#and if you ask I will go on about them forever

[imstillalexcomic]

The first time I came out to a coworker, it was early May, 2024.  I had just started HRT the week before, and I wanted someone at the office to be in the know just in case it was necessary for some reason.  She’s a wonderful person who I look up to and trust immensely.

I didn’t come out to any other coworkers until October, when I decided it was “go time” to start telling folks at large as I couldn’t hide being on hormones forever.

There was a massive work event going on that week, and I think the stress of it all gave me a push to open up.  The night before this comic, I came out to my cubicle row buddy, and he was as lovely and accepting as someone could be.

The next night, I came out to Yuqun on the stage of a music festival that was part of the multi-part event we were working.

I’ve talked before about not having had any “girl” socialization growing up, last week’s comic touched on it a little and ended on the idea that there’s hope to create some “girl” memories.

I like to ask my friends first if they’re ok with being featured in a strip.  The ask goes a little like this:

“I’m going to do this anyway, but I’m asking permission.”

My phrasing definitely sounds kind of sinister, but I’m not great with words sometimes so I’ll have to ask for your forgiveness.  What I mean by this is that these are experiences that I am going to talk about no matter what, but the permission I’m asking for is if they want their character to look like them (to the best my drawing ability allows).

I asked Yuqun a couple months ago about if she was alright with this strip, and in particular, using the pictures we took.

She said yes!

…I mean, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have used them.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago she mentioned that she keeps checking my strip and hasn’t seen the one with her yet.  I thought that this would pair well with last week’s, so it was "go time" again.

Yuqun helped me create my first “girl” memory that night, and I’m eternally grateful.

Love you, Yuqun.

[quarterlifekitty]

Thinking about Simon’s girl who sniffed his neglected, insecure, traumatized ass out like a bloodhound and dug in

You remind him a lot of price. Always trying to take in strays, always stubbornly trying to succeed in the jobs where others failed. It just took one look at his apartment when he opened the door— you’d brought a misdelivered package to him— and you locked in.

Suddenly all your meals somehow had doubled portions. Must’ve misread the recipe. You’re accidentally buying little things, not realizing you already had one squirreled away. Any god— once he steps foot in your apartment?

Call that man Sam Puckett the way he’s always at your place and almost forgetting he has his own place he could go to. He can’t help it— you have a full couch with lots of pillows and a knit blanket. The place always smells of something— fresh baking, stir fry, candles, fresh farmer’s market produce. He puts on a little more weight. Stop buying caloriemate. Hair is a little shinier (he’s using your products in the shower, let’s be real). He hasn’t been burned in ages (you always keep sunscreen with you and insist on applying it to his pale skin).

As a child, he knew the burden that he was. Even as his mother loved him, she couldn’t hide every sigh and slump of the shoulders as she damned near went hungry some nights trying to keep him alive while his father’s pay went straight to his tab. It never left him. But you ignore any and all of his attempts to be low maintainence, to take up less resources— you want every rich taste and pleasure of the world that you know to be his as well. And you’re so happy when he lets you give.

It’s never forceful. Just kind. “Try this, honey— I think you’ll like it,” holding a forkful towards him. He forgets to even start asking you out— your relationship blurs so quickly from all the domesticity. You can only ply someone deprived with love for so long before they want to kiss you every day forever. Before he knows it he’s about to meet your fucking parents, palms sweating as he tries to remember how this all came to be— this whirlwind you’ve swept him up in.

But where he expects a shovel talk, he finds none. They reveal, amused, that it’s always been this way with you. Your childhood home was like a clubhouse. None of your friends had stable lives growing up— you just gravitated towards them and wanted them to have everything that you had. Suddenly the way you so speedily co-opted him makes sense. And they’re not the least bit wary of the man with the dark, leering gaze that’s covered in scars and built like a brick shithouse. Because they know your eyes are better than a jewelers lens when it comes to evaluating quality.

That night he keeps excusing himself to the bathroom to try to hold back the tears and collect himself because all of the sudden he knows what a home and a family are supposed to look like, and you all want him to be a part of it. You didn’t take him to meet your parents because you wanted to see that they approved of him— you took him because you wanted to show off how proud you were of your latest find. A fleck of gold among grains of sand. A piece of sea glass, once a sharp, discarded thing now tumbled smooth and kept in your pocket.

Simon likes feeling kept.

[gf2bellamy]

surprise — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: garcia and derek go into spencer's apartment, while you're sleeping in his bed. the problem? no one knows you and spencer are dating content warnings: secret relationship , reader also works in the bau a/n: hiii !!! i'm back to my secret relationship roots and i hope you like this <3 bc i had so much fun writing this ( i've been writing it for ages and i'm finally happy with it)

"No, no," Spencer shook his head frantically, his voice almost pleading as Derek expertly maneuvered the car into the parking spot at his apartment complex.

"Why not?" Garcia's voice was full of curiosity as she looked back at Spencer from the passenger seat.

The trio had spent the whole afternoon shopping for your birthday, which was just around the corner. Garcia, as usual, had already gotten everything ready—gifts, decorations, the whole nine yards. She even had a closet near her office packed with presents for you, waiting for the big reveal at the surprise party she was planning to throw at the BAU.

The whole mission was meant to be a fun, collaborative effort, the three of them picking out something special for you to celebrate.

But now, as Derek parked the car and they were all about to get out, Garcia’s sudden idea was making Spencer break into a cold sweat.

"I mean, we can just hang out at your place for a bit, right?" Garcia asked, her tone more like a suggestion than a question. She had already unbuckled her seatbelt, clearly excited about the idea.

Spencer swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the seatbelt.

"I don’t know if that’s such a good idea," he said quickly, trying to sound casual, though the nerves were practically radiating off of him.

"I have… stuff to do." His words stumbled, but Derek caught on immediately.

"You've got a date or something?" Derek teased, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, Reid, live a little."

Spencer’s face turned a light shade of pink, but he quickly deflected with a nervous laugh. "No, no date," he replied, but the nervous energy in his tone was giving him away. "I just—uh—need to get inside."

Garcia didn't miss a beat. "Come on, Spencer," she insisted with that gleam of excitement in her eyes. "It’s been forever since we just hung out at your place. You know, a little downtime."

But Spencer’s mind was racing, heart pounding.

The last thing he needed was for Derek and Garcia to come upstairs and see you there.

He knew you were in his apartment right now, sound asleep in his bed, curled up in one of his sweaters. This morning, you had practically melted into him that morning, clinging to him as he reluctantly told you he had to go.

You had been so warm, your face tucked into the side of his neck, holding him like you didn’t want him to leave. He’d rubbed soothing circles on your back, whispering that he’d be back soon, but you hadn't been ready to let go. Eventually, he had managed to peel himself away, promising to return as quickly as possible.

