’s hips, his breath harsh in your ear.

His fingers crook, and curl.

“You want us to take you there and back again to pound town?” 

“I swear to god,” You pant, desperate, “If you don’t get inside me, I’ll-, I’ll call Nate.”

His eyes gleam, “That right? Still thinking about riding the ol’ Cable car?”

It’s Logan’s added growl that finally gets him moving. A smile still pulling wide, as he slips from you. His own desperation betrayed by the wet smear against his belly.

The slick tip of his cock, as he ruts against your folds. Your breath held, as he notches himself.

His dark eyes on your blown-wide ones, as he starts to sink in. It has your thighs trembling, as you whine. Clenching down without meaning to, as Logan groans.

Feeling the way he inches into you. What little space left filled as your pussy makes room for him. The tight clutch of your walls, a moan at the way he can feel Logan through the thin layer of skin between them.

A choked-out moan punched from his chest. 

“Made to take us both. Weren’t you, gorgeous?” He murmurs, as his hips move, “Goddamn perfect fit.”

They both move inside you. Stilted thrusts, off rhythm as you squirm between them. Logan getting impatient - throwing a glare Wade’s way.

“Stop moving when I do.”

It’s met with a laugh, as Wade’s hip snap a little harder. Filling you, the force jolting you against Logan, as your nails bite into his biceps.

“I’m driving this thing.” He counters, “Call me Sandra Bullock, because I’m not about to let this bus dip below 50.”

His hand catching Logan’s wrist - resistance when he tugs, but then it’s going with him. Fitting the curve of his fingers against the base of your throat.

“You do what you do best and be the anchor. Keep her still for me, will you?” 

Logan’s fingers flex, but he grunts - the slightest pressure against your chest. 

A pat against your hip, with a wink, “Let Daddypool do all the work.”

You huff, but the sound turns strangled as the sets the pace. Hands at your hips, tugging you to meet his thrusts. Fucking you back on to Logan, when his weight presses into you.

“There we fucking go. How you feeling, baby?”

“Feels so good,”You gasp, as the movement gets familiar. The slick slide of them inside you, the back and forth as they stroke your walls, as your arousal gleams against their cocks. 

“Know it does.” Wade grins, “They don’t call me DP for nothing.”

Logan grunts beneath you. Something biting held back - distracted, as his other hand wanders. Slipping across your hip, then down.

Tracing over your mound. Feather-light against your folds, feeling how you stretch open each time Wade goes balls-deep. 

Your moan coming out ragged, when he teases your clit. Soft strokes with the pad of his finger, before two press and circle.

It makes you jolt, his laugh low in your ear.

Finding that familiar rhythm. Feeling the way your hips flex, seeking out his touch. How easily he’s able to wind you up now, from the times he’s taken you apart. 

How it’s almost overwhelming, with the stuffed-full pressure of them inside you. With the saw of Wade’s hips, as his cock nudges against the spongy spot inside you.

A rough hum when you clench down. Unable to do more than take what he gives you, with the way Logan cradles you against his chest.

It only adds to the surge of pleasure inside you. A near-divine pairing of sensations that has your fingers reaching, Wade’s name a soft cry on your lips. 

He flattens against you, to meet the way your mouth tips up. It’s messy, open-mouthed as his hips slow to a grind. Hands skating up your body, against hips and waist.

Letting him in when he deepens it. A groan as he licks against your teeth. Needy presses of his mouth, spit smeared across your lips when it breaks. Another kiss  peppered against your jaw, where Logan groans into your ear. 

A unconscious shift of his head, and then their lips are brushing.

Logan’s cock throbs inside you, as Wade goes stiff and still. It’s softer than it should be - no more than a shared breath, before Wade pulls back. 

The hand at your neck flexes. Loosens, as it slips between you. Wrapping around the back of Wade’s neck as he yanks him back down.

A growled out “fuck” when they meet again, insistant this time. Vicious with the scrape of teeth, the wet swipe of tongue as Logan’s nails bite into skin.

Messy, as they pant into each other's mouths. Calloused fingers drifting down from your clit to split against your folds. Teasing where you’re filled, as Wade’s moan turns filthy.

A matching sound escaping from Logan, long held back. 

“Fucking holding out on me,” Wade mumbles, when the kiss breaks, “Haven’t been this wet since Cap’s beard reveal.”

Eyes dark, when he feels how Logan moves inside you. Forgetting himself, as he chases the pleasure that threatens to peak inside him.

“Bet you love knowing you’ve been in all of our girl’s holes. Don’t you, handsome?” Wade grins. Eyes still watchful - catching the clench of a jaw, as his lips return to yours.

The kiss is sweeter this time, even as he begins to drive into you. Each of your breaths coming in a whining gasp, pleasure once again winding inside you.

His mouth running away from him, determined to send you both over, ”Should let me into some of yours. You know I’d treat you right.”

“Shut the fuck up. C-Can’t come with you running your mouth.” It’s panted out - half-hearted at best, and Wade’s eyes gleam.

“Fucking liar.” He crows, “Bet you jerk it all the time to the thought of us screaming your name.”

Voice pitches up then, in a mimicry of yours, “Oh, Logan. Fuck me right there with your monster dick-”

Logan strings tight beneath you with a snarl, as he tries to bury himself in your ass. The hand at your neck dipping to grasp at your hip, as the practiced rhythm turns sloppy.

Wade shifts - his weight leaned into your hips. Pinning you both down as he fucks into you, stroke after stroke.  

Logan’s touch is sloppy against your clit - but with the way your boyfriend’s cock pounds against that spot inside you, it’s enough.

You don’t even realize you’re whimpering. The way their names string together, the “please, please, please-” that catches in your throat.  

“You gonna come too, baby?” He coos - thrilled, “You’re both so fucking easy, aren’t you?”

Logan moans in your ear when you squeeze around him, fingers pressing harder. A little faster, and with the next plunge of Wade’s cock - you shatter. 

It’s all white noise, the faded star stickers on the ceiling becoming swirling the sky above as you’re pulled under. 

Helpless, with the way you’re pinned between them. Coming again with the tight swirls against your clit, with them fully sheathed inside you. 

The tight pulse of your orgasm around his sends Logan over. 

Even with Wade’s weight his hips still lift as he bows off the bed. A wounded groan, as he comes with you clenching down around him. Grinding himself into your hole as his cock throbs, emptying himself into you. 

There’s a sing-songed and muted “money shot” that has you groaning. Half-exasperation, half-mindless pleasure, as Logan’s hands roam. Holding you against him, ragged breath against your neck as you milk him empty.

Keeping you stuffed full, hilting his cock deeper when you squirm. Leaving Wade to catch up.

Shameless in the way he watches now, as molten pleasure thrums in your veins. Leaning back to see how you take them both. Picturing how you’ll look after, thoroughly-fucked holes that will drip with them until morning. 

Doesn’t notice when his breath turns short, but you do. 

“Wanna feel you come, baby.” You coo, your smile soft and pleasure-drunk. 

Hands tracing over his, overlapping and squeezing. The shallow lift of your hips to meet his thrusts, purposely squeezing him when he inches out - trying to keep him in.

“Make a fucking mess, Red.” Logan growls - joining you, “Let me feel you come inside her.”

“Jesus Titty-Fucking Christ,” The rough laugh turns into a groan, “Think I’m going to blow two loads at once-”

Hands overlapping, grasping on, holding you, as his hips pump faster. Head tipping - fitting between yours and Logans - as his back bows. 

Coming inside you with a muttered out “oh fuck. fuck yes-”, cock jerking with each needy rut of his hips. The sound turns into a whine when teeth sink his neck, hard enough to bruise. 

Yours on the other side, your soft moan in his ear as you feel the way he throbs as he spills into you again, and again. 

Intense, in a way you’ve never felt before. A connection that loops through you - from the press of your mouths, down to where you fit together. 

It’s fortunate that Logan’s hands still fit at your hips, with how fucked-out and boneless you feel. Trading one cock for another was one thing, but this - being claimed by both of them, the phantom ache as Logan withdraws- it’s something else entirely. 

Your head dropping back to rest against his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded as you wait for your pulse to stop galloping. Logan’s nose ghosting against your temple, an arm still thrown around your hips. 

A hiss, when Wade slips from you. You can feel the mess they’ve made, sticky against your thighs. How they drip from your fucked-out holes, when you clench around nothing. 

It must do something to him, the way Wade moans when he sits back. Fingers raising - mimicking a camera, complete with the click of his tongue as the shutter. 

“If that doesn’t win me an academy award,” He hums thoughtfully.

“Then I don’t know what the fuck will.”

Time slows down, after. The low hum of artificial rain from a device on your dresser, layering with the muted city outside. Doesn’t know if it’s minutes or hours since he last moved, and he really can’t bring himself to care.

As long as it’s still dark, then he knows they’ve still got time. 

“So are you going to bake us a sex cake?” Wade yawns, “You know, for completely rocking your shit.”

“A what?” You stir against him - an eye cracking open. 

Logan grunts, his face buried in your shoulder. A hand splayed across your belly, a tug as he pulls you closer.

“Oh my god,” Wade chuckles to himself, “There I go, mixing up timelines again. I infinitely prefer this one, by the way.”

Logan lets the two of you bicker, his eyes slipping shut again. 

Your apartment is quieter than Wade’s. The bed comparable to the one they shared last time. Can’t remember the last time he’s felt a warmth like this. 

Soft, where your back tucks against his chest. His hand shifts to your hip, curving against soft flesh. Wade’s hand rests close enough to touch, fingers just brushing. Facing you, thighs twined together as he sandwiches you between them.

The shower had been nicer, as well. Snug, when you had pulled them in with you. Taking turns under the warm spray. He had commented on it - a way to drag out the scratch of fingers through his hair. The swirl of soap against his skin, and he had been too blissed out to bother with the facade when a second set of hands grabbed his ass. 

Staying just a little longer, as their hands found their way between your thighs. Wade thumbing at your clit as his own fingers fucked the cum deeper into your cunt. Twin marks sucked into your neck, as your legs threatened to give out - still shaky from before.

You stir against him. Words heavy with sleep.

“Wade didn’t say it earlier.” You yawn - shuffling, so you can help over to face him. 

Logan’s brow rises, as you clarify.

“There’s a caveat to our earlier question.”

“Good word choice.” Wade hums, “11 points, and I bet you were a real pleasure to have in class.”

A low chuckle, when your hips press back against his in warning - as your eyes flip up to Logan’s. 

“It’s a two-for-one deal,” The corner of your lips tug up, “It’s both of us, or nothing.”

“All for one, and one for all,” Wade’s chin hooks over your shoulder, ignoring how you elbow him, “And can you really afford not to take that?”

Supposes it’s cute, that you think you have to tell him this. That his eyes haven’t equally wandered, even if it’s only half-admitted. Too caught on wondering if the only something good he had will change, if he truly allows himself to want something. 

That it’s not only the feeling of your mouths on his cock that he revisits, though he does think of that often.

There’s other moments as well. Squeezing hands and smiles and the way you both look at him. The toothbrush that you had ready tonight, just incase he forgot his. The handle blue, when he slipped it in the cup - tucked next to red and purple.

Your words still spark brightly in his chest, settling low behind his ribs. It quells an uneasy twist that’s been lingering there for the past few weeks. 

Something unsteady, finally finding purchase. 

“Don’t know why you’re clarifying though, gorgeous.” His cheek rubs against yours like a cat. Those brown eyes meet his as well, and it’s hard to bite back the low inhale of breath.

“Considering he tongue-fucked the shit out of me earlier, I think he’s good.”

He huffs in reply, but he can’t bite back the curve of his lips. Not anymore - and he finds that he doesn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Logan agrees. That something turning soft inside him, the smile pulling just a little wider. 

“I’m good.”

thanks so much for reading!! 💖 there's a couple more moments I'd love to explore with them in the future! (but in case I'm not able to, I wanted to end it on this sweet note between them all. )

[skzdarlings]

the ride ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by @rosequartsz : chan with the prompt ❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ like the reader is the same age as jeongin so chan kinda feels bad but at the same time he wants to corrupt the reader so bad cushsisjsis

+

original ask: requested by anonymous : Chan and ❛ please. make me feel good. no one else can like you. ❜ ❛ have a little trust in yourself, i know you can take it. ❜

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: friends to lovers, chan is a little older than reader, reader is not actually that innocent but pretends to be and they both get off on it lol. some not very safe driving lol keep ur eyes on the road. car sex, dirty talk, teasing, corruption play, puuuuure smut. word count: 2400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

-

“That’s not fair,” Jeongin says.  “I called dibs.”

“Too bad.”  You stick your tongue out at him.  “Learn to run faster, loser.”

Jeongin scowls, once more relegated to the backseat of Chan’s car.   You are sitting pretty in the passenger seat for the fourth day in a row and Jeongin is playfully annoyed about it. 

You and your twin brother have been racing into Chan’s car since high school.  You are both at university now, but Chan still offers the occasional lift.  With storm season making public transit a bigger hassle than it’s worth, Chan has been offering more rides. 

Just because of the weather.  Not any other reason.  Of course.      

You smirk, casting a side-glance into the driver’s seat.  Chan is smiling at Jeongin through the rearview mirror, looking less like Channie, the boy of your teenage fantasies, and more like Bang Chan, the man of your adult dreams.  He is wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, his whole demeanour oozing an effortless masculinity, the bearing of a competent man who knows he can do anything. 

And still, despite his well-earned cockiness, he has an undoubtedly shy side.  When he looks at you, the tips of his ears flame an embarrassed, fiery red, and his dimpled smile is almost boyish in its sweetness. 

“Right then,” he says.  Then, like the endearingly cheesy goofball he is, he adds, “All aboard, ready for takeoff!” 

“Jeongin,” you say, blinking innocently at your twin through the mirror.  “You have your presentation notes, right?  You don’t want to forget them.”

Jeongin double-checks his bag but you already know he won’t find them.  You deliberately took them out and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“Damn,” he says, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt.  “I thought I put them in here.  Sorry, I’ll be right back.” 

Jeongin practically flies out of the car and up the driveway, leaving you and Chan.  It happens quickly, before Chan can even compute it.  You can see the gears turning in his head, but you are faster, sighing melodramatically while gathering the hem of your skirt. 

“Silly boy,” you say.  “What should we do while he’s gone?”  You draw your skirt up your thighs just enough to tease the skin of your upper thighs. 

Chan is staring there with his mouth open, his words evaporating on his tongue.  He clears his throat after a second, ripping his gaze away.  He looks across the dashboard and laughs, a shy, awkward laugh. 

“Your brother will be back in a second,” Chan says.  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah?”

He is white-knuckling the steering wheel, like all his restraint is being poured into that physical grip.  Even so, it is not hard to pry his hand off the wheel.  You know a stronger, more belligerent shove could not bend a determined Bang Chan, but the softest touch from your gentle hands will have him breaking in seconds.   

You are slow, casual despite your racing heart, guiding his hand onto your knee.  He makes a little noise that turns your whole body to pure, liquid heat.  You make a similar sound, a faint whimper in the back of your throat, as you slide his hand up your thigh. 

“Channie,” you say, your too-sweet, too-innocent voice part of your acting, but your breathlessness undoubtedly real. 

“Don’t—”  His voice breaks and he clears his throat.  “Don’t say my name like that.  You know—”  

“What do I know, Channie?” you ask, blinking at him with wide eyes while you curl his fingers around your thigh.  You bring your legs together, holding his hand between them.

He visibly swallows, throat bobbing.  The redness has spread from his ears down his neck. 

“We’ve talked about this, baby girl,” he says, his tone stricter, taking on that darker edge that makes your heart – and everything else – gush.   “We’ve been good so far, okay?”   If stolen kisses, open zippers, and groping touches count as good.  “You’re my – you’re my friend.  You should be like a little sister or something to me… yeah?  Yeah… Yeah!”  He shakes his head, pulling himself out of the distraction caused by you unzipping your jacket.  He squeezes your thigh, a firm, warning grip.  “Don’t make this so hard,” he says. 

“What’s hard for you, Channie?” you ask, reaching into his lap and touching his thigh, then higher, finding the evidence of his words.  A shiver moves across his shoulders, his breath catching as you cup your palm around the bulge in his jeans.  “Is it something I can help you with?”  You lick your bottom lip then smile. 

“Oh,” he says.  His eyes crinkle with amusement but there is a score of different emotions on his face, all of them smoldering.  “You really wanna play that game, huh?” 

There is no chance for an answer because Jeongin returns, hopping into the car with his notes.  You and Chan separate, looking out the dashboard window.  You pat your hot skin and try to slow your racing heart. 

Sensing the oddly silent tension, Jeongin narrows his eyes and looks between you.  Eventually, his expression sours like he smells something bad. 

“Oh my god,” he says, then punches Chan in the shoulder.  “Are you fucking my sister!”

“What!” Chan says, getting redder by the second.  “Jeongin, how could— I wouldn’t— I don’t—”

“What, you don’t fuck?” Jeongin asks, then laughs until he is wheezing.  “You can do better, man.”

“Jeongin, shut up!”  You reach back to smack at him, rubbing your hand all over his stupid face and messing up his hair while he wails in protest.   

“All right, all right!”  Chan says, breaking you up.  “Let’s just… let’s just go, okay?  Okay.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you say, mostly out of spite. 

Chan squeaks. 

Jeongin pretends to gag then slumps against his window.  

“I’m gonna need to start taking the bus,” he says, morose.

-

Fortunately, thanks to the impromptu revelation of your shenanigans, it does not take much convincing for Jeongin to find another ride home.  When Chan pulls into the campus parking lot to pick you up, you approach his vehicle with a grin and a wink.    

You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing down your skirt while he sighs.  It sounds more amused than frustrated.    

“Where’s your brother?” he asks. 

You shrug with theatrical exaggeration. 

“Right,” Chan says, starting the car.  “Got it.”

He puts a hand on your headrest to leverage himself, looking out the rear window as he reverses the car.  That proximity alone gets you hot, the temptation to grab him already strong.  You play a patient game, as always, stealing glances and suggestive smiles while he drives. 

Halfway home, you put a hand on his knee.  At first your touch is innocent, tracing slow circles on the denim, then you get a little more brazen, fingertips brushing up his thigh. 

“Baby,” he says in that warning voice, eyes on the road.  Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses the other to stop your wandering ascent. 

“Yes?” you ask with all that faux-innocence.  Rather than fight his touch, you guide his hand to your lap, placing it on your knee. 

Unlike this morning, he does not play nice.  You make a startled, high-pitched sound when he immediately dives under your skirt, his rough palm pressing down where you are already aching.   Your thighs slam shut out of instinct but his hand is where it wants to be, his fingers curled around your pussy in a proprietary touch. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice playfully mean.  He grinds the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit.  He never takes his eyes off the road.  “Isn’t this what you wanted?”  

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, though you cannot help but rock yourself against his hand. 

“Mmm,” he says, patting your pussy then stroking your thigh, guiding your legs open again.  “We’ll see about that.” 

You keep your eyes ahead too, pretending not to notice when he glances at you.  Then you gasp because he reaches out and tugs the zipper on your hoodie.  You instinctively clutch it, wearing nothing but a bra underneath, having taken off your other layers to surprise him.  He is the one surprising you, a secret sexy menace under all that shy sweetness.  He unzips the hoodie halfway then reaches past the material to squeeze a handful.  Your body practically sings under his touch. 

“Channie,” you say, breathless again. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says.  “Channie’s gonna take care of you, yeah?  Always.” 

“Take care of me how?”  Your question toys with that false innocence, the little game that gets you both hot, but there is genuine curiosity there too.   This game has been escalating slowly over time.  You want more and you are starting to get desperate. 

Chan looks at you.  His gaze moves over your mouth then your body, your skirt rucked up and breasts practically spilling out of your hoodie.  He swears, looking back at the road with that red blush on his ears again. 

“Fuck,” he says.  “I want to fuck you so badly.  You have no idea.” 

His words have a raw, honest edge.  He swallows, hard.  You feel like one tightly coiled ball of tension, ready to snap apart. 

“Please,” you say in that breathy voice.  “Make me feel good.  No one else can like you.” 

You do not make it all the way home.  There is a nearby lookout point at the park, a shrouded parking area that has undoubtedly seen its fair share of hook-ups.  Chan parks there and you dive at each other like randy teenagers.  You climb into his lap, bumping everything on the console on your way, the honking the horn with your backside for good measure.  It makes you both giggle.

Then your laughter is swallowed by hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips.  You push his hat off his head and sink your fingers in his curly hair.  “Channie, please,” you say. 

He cups the back of your neck, holding your head where he wants it so he can kiss you thoroughly.  His ravishing touch leaves you shaking with need, rocking against him to no relief. 

“Poor baby,” he says with a little laugh, squeezing your neck then drawing his hand down the curve of your chest.  He unzips the rest of your hoodie.  His mouth follows the same path as his hands, down your chest and back up again. 

He is working you up, deftly and swiftly, using just a few well-placed throat kisses, a few flicks of his fingertips across the sensitive peaks of your breasts.  He seems so composed under you, other than the flush to his complexion, the heat to his skin that has him shedding his leather jacket.   You feel completely undone, half-naked and writhing in his lap.  Your hands tangle together, fumbling around his belt. 

“Let me,” he says.  He gets his belt open and his fly undone, then his hands are on you.  He doesn’t just tug your panties to the side but rips them apart, snapping the seams like they’re nothing.  Then those strong fingers are inside you, finding just how wet and ready you are for him.  He makes a low, guttural sound, thumping his head against the headrest.  “Fuck, baby girl,” he says.  “You know what you do to me?” he asks. 

“I dunno, Channie.”  You pout and bat your eyelashes.  “You better show me.” 

He laughs.  He holds your hips and moves you, positions you where he wants you.  You are pressed so close together, chest-to-chest, so you cannot see when he finally enters you.  But you feel it, hot and hard and filling you, stretching you, almost painful but burning so good.  You slap a hand to the roof of the car, eyes closing as you moan. 

“S-so much,” you say, because it feels like you have been sinking forever and he is still not all the way inside. 

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says.  His thumb is expertly circling your clit while your whole body seems to soften, changing to fit him, like you were made for this moment.  “That’s it,” he says.  “Have a little trust in yourself.  I know you can take it.”

His thrusts are small, his hands guiding your hips over him, grinding him deep inside you.   Then you are clutching his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you slowly and steadily.  It is everything you needed and not enough, only spurring more desire.  You know you will need him again, the way he needs you.  Just the way he says your name as he holds you, as he fucks you, as he takes you apart and puts you together again.   It feels like that when you come, when he fucks you through it, saying your name and praising you. 

“Good girl,” he says, barely above a breath.  “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

When he gets close, he pushes the seat back.   You get on your knees between his legs and take him in your mouth.  He comes with a low groan and another breathless slur of your name.  Then you are back in his lap and his hands are everywhere, clutching you possessively to his chest.  You are both breathing hard, riding the slow come-down of your frantic desperation. 

“Fuck,” he eventually says.  He seems shy again, giggling as he looks at you with a blush on his face.  “We, uh, we just did that, in the car, uh wow, yeah, I, uh—”

“Channie,” you say with a laugh of your own, grabbing his face and kissing him.  He smiles into the kiss, returning it with the same tender softness. 

You kiss for a long time, ignoring the world around you.  Eventually you have to crawl back into your seat and mostly redress yourselves, still smiling and giggling at each other the whole time.  Your phone was buzzing in your bag so you finally check it, rolling your eyes at the message there.   

You show it to Chan who laughs, blushing again, but nods. 

“Right,” he says, “We should probably go get him.”

You laugh too, sending an emoji with its tongue sticking out in response to Jeongin’s message that reads:  My ride fell through.  When you are done not-fucking each other, can you come back and get me?  Thanks.  Sluts.   

[dimensionhoppinghare]

Dib also gets headcanons that are trying to make him look better, not just Zim:

"Dib would never betray anyone!"

"He only started acting out when Zim showed up, it's all the latter's fault that the former's classmates don't believe him."

"Everyone only hates Dib because he believes in the paranormal!"

"Gaz is always harassing Dib for no reason."

"Dib would never act like that, it's just Zim's interpretation!" (Dib's Wonderful Life of Doom)

"Dib would never any circumstences get to the point to kill Zim, unlike Zim!" (Zib)

"Dib never starts things"

One of my least favorite things in fandoms is when people make headcanons or scenarios to make a “good” character seem so much worse than they actually are; while also making headcanons and  scenarios of “Bad” characters to make them more justified for their actions.

[ivorydragoness44]

Red Hood x Reader: Dibs

Word Count: 1,100 Warnings/Notes: Inspired by an episode of Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Minor injury mention for the Reader (a bruise on their knee), some of the Batfam trying to figure out which one of them is the Reader’s favorite, and the Reader getting assistance to walk up a set of stairs. Summary: Walking home for the night, the Reader is found with a slight limp. They are offered a ride home from Batman. After some back and forth, the Reader finally agrees and finds that Batman is not the only one is the Batmobile.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

  Gotham City. The night was almost as busy as the day depending where you were. For the most part, you were grateful that you were missing any and all villain or otherwise ill intended activities.   There was a public text alerting citizens to a delay in public transportation. More notably, a bus that you wanted to use to go home. Walking home, in theory, would take the same, if not less amount of time than the estimated wait time for the bus alone. And walk you did. It would not have been so bad if not for a bruise you had gotten on your knee earlier that day. It made walking a bit more challenging.

  Continuing down the sidewalk, you kept a closer eye to the surroundings to the right of you, rather than the streets. However, the slowing down of a vehicle definitely caught your attention. The intersection was further up the street. Hesitantly, you peered over. What you saw made you stop with a small uncomfortable hop. The Batmobile.

  The passenger’s side window slid down. With it, revealed the black cowled cape crusader.   “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you,” he called over, leaning toward the other side of the car. “But, would you like a lift home?”   You shook your head slowly as you turned toward the vehicle. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”   “Oh, I saw you limping a little. I only wanted to offer some assistance in case you were injured.”   You rubbed your arm in your small wave of awkwardness. “I’m sure the bruise is healing by now,” you said, not missing Batman’s glance into the backseat. “I mean, if you really don’t mind?”   Batman smiled. “Not at all.” The side-door swung open.   Carefully sitting inside, the door closed on its own. “Automatic?”   “No,” he chuckled, “I pushed a button.”   “Oh,” you laughed quietly, buckling the seatbelt securely before giving him the directions/address to your home.

  Taking a breath, you calmed yourself. It was not every day that Batman asked to drive you home. Unless he was doing that now between vigilante work. You had no idea. What you did know was that every button, switch, and dial on the main console had absolutely no indication of what either of them did. Did he have every function memorized?

  “So, um, how’s your night going? I mean, I hope there isn’t a lot of villain incidents or anything, because I’m sure even you need the rest.”   “Mister Freeze was out tonight,” a voice replied from the backseat.   “We stopped him of course, but man were we freezing.”   “If that was you trying to do word play, it was awful.”   Surprised to hear other voices, you turned around in the seat. There, squished together in the backseat were four additional vigilantes. Red Robin, Robin, who was sitting with quite the disgruntled expression between Nightwing’s legs, and the Red Hood.   Side-glancing over to Batman, you whispered. “Are they in trouble?”   He smiled, steering the Batmobile down another street. “No, a… decision could not be made.”   “They all called dibs on this seat, didn’t they?”   A collective agreement affirmed your humored suspicion.   Nodding in understanding, you turned to sit correctly in the seat.

  A quiet moment or two passed before anyone spoke again.   “So, who’s your favorite?” Asked Nightwing.   “Hey.”   “That’s not fair to ask.”   “Overall, or specifically in the Batmobile?” You asked with a laugh.   “Batmobile,” they said rather quickly.   “You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t pick favorites.”   “Aw.”   “But if you had to choose.”   “Obviously Batman. He’s the responsible adult driving right now.”   “That doesn’t count.” Red Hood’s muffled voice interjected.   “Yeah, well, Wonder Woman isn’t in the Batmobile, so,” you laughed with a shrug. They were appearing more normal by the second.   With a thoughtful hum, Red Hood replied. “That’s a good answer.”   “I thought so. Besides, if I were to have favorites, they’d probably change day to day.”

  The Batmobile slowed to a stop by the sidewalk. “Here we are.”   “Thank you, Batman. I really appreciate it,” you smiled gratefully.   “You’re quite welcome,” he smiled in return.   With a press of a button, the passenger side door flicked open and you stepped out.   “Will you be all right?” He asked, his voice laced with concern.   “Yeah,” you assured, stepping carefully away from the open door. “I’ve been dealing with this all day.”   “All day?” The backseat erupted in protest.   You gave a tired shrug. “Just another day in the life of an ordinary citizen.”   Red Hood pushed the passenger seat forward with a single gloved hand. Climbing out of the vehicle, he joined you on the sidewalk. But before you could ask, he put up a hand to stop you. “You shouldn’t have to struggle on your own.”   “It’s not that bad,” you assured, “I can manage.”   Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just…can you let me help you?”   Genuine. That was the word you wanted to use to describe the sudden turn of events for you that evening. First, an offered ride home, and now this? Were they like this with everyone?   “Okay,” you finally answered.   Red Hood’s sigh of relief was not subtle enough to go unnoticed by you. He likely thought it was.   Shutting the door to the Batmovile, it only drove away after the pair of you started walking toward the steps to your apartment building. Red Hood offered his arm. Previously intending to grab ahold of you for your own stability, but quickly retracted his hands.   Holding onto his arm, the initial warmth was a welcoming contrast to the cool night air. And thick. How much muscle did these vigilantes have/ And where did they even find the time?   “Easy,” he cautioned softly.   You pushed your weight onto his arm with every other step. Other than that, going to your apartment door was quiet and uneventful.

  Standing by the door to your apartment, you retrieved your keys. “Thank you for your help. And… I hope I didn’t bruise your arm.”   “Ha, I doubt it,” he crossed his arms. “Even if you somehow did, I’ll take it as a temporary momento.”   “And despite my better judgement, I’ll definitely be telling my boyfriend, Jason about this.”   “Heh, maybe not the best idea,” he advised.   You smiled. “I’m going to anyway. Have a good night. And thank you again, Red Hood.”   “No problem. Rest that knee.”   “I will. Bye.”

  In your apartment, door shut, and thoroughly locked, you laughed at the ridiculousness that had became your evening. “Jason might not believe me.”

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you would like to read more imagines and fanfics, check out my pinned post for My Masterlist of Masterlists.

[deadsetobsessions]

As the girl who came up with the Triplet! Tim AU PLEASSEEEEE continue it!!!!! I NEED to see Bruce who thought he had one robin finding out he actually has three separate completely different ones

I gotchu lmfao I think I’ll get to Bruce later? I’m really happy you liked it omg like that idea is so good

——

Their plan was perfect! It would have been perfect, had it not been for Dick Grayson and his nosy face!

Batman might not have known his identity, but Dick Grayson did. He promised to keep it from Batman, but Tim hadn’t exactly thought about his secret identity when he showed up to harass the man into being Robin again.

And now, they’re paying for it.

Tim leaned back and crossed his arms as he watched Dick cradle his head in his hands, looking half a short breath away from a mental breakdown.

“Are you telling me… there’s three of you?”

“Yes, Dick.” Tim sighed, having answered this exact question ten times in the past two minutes.

Dick lifted his head, wide eyes looking a little feverish… no, looking a little manic.

“Tim. Your name is Tim, right? I’m not-”

“Yes, my name is Tim. Technically, so are the others. But the one here with us is Lionel.”

“No, wait, Tim, you understand how this is- insane, right? It’s not even remotely in the realm of mentally healthy.” Dick paused. “Wait, are you skipping school right now?!?”