Now, his heart pounded as he watched Derek and Garcia hop out of the car without hesitation.

"No, no, no—" Spencer muttered under his breath, scrambling to open his own door. He practically stumbled out, rushing after them, but they were already making their way toward his apartment building.

They didn’t even wait for him.

"Of course," he thought bitterly as he hurried behind them. He knew he was too late. There was no way he could stop them now. His only hope was that you were still asleep.

And there was a high chance that you were.

Spencer knew your sleep schedule well—knew exactly how you curled up beneath his sheets, how deep you slept when wrapped in one of his sweaters. If he could just get inside before them and shut his bedroom door, everything would be fine.

As they reached the top floor, Spencer’s fingers fumbled in his pocket for his keys. His hands were practically shaking as he yanked them out, quickly jamming the correct one into the lock.

Slowly, he pushed the door open just a crack, peeking inside, praying you weren’t—

"Dr. Reid. What are you doing?" Garcia’s voice was laced with amusement as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a smirk.

Before Spencer could stop her, she pushed the door open wider, stepping inside.

Panic surged through him. His breath caught in his throat.

But—

You were nowhere to be seen.

His eyes darted toward the bedroom door. It was closed.

No sign of you.

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to compose himself as Garcia and Derek strolled inside, completely oblivious to the absolute terror he had just experienced.

Spencer quickly shut the door behind them, tossing his jacket over the nearest chair—something he never did. Normally, he was meticulous about hanging it up properly, but right now, his priority was making sure nothing seemed off.

Slipping off his shoes, he warily watched as Garcia and Derek made a beeline for his kitchen.

As they rummaged through his cabinets, Spencer seized the opportunity.

He darted down the hallway toward the bedroom, his socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. He cracked the door open just enough to peek inside, and there you were, still fast asleep, curled up under the blankets with his sweater draped loosely over your shoulders.

The sight made his chest tighten with affection, and a small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips.

He closed the door gently, careful not to make a sound, and hurried back to the kitchen before they could notice his absence.

Crisis averted.

He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw the disaster unfolding before him.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, exasperated, watching as Derek and Garcia rummaged through his cabinets like raccoons.

Garcia, mid-bite into a granola bar, waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, genius, we’re just looking for snacks. By the way—” she held up the granola bar with a raised brow, “—I thought you hated these?”

Spencer froze.

He did. He never ate those granola bars.

But you did.

You loved them, so he always kept some stocked just for you.

He scrambled for an excuse, clearing his throat. “Uh—I just wanted to give them another try,” he mumbled, avoiding Garcia’s sharp, suspicious gaze.

Derek, now chewing a piece of toast, barely looked up. “Yeah, okay,” he said, mouth full.

Spencer shot him an unamused glare. “Can the two of you stop eating my food?”

“No,” Derek replied, taking another bite, completely unbothered. 

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know, most people ask before raiding someone’s kitchen,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. 

Garcia giggled, popping the last bite of granola bar into her mouth. “Oh, come on, Spence. You love us. Besides, you’re acting super weird today. What’s going on with you?” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly looked away, busying himself with straightening a stack of papers on the counter.

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.” 

Garcia and Derek just exchanged a look.

Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get them out of here before they found something they weren’t supposed to. 

Like, say… you.

“Do you think she’ll like my gift?” Garcia asked, peeking at the bag on the counter, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon.

“Most definitely, babygirl,” Derek answered without hesitation, dusting the crumbs off his hands after finishing his toast. “She’s been talking about it for weeks.”

Spencer, still trying to recover from his near heart attack, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’ll love it,” he said, meeting Garcia’s eyes with a small, reassuring smile.

Garcia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, she’ll love yours, boy genius,” she added, pointing at Spencer. “You know her so well.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, her grin mischievous.

“Maybe too well,” Derek chimed in, eyebrows raised as he leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed. His grin was knowing, smug.

Spencer stiffened.

“When are you finally gonna ask her out?” Derek asked, his grin widening.

Spencer felt his face heat up instantly. He blushed, but not for the reason they thought.

He blushed because he remembered the day it happened. 

The way his heart had pounded in his chest, his palms sweaty as he rehearsed the words in his head over and over. He’d been so nervous, he’d almost convinced himself to back out.

But then he’d seen you—your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you noticed him approaching—and all his doubts had melted away. 

When he finally asked, his voice trembling slightly, your reaction had been everything he’d hoped for. Your face had lit up, and you’d nodded so quickly, it was almost comical.

“Yes!” you’d said, your voice filled with so much enthusiasm that it made him laugh. In that moment, all his anxiety had washed away, replaced by a giddy, almost overwhelming sense of relief and joy. 

“Aww, how cute!” Garcia practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pointed an accusatory finger at Spencer. “He’s blushing,” she sang, her grin stretching impossibly wide. 

Spencer groaned, shaking his head in exasperation. “Did you two come into my apartment just to eat my food and make fun of me?” he asked, arms crossed.

“Pretty much,” Derek said, completely unfazed as he made his way back toward the fridge.

Spencer let out a sharp breath, trying to mask his anxiety. He knew you were still asleep, but that didn’t stop the lingering fear that their loud voices might wake you up.

But then—

Derek stopped in front of the fridge.

His eyes locked onto the calendar hanging there, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

“Look at this, sweetheart,” Derek said, turning toward Garcia, his voice thick with amusement.

Garcia leaned in, her eyes widening as she saw what Derek was pointing at. There, on the calendar, your birthday was circled in bold red marker, surrounded by a carefully drawn heart.

Garcia gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her voice rising with every word. “Spencer Reid, you are down bad!”

Spencer felt his face burn even hotter. He wished he could disappear into the floor—or maybe just teleport to another dimension entirely. Anything to escape this moment.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t been the one to draw that heart on the calendar. It had been you.

He remembered the moment perfectly.

The day he hung the calendar up, you had been standing right there beside him, watching with an amused little smile. Then, without hesitation, you had grabbed the nearest marker—a red one, of course—and went straight to your birthday month, drawing a huge heart around the date.

"So you don’t forget."

He had chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. Then, he had pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin—

"I don’t forget anything. Especially not something like that."

You had blushed.

And Spencer had loved making you blush.

Now, standing in his kitchen, faced with his coworkers’ relentless teasing, he was struck with the embarrassing realization that Derek and Garcia thought he was some hopelessly lovesick teenager who had scribbled hearts around his crush’s name in a notebook.

(Which—if he was being completely honest—wasn’t that far from the truth.)

But what was he supposed to say?

Tell them the truth? Admit that the woman he’d been secretly dating for months—the same woman they were here shopping for—was currently asleep in his bed down the hall?