“Has anyone ever told you your priorities are screwed up, Dick?” Lionel-Tim walked back into the room, hands full of snacks and, most importantly, Dick’s emergency marshmallow bag. Dick turned to Lionel, eyes full of guilt, and grabbed the bag of marshmallows like a dehydrated man in the middle of a desert who’s only couple of feet away from an oasis that he’s been looking for for days.

“Oh my god. I’ve had three younger brothers and I thought they were all the same kid!” Dick wailed, grabbing a handful of marshmallows and stress cramming it into his mouth. Tim threw him a disgusted look.

“To be fair, we made sure to train to act like each other from a really early age,” Tim said, snatching the bag of chips that Lionel chucked at his head. His snack laden triplet plonked himself on the plush spinning chair, shoving a hand inside the bag of gummy worms and cramming it down his throat as he spun around.

“I can’t believe I’ve never even checked up on you at your place!! If I did, I would have noticed it way earlier!”

“Probably not,” Lionel mumbled through his mouthful of colorful gummy worms. “You only caught us because Tim got beat half to death by an edgy crime lord teenager.”

Dick hunched into himself, a myriad of complicated emotions- largely, guilt and fury and heartbreak- wormed its way past his face. Tim glared and threw a chip at his triplet.

“It’s fine, Dick. Lionel’s just being an asshole. We’re taking care of it. Revenge prank.” Tim explained.

“He wouldn’t have caught us and you know it.” Lionel grumbled.

“I’ll help.” Dick mumbled dejectedly.

“You’ll have to get in line, Wing,” Tim went back to his laptop. “My thirds got first dibs, and I’m not planning on staying still either. I’m gonna mess with Jason’s slush funds.”

“He’s got a stash of cash locked up in the fourth safe house, but that’s not interesting. Look!” Lionel proudly displayed a duffle bag- from where he got it from, Dick had no clue- and unzipped it to show batteries, lightbulbs, and random bits and bobs.

“What is that?” Dick asked.

“That’s the second lightbulb in his bathroom light! This is the left battery in his TV remote! And this is half of his back up boot laces. I took all of his 10 mm sockets! And the specialized socket he got for his bike! And this,” Lionel grinned, lifting up a piece of fabric. “Is his pillow case!”

“Niceee.” Tim whistled. He tossed a piece of tech at Lionel. “Sneak back into his house and put that in between his pillows. It’ll keep both sides uncomfortably warm.”

“Fuck yeah!”

“Is… this revenge for almost killing you?” Dick asked.

“It’s either this or complete and total financial ruin, social death, and then actual death.” Tim tapped away at his laptop.

“You’re kind of scary, you know that?”

“We know!” Lionel chirped.

“Base, come in.”

“Base,” Tim quickly replied, laser focused on Archy’s call. Lionel and Dick quieted.

“Hood’s lurking outside the school like a creep,” Archy muttered into the comm, papers rustling behind him.

Dick tensed, upset making itself visible once more.

“You still have the container I gave you this morning in your pocket?”

“Yes.”

Tim smirked in a way that made Dick suddenly have a horrible need to shake and lecture him on the moralities of not becoming a villain. “It’s glitter. Purple and pinks.”

“…Ah.”

“Godspeed, Archy!” Lionel chirped again, sounding slightly more demented.

A moment of silence before-

“Oof!” A puff. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry, mister!”

On the other end of the comm, the gruff voice of a beefy teenager spluttered, “What- why do you- egh- my mouth! The glitter went into- pleh, pleh! What the fuck, kid?!”

“I’m so sorry! It was supposed to be for a project! I worked so hard to mix the colors right! Wait, stay still, mister! I’ll help!”

Archy, eyes wide and innocent, patted some more glitter onto the vigilante.

“No, stop! Stop! You’re getting it on my bike!”

“It’s a pretty color- oh hey, this is open-”

“No! That’s the fuel tank!”

“Oh! Whoops! Sorry!”

As chaos spread on the other side of the comms, Tim and Lionel burst into cackles. Dick choked on the marshmallows, helplessly shaking with laughter.

Lionel whacked at Dick’s back, hysterically giggling.

“That’s- that’s Archy?”

“Archy pretending to be Lionel pretending to be me yeah. I hope he got glitter in the fuel tank.” Tim grinned.

“Want me to patrol tonight to see if he got the glitter out of his bike?”

Lionel jabbed his pointy elbows onto Dick’s shoulders. “Absolutely. Distract him, too! I gotta mess with his safe houses. He’ll never feel comfortable in a safe house ever again.”

“Don’t go overboard, Lionel.” Tim looked up. “But also, I changed his WiFi passwords to 123456, so do with that what you will.”

Lionel grinned. Dick mustered up a smile in response, pushing the guilt away. He had a lot to make up to his little brothers, and if terrorizing Jason was how he was going to accomplish that… well, Dick’s not feeling too nice about Jason right now.

——

Batman squinted suspiciously at a humming Nightwing.

“Something happen?” He managed to ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, I got some nice pictures.”

“…I see.”

Batman, regardless of what his history might suggest, knew how to pick his battles. This? This thing that brought Nightwing’s murder smile? This was one battle he was willing to walk away from.

“Hey, B, you ever think about adopting more kids?”

Batman choked and promptly grappled away. Nightwing cackled.

“You can’t escape the question!”

Batman ran faster.

[jolalibrary]

iv. anchor me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter four of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. hand stuff (f receiving), illusions to the past, bi!frankie.

an: thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this after bake off and telling me that i can do the thing.

wordcount: 3.4k

The moment Benny’s (insistent) invite landed in your messages, you had expected the one from Frankie.

Phone in hand, tapping your foot, counting, barely making it to 30 seconds before the banner slid down your screen. Because, of course, the can’t-say-no invitation was on the day the two of you had a scheduled thing.

Unsurprisingly, his simmering annoyance hadn’t vanished when he came to pick you up—another thing insisted—and you came out to meet him.

I’ll pick you up. I can drive there and meet you, save you coming across town. I‘m picking you up. Means I get to make sure you get home okay.

The sound of the car door slamming into place as you lock up, turning to walk towards his vehicle to find him eyeing you up in a way that makes your cheeks burn and you want to hide your face.

He keeps having that effect on you.

Make heat lick up your spine, your brain forget its sentence or thought, and your eyes find themselves unable to stop dropping to his lips .

It’s why it takes all your strength to say, “Eyes up here, Morales.”

He does, although he does take a second. Licking his lips, before doing exactly that. “Do I tell you enough that you look good?”

Laughing, you roll your eyes. More for him. An act, a pretence. Because you’re trying to seem unfazed—attempting to ignore it, the flutters of wings in your stomach.

Having to focus on it more and more when he stops in front of you, the bill of his hat shielding his eyes from the sun, allowing you to see how they drink you in, swallow you. Practically smothering you in simmering heat that makes you want to tear your clothes from your skin.

“You’ve mentioned it a lot lately.”

He doesn’t move, a thing which makes the wings flutter worse. More intense. Practically beating them as you stare at him, fighting the urge to wrap your fingers around the back of his neck and pull his lips to yours.

To have him. Kiss him.

Remembering as you shift in your shoes, that you’re not with him. This is all an arrangement, a plan—a schedule, a date each week (or two) that Benjamin Miller fucked up.

Nudging him, you wink. “C’mon, I want first dibs of the food Will is cooking before you lot leave me with the scraps.”

You were outside in the backyard an hour, before a water gun soaks you.

Benny’s—of course—a stupid gift you’d purchased him, now used on the neighbours’ kids, with you caught in the crossfire.

By the time you’ve realised, you’re being flooded with apologies. Each coming from Benny’s tongue tenfold, rushing over as though he’d sprayed you in bullets and not water.

Your discussion with Will all but ended with a gasp as you stared down at your now transparent shirt. Watching his eyes lift up, trying not to glance or look.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I was—and then—let me show you where the towels are—“

You’re not sure who you laugh at more: Will or Benny. Holding a hand up, accepting one of the many apologies that fall, waving it all off, as your eyes scan the other guests, not finding the one pair of eyes you really want.

“It’s fine—can I, borrow something?” you ask, dropping your voice, “There’s kids around.”

Before Benny has even finished nodding, you make a beeline for the house. The one you know. You’ve been here enough times, dipping in through the side door, feeling your top cling to your skin more uncomfortably than it had outside.

That’s when you stare outside. Noticing that the gathering was closer to a party, it all loud and busy—even from inside. Suddenly grateful for the cover to spend a minute cooling off in the house. An excuse merged with gratefulness when you could hide and slide your shades off—wanting a drink, water, ice.

Suddenly needing a second.

Because all you’d done is eye-fuck your friend. The one you’ve seen naked—the one who looks more than good, and fucks even better.

The one, you suddenly can’t spot.

The glass in your palm lets condensation droplets slide down your wrist. The rim against your bottom lip, staring out at the people laughing, smaller kids being chased by Benny and his water gun. Eyes scanning, nervousness bubbling, mind beginning to worry you’re about to see him with someone else.

Like you have done so many times before .

You’re so lost in it, you don’t hear him, never mind feel him, until his arm snakes around your waist. The man you’d been missing—the one who’d been burning holes into your spine, but never coming over.

Now, though, he’s all warm mouth again to your ear, a whispered shh, as he peels your glass from your hands.

“You’re all wet, querida. We best get you dry.”

And then you’re walking, being led. Moving with ease as Frankie—who you hadn’t even seen come inside—was wrapping his fingers inside yours. Leading you, down the familiar hallway you’d helped paint several years ago, to the bedroom you still called Frankie’s, even if he hadn’t lived here in years.

You remember when you‘d knock on the very door to call for him, or hang out on the other side of the frame.

Frankie and Benny had shared this space before Frankie had found his own. The offer of your spare room had not been good enough—even if he painted it in, not wanting to be an inconvenience. How you’d sit on the bed that’s now for guests, perched, waiting for him before the two of you grabbed food or visited the movies. Simple things—friend things.

It isn’t like that today. His mouth slants over yours as soon as you’re both alone, pressing your back to the wall, devouring, licking into your mouth as you gasp.

Because the two of you could be caught. A shudder spreading out at the idea. The thought of the door being thrown open, making you groan into his mouth.

But, you’re not sure you’d care if you did.

You don’t fucking care if they all found you like this.

Lost, whimpering, desperate—all for him.

Not at his hand places itself around the base of your neck—lightly touching, pressing the smallest amount of pressure down, as he hushes your soft moans. His finger resting against your chin, the others slowly bury themselves in your underwear, giving you more reasons to be loud than be quiet—not something close to friend things.

“You been thinkin’ about me?”

The yes leaves your lips, but it is swallowed by a moan. It travelling from somewhere deep, flowing up, rippling out as you begin to writhe against his touch. Your eyes fixed on his—drowning in brown, sinking in as he curls his fingers inside of you. Beckoning, pleading with you to hand him what it is he wants.

Fuck, you want to give it to him. Had done from the moment you’d arrived, pulled up in the space outside Benny’s home—the former fixer-upper, turned dream house.

Frankie always looked good, even if his wardrobe was minimal. The back of him easy to pick out from a crowd, so broad you’re sure you could draw it with your eyes closed. You’ve stared at it so much—and that was before this all began. This, whatever this mutually beneficial thing is between the two of you, neither of you will properly name.

It’s why you kiss him, needing to taste his groan, lather your tongue in the way he says your name. Pronounces it. It more noticeable when your hand cups him—greeted by the hard outline of him against your palm, all noticeable, barely contained by his cargo pants.

“—tan bonita,” he croaks, throwing your hand away before placing it back to cup your cheek, forcing your head to his, the base of his palm catching your bundle of nerves as he slows his ministrations. “Be good for me, querida. And just focus on being quiet.”

A chaste kiss pressed, a signature on the dotted line—one you agree to as you chase his lips. Just tasting the beer-tinged air of his breath as he continues to bury his fingers inside of you. The sounds of it so vulgar, loud, barely muffled by the strangled whimpers you try to keep back.

“So good for me, tan perfecta.”

Your eyes close, lashes clenching. His whispered words make it harder to stay quiet, to be the thing he’s just told that you are.

And the worst is, you know he knows it. Can feel his smirk against your jaw, the way the tip of his tongue swirls over your pulse as his hip pins you in place, his fingers continuing their wanted assault, keeping your feet rooted to the ground, head barely able to think about anything but this.

“Please,” you ask.

Eyes open, capturing his. Hooking in. Watching him drink it in, your request—your ask.

“Alright baby, I’ve got you,” he whispers, more breath than words, right against your cheek, finger drawing circles against your clit. “Always got you, haven’t I?”

It’s electric, and also fire. It surges and licks up your spine as you nod. As your throat goes dry, sound goes fuzzy, before he’s good—to you, for you. Alternating between filling you with the same fingers that built your furniture.

“Doing so well for me,” he says, nose against your cheek, fingers pumping—

In and out.

In and out.

“Be good though, let me feel you squeeze my fingers—wanna feel you come, querida. Please. Please.”

Your eyes clench, feeling both nothing and everything. Because someone could walk in. Your teeth bite into your lip as you try to keep back the chants of his name. His fingers are so deep, feeling so good.

“Let go, querida.”

It falls from his lips like honey. Sweet. Almost sticky in how it clings to the air as your eyes open, finding him.

The first thing you think is: earlier was nothing on the way he’s staring at you now.

Doing more than devouring, he’s drowning in you—likely unaware you’re doing the same with him.

Each nerve illuminated, your ears slowly buzzing louder and louder as you crash your mouth to his and lick into his mouth as you still, tense and writhe all at once.

Then you are stars, feel yourself unknotting, all at once. In the bedroom that used to be his.

Frankie shouldn’t like seeing you in an old t-shirt of his, but he does.

Unable to tear his eyes away from you as he leads you to two seats, your laugh flowing—something he said under his breath, now forgotten, still swirling through you, forcing your eyes to close and your fingers to dig into his forearm.

He likes you like this—has always liked your laugh.

Blissfully aware that he should, but shit, he can’t take his eyes off you. Even if he knows he needs to—plenty of eyes around, ones who have always teased, always taunted.

You’d be so good together. You pair are so cute.

The comments go on, and on. Have done for years.

Except now, you’re dressed in him.

To most, it’s a simple, old tee splattered with paint. To him, it’s when the group of them painted Ben’s house. His eyes having drank you in, wishing he could wash the paint from your legs, unsure how you’re covered in as much as the wall.

Your clumsiness having painted itself against you, your own clothes ruined, before you’d purposefully (and intentionally) splattered yourself against him when you’d come in for a ‘hug’.

Now, you’re sitting next to him, curled under one leg, shades hiding where your eyes are—but he hopes they’re on him—wishing you’d be on him.

“You dry, querida?”

“Oh, jodete.”

Smirking, he takes a sip of his drink. Licking the front of his teeth, leaning forward.

“Rather fu—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Your tongue traces the bottom of your lip, slowly shaking your head. A part of him wanting to pull you close, have you in his lap. Fuck everything and just give in and—

“So,” Will announces. Suddenly there. Blocking the sun, pointing at an empty chair before he sits beside you.

And Frankie drowns his throat in beer.

He listens, while staring off, as Will asks how your friend is—when she’s back in town, because Ben won’t. You knotting and unknotting the end of the tee around your finger, chatting and chatting.

Something tightening inside of him when he catches sight of you, from the corner of his eye, throwing your head back as Will makes you laugh. Him trying not to grimace each time his friend does so.

Because Will is his friend.

A good one, a great one. Yet, when it comes to you, he always feels inferior. Less than. Somehow more broken more than—

“Fish?”

Will’s voice drags him from his thoughts, blinking. Thumb tracing the neck of his bottle as he nods.

“I said have you heard from Pope?”

He tenses. Frankie feels himself still. Back all straight.

The question cuts through his bubbling thoughts. Suddenly aware of the sound of his own heart in his ears. That knotted ball of things, the one full of rope, strings, steel wire, as it all tightens inside his chest—and in his stomach.

Worst of all, he then feels your eyes land on him. Searching, cutting through the sheets he throws up as walls, desperate to press something warm to him, keep him rooted.

He takes a breath, feeling you willing him to. Appeasing you, even if you’ve not asked verbally, finding himself easily able to.

It’s always easy with you.

Just like it was the night he told you. Confessed it. Whispered it out on the floor, his back to the wall in the same bedroom he just had pressed you against.

I’d suspected it, honestly.

Your fingers brushing, carding through his curls until you pulled his head into your chest. A whole other sea of emotions bubbling, both of his long loves out of reach—even if one had their fingers buried in his curls, attempting to soothe him. The rest of his confession dying on his tongue, letting it rot, fester.

Because that one was and still is harder to confess.

It desperate to escape. Almost coming out the night you’d suggested he found you repulsive. Not knowing how wrong you were—

“Um…” you murmur, eyes digging further into him, practically clawing. Not to hurt, but to pull him back. “I don’t think I have—not since before?”

Frankie swallows. His heart hammering heavier, lifting his eyes and landing on you—and it all goes calm. Your face, like it always has been, is like a blanket that smothers the leftover hurt and anguish, an anchor that roots him in place.

“N-no. Not heard a thing,” he says, as plain as possible. Direct. Trying to hide the shake.

Because he can still feel your eyes on him. Focused, unwilling to leave his face as Will mutters and mumbles about something until he’s shouted away, beckoned by an overzealous neighbour, Frankie plants a smile on for, not moving to greet or speak to.

You say nothing.

But you do lift your shades. Smothering him in warmth and kindness, and a bit of sorrow too. Your teeth nursing the skin on your bottom lip, picking and picking.

Fuck he wishes he could tell you.

He wishes he could tell you that Pope knew—knows. Had already guessed it. Teased him on it before he dragged it out of him in the cold, rainy depths of Colombia.

You just have a thing for friends, Fish. That it!

It had ripped from his throat then. Shooting, spitting in mixed English and Spanish as he told Pope his feelings for you—how long they’d been there.

How they were messy. The same as his feelings had been for him. That they churned and turned for months with the conflicting ones he had for him.

That it has shaped him—the thing that neither of them talk about, but had let happen the handful of times it did.

And now he was repeating himself, but differently. This time, he suspected there was something more there. Something there in your eyes in the moments after he’s brought you to pleasure, it twinkling, it licking into his mouth when you kiss him, softer, desperate in a different way.

“Are you okay?”

“Come to mine. Tonight. After.”

You release your bottom lip. Staring. Thinking. “Are you going to take me home after?”

He tries not to let his face shift, but he fails. It falls and drops out over his features as you take a sip from the bottle in your hand.

“Frank…”

“You like my bed.”

You roll your eyes, brow slightly arched. You’re faking annoyance, he can tell. He can tell because you’re ticking, pondering. Weighing up the options of what difference one night would make to your principles.

“It’s not because of that.”

“No?” you say, arched brow and laced in sarcasm.

Fuck, he wants to take your hands. Pull them to his face. Because he doesn’t feel like that for him anymore. He hasn’t. Not for a long time.

Not since before he showed up with his plan, and his lies, and his mission that ended with Redfly’s death.

He wanted to let it roll from his tongue that he meant it that first night. That he has hated all of your exes for the reason you must think, deep down—the one you’re unwilling to question or acknowledge for the same reasons he won’t.

Because he’s scared. Because he knows he’s only worthy of being a dirty secret—not something real. Not something stable and concrete, things you truly deserve.

And, he wants to respect your wishes, your rules. But, he also wants to wake up beside you in his bed. Wanting nothing more than to have his cake and eat it too, because how could he not? How could he not want you there for one morning, when he wants you there every single day?

That thought was the one he had shouted, it burning the air between him and the man he now doesn’t hear from.

You gonna tell her? Depends on if we fuckin’ get outta here, doesn’t it?

He didn’t. Even if he did make it out, make it back. You in his arms, sobbing, worries running from your mouth to his ear as he held you—silently sobbing into your shoulder for reasons he has never explained.

Which is precisely why he doesn’t reach for your hands. It’s why he lets the silence thicken before he answers.

Because he knows he loves you.

“No,” he says firmly.

Hoping it’ll be enough. Hoping the finality of the word will inform you that, if anything, it’s in spite of the memory of his former friend, former brother-in-arms, former…

“I live closer to here,” he shrugs. Not wanting to admit that it’s for any other reason. “Means we’d be quicker to—“

“Morales!” you cut him off.

All stern, cute—as though he hadn’t had his fingers buried inside of you half an hour ago in his old room.

“How have you been sleeping?”

It’s a simple question, easy. Your lips around the straw, draining your cup before placing it on the grass, next to his empty bottle.

His fingers reaching up, itching the front of his fringe under his hat—your eyes following his movements, holding on to them, adding them to the mental notebook you’ve likely made.

Frankie shouldn’t be surprised that you remembered. The trip that lasted more days than it should have and left its own marks on you, too. Scarred you in ways that you can’t explain or ever get rid of.

“Fine. I guess, just…”

“I know,” you say with a faint smile. Forced. Placed there to soothe him, but it doesn’t do much.

You don’t play with the radio.

You don’t even really talk. Just drumming your fingers on the door, staring outside, letting streets pass the two of you, until he pulls up outside his place.

All the way, he thinks about apologising.

For everything, and yet for nothing all at once. His eyes sliding over to you as he drove down roads, turned his chin a little more to gather more of you as he turned a corner.

You don’t look at him until he turns the engine off. Head rolling on the back of the seat, the softest, most beautiful smile on your lips—one he wants to taste, feel moulded to his mouth. Capture and steal it, in case he never gets the chance to again.

“If you say you’ll stay, you haven’t broken the rules,” he whispers.

It is all quiet, except for the little noises made by the car as it cools and relaxes from its journey here.

Frankie hears you swallow, and then sigh.

“Won’t I be?”

Shaking his head, he turns to face you on the plastic seat. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb stroking soft lines, hoping it’ll ease you. Relax you.

“If you prefer me to take you home—“

Your eyes drop.

“—then I will. But…”

Your eyes flash back up to him, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Even under twinkling lights, he can see each fleck of colour in them.

“But?” you whisper.

And he drags his thumb across your skin. “I just really want you to stay, for tonight.”

Sliding your lips to the side, your fingers move over his, pressing his palm to your cheek, giving him a smile—a gentle one, reassuring, sweet. “I want the right side. When you let me sleep.”

Smirking, he nudges closer, going to kiss you, but finding himself pressing a kiss to your forehead—one brimming with a smile.

Only realising he’s done so when he retracts.

Little lines appearing in your brow, gone, vanished in the next second, because then you’re moving closer, your lips on his—and for a brief, but pleasant moment, he forgets all of this isn’t real.

Falls into it, lets himself live there as he runs his hand up your thigh, before he’s dragging it over his. Uncaring that there’s a bed some so many feet away, he just runs his hands over your cheeks, along your jaw, thumbs on your neck—as he groans against your mouth.

Swallowing your moan, he fights a smirk at the way you rock your hips against him. Hand moving to your hip, pinning you—chasing your lips before kissing you again, and again.

Not ever having enough. Always wanting more.

As he has done for years. As he’s thought about for years.

Because there may have been others, but since he let himself think it, it’s always been you. A notion he kisses against your lips, writing them with his tongue against yours, content, happy.

“Can’t wait to spread you out on my bed, querida.”

He feels your lips spread into a smirk against his. “Can’t wait to have your cock down my throat again, Morales.”

He groans. Loud, almost undignified. Unsure how he got to be so lucky. Your fingers digging into the base of his neck.

CHAPTER FIVE ->

[san8ny]

nearby.

an: SFW with fluff, but there is some underlying hinting to Abby’s conflicting attraction to you; not an original trope obviously, so credit to the authors who’ve done this before.

It wasn't that serious.

'It wasn't that serious', is what they told themselves at first, as they looked at you, seemingly feeling like discarded toys a child leaves once they acquire a newer one— a better one

they were utterly absorbed in envy at how much she paid attention to you,

how she would call you over in the languid mornings, sun barely risen, to brush your tangled hair with a wooden-paddle while everyone else gets a headstart on their chores,

Or maybe, how she would click her tongue and swipe the pads of her thumbs across your sticky supple cheeks when you return from the trees during Maple Syrup season,

Abby Anderson truely had favorites, and it was clearly obvious who it was,

Though no one complained, she was growing seemingly aware at the odds you were becoming with your ranch counterparts,

“I just..god, it’s annoying, y’know?” you mutter to her, lifting your head up from where you lay in the grassy terrain, a small place you and Abby would relax in before attending to the crops, “Like, they weren’t always like this, Harriet was so much nicer and Opal actually use to talk to me.”

Abby hums, tying up her horse before easing herself onto the ground near where you lay, “I think you’re overthinking it.”

“You always say that.”

“Am I ever wrong?”

You smile as you drop your head back down, closing your eyes, “Kinda wish you were.”

Abby chuckles at your words before carefully lifting the brim of her hat and placing it on your face, providing shade to some degree, “Mm.”

After some quiet moments with the rustling of the trees and the Cicadas ticking amongst them, you find yourself peering up from the hat and staring at where Abby rests her eyes,

She had to have been one of the prettiest girls out there by far and the kindest ones,

Long dirty blonde hair, firm blue eyes that softened whenever she conversed with people to contradict her ‘tough guy’ persona, little dottings of freckles that would come and go—everything about her was pretty to you.

Albeit, you and her didn’t get along at first when you arrived on the ranch, but she warmed up to your willingness to befriend her in a way that didn’t feel like smooching, it was genuine.

it also, wasn’t far along the road where she would find herself falling for the very traits in you she previously found annoyance in,

the way you’d look at her in blatant confusion when she insults you with terms you’d never heard about as a city-dweller,

“I think i’d rather you call me a bitch or something..” you’d say with several blinks as she sizes you up,

Abby was humored with your presence around her, but it also gave her a sense of comfort.

You were soft around the edges the southern sun had wilted hers.

While you stare at her through the little peeking spot under the cowboy hat ridge, she cracks an eye open— “You have a staring problem.” She says, yawning as she turns onto her side to face you fully,

“Nu-uh.”

“Yuh-huh” She mocks, groaning as she stretches and sits up, “How long have we been here ‘gain?”

“10 minutes, i’d say? Give or take.” You shrug, copying her actions. The afternoon heat consumes you as you unbutton the top buttons of your flannel, “Not even June yet and it’s burning.”

Sorry, were you speaking?

Abby was too focused on watching the dribble of sweat traveling down your neck to the swell inbetween your tanktop-clad breasts,

“Abs?” You say in slight confusion when she doesn’t give you some small, likely smart-assed retort back.

Her eyes quickly flicker up to yours, blinking before shaking her head, “Y-yeah, yeah. Heat’s ‘jus getting to me too” She coughs out, “Let’s head on down to the roots.”

“Right.” You nod before standing up, “ I CALL DIBS ON THE TURNIPS!”

Abby groans as she watches you race towards your tethered stallions, “C’mon, those are my favorite!”

Though, when you’re not looking, she’s giving you the smallest of smiles,

How she would ever say she loves you romantically without ruining this relationship you both had tugs at her heart-strings,

but until then,

she was content with whatever you threw at her.

[mykneeshurt]

We've flashed all of 141 + Alejandro and Rudy, but I gotta ask, can we please get flashing König and Horangi? Love your writing!

This reader is a menace lmfao but I don’t blame em. AFAB!reader

Warnings - allusions to smut



There was a buzz around base as word spread that KorTac would be visiting to help with an upcoming mission. Technically 141s rivals in acquiring contacts, not that you cared. You wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

The first of the two to arrive was an absolute unit of a man called König and a smaller quieter man by the name of Horangi. They took themselves to their rooms before coming to meet everyone in the rec room. Price had given you all strict orders to ‘play nice’ and make them feel welcome.

The base was pretty empty except for 141 and a few others who hadn’t gone on leave, or on a mission. It was a Saturday so a shitty film and a takeaway was on the agenda. After much deliberation you all decided on pizza, it was easy and everyone liked it. König sat and ate quietly, Horangi was a little pistol. His banter was quick and he was a great laugh, settling in pretty quickly.

One by one the boys started to filter off into their rooms, it had been a long ass day. Until you were left with just Horangi and König, they were sat on the sofa sipping at some beer and you were sat in the armchair. You sipped at your own beer but suddenly became very hot, you often had flushes when you drank.

You pulled off your jumper but as you did you made sure your t-shirt got stuck to it. Instantly trying to scramble to get the jumper off you became tangled, you breasts on full display to both of them. Standing up you began to panic slightly, this was such a stupid move. But they were both so hot. You’d be stupid not to try? Right?

You felt your cheeks heat up as you suddenly noticed someone approach you. Two hands gripped at your t-shirt pulling it back down.

They helped remove your jumper and as your head finally saw the light again you saw it was Horangi. He peered down at you from over his sunglasses as he coughed. You saw König in the background slowly stand, his shimmery blue eyes fixed onto your chest. A growl left Horangis throat as he very quietly whispered ‘dibs on that.’

König soon stood behind you closing you in between them, Horangi lifted and finger to his lips motioning for you to keep quiet. A devilish glint in his eye. Your heart fluttered as you but your lip as both men finally placed their hands on you.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Tan reluctantly becoming friends with a soft, shy reader (bc lemon) and then one day her shitty ex is outside her apartment and he's about to step in bc hes developed a soft spot for her, but instead he watched her punch him in the face and slam the door on him and hes like, oh shit. Instant heart eyes.

I love all ur tan stuff!! I'm obsessed thank u for blessing us with tan content (pls don't feel pressured to write this or anything if ur not feeling this) 💕💕

hii!! love it !! you’re so sweet, thank you sm!! <3333 thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

BACK UP.

tangerine x fem!reader — fluff/ misc

word count. 582

Tangerine is the kind to keep his circle small. One additional person small who happened to be his brother. But that seemed to change when you got added to the mix.

You were much unlike the other two within your newfound group. You were quiet and shy, soft and gentle in ways the twins could never be. Many would think that the combination of your personality with theirs would clash - but you all felt the opposite. You all got on incredibly well.

Tonight was movie night over yours with both Lemon and Tangerine. You had dibs, so you put on one of your favourites that you've been trying to put the brothers on. Initially, they were displeased, rather unimpressed with your choice, but all bickering and protesting subsided when they got into it.

But that didn't last long. All enjoyment halted when you heard a series of erratic, irregular knocks at your front door. The twins' being their usual protective selves, jumped at the chance to protect you - one suggesting to hide you, the other offering to get the door. But you knew who it was, the same person who's been knocking at your door for the past week.

Usually, you would hide somewhere safe within your apartment, but not tonight. Maybe it was the reassuring and protective presence of your friends that gave you the confidence to do what you've wanted to do for a long time. So you waved the brothers off, shushing their disputes and pointing them into your bedroom - silently asking them to wait in there.

When you answer the door, you see him - that pestering piece of work ex lingering on your doorstep.

"I don't want you here," you stand your ground, talking to him through the small, ajar gap of your door.

"Can we talk?" he slurs, clearly drunk.

"I don't want to talk to you," you push the door closed, struggling when you meet resistance on the other side.

"Come on," he continues, using his weight to keep the door wedged.

"Let us have him," Tangerine says sternly, talking to you from across the room - ignoring your prior request, his demeanour a whole one-eighty from before.

"I got it," you brush him off, wavering your hand at him. "It's fine."

You turn your attention back to the dick on your doorstep and open your door just enough for you to slip an arm through. It was as if the twins' habits were rubbing off on you, and instead of reasoning with your ex, you decided to punch him - landing a forceful shot square in his nose.

Slamming the door closed, you lock it immediately and turn around to see the brothers staring at you with the most impressed and shocked look on their faces.

You shake your hand, working out the ache from your knuckles - an uncomfortable expression slapped across your features. "That hurts. How do you guys do that?" you chuckle, your spirits lifted.