Absolutely not.

But then—

The choice was taken away from him anyway.

Suddenly, the sound of running water echoed from down the hallway, causing both Garcia and Derek to freeze mid-sentence. Their heads snapped toward the source of the noise, their eyes widening as they stared at Spencer.

Spencer stared back, equally wide-eyed, his mind racing. You were in the bathroom, happily brushing your teeth, completely unaware that two of your—and Spencer’s—coworkers were standing in the kitchen, mere feet away.

“Spencer Walter Reid,” Garcia gasped, her voice loud enough to carry through the apartment. She clutched Derek’s arm like she was about to faint. “Is there someone here?”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so vigorously that his curls bounced. “It’s probably just my washing machine turning on.”

As if on cue, the bathroom door creaked open, and then closed again. Spencer’s heart sank.

“Oh no,” he mumbled under his breath, his stomach twisting into knots.

And then, there you were.

You padded into the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.

You were wearing Spencer’s boxers, which hung loosely around your hips, and one of his Star Wars shirts that was far too big for you, the hem brushing against your thighs. Your hair was slightly messy, and you were still rubbing sleep from your eyes.

Then you stopped.

Blinking, you finally seemed to register the two extra people in the room.

Garcia. Derek.

Standing there.

Staring.

At you.

In Spencer’s clothes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. And you stared back, your own eyes wide, your brain struggling to process the scene in front of you. Spencer, meanwhile, was staring at the ground like it might suddenly open up and swallow him whole.

Garcia broke the silence, her voice low and uncharacteristically quiet—something almost more shocking than if she’d screamed.

“Am I… dreaming?” she whispered, clutching Derek’s arm like a lifeline. She looked pale, her usual vibrant energy replaced by sheer disbelief as she took in your disheveled state.

Derek, for once, seemed just as stunned. “I… no, I don’t think so,” he said hesitantly, his usual confidence replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty.

He blinked at you, then at Spencer, then back at you, as if trying to piece together what exactly was happening.

“Spencer,” you hissed, your voice low but urgent. “What the hell is happening?” You tugged self-consciously at the hem of his Star Wars shirt, trying to pull it down further.

Normally, you were the picture of professionalism at work, always impeccably dressed and composed.

But here you were, standing in Spencer’s kitchen in his boxers and an oversized shirt, your hair a mess and your face still flushed from sleep.

It was beyond awkward—it was mortifying.

Spencer finally looked up, his expression a mix of guilt and panic. “I, uh… this isn’t—” he started, but Garcia cut him off.

“Oh no, no, no,” Garcia said, her voice rising with every word, her hands flailing dramatically. “You do not get to ‘this isn’t’ us right now. This is happening. This is definitely happening.”

She pointed a finger at you, then at Spencer, her eyes wide.

“You two. Together. In his apartment. Wearing his clothes. Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life.”

You froze, your cheeks burning as you tugged self-consciously at the hem of Spencer’s shirt. “Penelope, it’s not—” you started, but she cut you off with a wave of her hand.

“Nope, nope, nope,” she said, shaking her head so vigorously that her curls bounced. “No explanations, no excuses. This is happening. I have been waiting for this moment for years.”

Spencer groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Garcia, please—”

“No,” she interrupted again, her voice rising an octave. “You don’t get to ‘Garcia, please’ me right now. This is huge. This is monumental. This is—”

“A disaster,” Spencer muttered under his breath, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Derek, who had been quietly observing the scene with an amused grin, finally chimed in. “Man, Reid, I gotta hand it to you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, though there was a hint of laughter in your voice.

Garcia, meanwhile, was practically bouncing on her toes, her excitement palpable. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I can’t wait to tell—”

“No!” Spencer and you said in unison, your voices sharp enough to make Garcia freeze mid-sentence.

“You are not telling anyone,” Spencer said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Garcia pouted, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Fine, fine. But only because I’m feeling generous. For now.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, this is going to be the best office drama ever.”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going back to bed,” you muttered, turning on your heel and heading back down the hallway.

As you disappeared into the bedroom, Garcia and Derek turned to Spencer, their expressions a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his grin widening.

Spencer sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Yeah,” he said, his voice resigned. “I know.”

[adiadagaki]

shy!megumi spends most of his time looking at you, thinking of how he will kiss you when the day is over, how you hug him so sweetly, listen to his little complaints about Gojo, Yuji and Nobara, but most of all how you let him drown his worries inbetween your legs. Not that he shows any of those feelings off in public, Yuji has questioned if you are actually dating before.

shy!megumi struggles to ask you for things verbally and so he has adopted little tells in order to nudge you into giving him what he wants, him nudging his head against your shoulder means he wants to cuddle, a nudge of his arm in public means he wants you to hold his hand, and so on.

shy!megumi isn’t into PDA but he is jealous and possessive despite of it. If someone, guy or girl, approaches you in any manner they are getting a glare that could put them in a box six feet deep. If the situation calls for it he has no problem asserting that fact through words.

shy!megumi who isn’t so quiet when you guys have sex, that’s when all the noise he holds in comes out.

“F-fuck baby, you are squeezing the life out of me.” His forehead fell against yours, his loud moans landing right against your lips as his hips slapped against yours in such a brutal rhythm.

Squeezing the sheets, you arched up into him, impossibly turned on by his lewd words and wickedly talented hips.

“More Megs. Please.”

shy!megumi uses you as an excuse to get out of any and every social event.

“Hey Megumi, me and Nobara are going to a house party you gotta come.”

“Sorry, I am cooking for my girlfriend tonight.”

“Megumi we are going to the movies.”

“Sorry, I am taking my girlfriend out on a date tonight.”

shy!megumi really is going to go home to you, but in reality he will slip into bed with you and listen to you talk about your day while you play with his hair.

shy!megumi is forever buying you presents and gifts for putting up with him. In your eyes there isn’t a thing wrong with him but no matter how hard you try and assure him it makes no difference.

shy!megumi who would do anything for you, you only had to ask.

[xoxochb]

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“well I had a dream last night,” you sigh.

“hm, yeah? about what?”

percy tightly wraps his arms around your waist, keeping you tucked against him as his face goes to your shoulder taking in a large almost comical inhale of your scent. you splay your hands along his upper back to assure he keeps close.

“well it started with me and you and we—”

“I was in your dream? what was I doing… with you?” with feeling his smirk, you don’t really want to respond.

you cut out the part of the dream he would’ve enjoyed hearing and begin from the middle.

“we weren’t doing anything. we were at the dining pavilion and we were eating breakfast—”

“if I may—”

“you may not.”

he nods once. “go on, sweet girl, I’m all ears.”