Lemon turns to look at his brother, watching the love form within his eyes - utter adoration on his face. But that stops when a slap across the arm snaps him from his thoughts.

"Down bad," Lemon whispers, subtly nodding at you as you make your way across the room.

"Fuck off," he slaps his brother back, now following behind you. "I got it," he calls after you. "Go sit on the couch. I'll get you some peas and clean you up."

[skullvgirl]

language barriers | barou

incl. a very confused barou shouei ᡣ𐭩

warnings. fem reader, fluff, suggestive dialogue, established relationship, ooc

an's. bold letter is your native language & japaneese

10:32 AM

"shouei" you called. your boyfriend came almost immediately, although he wasn't far.

"we should try this" you handed him your phone, letting the video of a couple speaking in their native languages as a challenge play.

he raised an eyebrow and gave you back your phone.

"why would we wanna do that, i don't speak (native language) and you don't speak japaneese"

"uhh, tuh-eyeah—that's the point silly, come on we should do it, it'll only be for today and tomorrow!"

barou thought too himself for a moment,

"and we can see who can go the longest without cracking, i call dibs on going first!"

and then eventually.

"sure why not"

"yes!"

11:36 AM

"shouei, give me the remote", you asked politely, motioning for him to give you the object.

your boyfriend stared curiously at you for a moment before you asked again, only this time in a more demanding tone.

"the remote shouei, right next to you" you started pointing at the black box, smiling because of how innocent he looked at the moment.

a look of revelation crossed his face before finally, "this?" he asked unsure of himself, but he was picking up the right thing.

"yes," you nodded your head, "bring it here please", you held your hand out and waited for barou to cross the room.

"sit down" you said, patting the open space next to you and he did so immediately, staring directly into your eyes as a way to show he understood you.

aw, he's so cute like this...maybe ill tease him a bit

"good boy" you purred, linking arms with him on the couch, occasionally glancing over at him and commenting on the movie playing. he nodded his head like he understood you but you were sure he didn't.

"shouei" he turned his head, he understood that.

" am i saying right now?" he began to nod his head again but quickly stopped as the grin on your face grew.

he bit his lip instead , his eyebrows knitting together to form a concentrated look on his face. "uhm...i don't...i"

you giggled at his reluctantly to say the word. "what you don't know? come on tell me love, what aren't you getting hm?"

barou blushed at your words, he didn't know much of ( native language ) but he did know one thing : pet names, and this one was the easiest to remember.

love? he thought. is she saying she loves me?

wow, this was more frustrating that he thought, he regrets not putting any of his own conditions on the game beforehand.

well its no use now might as well give it a go...

"i love you too, yn...?" you burst out laughing and his face began to turn red. you began speaking again but it was reduced to gibberish and nonsense because of how little ( native language ) he knew.

gosh, i really gotta learn some ( native language ) one day...this is killing me

"shouei you're so sweet you know that? the best boyfriend in the world in my opinion"

the confused look on barou's face persisted and he couldn't even read your body language properly because of one: how much you were giggling and two: you were staring directly into his eyes, not to mention a third thing, three : ( although he doesn't like admitting it ) you made him quite nervous sometimes. right now was definitely one of those times.

his heart picked up speed.

"fuck, i can't, i give up, talk to me baby whatter you saying?"

he broke, holding your hands in his, lookimg just as deeply into your eyes as you were his. you touched foreheads.

"oh i don't know, what am i saying shou? something good i hope" you grinned cheeckily.

his face was troubled, but only for a moment. he had an idea.

"fine, you're being that way?" and before you could say any more you were suddenly seeing the couch cushions with your hands held securely behind your back.

"guess im gonna have to force it out of you", barou began lifting your shirt, twirling his fingers featherlight on your skin.

fuck, you didn't know any japanese, what was be saying. "wait wait wait, okay im sorry you win"

"nahh...i dont think so...what goes around comes back around sweetheart, sorry"

fuck, you really didn't know japanese !

an's. this isnt sexual btw, yn got tickled to death.

[miss-bushido]

Apple of my eye

Written for @steddie-spooktober Day 3- Apples

Rating: G

🍎🍎🍎

For months, Eddie had been trying to find the perfect gift for Steve for his birthday. Everything felt overdone, or obvious, or something he would have gotten himself at the mall. Eddie wanted this gift to be something special. Something he would never have thought to get for himself.

What do you get for the guy who has everything?

Eddie was trudging down Main Street, ready for another day of striking out when something caught his eye. There in a shop window was an apron. Not just any apron: it had a pattern of red apples all over it.

The apron itself was nice on its own- a light brown, reminiscent of a paper bag- but the apples were able to pop in color contrast. Best of all? On the front of one of the pockets, there was stitching that said You’re the apple of my eye in fancy lettering.

Really, what was Eddie supposed to do?

Two days later, he made his way over to Steve’s for his birthday party. All the kids were going to be there. Robin, of course. Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle. All of Steve’s friends. And honestly? All of Eddie’s friends now, too.

They ate too mich pizza, watched movies too loudly. When the cake came out, made special by Steve himself, Mike and Dustin immediately got into a shouting match over trying to call dibs on one of the corner pieces.

Eddie and Robin gave them both their best disappointed parent looks, and that seemed to go far with wrangling them. At least until they found something else to argue about.

“Okay!” Nancy shouted, clapping her hands. “It’s time for presents!” Steve was ushered into the living room and sat down on the middle of the couch. His cheeks were a little flushed from all the attention, but he was smiling the whole time.

Eddie took this opportunity to sit down right next to him, eyes roving over each present as it was handed to and opened by Steve. The kids had pooled their resources and had gotten him the new album by The Smiths; Nancy got him a new pair of sunglasses; Robin gave him a pen and journal set; Argyle gave him a six pack of his favorite beer; and Jonathan gave him a picture frame set with 6 different photos in it of Steve with different people in them. “I thought it might be nice for you to have all of your friends there,” he said quietly, unsure how much to say and if he should say anything more.

“Thanks, Jon,” Steve said, a big grin on his face. “This is so sweet. I love everything.”

“Where’s yours, Eddie?” Dustin asked.

“It’s behind the couch!” Robin exclaimed before Eddie had a chance to say or do anything. She lifted up the large bag and groaned. “Jeez, what do you have in here? An anvil?”

“Open it and see,” Eddie said, adding, “though I am happy you think I’m strong enough to lift something so heavy.”

“You’re stronger than you look,” Steve quipped before he reached in and pulled out a basket of apples. “Oh cool! Thanks, man.”

A few of the others gave him quizzical looks. “I’ve been talking about baking some more this year, and I wanted to start with something with apples as the main ingredient.” He reached into the bag and pulled out the apron. Steve’s eyes took in the pattern, and then the words stitched on the pocket, his smile turning dreamy.

“D’you like it?” Eddie asked, hope in his voice. Steve didn’t respond, but he did turn and pull Eddie in for a kiss.

“It’s perfect, baby,” Steve replied, cupping Eddie’s cheek with his hand.

Behind him, Robin cleared her throat, and Steve snapped back to the present. Everyone was staring at them with a mixture of confusion and astonishment. Dustin in particular looked like he’d swallowed a bowling ball at seeing his two older best friends kiss one another. The shock of this news was keeping him quiet for now, but they both knew the questions would be extensive once he came back to himself.

“What? A man can’t kiss his boyfriend on his birthday?” Steve exclaimed.

“Hell yeah, brocachos!” Argyle yelled. “Get it, Eddie.”

Eddie flushed, but managed to laugh. So did a few of the others.

“What does the apron say?” Will asked, his voice quiet as usual.

Steve held it up with his free hand and read out, “‘You’re the apple of my eye’.” He turned to look at Eddie and kissed him again, on the cheek this time.

“I never knew both of you were such saps,” Max piped up.

“I guess it’s meant to be,” Steve replied. He stood up and put the apron on, hands on his hips. “It’s official, I’m never taking this off.” He couldn’t help but toss a quick wink to Eddie, who blushed even harder. He was glad he’d picked a good present. And if Steve seriously meant he wouldn’t take it off? Well, that was something worth exploring, wasn’t it?

[yxngbxkkie]

just wanna say you’re my favourite writer on here and your writing always gives me butterflies 🥹

For Felix, can you write something where he’s teasing you about something so you both end up play-fighting in his room. You end up overpowering him and he becomes super shy but he finds it extremely hot and he literally becomes a whiny putty mess underneath you 😩

who's on top now (l.y.f)

thanks so much for requesting!! i hope that it's to your liking 🤭🩷

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

You knock on Felix's apartment door, grinning ear to ear while adjusting the strap of your bag. “Coming!” His voice comes through the door.

He opens the door, smiling brightly at you. “Hi, sunshine,” you greet him, giggling while stepping up to him.

“Hi, my pretty,” Felix lands a quick kiss on your lips before inviting you inside. You slip your shoes off, setting them beside his. Minho and Seungmin are sitting on the couch, watching a k-drama together.

“Night off?” You ask the two of them while following Felix, his hand intertwined with yours.

“Yeah,” Seungmin answers, looking back at you. His gaze shifts between you and Felix, a light smirk coming to his lips. “Try to keep it down, yeah?”

Your cheeks flush as his accusation, slapping his shoulders before heading further into the hallway. “We'll do our best,” you laugh loudly, wrapping your free arm around your boyfriend's waist.

Giggles leave his lips and he rests his hand on top of yours. You two waddle into his room before he lets go of you, closing his bedroom door.

You plop yourself onto his bed, getting comfortable while taking your bag off of your shoulders. Felix moves to stand in front of you, his fingers combing through your hair.

“I missed you,” he almost whispers, trailing his hand down your jaw to lift your chin up.Your heart flutters in your chest when your eyes meet his. He leans forward to capture your lips in another kiss, and you slowly bring a hand to his neck.

“I missed you too, sunshine,” you sigh against his lips, stroking your thumb just below his ear.

Felix kisses your forehead before walking towards his gaming setup. “Are you ready to get your ass beat?” He asks you with a laugh, wiggling his brows after grabbing his switch.

You playfully glare at the blonde, feeling the bed dip beside you as Felix sits down. “I think you've got it backwards, baby,” you pinch his cheek, making him groan.

“Shut up!” He whines, pushing your hand away from him.

The two of you giggle with one another as you both pull up the game Mario Party. “I call dibs on being Yoshi,” you tell him, nudging his thigh with yours.

“What!? No! I'm always Yoshi,” Felix tells you, glancing at your screen. “You can be Rosalina. Both of you are princesses.”

You bite your lip at his compliment, staring at his side profile as he starts a game. “You're so lucky I love you,” you mutter, deciding to be Rosalina instead.

He invites you to the game before leaning his head against your shoulder. You both pick your characters and Felix continues setting up the match.

“Which map do you want to do?” He asks, as you run your fingers through his hair.

You hum for a moment, thinking which one will most likely trip him up. “How about horror land,” you mention, watching his screen.

“Of course you'd pick that one,” Felix grumbles, causing you to giggle.

“Love you,~” you sing into his ear, leaning your forehead against the side of his head.

Felix hums. “Yeah, yeah, I love you,” he laughs, starting the game.

~

“Oh! Look at that!” Felix practically screams, flying off of the bed. He excitedly squeals while holding up his switch. “What'd you say about me losing? Hm? What was that?”

You shake your head, not believing that you lost the game by three coins. “Oh, please!” You scoff, rolling your eyes at his boasting. “I let you win.”

Felix laughs and comes closer to you, setting his switch down first. “You didn't let me win,” he says, resting his hands on either side of your legs. “You would never let me win.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “So what? How many times have I kicked your ass?!”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes before moving his hands to tickle you. You groan, your body shifting away from him. “You're such a brat,” he mutters, continuing to try and tickle you.

You continuously push his hands away, a couple of breathy laughs escaping your parted lips. “Stop!” You almost yell, scooting farther back on the bed.

Felix climbs onto the mattress, not allowing you to get away so easily. “Not until you say that I beat you fair and square!” He grins, his fingertips brushing your exposed skin.

“Oh, hell no!” You laugh, tilting your head back. You manage to grab his wrist, stopping his tickle attack.

Your eyes meet for a split second before you flip him over and straddling his waist. Felix's eyes widen as your hands press his into the blankets. His breath hitches in his throat as the two of you stare at each other in silence.

“I don't like being tickled,” you pout, lacing your fingers with his.

The adam's apple in his throat bobs and he nods his head. “Okay,” he whispers, feeling his body writhe beneath you.

“You okay?” You whisper, noticing the slight change in his expressions. “I'm not hurting you, am I?”

Felix shakes his head with no hesitation, squeezing your conjoined hands. “No, no, you're not,” he reassures you with a soft smile.

You adjust your seating position, lowering yourself so you're sitting on his groin. A breathy moan leaves his lips, watching his eyes flutter shut.

You lick your lips before gently biting them. “I see what's happening now,” you giggle, smirking.

Felix whines when you ground your hips on him, feeling his dick begin to harden. “Fuck, pretty,” he moans, his cheeks blushing.

“You sound so pretty when you moan, sunshine,” you tell him, releasing one of his hands to stroke his freckled cheek. “My sunshine likes being underneath me, hm?”

He nods his head, not trusting his voice as his free hand makes its way to your hip. “I love you, pretty,” Felix breathes, helping you grind on him.

Your eyes flutter shut, feeling the tips of his fingers slip beneath your shorts. “I love you, sunshine,” you moan, lowering yourself to kiss his plump lips.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

[thehusbandoden]

MHA Boys x Couch Surfing!Reader (kinda) -Dabi, Hawks, Shigaraki and Tamaki (separately)

A/n: here you go @sour-patch2000, so sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoy!

And as always, feel free to reach out to me to rewrite any part of this or if you want to request again! <33

General info:

Genre: fluff/comfort/slice of life..? \\ wc: 1,159 in total (roughly 300 each) \\ posted: 01/25/2024 \\ requested

Warnings!: Hawks' real name, slight mentions of Hawks' and Shiggy's past, Dabi is over protective- kinda yandere? And I think that's it! Pls let me know if I miss any! <33

Dabi: (251 words)

Dabi gently stroked your cheek as you slept peacefully against his side, your head against his chest, one hand splayed across his torso while your other arm wrapped around his upper back. Anger swarmed in his eyes as he stared at the tear stains on your cheeks. 

He wanted- no needed to figure out what happened and who he needed to kill. No one is allowed to hurt his love. You were at the back of his apartment in the middle of the night, soaked from the rain and sobbing uncontrollably.  

Dabi immediately pulled you inside, hugging you against his warm chest, cooing comforting words as he stroked your head and kissed your face gently. You could have mistaken him for someone else entirely if it weren’t for his soothing scent, deep voice, and scarred hands.  

After a while you slowly calmed down. He didn’t let go until you did. He gently asked if you wanted to talk about it, and when you shook your head, he fell silent. He drew you a bath and complied to what you wanted.  

If you wanted to be left alone, he would be cooking you a hot meal (which ended up burning); or if you wanted him to stay with you, he would. You fell asleep snuggled against the person you loved most in the world, clad in his clothes as pajamas and surrounded by his comforting scent.  

You were safe with him. He loves you, and he would do anything to protect you.  

(Dabi's masterlist)

Takami Keigo: (321 words)

“Okay- is this enough?!” Keigo calls from behind a heap of blankets in his arms. The fluffy material hid his face, his gorgeous wings poking out. “I hear women get really cold at night- if this isn’t enough, I can go buy more!”  

Your troubled frown lifts at his playful antics, before you could say anything he continued ranting on. “How many more do you need?! What brands do you like- what sizes? Money doesn’t matter so tell me honestly! Oh, and what fabric? What col-” you silenced him with a playful jab to his side.  

“This is too many!” You giggle ever so slightly, beginning to forget about the traumatic events you went through in recent weeks.  

“It is?” Keigo pouts, dropping the fluffy blankets on the floor next to the couch. As he sees your amused smirk, he puffs his chest out proudly. “I knew that! I know everything!” Keigo teases, grinning ear to ear as he sees your bright smile come out.  

“Sure you do, Birdbrain!” You giggle, sticking your tongue out at the goofball in front of you. The two of you have been friends for a few years now, though something tells you that you may end up as more.  

“Oh! I know how we can use the blankets!” Keigo’s honey eyes go wide with excitement, causing you to giggle fondly.  

“And that is~?”  

“We can build a huge blanket fort! We can use the entire flat! We’ll have to buy a lot more blankets though!” He grinned, his wings shuddering in excitement.  

Giggling, you were about to tell him that that was silly when you remembered how he didn’t have a proper childhood- or adulthood for that manner. He needed some pure fun in his life.  

“Of course! But- I call dibs on the fluffiest blanket we can find!” You giggle, putting your shoes on.  

“Hey- that’s not fair!” He playfully whined.  

“Is to!”  

(Keigo's masterlist)

Shigaraki Tomura: (246 words)

“Kurogiri, clean my room. I want every inch of it cleaned and the stench of smoke nowhere near it by tonight.” Shigaraki commanded, crossing his arms across his chest as he stared at his loyalist servant.  

Many would think that he was being rude and bossy- but Kurogiri could see that he was anxious about something. Putting the rag down, Kurogiri nods. “As you see fit, Shigaraki Tomura. May I ask why?”  

“Someone very close to me needs a place to stay until further notice. She deserves the best we can offer- so she gets my room. It can’t stink from all of these idiots’ smoking habits.” Shigaraki snarled, scratching his neck.  

Kurogiri’s eyes widened before softening. So that’s why he’s so anxious... “Of course, Shigaraki Tomura. I will have only the best provided for your special one.”  

“Good. She arrives in a few hours; I expect it to be done by then.”  

“Anything else, Shigaraki Tomura?”  

“Kick that burnt arsonist out of his room. I’ll be staying there for the time being.”  

“As you see fit.” Kurogiri bows before walking away. Once Shigaraki was out of eyesight he smiled softly. Shigaraki has never cared for anyone but himself that much since AFO took him in.  

It made him happy to see his master getting along with other people. This was good for him... really good. As Kurogiri begins cleaning, he can’t help but imagine how special this woman is to capture Shigaraki Tomura’s broken heart...  

(Shiggy's masterlist)

Amajiki Tamaki: (316 words)

“I-it’s not much b-but I hope i-it'll do...” Tamaki muttered anxiously; eyes glued to the floor. 

As soon as you told Tamaki you needed a place to stay, he offered immediately; surprising you, Mirio and Nejire. Tamaki has labored the past two and a half days to make sure his guest room was perfect for you.  

Mirio and Izuku helped him take out his several bookshelves and desk out of the room. Once the furniture was out of the way he deep cleaned every inch- including the carpet. Once he was positive that the room was in top condition, he began shopping. He bought a full-sized bedframe and mattress. 

He begged Nejire to find out what your dream room was- and she agreed after about the fourth text- which was a lot for Tamaki if he were asking for something.  

He did his very best to make it your dream room, buying you several pieces of furniture and decorations. He did a pretty dang good job too! He bought a few things for a few of his favorite hobbies, snacks, drinks, and left an envelope of money for hygiene products –and more-.  

He wanted you to be comfortable, if you wanted to be alone you had everything you needed inside your room or right outside of it and if you wanted company, he would be willing to talk.  

Tamaki immediately started panicking as he saw tears form in your eyes. “Y-y/n I’m so sorry! D-did I do something wrong?! Is it the wrong color!? Is the bed too big or too small?! Do you not like the-”  

“No Tama, it’s perfect.” You whisper, hiding your face in his shoulder. Tamaki immediately stopped talking, his ears turning red as a flustered smile makes its way on his lips. “Thank you.” You whisper, sealing your gratitude with a kiss to his cheek.  

Tamaki’s brain literally stopped functioning. He stuttered an incoherent sentence before blushing in embarrassment, hiding his face in his hands. You giggle fondly, letting him be.