“you had pancakes with strawberries and I had pancakes with blueberries. you were upset because your strawberries weren’t blue so I offered to make them blue for you.”

“food dye?”

“no. I squeezed the blueberries onto the strawberries and y’know how usually blueberries have red insides? they were blue this time and dyed the entire strawberry.”

you feel percy’s hand rubbing your back in such a soothing mannerism you only wish to curl deeper into him and remain there forever. your brain suddenly feels fuzzy with the affection.

“what happened next?”

“uhmmm…” you bite your lip. you think as hard as humanly possible but his hand so soft and so calloused and so calming and fits so perfectly against your skin like it was made to touch you. “we ate the pancakes.”

“that’s all that happened?” percy’s voice is muffled.

“yeah.”

“that was short.”

“well it got cut short because you woke me up!”

percy pinches your waist. “not on purpose, sweet girl, I’d never do that to you.”

“not on purpose but you have a drooling problem.”

“I’m starting to think you enjoy being covered in my drool. is this a new kink of yours?”

“what— no, perseus!” you tug at his hair.

he shrugs defensively. “just thought I’d ask.”

“maybe.” you pull back not even an inch so you can slide downward and place your index over his mouth. “you should keep your lips glued.”

percy begins to kiss along your finger before taking it into his mouth and beginning to gnaw on it. you remove it quickly and see it covered in his spit. you sigh and take your finger in your own mouth to clean it of his saliva.

only when you began wiping it on the blanket did you realize you had that option the entire time. only after the fact did you realize what percy had been plotting.

[k4lenz]

big guy ✮ jschlatt x fem!reader hcs

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

a/n: what up! i wrote this for my gorgeous loml best friend @plantring who definitely wasn’t holding me at gunpoint, and i’ve been meaning to write a schlatt fic for ages! so, here you go. big guy. maybe charlie next 👀 also the song was just the song i’ve been repeating and had in mind while i wrote this fic ! i hope you guys like it :)

notes: jambo, other unnamed cat referred to as ‘burnt soup’, swearing, cuddles, nicknames, twitch, wii games series, tucker keane & Ted nivison, chuckle sandwich mention, romantic, drinking, hobbies, singing, SFW, NSFW UNDER THE CUT!! , grabby schlatt /pos

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

sfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ toots. he calls you toots, all the time, every day. it’s either a cheesy nickname, sweets, toots, baby, sweetheart, or sugar. he’s new yorkian yk.

☾ he’ll call you them before you even start dating, just to watch your cheeks flush pink and lips fall agape. the image ingrained in his mind permanently.

☼ such a flirt, before you start dating. he’ll make a wild joke to nobody in particular when you’re with friends, noticing how everybody will laugh but yours is hoarse. watching you squirm in your seat as he lets out a little chuckle, is how he gathers you like him.

☾ you’re the flirtiest friends, and everyone can see it but you two.

☼ maybe your mutual point of realisation is at his house, when he complains about shaving and you offer to shave his chops. “y’better not fuck this up, lady. these are the money bags.” he’d tease, making you laugh. you sit on his lap, claiming it’s for ‘better access’ as you clean up his face.

☾ like i said with ted, schlatt’s also a romantic. maybe a little more old school, but definitely romantic. he’d ask you out on a date first, with pretty flowers and that charming fucking smile. then ask you to be his girlfriend. what? he isn’t a pussy.

☼ if you two don’t live together, he likes seeing you in his space more. he can’t quite describe why, maybe it’s just waking up with you tangled in his sheets in his bed in his room with his cats cuddling up next to you like you’ve been there forever.

☾ speaking of the cats, they’ve picked you over him. if you both call their names at the same time, both the cats will come running to you as if schlatt isn’t even there.

☼ “what the fuck?” he mutters, picking up jambo. “i pay for your food, house you, give you love and attention. and this is how you repay me, shithead? huh? by picking her over me? fuck you!” he frowns, holding jambo up as the orange cat simply meows in response. jambo’s paw finds his nose, and schlatt’s eyes glance at you. seeing you giggling as you cuddled burnt soup like a baby. “you too, you fuckin’ traitor.” he proclaims, pointing at the purring black cat in your hands who’s giving him the cutest stare ever.

☾ huh, kind of reminds him of you.

☼ if you have a pet too, even better.

☾ got a cat? he’ll try and make your cat love him more then you. it doesn’t work, but if you comment he’ll say it’s a work in progress. insists on feeding it every time he’s at your house, probably figures out some sort of nickname for your kitty. cuddles it every chance he gets.

☼ got a dog? he’ll pretend he doesn’t like it, call it dopey since he’s always proclaiming he doesn’t like dogs. but you catch him babying and cuddling your dog when he thinks you’re not around too often to believe him.

☾ best believe jambo and burnt soup will get mad at him when he comes home with another animal’s smell on him, but never get mad at you. he’s such a softie for pets.

☼ schlatt was quite the private man, not a very big fan of making things public on the internet. he knew how people could be. he wouldn’t want to expose you to that, at least not until he was sure you’d be okay with it and you’d been in a relationship for a while.

☾ didn’t mean he couldn’t leave a few subtle messages for his chat, though. maybe a pair of pink slippers on his floor or some jewellery. when chat would notice and spam, he’d smirk.

☼ “what, chat? th’re obviously mine.” he chuckled. gaslighting his twitch as much as he could. if you asked, he’d say it was an accident and he didn’t notice. he’s a good liar to everyone but you.

☾ after a while, he’d open the idea up to you. whether it be a stream, or a youtube video where he can blur your face. but he has one rule.

☼ wii games. he wants to bring back wii games.

☾ and of course since you’re both equally competitive fucks, it turns into a laughing, yelling and tackling match as you both play every wii game imaginable. spewing insults at each other when the other misses in wii tennis, bickering like an elderly couple, screaming and cheering in victory. him claiming he let you win.

☼ “if you win anythin’, that is.” he’d murmur with that dumb grin.

☾ which you reply to with a string of curses and insults

☼ he couldn’t imagine anything more hilarious. plus click bait.

☾ he brings you to chuckle week (RIP CHUCKLE FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS </3) and you all decide to play some of the board games that look like they’re collecting dust in the airBNB you all are staying in.

☼ scrabble? you and schlatt team, ted and tucker team, and you practically knock them off the fucking board. guess who? they’re cooked. uno? reverse. chess? checkmate. you’re winning every time, together for once, and giggling about it too.

☾ “connect 4!” schlatt bellowed, as you two won at yet another game. you sat at the dining table of the airbnb, sitting opposite each other in pairs playing another dusty game. “what the fuck? you two are cheating or some shit.” ted huffs and tucker shakes his head and laughs, with you and schlatt cuddled up with your manic grins and wins in every game under your belt.