(Tama's masterlist)

~~~~~

Masterlist | Navigation | You can tip me here <3

Reblogs and feedback are immensely appreciated! <33

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[scorpioaqua]

fireside | bbrae week '24 | day 1: camping

rating: T word count: 4,232 summary: Raven and Gar take their favorite kiddos on a special camping trip, but the greatest surprise of all won't be revealed until nightfall. find it on AO3 | @bbraeweek24

_

“Dibs on the biggest bedroom!” Melvin shouted as she leapt out of the rental car, dashing towards the lakefront cabin at a frightening speed.

“Not fair!” Timmy bellowed, hot on her trail.

Teether (who had long since abandoned that particular nickname in favor of the simpler and more stately “T”) hung back with Gar and Raven, the former unloading the car, the latter looking after her rambunctious wards with a look of pure consternation.

“There are only two bedrooms, and it should be obvious which one is for the grownups!” she called after them. Then, realizing they had already wrestled their way into the cabin and were no longer listening, she sighed and turned to T. “Keep your siblings in line, will you?”

T, now a cherubic eight-year-old, smiled brightly at Raven before darting away into the cabin. Raven turned to help Gar with unloading the car before something occurred to her and she turned to shout an additional instruction: “And that does not require biting.”

Gar gave a low chuckle as he passed his wife a bag, which she accepted begrudgingly.

“Let the kids have some fun, won’t you?” he teased her.

“What do you call taking them on a surprise camping trip?” she retorted, inspecting the contents of the bag.

“Exactly. I wish you would let loose a little.”

“If that’s an innuendo, it will be harder to achieve if they steal the double bed,” she said absently. “Shit.”

“Oh, no, whatever will we do if we have to share a twin bed? How could we possibly get our bodies that close— ”

“Gar, stop, I’m serious,” she snapped. “Where’s the envelope?”

“Relax.” He set the cooler he was holding down and peered into the bag with her. “It’s definitely here. You checked like ten times before we left, and five more times at every rest stop.”

Raven was quickly working herself into a panic, pawing through the bag with abandon. She sank to her knees and began removing her belongings, tossing them aside carelessly.

“Rae, breathe—”

“It’s not here, Gar.” The bag was empty, its contents — clothes, snacks, phone chargers — scattered around her on the ground. She looked up at her husband, her eyes wide with concern. “It’s not in here!”

Gar sank down to meet her, lifting up pajamas and underwear like the elusive envelope might be hiding underneath.

“Did you check your jacket?” he asked her.

Raven began frantically grappling around for said jacket when Gar laid a hand on her shoulder, gently redirecting her attention.

“Babe. You’re wearing it.”

Too frazzled to feel embarrassed, Raven quickly reached into the inside pocket of her leather jacket — and visibly relaxed when she felt the familiar shape of the manila envelope.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Yeah. Yes, it’s here.”

“Told you,” Gar said, playfully tapping her nose. He surveyed the damage around them. “You made a mess.”

She collected and replaced the discarded items telekinetically, trying her best to slow her heart rate. Gar frowned at her, concerned.

“Rae, let’s tell them now.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “What?”

“Yeah. Let’s rip the band-aid off.”

“No,” she said sternly. “We have a plan. Let’s just stick to it.”

“You have a plan,” he corrected her. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you won’t be able to relax until we tell them.”

Raven rose to her feet, slinging the now-repacked bag over her shoulder. “Your suspicion may prove correct, but nevertheless…”

He smiled fondly at her. “You really want this to go perfectly, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Garfield — I want to fail miserably. I want everyone to end this trip sobbing and preferably hospitalized.”

 “Point taken.” Gar hoisted the last few luggage items out of the trunk and waggled his brows at Raven. “Now let’s go inside, shall we?”

__

The cabin had been Raven’s idea. Gar had suggested the camping trip, and Raven had obliged, but insisted that the trip must be “outdoor optional”.

Meaning, of course, that she was free to excuse herself from any activity she deemed too loud or wet or rambunctious, and tuck away with a book in the comfort of the air conditioning.

Gar had called her a princess, but the rental she had selected was modest and comfortable, so he didn’t give her too much grief in the end. Raven, for her part, was just relieved to see that the cabin matched the online photos, right down to the cozy, quilted four-poster bed…which was currently occupied by a gangly blonde teenager.

“What did I say, young lady?” Raven nudged Melvin’s foot. “This is not your room.”

Melvin, in all of her fourteen-year-old, gum-chewing, box-dye-streaked-hair glory, ignored her, scrolling absently on her phone.

“Mel.”

“There’s no freaking service here,” Mel finally lamented.

Raven snorted. “Because I’m sure you‘re accustomed to such high-speed internet at the monastery.”

“No, I’m not, duh.” Melvin sat up, face twisted into a theatrical pout. “Which is why I was hoping this vacation would be different.”

Raven reached out to stroke Mel’s hair. “If you’re unhappy with the locale, you are welcome to book your own flight home.”

Mel yawned and leaned into Raven’s caress. “No, no. I’m sorry for being ungrateful.”

Raven smiled, a real smile such as only her favorite kids could elicit from her. She pinched Mel’s cheek playfully. 

“Up,” she told her. “Go help Gar unpack the cooler.”

“Why me?” Mel grumbled.

“You’re the oldest,” Raven said simply, shooing her along.

“Technically you’re the oldest.” Then, in response to Raven’s glare: “Fine. I’m going.”

In her absence, Raven sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. She fingered the edge of the envelope in her pocket, suddenly overcome by something like stage fright. Maybe she was making a mistake — a very expensive one. She shook the thought from her mind, shedding her jacket and stowing the envelope away in the drawer of her nightstand.

Just then, T poked his head through the door, blue eyes shining up at her from behind a halo of golden curls.

“BB said to tell you he’ll need help with the fire,” he said slowly and deliberately, as if rehearsed.

Raven groaned. “Already?” she said. “Don’t you guys want to take a nap first?”

“No, we want s’mores,” T replied matter-of-factly.

Raven smirked. “I can’t imagine who put that idea in your head. Come on, let’s go.” She took T’s hand and led him back into the common area, where Gar was knelt in front of the fridge. He and Mel had, apparently, formed a sort of assembly line; Melvin was retrieving juice pouches and lunch meat from inside the cooler, and Gar was on stocking duty, loading them into the fridge.

“Garfield Logan,” Raven said from behind him.

Without turning around, Gar answered her: “Raven Logan.”

“What’s all this I hear about dessert before dinner?”

“Now where would you have heard a thing like that?” Gar turned to see T looking at him guiltily, still clinging to Raven’s hand. He sighed disapprovingly. “C’mon, dude. The plan was to not tell her what the fire was for until after we’d lit it already.”

“Sorry,” T murmured.

Gar smiled. “It’s okay, buddy. Why don’t we make some sandwiches? Then after that we can play outside for a bit till it’s dark enough to start on s’mores.”

T’s face lit up, and he leapt forward to encircle Gar in a hug.

“Heh, guess he likes that idea,” Gar said to Raven.

Raven watched Gar’s hand stroking T’s hair, saw how T clung to him and Mel reached over him to put some more food away and Timmy tackled him while he was distracted by T’s hug, and then the four of them – all of them, all at once – devolved into a whirlwind of playfighting and giggles, and she had to swallow against the lump in her throat, blink back the unbidden tears in her eyes. She was scared. Tonight was going to be extraordinarily daunting, no matter the outcome. Even after all the progress she’d made – opening herself up more willingly to friendships and new experiences and marriage – still nothing was scarier than loving something this much. She was reminded of this daily.

And especially now.

“Okay, okay,” she said, grabbing Timmy by his shirt collar and catching Mel around the waist. T she nudged gently aside with her foot so she could make pointed eye contact with Gar. “Save the roughhousing for outside, please. I did request some peace and quiet on this trip.”

“That’s true,” Gar said, dusting himself off. “She did. I was there.” He stood up, reopening the fridge to examine its offerings. “Okay, so, sandwich time. And if any of you pick something with meat in it, I’m kicking you out.”

__

After lunch, Gar had suggested a small hike on a beginner-level trail. The trailhead was actually on the property, but Raven had declined nonetheless, insisting she was going to hang back to “get things ready”.

“You mean to get yourself ready,” Gar said, arching a brow.

Raven’s only response was a frustrated sigh. “Here,” she said. “Take your comm.” She tossed it to him, and he caught it with ease.

“For what?”

“For emergencies,” she insisted.

He tucked it into his pocket, then took her by the elbow. “Come here.” He pulled her flush against him, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Rae. I promise.”

She leaned into the embrace, gnawing at her lip. “I hope so.”

“It will be,” he said firmly. “What are you so worried about?”

She closed her eyes, trying to center herself as she confessed, “I’m worried they won’t…like it.”

“How could they not?” Gar laughed incredulously. “They’d have to be crazy. I mean, they are pretty crazy, but in like, an unmedicated ADHD child way. Not in a we hate Raven way.”

She tensed at this, and he pulled back, examining her closed off expression.

“Whoa, hey,” he said consolingly. “I was just joking. That’s what’s eating at you, isn’t it?” He tucked one hand under her chin and tilted her face up so her gaze met his. Her eyes were watery. “You think if they don’t choose this, it means they’re not choosing you.”

“I guess,” she whispered.

Gar frowned, cupping her face gently. “Raven, even if they did turn down the idea – which they won’t – it wouldn’t have anything to do with you. I mean, you’re fantastic. They love you. They really do. And I know that they–”

“Are you coming or what?” Melvin demanded, barging into their bedroom. She paused, took stock of the situation, then pronounced, “Oh. Ew.”

“What?” Timmy appeared behind her, repositioning a baseball cap he’d donned for the occasion.

“They’re making out,” Mel said drily.

“We are not making out,” Raven said. “Is that what you’re wearing? The ticks are going to have a field day.”

Mel tugged self-consciously at her denim shorts. “They’re cute.”

“They’re not hiking gear,” Raven chided her. “But whatever – that’s your call.”

“I’ll change,” Mel grumbled, heading for the kids’ room.

“Are you ready yet?” Timmy demanded of Gar.

“I was born ready, kiddo,” he answered, squeezing Raven’s hand one last time before following behind an anxious Timmy. He stopped just at the threshold, turning back to look at his wife. “Hey – you’re gonna do so great, love. I promise.”

She nodded, unconvinced, then gave him a weak smile. “Keep them alive, please.”

“Any other requests?”

“Yeah,” she said, smirking. “Keep yourself alive, too. Preferably.”

“As you wish, milady,” he said before exiting.

When Gar and the kids left for their hike, Raven spent some time pacing anxiously around the cabin before ultimately deciding to take advantage of the waterfall shower – an amenity which she noted was comically out of place with the rest of the decor. She scrubbed her skin raw, lather-rinse-repeated a total of three times, and nearly passed out from the heat before she dried off and put on a cozy t-shirt and sweats. From there, she tried reading – even toyed with the idea of setting up the hammock Gar had brought along for this very reason – but ultimately found herself unable to focus on anything but her own nerves. So – meditation it was.

This was how Gar found her upon their return, sitting (or, rather, hovering) on the back deck, her legs crossed and eyes closed in her signature meditative pose. He knew better than to startle her when she was in this state, so he quickly corralled the children indoors.

Raven had been so deep in meditation that she hadn’t even noticed their return, and, when she finally did crack an eye open, she saw that the sun was nearly completely set. She headed inside and, finding no evidence of Gar or the kids in the common areas, wandered farther into the corridor until she came to the kids’ shared bathroom, where all four of them were crowded inside.

Timmy and T were helping each other to apply aloe to their burned skin. Gar was sat on the closed toilet, Mel at his feet, scrolling on her phone as he…braided her hair?

“Um,” Raven said eloquently.

Gar looked up beaming, and Raven noticed the little hair elastic dangling from his exposed fang. “Hiya, Rae.”

“What…are you doing?” she asked. None of the kids had yet acknowledged her presence, so it wasn’t out of the question that she might be dreaming.

“Just gettin’ these monkeys freshened up before s’mores time,” he said, waggling his brows at her.

“And you’re…braiding her hair?” she said quizzically. “Since when is that a thing you do?”

“Look, we both lived with Kori for a very long time,” Gar said by way of explanation, reaching up to retrieve the hair elastic from his teeth and tie off the braid. Raven examined the hairstyle properly for the first time then, her eyes narrowing – then widening in disbelief.

“And it’s a French braid, even? Who are you?”

“The man of your dreams?”

“Barf,” Mel put in, standing up and checking out her new hairdo in the mirror. “Thanks, Gar. Looks good.”

“Okay done!” T announced, holding up hands still sticky with aloe.

“Not quite, buddy,” Gar said cheerfully. “Let’s get those hands washed and then we can all head outside.”

“Can you help me with the fire?” Mel said, and it took an additional, “Hello?” before Raven realized she was talking to her.

“What? Oh, uh, sure.” She stepped aside to let Mel by, still watching Gar with a slightly incredulous expression. He was juggling helping T wash his hands and listening to a story about some favorite anime or another of Timmy’s when he caught her staring.

“What?” he mouthed.

She shook her head, smiling slightly. “You’re good at this,” she said.

“God, I hope so,” he said, and she turned to rejoin Melvin in the backyard.

They got the fire started quickly, much to Raven’s chagrin. She was really hoping she’d have more time to stall, but as Gar traipsed down to the firepit giving T a piggyback ride, Timmy beside him, arms laden with s’mores ingredients, the fluttering in her stomach told her there was no turning back.

They settled in, Melvin and Raven with blankets on their laps to shield against the cool of the early-autumn evening, the boys (Gar included) roasting their marshmallows as messily as they could manage. They told scary stories until T started crying, and then they told funny stories until Mel got embarrassed at one of the stories Timmy chose to tell, and then they traded fond memories (including numerous tales of Melvin’s now-retired "imaginary" friend Bobby) until the fire started flickering more weakly and Gar and Raven locked eyes across the fire and his gaze said Now.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” Raven said as she rose from her seat. T yawned from his spot next to Gar, but Mel and Timmy were too engrossed in a debate about who would win in a fight between Starfire and Superman to fully notice her departure.

She found herself in the master bedroom, staring down into the drawer containing that fateful envelope. Not for the first time that day, she considered backing out. But then she thought of the first time she met those kids, how they didn’t have anyone and they could all – even the youngest of them – sort of intuit that even she didn’t want to be there with them, and she thought of how she defended them, protected them, gave them a place to be.

And she picked up the envelope.

She tucked it into her jacket again as she made her way back to the firepit, resuming her seat quietly and ceremoniously enough that the others seemed to sense a shift in the air. They watched her attentively, as if waiting for her to speak.

So she did.

“I have…a confession to make,” she began tentatively, scanning their faces before continuing. They wore mostly puzzled expressions, with the notable exception of Gar, whose expression was tender and encouraging. She exhaled through her nose and pushed onward. “I – we – didn’t just bring you here for a vacation.”

Mel arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

Raven made eye contact with her, speaking clearly and directly. “We want to ask you something. All of you.” She looked then at Timmy and T in turn, and they watched her with round eyes as if anticipating bad news.

“Is this a work thing?” Mel asked skeptically, looking back and forth between Raven and Gar.

“A work thing?” Gar asked.

“Yeah, like, are you putting us to work? As Titans?”

Raven and Gar exchanged a look, and he shrugged. She cleared her throat and continued.

“Sort of, I guess,” she replied, her hands folded in her lap. “That is, if you want. But that’s not really our main question.”

There was a long pause, during which Timmy interjected, “Come on, you’re killing me. What’s the surprise?” T fidgeted nervously next to his brother, his eyes trained on Gar.

Raven steeled herself before continuing, deciding it was better not to stall any longer. It would only create agony for everyone involved.

“We’ve all become very close these past seven years,” Raven began. “And I – I was never a kids person, you know? Certainly not when I first met you. But you changed all of that. You mean so much to me – to us. Gar and I look forward to these rare moments we get to spend extended time with you, and it…well, to be frank, it sucks to have you living so far away.” She stopped, letting all of this sink in.

“Are you, like, breaking up with us?” Mel asked. Raven could tell her tone was meant to be teasing, but she heard the tremor underneath, the telltale sign of something else threatening to break through.

“No,” Gar said firmly.

“No, quite the opposite,” Raven echoed. Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved the manila envelope. She stared at it for a moment before opening it and counting, like a compulsion, the three individual papers inside. She looked up at the children again. “I’m going to hand each of you something. Please keep it face down until I tell you, so you all find out what’s on the other side at the same time. Deal?”

“Deal,” they all murmured in unison. Shakily, she distributed the papers, watching as Melvin, Timmy, and T each dutifully laid their own papers face down on their laps.

She looked to Gar once more, found that he was already watching her. She smiled as well as she could manage, and he did the same. He’d been the one keeping her afloat through this whole thing, and now she could see the apprehension coloring his features as well. Last chance to back out, she thought in his direction, though she knew he couldn’t hear her. But, in that way that only Garfield had, he seemed to understand – and he nodded, once, signaling her to continue.

“Okay,” she said timidly. “Go ahead and turn them over.”

They all obliged, and Raven found her leg bouncing against her will, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. She didn’t know which child to observe – found that her heart was torn between the three of them – so she focused instead on Gar’s hands, on how he was channeling his own anxiety into wringing them in his lap, and she kept her eyes fixed there for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a handful of seconds, until she heard Mel.

“Are you serious?”

Raven looked up. Mel was holding the paper to her chest, frozen in place, her brow furrowed as she searched Raven’s face for answers.

“Yes,” Raven said weakly. “We’re serious. But only if you want to. It’s your choice. We would never expect you to–”

But she didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence, because Mel had cleared the space between them, still clutching the paper like a lifeline, and thrown her arms around Raven in the span of seconds.

“Yes,” she cried, her face buried in Raven’s neck, her tears staining her skin. “Yes.”

Raven choked back a sob of her own, closing her eyes as she returned Mel’s embrace. Her relief was indescribable, her joy unsurpassable.

“What does it mean?” she heard T ask, and she opened her eyes to see him leaning over to his brother.

“It’s…” Timmy looked up, seemingly uncertain of how to proceed. Or perhaps, like his sister, he just needed the confirmation. He seemed to find it in Gar’s teary-eyed smile, and he turned back to his little brother, pointing to the page in front of him. “It’s adoption paperwork, T. They’re asking us if…if we want them to be our family.”

“But…” T seemed more confused than ever, and a pregnant silence hung over the group as he processed this information. Mel stopped hugging Raven long enough to watch her brothers’ expressions, her head resting on Raven’s shoulder. Finally, T continued, “Aren’t you already our family?”

Raven laughed – really laughed – and took Mel’s hand as she responded.

“Yes. We are. But this…it just makes it official.”

“Official?” T asked, looking to Gar.

“Yeah, buddy,” Gar said, his voice cracking despite himself. “These forms are so we can…we can show the people in charge that you’re really our kids. For real.”

“And,” Raven added, giving Melvin’s hand a gentle squeeze, “it means no more monastery.”

“Really?” Timmy piped up.

“Really,” Raven said. Then she cleared her throat, adjusting her posture. “I know…I know that’s a big change. I mean, the monastery has been your…your home for all intents and purposes for the better part of a decade now.”

“No,” Mel interjected, sitting upright and looking at Raven and Gar in turn. “No, the monastery is just some place where we laid our heads at night.” She looked Raven in the eyes as she delivered her next words, with almost the most conviction Raven had ever seen from the girl. “Wherever you guys are? That’s our home.”

Raven’s lip quivered, and she heard Gar sniffle. She knew that if she looked at her husband right now, she’d fall apart entirely. So instead, she brought Mel into another hug, holding her somehow more tightly than before.

“Wow,” Timmy said after a moment. “That was…that was…really corny, Melvin.”

“Timmy,” Gar chastised, but Raven could hear the smile in his voice.

“What? It was.”

“Well,” Gar said, rising from his place across from Raven with a grunt, “I think this calls for celebration, wouldn’t you guys agree?”

Raven narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What did you do?” she demanded of her husband.

“Relax, Rae,” he said, then waved T over and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

T grinned. “Really? Wow, firecrack–”

Gar clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shhhh!”

“No,” Raven snapped, glaring at him as she stood up. “Absolutely not.”

“Kids, go check my bag in the bedroom,” he said, ignoring Raven’s protestations. The kids didn’t have to be told twice, and they darted away and into the cabin once again, whooping and hollering with newfound excitement.

Raven was still staring daggers at Gar, her arms folded across her torso. Gar smiled innocently, approaching his wife with what he hoped was a convincingly contrite expression.

“Baby,” he cooed. “Angel. Love of my life.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his forehead against hers.

“You are the worst,” she muttered, but she didn’t push him away.

“Hmm,” he murmured, nuzzling against her. “And yet, you picked me.”

“Starting to regret my judgment that day,” Raven teased, finally relenting and kissing him. He kissed her back softly, and when she pulled away to look at him, he was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “What are you thinking about?” she asked him.

He smirked, digging his fingertips into her waist as he leaned in to kiss her again. “Thinking about making a fourth child soon,” he purred as he captured her lips in another, deeper kiss.

She scoffed, but her indignation was short lived. She laughed against his lips, and she found she wasn’t even worried about the firecrackers or the sunburns or the long drive home. She wanted this, all of this, all of these little mundane problems. And she wanted them with him.

[yeonzzzn]

🍓strawberries: yeonjun x reader | childhood friends to lovers | warnings: none, just cute ♡

"they say a double strawberry will bring love. spliting it in half and sharing it with another person, you will fall in love with each other..."

[3.0k words] ☆ [pls do not repost]

A soft tapping on your bedroom window startled you awake. 

You turned quickly to your left, seeing a face looking back at you. The face of your best friend. 

“Yeonjun!” you snapped holding your hands over your chest, “you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

The corners of his mouth tilted up, his finger pointing upwards, signaling you to open the window. 

You sighed as you walked over and lifted the glass up, “don’t you know what time it is?” you asked. 

Yeonjun checks the watch on his wrist, “it’s only 9:30pm.” 

You dropped your face in the palm of your hand, “only 9:30pm he says.” 

“Yeah! Obviously!” Yeonjun places his foot over the plastic panel to the window, “move over I’m coming in.”

You step aside, watching your childhood best friend make his way into your room. 

Yeonjun sets a plastic convenience store bag on your desk where you were once asleep. 