☼ turns out putting two competitive (crazy, as tucker calls you) people on a team works.

☾ let’s just say no matter who you’re playing with, you two always win game night.

☼ schlatt will pretend that he doesn’t like whatever hobby you have, playfully rolling his eyes, but if you catch him marvelling at you doing said hobby? no you didn’t.

☾ he’ll let you drag him wherever, but not without complaints. he’ll hold your hand wherever, never let you pay whenever you go out.

☼ “that’s silly.” he’d argue, pushing your card away. “christ, woman. ’m gonna have to fuckin’ confiscate your card ‘n replace it with my own soon.”

☾ he’ll hold you whenever, especially if you like it. whether it be his arm around your shoulders, on your waist, or maybe even a hand in your back pocket

☼ especially in crowds, he’s got you close so you can get through it to where you need to go. he’d hate to lose you in a crowd, not a chance.

☾ he’d get drunk, you’d try and kiss him and he’d be like “fuck off. i have a loving girlfriend.”

☼ and you’d be like “j i’m ur girlfriend.”

☾ “oh! hi girlfriend :)” and then kisses you.

☼ tries to act tough but he’s such a big softie at heart.

☾ he also gets jealous if he catches anyone simply just glancing at you, big 6”4 boy just gives them a simple look

☼ “achlatt! that guy was literally just doing his job.” “don’t give a fuck, y’re my girlfriend. no need for him t’be so cheery to ya.” but he’d also be annoyed if they weren’t nice to you.

☾ sometimes, you’ll catch him cooking and singing to himself as he plays music on a speaker. some glen campbell, maybe arctic monkeys. but he gets embarrassed, despite literally having a christmas album and a real good voice.

☼ “i don’t sing, sugar.” schlatt would argue, food cooking and arms wrapped around your waist as you two gently swayed to the music playing in his kitchen.

☾ a lie that was, you called bullshit

☼ and you’d both sing to whatever was on the speaker, laughing and just holding each other close as you two danced properly. spinning you, dipping you. his hair messy, a look of admiration on his face. no matter how uncoordinated you two were, it was right in your eyes.

☾ same thing i said about ted goes, big broad tall man mmmmm

☼ gives the best cuddles

☾ got plushies in your room? he’ll buy you more, and have fake beef with them. rolling his eyes if you argue that they’re your children.

☼ deep down he knows he loves them

☾ and you

☼ mostly you

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

nsfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ he’s such a sweetheart in bed

☾ bitey bitey man. he can’t sit still for long

☼ as long as you’re in the privacy of your own home, whatever you’re doing, bet that his lips will be finding your neck.

☾ “can’t help it. taste too good.” he’d complain if you’d whine, that stupid shit eating grin on his gorgeous face. his hands on your hips, and his mouth leaving pinks, purples and reds that he knew you’d have to cover up tomorrow for work.

☼ he’s whipped. absolutely fucking whipped. pussy whipped.

☾ he’d do anything you asked, especially if you were promising to let him fuck you the minute you got through the door of either of your houses.

☼ horny motherfucker.

☾ in terms of oral, he loves giving and receiving equally

☼ watching you tremble underneath him as he hooks your thighs onto his shoulders and messily eats your pussy, sucking on your clit like it’s his last meal and he’s a starving man. his hands squeezing said thighs as you writhe, eyes watching your every reaction. impossibly harder at your every noise.

☾ and then also, “i didn’t say hover, sweetheart, i said sit.” making you sit on his face, pulling your hips down with his arms tucked under your thighs. devouring you and your perfect fucking cunt.

☼ pulling away later, lips and chops covered in your cum. licking his lips. “light as a fuckin’ feather, baby. don’t know what’cha talkin about.” if you were to ask if you were too heavy.

☾ but then also

☼ running his fingers through your hair as he looked down at you, on your knees so prettily for him. soft groans and sighs coming from his lips, eyes lidded, as you sucked his cock and looked up at him with lust. watching you wrap your lips around it inbetween his legs. tracing your tongue along the veins. pulling your hair, but never too hard: god, he was absolutely feral.

☾ he’s definitely dominant, but he isn’t harsh. he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. like i said, he’s a softie.

☼ prefers to be face to face, but i feel like he’d really like back shots. simply to grab at your ass, watch the curve of your back arch as he fucked you good. leaving bites along your back as well, leaning over and leaving some on your shoulder.

☾ classic missionary, or you on his lap, are also his favourites. but he’s open to try other things with you, most definitely.

☼ he loves his woman, he really does. and he’d do anything to make sure you’re happy, always give you good loving. he’d hate to ever leave you without.

☾ him getting tipsy makes him even more desperate to please. even more desperate for you. but even sober, he always is

☼ rutting his hips into you, a little drunk as you combed your fingers through his hair “mmm. mine, sweets. god.” he’d grunt, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he fucked you perfectly. “need y’so f’ckin bad.”

☾ you flash him during an argument? it’s over as quick as it started. you were right, obviously. he’s following you like a dumb puppy again.

☼ would definitely turn around your plushies during sex. and also lock out the cats.

☾ when you two would unlock the door and come back out to the cats whining, your legs a bit wobbly, or maybe even unable to walk on your own at all, he’d pat the cats and smirk.

☼ “sorry, little shits. y’r mom needed some lovin instead.” he’d coo as you playfully shove him. a chuckle coming from his lips.

☾ he’s a very touchy grabby guy, whether it be your tits, thighs, your ass. he loves it.

☼ he’d get needy, and make it clear. it would never take him long to tell you if he was feeling needy, or he’d show it simply by picking you up or being close to you. it wasn’t hard to tell, and you’d be fucking within minutes.

☾ and if you’re needy? god, he relishes in it. teasing you, maybe even leaving you on the edge of orgasm over and over until your eventually sweet release. depends on how cruel he’s feeling. or maybe touching you, but not enough, just enough to make your hips jerk but not enough to build up anything. he loved the sound of your whiny frustration.

☼ yeah. he wants you. so bad. all the time.

[thatsmistertoyou]

maybe a hot take idk

look I know many people are upset about the pricing/fee situation of the TIT livestream (me included, I was pissed as hell that I got a large surprise fee), and I hope everything gets sorted out. I’m proud of the phandom for being loud and demanding fairness from the platform. you will not get shit past us.

I understand that. however, I completely disagree with some opinions I’ve seen (mainly on twitter but whatever) that charging for the stream at all is greedy, especially for people who have already paid to see the show. this is a weird take imo because this stream is supposed to be an opportunity for people who didn’t get to go to see it with an audience as a communal experience. but if you already spent money and don’t want to spend more, don’t!

and I don’t know anything about anything but based on the very little information dnp have provided about the cost of touring, I really don’t think they have the option to just do the stream for free. this is just my opinion, but based on how dan said he lost money touring WAD, i would not be surprised if the livestream paid for the rights he needed to release it for free on YouTube (and the extremely important rights to play All Star in the credits). just because he wrote and performed it doesn’t mean he owned it. it would not surprise me at all if the profits from the stream don’t go to dnp only.

and also, Things Cost Money, including livestreams. I think the platform has really showed their ass, but if we remove them from the equation for a second - everyone who put on TIT, including Dan and Phil, deserve to be compensated for their work. I don’t expect them to bleed money into this project forever just because it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I’m sure they’re doing just fine financially, but they are not and never have asked anyone to take food off their table to support them.

I actually find it really disheartening to see just how many people were like, legitimately, personally angry with dnp before they had even had a chance to respond to our concerns. I’ve been around long enough to remember when they announced TABINOF, there was an uproar about how they were sellouts because they were writing a book just like every other youtuber, making a shitty cashgrab when they had nothing to say. in the 2 days before we knew what the book would even be about, the Discourse had never been more annoying or mean spirited.

and it made me wonder, what are yall doing here if you assume the worst like that? have you just been waiting for the masks to slip? are you appalled that they participate in the heinous capitalistic act of selling their labor like everyone else? have your years of support not earned a little bit of grace when there’s a miscommunication?

I’m not saying approach everything like ‘they’ve never done anything wrong once in their whole lives and never will’, but the vitriol that seems to come out at minor fuck ups is alarming. some of yall do not like them and it shows. (I am looking directly at twitter dot com now)

I find that attitude really sad. after the TABINOF drama, I promised myself I’d never lose sleep over phandom nonsense again, so I’m going to bed, just had to get some thoughts out there. 💙

[heliosunny]

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

Yandere!Mydei x Neko!Reader [2]

Visit [part 1]

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

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

You had gotten used to everything.

Except him.

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

One morning, you were walking through the hall when

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?”

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

“Stop saying things like that!”

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

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

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

“…Mydei.”

“Yes, pet?”

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

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

“It’s my book!”

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

You lunged for it.

He lifted it higher.

You jumped.

He stepped back.

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

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

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

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

You flew off him.

The book?

You completely forgot about it.

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

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

----

You had woken up expecting another normal day.

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

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

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

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

Panic flickered in your chest.

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

The bedroom door opened.

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

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

Your fur bristled. He was already assuming the worst.

…Well.

Maybe this was an opportunity.

He doesn’t know it’s me.

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

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

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

But the best part?

Watching Mydei suffer.

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

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

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

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

Maybe you should stay like this a little longer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your tail flicked.

He didn’t recognize you.

Perfect.

You were about to hop away when suddenly—

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

Your body reacted before your brain did.

Before you knew it, you had leapt down.

Right into his arms.

…What?

You blinked, startled at yourself.

“Well, well. Aren’t you obedient?”

You screamed internally.

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

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

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

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

You flicked your tail against his hand in protest.

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

“For my little guest” he said.

You glared at him but ate anyway.

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

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

Maybe it was time to run.

The moment you finished eating, you bolted.

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

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

“Running away already?”

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

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

Or so you thought.

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

“There you are.”

You looked down.

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

“You really thought you could escape me?”

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

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

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

A startled scratch landed on the back of his hand.

You froze, realizing what you had just done.

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

Your ears flattened, guilt washing over you.

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

Mydei went completely still.

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

You huffed, lightly swishing your tail.

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

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

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

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

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

Your ears twitched.

Wait.

Your ears?

Your tail?

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

Hands. Fingers. A normal-sized body.

You were back to normal.

Which meant—

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

You turned your head—

And came face to face with Mydei.

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

You were in his bed.

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

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

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

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

Slowly—very slowly—you tried to move.

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

“Mm… Trying to escape again, pet?”

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Then why are you trembling?”

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

“I—um—”

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

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

Nope. You were leaving.

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

“Ah, ah. Not so fast.”

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

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

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

You had spent the entire day hiding.

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

Unfortunately, your stomach had other plans.

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

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

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

Mydei didn’t even turn around.

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

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

“…You cook?”

He smirked, stirring the pan. “Occasionally.”

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

Noticing this, Mydei chuckled.

“You must be starving.”

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

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

“Here, eat.”

You hesitated.

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

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

Still, hunger won in the end.

You leaned forward, taking a bite.

…It was good.

Really good.

Your tail swayed slightly before you could stop it.

Mydei noticed immediately.

“You like it?”

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

He chuckled, clearly seeing right through you.

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

And another.

Until you realized—

You hadn’t even picked up a plate.

You were just standing there, letting him feed you.

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

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

Your ears perked up.

Shiny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your tail flicked in fascination.

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

And yet, you didn’t care.

You just kept staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paused, glancing at you.

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

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

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

“They’re not going anywhere.”

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

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

He leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking toward you.

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

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

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

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

But strangely… he said nothing.

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…That definitely set off alarms in your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. You were about to sorely underestimate him.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re up to something.”

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

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

Your instincts locked onto it immediately.

Shiny.

Wait.

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

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

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

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

You knew that tone. That was his teasing tone.

Which meant he definitely had bad intentions.

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Hmm.”

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

The scent hit you instantly.

Your instincts flared.

Your pupils dilated before you could stop them.

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

“What—what is that?”

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

Your claws itched to grip onto something.

Oh hell no.

You spun on your heel to run.

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

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

“Y-you—this—this is—!”

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

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

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

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

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

You glared up at him, ears pinned back.

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

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

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

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

A loud clatter echoed through the hallway.

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

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

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

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

You shot him a glare.

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

“…Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

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

You let out a breath of relief.

But your problems were far from over.

Because Mydei was still holding that damn vial.

Your eyes flicked toward it.

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

You lunged.

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

Time seemed to slow.

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

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

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

You licked him.

Right on the neck.

Mydei was more than shocked.

You, however, did not stop.

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

You had never been this overwhelmed before.

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

“Ah.”

His voice rumbled in amusement.

You froze mid-lick.

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

Golden eyes gleamed with pure satisfaction.

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

Your soul left your body.

You tried to move away.

You really did.

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

You licked him again.

---

Finally, finally, it was over.

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

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

You were too tired to care.

And, surprisingly… he didn’t move you.

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

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

And Mydei was gone.

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

He wasn’t here.

Lucky.

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

You licked him.

Multiple times.

You needed to erase that from history.

But more importantly—

You needed to ban that damn vial from existence.

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

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

It took hours.

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

Some were on the doors.

Some were on the walls.

Some were even on Mydei’s office desk.

And to your absolute satisfaction, no one stopped you.

The servants said nothing.