“Oh shit! I forgot we had math homework!” Yeonjun picks up your notebook, “can I copy this later?” 

You snatch the notebook from his hands, “you know you can do it yourself, right? And anyways, why are you here so late? It’s a school night you know.” 

He points to the plastic bag, “I got us snacks.” 

“Yeah. I can see that.” 

You decided to accept his snacks, knowing full well if you didn’t he would pout until you did or leave pouting and then you’d definitely never hear the end of it. You both sat on the floor leading against your bed to keep the crumb from getting on the bedsheets. 

Yeonjun went on telling a story about his experience at school earlier that day while you sipped on the cola he brought you, and munched on some chips. 

You and Yeonjun have been friends since birth, your mothers are both best friends, which automatically made the two of you best friends. 

“Like Y/N it was crazy! This fight was different from any other school fights I’ve seen!”

You nodded your head, “I can tell by your story. I don’t know why you get yourself caught up in these fights, remember we are seniors in high school, if you want to get into a good college, you can’t get caught up in that.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, “It’s not like I was in the fight, I just stopped it.” 

“That does not help your case.” 

He shrugs, digging into the bag for another snack.

“Ah! I forgot I got strawberries!” 

You glance over, seeing the rubbing strawberries in his hands. Your eyes lit up, “why did you not start with the strawberries first! I love them!” 

Yeonjun smiled brightly, “that’s why they had to be last! I know you love them.” 

The smell of the fresh strawberries filled your room, your mouth watering, ready to have a taste. 

One by one you both took them, the container soon almost empty. 

Yeonjun’s attention was soon taken by the last strawberry, he held it up in his hand, “it’s a double strawberry.” 

You reached across trying to take it from him, but he pulled away, “I call dibs!” you tried to reach again but he was quick to pull it further away, “Yeonjun!” 

“Do you not know the lord to double strawberries?!” he frantically let out, still shoving you away from the red goodness. 

“What is so special about a double strawberry?? Is it more juicy? I want it if so!” 

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, “No! Silly! Sit back and I will tell you.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you let him win, ready for him to explain. 

“Okay, they say if you share a double strawberry, the ones who share it fall in love with each other.” Yeonjun smiled up at you, only for his smile to fade once he saw the look on your face.

“That’s the lore?” you couldn’t hide that your were disappointed. You hoped for the lord to be something more amazing.

Yeonjun flicked his finger to your forehead, “yes that IS the lore! Do you not find that interesting?!”

You shook your head, “I think it is silly to put trust in a fruit to make two people fall in love.” 

Yeonjun shrugged, “I think it’s fascinating.”

“You’ve always been the more romantic one out of the two of us.” 

He nodded, staring down at the strawberries. You felt bad after not believing his story, Yeonjun always loved theories and it made you feel guilty for shutting it down so quickly. 

“I’m sorry for being mean,” you apologized.

He smiled brightly at you, “share the strawberry with me.”

You laughed, thinking he was joking. “What? You’re serious?”

He nodded again, “yeah why not?” he wiggled his brows, “maybe we’ll figure out if it’s true or not.” 

You shoved his shoulder, “stop playing.”

He locked eyes with you, your heart rate increasing seeing how very serious he was being, “I’m not playing, Y/N.” 

All you could do was nod in agreement. What’s the worst that could happen?

Yeonjun split the strawberry and handed you your half. 

This was the first time you felt nervous around him. Yeonjun knows your deepest, darkest secrets. Has seen you at your worst, and even your highest. This man embarrassed you in front of the whole student body in the fourth grade when he found out which boy you had a crush on and announced it to everyone. Never once had he ever made you feel the things you were right now. 

But you ate the strawberry anyways, watching as he ate his half. 

“You’re right,” his voice startled you, “the double strawberry was really juicy.” 

Yeonjun looked over at you making eye contact. 

Every inch of you was screaming to look away, to nod your head in agreement that the strawberry was indeed juicy and really good. 

But you couldn’t break away, you sat frozen beside him. 

Yeonjun inched closer to you, shifting his body facing you, his arm resting on your bed while the other hand reached for you.  

You let him. You let him place his hand on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing against your cheek. You could smell his cologne, feel his breath against your skin. 

Yeonjun slowly connected his lips to yours. Your body went hot from his touch. Everything was spinning, but felt as if the world had stopped. 

Once he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. 

“It’s late,” he said, pushing your hair behind your ear, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” 

Yeonjun placed a final kiss on your forehead, and you watched him climb out your window and disappear down the street. 

As if the lore of the strawberry were true, you fell in love with him. 

Everything with Yeonjun felt so right. Everything made sense with him. 

And he felt the same with you. 

The two of you spent the rest of the school year together. 

You became the “it” couple of the school. And deep down, you loved it. 

Every holiday with him was better than before. Every date was more and more special. Every kiss took your breath away every single time. The first I love you melted you. But your heart raced faster each time you heard those words come from his mouth. 

You loved him with every inch of your being. You felt as if nothing could tear you two apart. 

Until the day came where it did tear you apart. 

The two of you sat on the floor of his bedroom. Boxes filled every corner of the room, the convenient store bag of snacks, untouched. A container of strawberries empty, with no double strawberry. 

“Yeonjun, we can find a way!” you cried. 

He tucked his lip between his teeth, “we can’t and you know that.” 

Today was supposed to be a celebration of Yeonjun being accepted as a trainee, but you didn’t think the celebration would end with the both of you ending. 

High School graduation was in a week, you both had so many plans for the summer. He was supposed to follow you to your dream college that was three hours away if he wasn’t accepted as his dream company to be a trainee, and even if he was accepted, you both wanted to make it work. 

Until tonight. 

You knew with Yeonjun’s schedule he wouldn’t have time to visit you often or text or even call often. You did not think it was going to be enough to break the two of you apart. 

You kept looking at the empty container of strawberries, wishing a double one would magically appear there. Maybe the lore wasn’t true after all. 

Graduation came and gone. Days passed. Months flew by and then a years. 

You graduated top of your class from college and landed your dream job in Seoul and moved into a beautiful apartment. 

Your parents threw you a party in congratulations. All your friends from high school came and even the one from college. 

You sat on the couch beside your parents, listening to them talk about how their lives have been since you’ve been gone. You’ve talked to them on the phone every single day, and they’ve visited, but there was still a lot to be caught up on. 

“Oh honey! Mrs. Choi told me to give you her congrats.” your mother said, giving you a warm smile. 

You nodded and smiled back, “tell her I said thank you.” 

She nodded back, but her warm smile slowly faded, “Have you spoken to Yeonjun?” 

You froze at his name, slowly looking away from your mom.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving a soft squeeze. 

You excused yourself, rushing away to the kitchen. 

Yeonjun never left your mind. For years since the last day you saw him, he was all you ever thought about. Your heart ached for him. It wanted him and only him. 

You noticed a fruit plate on the table, with a singular strawberry sitting on it. You picked it up, and threw it away. 

A few months have gone by, you settled into your apartment and made a name for yourself at your job. Life was getting easier and Yeonjun didn’t cross your mind much anymore. But maybe it was due to being busy. You never knew the answer to that, and didn’t want to find that answer. 

The first snow of winter touched the ground. You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, forgetting your gloves at home was the worst mistake of the day. 

You had a late day at work, causing you to walk home at 9pm. With the sun down, the winter breeze was even cooler. 

You kept your head low as you continued your walk back home, counting down the steps until you walked into your apartment. 

A few pairs of laughter in the distance caught your attention, you didn’t want to run into them after all. 

You glance up, seeing five men standing on the sidewalk, laughing at each other. 

It made you smile, it reminded you of the times you and your friends would laugh. 

But your smile faded, when you recognized one smile. 

You stopped walking after fully realizing you recognized the laugh too. 

Your heart raced seeing how happy he looked. How different he looked. You could tell he carried himself different. His smile was bigger. He was much taller. His hair was dyed orange. He looked the happiest you’ve ever seen him. 

You knew you needed to walk away, to turn around and walk a different way home. You couldn’t ruin this for him. 

But it was too late. 

He made eye contact with you. His smile faded. 

You wanted to move, but your feet were planted to the ground. 

He said something to the four friends of his and made his way to you. 

You finally were able to look away, hoping his friends would pull him back, but saw they were no longer on site. 

Finally, you were able to turn around, facing away from him.

“Y/N! Wait please!”

You couldn’t take another step before his hands turned you around and pulled you to him, his arms wrapping around you.

You fought yourself to keep from crying, kept yourself stiff so you wouldn’t. 

Yeonjun realized it too, slowly pulling himself from you. 

“Why are you out here alone?” he asked, pulling a strain of hair behind your ear, “you’re freezing! Are you heading home? I’ll drive you.” 

You shook your head, “no I’m fine.” 

His face fell, watching his foot dig into the snow. 

“Please let me take you home, I don’t feel okay knowing you’re walking alone.”

You took a deep breath in, “you haven’t changed much have you?”

A small smile grew on his face, “obviously not.” 

You agreed to let him drive you home. 

He stopped at the convenient store down the street from your apartment, “why are we stopping?” you asked. 

He gave you a wink, “for snacks of course, just like old times.” 

Your heart sank, but you slowly nodded anyway. You tried to push the last memory of sharing snacks with him out of your head. You didn’t want to remember it. 

Yeonjun dropped the plastic bag on your kitchen table, sliding his jacket off, dropping it in the chair. 

“Want any coffee? To help warm up?” you asked. 

Yeonjun nodded, “yes, thank you.  

He rustled through the plastic bag, bringing out a few packages of ramen, two bags of chips, and a container of strawberries. 

You handed him his coffee, glancing down at the container. 

“You really got everything we used to eat as children, didn’t you.” you soft scoffed. 

Yeonjun tore open one of the bags of chips, “hey I’m a simple guy.” 

You rolled your eyes, sitting down at the table across from him, “you really didn’t change.” 

He glanced over at you, “why would I?” 

You shrugged, tapping your fingers on your coffee mug, “you’re an idol now.” 

“Y/N, just because I’m famous doesn’t mean I’m not the same Yeonjun you know.” 

You looked away from him, seeing his face hurt. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered. “I am an idiot, I get it. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you all these years. You’re the main reason I was able to get as far as I did.” 

You looked into his eyes trying to read him. Yeonjun never was able to hide how he felt from you, even as kids you always knew what he was feeling. And right now wasn’t any different. You could see his emotions all over his face. 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he chuckled, “but I couldn’t put you through that life.”

You shocked your head, anger filled you, “you don’t know how it would have worked! I was ready for that life. Prepared myself for it. I was ready to support you through thick and thin.”

Yeonjun nodded, “I know, trust me I do.” 

You both sat in silence, until you decided fighting with him wasn’t what you wanted right now. You finally reunited with him, you don’t know when you’d be able to see him again. 

“Want to eat the strawberries and talk how we used to?” 

Yeonjun smiled, opening the container. 

You listened as he talked about his trainee days, about his group members, the company he’s under and even his seniors who he looks up to and all the friends he was able to make. He looked so happy talking about it all. You couldn’t help but wonder how different it would have been for him if you were still in the picture during that time. 

“I’m very happy for you, Yeonjun,” you picked up a strawberry, “I guess it worked out in the end.”

You didn’t mean for those words to be that sharp, but you could tell they cut him like a knife. 

“I meant it when I said I never stopped thinking about you. I talked about you all the time. I still do.” 

“I think about you too,” you decided to admit, “I never stopped.” 

He cleared his throat, “get me caught up on you.” 

You caught him up on your everyday life and how you ended up in Seoul. 

“I am very glad you’re doing well for yourself, Y/N. I was worried about you.” 

You raised a brow at him, “I’m an adult Yeonjun, I can’t take care of myself now.” you teased him. 

He threw his hands up in defense, “hey listen, I trust you okay.” 

You both laughed. You missed this. You missed him. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered, as if he could read your mind. 

You sighed, “I’ve missed you too.” 

Yeonjun chuckled, reaching for the last strawberry in the box, his eyes frozen on it. 

You took a sip from your coffee, watching him in confusion, “what is wrong with it?”

He smiled, “have you ever heard the lore of sharing a double strawberry with someone?” 

You set your cup down, seeing the double strawberry in his hand. 

“Yeonjun…”

“They say if you split the strawberry in half with someone, the two will fall in love.” 

He glances up at you, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Yeonjun…I—“

“I’m still in love with you, Y/N,” he interrupted. “I loved you way before we even shared the first double strawberry. I think I’ve loved you for as long as I could remember, and I never stopped. Sharing the strawberry with you that night all those years ago only gave me the confidence to finally show it.” 

Tears formed in your eyes. The happiness you felt in that moment was written all over your face. 

“I don’t remember when I realized it, but it’s the same with me”, you reached across the table grabbing him by his shirt collar, “I’ve always loved you Choi Yeonjun, and it took that stupid double strawberry to finally realize it.” 

The last thing you saw was his smile and his face inching closer to yours. Your world spun at the touch of his lips. Your heart raced feeling his cold hand brush against your neck. 

He was here with you. And that’s all that mattered in that moment. 

Yeonjun pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “so, we are sharing this strawberry?” 

“As long as you promise to not leave my side again.” 

“You’re crazy if you think I’m dumb enough to walk away from you again.”

[tashacee]

ALSO

Mask!Wild meets Aspect!Wild

Mask is so confused why this seven-foot-something lion man (with scarring a lot like his???) keeps hugging him and giving him stuff

Aspect takes one look at this version of himself and says "I call dibs on adopting him, screw you Time"

This ended up SO long but oh well

Aspects of a Mask

Wild hadn’t meant to cause trouble. The Temple was complete, the boss dead, and the treasure looted and divided between everyone’s bags. When he spied the two little statuettes at the side of the room, his only thought had been to straighten them where they stood on their little shelf. They were sweet little things, two identical brothers made of jade, and it would have been a shame to leave them sitting lopsided.

But of course, nothing was ever as simple as that. Wild straightened the figure on the right and all of a sudden there was flash of blinding light and a disjointed voice echoed through the boss chamber.

Wild didn’t catch all of what it said. Didn’t matter. The Chain got the gist of it. 

In a universe running parallel with theirs was another Chain, and the parallel hero to the one who had touched the statuette would be coming through to meet them. Something about meeting yourself to know yourself to -

It was a lot of mystical sounding mambo jumbo, but Wild was pretty sure thaat it was just whatever Wizard enchanted the statuettes way of messing with wayward explorers who picked them up.

Wild squeaked in horror and put the statuette down again, skittering backwards in alarm. It made no difference, though. The light had solidified and shifted to the middle of the room, hovering a few feet above the ground and growing in size, shifting into a portal.

Oh Hylia. What had he done? Wild gasped and found himself signing apologies, that he hadn’t meant to do anything, but his hands were shaking so much that it was hardly understandable. He was backing away and only stopped when he ran into Time, his oldest brother’s armour clatterng.

Time placed his hands gently on Wild’s shoulders, squeezing slightly.

“Hey.” he said softly. “Wild. It’ll be alright.”

Wild shook his head but still couldn’t speak. His mask felt unbearably tight on his face. The walls of the temple seemed to be pressing in. He had to get out, had to go somewhere with wide spaces and fresh air. He couldn’t be here. He didn’t want to meet himself from another timeline. Hylia only knew what he’d be like. Would he be the same as Wild? Would his face be-

Or would he be untouched? Would it be him, but the him who didn’t fail?

Wild shook his head and pulled out of Time’s grasp, backing away from the growing portal. Whatever was going to fall through it, he didn’t want to see. Wild had enough trouble dealing with himself at the best of times, having to face another of himself?

Absolutely not.

“Wild?” that was Twilight now.

Wild looked over and saw his brother looking at him in alarm. He was holding an arm out, inviting Wild to come to him if he wanted. His pelt looked warm and inviting, but the thought of being near someone right now was almost too much to handle.

Well, if Wild could say one thing about what happened next, it at least stopped him from having to make his mind up about what to do.

The light flashed. Something - someone? - yelped. Someone fell through the portal with the crash and the light vanished, leaving the Chain staring at what was lying on the ground before them.

It-

It did not look like Wild.

It was a massive, bestial creature, covered in fur and more cat than person. The left side of its body was coated with scars, and it wore a sarong about its waist and was covered in tattoos and jewellery that spoke of some sort of intelligence and culture.

The chain all reached for their swords, just in case, and the creature looked up. Its eyes were bright and blue as it looked around at them all. It lifted its hands.

“Warriors.” it signed. “I swear to Hylia if you shoot me again-”

Wait. What?

Was this - the creature recognised Warriors. It seemed to recognise them all, from how it looked around at them all with something akin to amusement. Wild peered through the crowd of his brothers as it stood, taking in the scars that laced its body. There were less than on his own body and face, but they were still familiar, and the placement of the craters on its chest-

Was this-

“Wild?” Twilight asked.

The creature seemed surprised at being addressed by the rancher, but nodded, giving him a thumbs up. “That’s me.” it - he - said. “I touched a weird statue thing and now i apparently get to hang out with you all for a week.”

What?

The Chain all relaxed and began to sheathe their swords, all moving forwards to greet their temporary new brother. Wild hung back, ducking into Twilight’s shadow.

“You-” Sky began to say and cleared his throat. “You recognised us?” he observed.

Other-Wild seemed fascinated by Sky, bending over to peer into his eyes. “You can see me!” he signed.

Sky frowned. “...yes?”

Other-Wild laughed, a strange, animal sound. “Neat! Yeah I recognised you. I know I look weird. My Chain don’t look like this, it’s just me. I tried on a magic outfit and got stuck in this body. We’re working on it. It’s a whole thing.” he shrugged, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to say. Then his eyes landed on Wind and Spirit and he yipped. “Two of you!” he signed.

Wind cackled. “Hell yeah, two of us! I’m Wind and he’s Spirit!”

Other-Wild blinked and then shrugged. “Sweet.” he said. “I want a picture.”

Then he looked around and his eyes landed on Wild.

There was no hiding any more. His brother all turned towards him, and while Twilight still stayed by his side, he felt horribly exposed. Other-Wild stepped towards him, rumbling curiously and - oh Hylia he had a tail! - tail waving slowly behind him.

“Nice mask!” he signed. “Fashion Queen!”

Beside him, Wild felt Twilight tense, but something inside him loosened at the words. He started to giggle.

“Fashion Queen!” he agreed, all nerves suddenly gone. 

It was a joke that he had never told anyone, not even Flora. Once at a stable someone had ridden past in the most ludicrous outfit that Wild had ever seen, brightly coloured mismatched silks and bells and jewels and glistening gold braid. It was an incredible, more than slightly ridiculous sight. Wild, along with everyone else, had openly stared as they passed. And then, after a moment of silence, a little girl who had been staying with her parents, exclaimed ‘A Fashion Queen!’

The whole stable had burst into laughter, and ever since then Wild had, whenever he tried something new on, thought about that moment. About ‘fashion queen’. It was silly, but it was fun. If this creature, if this person knew about that, then-

“You are me?” Wild asked incredulously.

The cat-man shrugged. “Guess so.” he tilted his head, big eyes flicking up and down Wild’s body, taking him in. Wild felt himself draw inwards, flushing under the scrutiny. 

Much as he found this new, cat-version of himself interesting, he couldn’t help but see his scars. They wrapped around a solid half of his body, and while they didn’t cover as much of him as they did Wild, while they didn’t destroy his face in the same way, it was still striking how confidently he bared them to the world.

This Wild wasn’t trying to hide his scars. He was bare chested and didn’t seem to care who saw them. Would he judge Wild for his mask, for his loose clothes? This was what he dreaded. He already had enough inner feelings about himself, the idea of another him condemning him-

The Other-Wild purred and closed the gap between them. “Can we get out of this temple? It’s stuffy in here.” his signs were light and conversational as he brushed his tail against Wild’s side and then draped it companionably around his waist. “You like to cook? I do, but my Chain are hopeless…”

The conversation went on like this, gentle and cheerful and undemanding. Wild found himself relaxing around his new brother-self, who was so unlike him but also so very very like him.

The week went by in a blink of an eye. Wild and Wild, to everyone’s surprise, most of all their own, spent hours together, chatting or cooking or even just curled up and dozing. They both had a habit of wandering off and no one had a clue where they were until Twilight stumbled into them, both in their underwear, shield surfing down the side of a very steep hill.

He backed away and never mentioned it to anyone.

Terrified as he had been to meet himself from another universe, now that he had gotten to know Other-Wild, Wild didn’t want to lose him. When the end of the week finally rolled around he clung to his brother-self, tearful as he bade him goodbye.

Other-Wild knelt before him to be eye level and pulled him into a tight hug.

“We will meet again.” he promised. “I’ll fight Hylia myself.”

Wild giggled wetly. From what he’d learned of his other self this past week, he believed it.

Other-Wild glanced around and then leaned in so that no one else could see what he said. “You can trust them.” he said, gesturing to the chain. “Trust me. They all love you. They’ll never judge you. I promise.”

Wild had tearfully showed him his face a few days ago, but he hadn’t received any of the censure that he had expected. Instead Other-Wild had given him only love and understanding, and had shown him a selection of his own most gruesome scars, including the stump of his missing arm.

Wild hugged him again, burying his head into his fur. Other-Wild rumbled and held him a moment more, and then the portal appeared behind him. He straightened, purred once more as he waved to the Chain, and was gone.

Beneath his mask, Wild felt himself smile. It may have only been a week, but something fundamental felt changed inside of him. He felt a little happier, a little more confident.

Wild turned and jogged over to Twilight’s side, taking his brother’s hand and burying himself into his side.

Somehow, he felt, everything would be alright.