Mydei—who had definitely seen them—said nothing.

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

Yet.

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

Good.

That thing was never coming back.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ dancing with our hands tied

chapter summary: After helping a young boy, you and Logan talk about trying again.

word count: 10.2k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i'm pretty sure that like half of this is smut so enjoy it y'all

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, slight angst, talks of trying for a baby, smut, oral (f&m!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, shower sex

series masterlist - chapter 6 → chapter 8

Logan took you into town after you said you wanted to try the new bakery that just opened up. You had mentioned it offhand a few days ago, and true to his nature, Logan didn’t forget. The smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries hit as soon as you opened the bakery door, a small bell jingling to announce your arrival.

It wasn’t overly crowded, but it was clear the bakery was already a hit. The cozy little space was dotted with people sipping coffee and chatting softly over plates of desserts. You adjusted your glasses, scanning the menu. Logan stood behind you, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as you debated between the chocolate croissant and the cherry tart.

"Why not both?" Logan murmured, leaning down so his gruff voice was low and close to your ear.

You tilted your head to give him a soft look. "I’ll never finish both."

"I will," he said with a shrug, making you smile despite yourself.

With a soft laugh, you turned back to the counter, placing an order for both with tea for yourself and coffee for Logan. As the barista rang you up, you stepped aside to wait. You didn’t immediately notice the little boy lingering near the door until he spoke.

"Excuse me," he said in a tiny, trembling voice.

You turned to see him standing there, his wide brown eyes full of uncertainty. He couldn’t have been more than five. His clothes were neat but slightly wrinkled, and he clutched a little Star Wars backpack to his chest like a lifeline.

"Hi there," you said gently, crouching down so you were closer to his level. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "I c-can’t find my aunt and uncle," he stammered. "They were here, and then I… I couldn’t see them anymore."

Logan was at your side in an instant, his tall, broad frame towering over both of you. Despite his intimidating presence, his voice was calm and steady. "Hey, kiddo. What’s your name?"

"Peter," the boy whispered, sniffling.

You gave Peter a kind smile. "Okay, Peter, my name’s Y/N, and this is Logan. We’re going to help you find them, alright?"

Peter nodded, his grip on his backpack tightening. You straightened up, glancing at Logan. "Should we check inside the other stores? Maybe they didn’t realize he got separated."

Logan nodded. "Yeah. Let’s start close by."

For the next twenty minutes, you and Logan moved between shops, asking employees and passersby if they’d seen anyone searching for a lost child. Peter clung to your hand the entire time, his little fingers wrapped tightly around yours.

When it became clear his aunt and uncle weren’t nearby, you crouched down again to look him in the eyes. "Peter, do you remember their phone number? Or maybe where they were parked?"

He shook his head, biting his lip. "No. I don’t remember. Are they mad at me?"

"Not at all," you assured him quickly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Sometimes these things just happen. We’ll figure it out."

"We can call the cops, get them to put out a message," Logan suggested softly, leaning on the wall beside you.

You hesitated, noting how small and nervous Peter looked at the mention of police. Something about the idea didn’t sit right with you either. "Let’s try one more thing," you said. "Peter, do you want to come with us for a little while? We can go to a safe place until we find your aunt and uncle."

Peter’s gaze flicked between you and Logan. After a long pause, he nodded, his lower lip quivering again. "Okay."

Logan reached down, easily scooping Peter up and settling him on his hip. The boy’s small hands clung to Logan’s jacket as you both headed back to the car. On the way to the mansion, Peter’s initial shyness melted away just a little. You kept him distracted with stories about your favorite bakery treats and promises to show him your time bubble powers when you got home.

---

When you arrived at the mansion, Peter stared wide-eyed at the enormous house. "Whoa," he whispered, twisting to look at you. "Do you live here?"

"Yep," you said, taking his hand to guide him toward the entrance. "It’s like a big school. But it’s also kind of like one giant family."

"And you’re a teacher?" Peter asked, glancing curiously at your glasses.

"That’s right," you said with a small smile. "I teach physics. That’s like science and math together."

“Oh, I like physics! And I watch Star Wars with my Uncle Ben all the time!” Peter said, his eyes lighting up for the first time since you met him.

Your heart softened at the boy’s excitement, a smile creeping across your face despite the weight of the past few months. “Yeah? What’s your favorite part?”

Peter adjusted his little Iron Man backpack and said without hesitation, “When Luke fights Darth Vader, and then—then at the end, he saves his dad!” He blinked up at you eagerly. “Do you like Star Wars?”

“Like it?” you said with a mock gasp, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “I love Star Wars. Especially Empire Strikes Back. Do you know that one?”

Peter nodded, practically bouncing in place. “That’s the one with the snow! And Yoda! But the Darth Vader part was scary.”

Logan, who had been quiet while Peter rambled, glanced at you with an amused smirk. “Looks like you’ve got a little fan,” he murmured.

You nudged Logan gently with your elbow before returning your attention to Peter. “It is a little scary,” you admitted. “But that’s what makes it so good—it surprises you. And Darth Vader turning good later? That’s pretty amazing too.”

Peter nodded sagely, as if your approval was the only confirmation he needed. He glanced toward the enormous doors of the mansion again. “Do you have any Star Wars stuff in there?”

Before you could answer, Logan chuckled. “Darlin’, don’t even get him started, or you’re gonna have him camped out in your lecture hall for the next week.”

You shot Logan a teasing glare but ruffled Peter’s hair. “Actually, I’ve got some posters and a little Yoda figure on my desk. Want to see?”

Peter’s face brightened. “Yes, please!”

The boy’s newfound enthusiasm made your chest tighten in an unexpectedly familiar way. You led the way into the mansion, Logan trailing closely behind as Peter’s little hand stayed tightly clasped in yours.

---

Once inside, Peter was immediately wide-eyed, craning his neck to take in the grand ceilings and marble floors. “This place is huge,” he whispered in awe.

“It is,” you agreed. “But you’ll get used to it fast.”

As you moved toward your office, Logan leaned in and asked quietly, “you sure this is the best way to handle this, sweetheart?”

You glanced at Peter, who was now marveling at a painting on the wall. His little hand hadn’t let go of yours once since you’d found him. “He’s scared,” you whispered back. “This helps distract him until we can figure everything out.”

Logan gave you a long look, something tender flickering in his expression. “You’re good with him,” he murmured.

You looked away, your face warming. “I’m just... trying to help.”

When you arrived at your office, Peter gasped at the sight of the little Yoda figurine on your desk. “He’s so cool!” he exclaimed, running to inspect it closer. His awe made you laugh softly, and for the first time in a while, it felt natural.

Peter was chattering about his favorite lightsaber battles when Jean appeared in the doorway. She looked between you, Peter, and Logan, her brow furrowed slightly. “New recruit?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“Not exactly,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms.

Peter ran up to Jean without hesitation. “Hi! I’m Peter! And I’m here because I lost my aunt and uncle at the bakery!”

Jean’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” she said softly, crouching to meet his gaze. “Well, hi, Peter. I’m Jean. And I’m sure we’re going to find your family soon, okay?”

Peter nodded quickly, his little hands still gripping the straps of his Star Wars backpack. “Okay,” he whispered, but his voice wavered, betraying the fear he was trying to keep at bay.

Jean glanced up at you and Logan, her expression laced with concern. “Have you called the local precinct yet?”

“Not yet,” Logan said, crossing his arms. “Kid didn’t look too thrilled when I mentioned it. Figured we’d keep him calm first, then call it in.”

You crouched down beside Jean, meeting Peter’s wide eyes. “Hey, Peter, do you want to hang out here for a little bit? We’ve got snacks, a big TV, and even a pool table if you’re into that.”

Peter hesitated, his gaze darting between you, Logan, and Jean. “You’re not leaving, right?”

“Not a chance,” Logan said firmly, his voice a reassuring rumble. “We’re stickin’ with you, kid.”

Peter nodded, his grip on his backpack loosening just a fraction. “Okay.”

Jean rose and gestured subtly for you and Logan to follow her into the hall. You gave Peter a quick smile. “We’ll be right back, okay? Just stay here and make yourself comfortable.”

When you stepped into the hallway, Jean folded her arms and kept her voice low. “He seems pretty attached to you two already.”

“He’s scared out of his mind,” you said quietly, glancing back toward the office. “And honestly, I don’t blame him.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that,” Jean said, her brow furrowing. “There’s something familiar about him. I can’t quite place it.”

Logan shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough. What’s the plan?”

Jean sighed, her expression softening. “I’ll go call the precinct, let them know we’ve got Peter here. If he’s reported missing, they’ll already be looking for him.”

“Good idea,” you said, your voice heavy with thought. “And I’ll stay with him, keep him calm.”

Logan gave you a look, his eyes soft but serious. “You sure you’re up for that?”

You nodded, pushing back the knot forming in your chest. “Yeah. He needs someone right now.”

Jean looked between the two of you, a flicker of understanding passing over her face. “Alright. I’ll handle the call.”

Logan followed you back into the office, where Peter had perched himself in your chair, spinning it slowly while inspecting the Yoda figurine on your desk. He looked up as you entered, his small face brightening just a little.

“You’re back!” he said, holding up the figurine. “I like this guy.”

“Me too,” you said with a soft laugh, settling into the chair beside him. “Yoda’s the best, isn’t he?”

Peter nodded eagerly. “He’s really smart. And he talks funny.”

Logan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched the two of you. Despite the situation, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“So,” you said, leaning forward on your desk, “what do you think? Want to stay here for a bit? We’ve got a whole library full of books, some even about space and Star Wars stuff.”

Peter’s eyes lit up again. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, your heart warming at his enthusiasm. “I can show you later if you want.”

“Okay!” Peter said, his voice a little stronger now. He glanced toward Logan. “Are you staying too?”

Logan nodded, his voice gruff but gentle. “Yeah, kid. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Peter seemed reassured by that, and for the first time since you found him, he smiled—a small, shy smile, but a smile nonetheless.

As the minutes ticked by, the weight in your chest softened just a little. You didn’t know what Peter’s story was or how long it would take to reunite him with his family, but for now, he was safe. And that was enough.

---

As the day turned into night, Peter sat cross-legged on the carpet of the mansion’s rec room, playing Go Fish! with Kitty and Rogue. His laughter bubbled up every so often, filling the space with a warmth that made you smile despite the tension that lingered just below the surface. Logan leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his watchful eyes rarely leaving the boy.

Jean entered quietly, her expression softer than before as she approached. “I spoke to the precinct,” she said, keeping her voice low. “His aunt and uncle are on their way. They’ll be here within the hour.”

A knot in your chest loosened slightly, though it didn’t disappear entirely. “That’s good,” you murmured, your gaze drifting back to Peter. “At least he won’t have to stay scared for much longer.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes flicked to you for a moment, and then back to the boy.

Jean stepped closer, her tone gentler now. “Y/N, you’re really good at this.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving her a faint smile. “Good at what?”

“At being what he needs right now,” she said simply, glancing toward Logan as if daring him to argue.

“Yoda would call it ‘parenting,’” Logan rumbled dryly, but there was no edge to his voice.

“Funny,” you shot back lightly, though the way his words curled into your heart was anything but.

Jean smiled knowingly and then excused herself to check on Peter’s room arrangements, leaving the two of you alone in the doorway.

“She’s right, though,” Logan said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Kid’s been through hell today, and somehow, you’re the only thing that’s kept him steady.”

You crossed your arms, glancing at him. “I think it’s less me and more Yoda,” you joked, but the slight tremor in your voice gave you away.

Logan tilted his head, his piercing gaze holding yours. “Darlin’, it’s you. Don’t doubt that.”

A warmth you didn’t entirely know how to handle spread through your chest. “I just…” You paused, your fingers brushing your glasses. “I remember being Peter’s age and needing someone to make me feel safe. My grandma did that for me. Maybe I just… want to be that for him.”

Logan’s expression softened, his features shadowed by the rec room’s low lighting. He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing your arm lightly. “You are.”

You blinked up at him, your chest tight in a way that was both painful and comforting.

Kitty’s sudden exclamation broke the quiet moment. “Peter! You’re totally cheating!”

“I am not!” Peter squealed, clutching his cards to his chest and grinning wide.

“Are too!” Rogue teased, flicking a card toward him.

You turned back to Logan, the corner of your mouth lifting into a smile. “He’s resilient, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed, his gaze softening as he watched Peter. “More than most adults I’ve met.”

Before you could say anything, the familiar sound of a car approaching the mansion echoed from outside. You glanced toward the window, spotting headlights cutting through the night.

“That must be them,” you said, your heart tightening again.

Logan pushed off the doorframe. “Stay with him. I’ll meet ’em.”

You hesitated. “Logan—”

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady but firm, “trust me. I’ll bring ’em up. You just keep him calm.”

Something in his tone settled the whirlwind in your chest, and you nodded, turning back to Peter and the girls.

---

Peter glanced up as Logan led a man and woman into the room, their faces pale and eyes red-rimmed. “Peter!” the woman exclaimed, rushing forward and dropping to her knees in front of him.

His wide brown eyes blinked in surprise before lighting up with relief. “Aunt May!”

You stepped back, letting Peter and his aunt share a tearful embrace while Logan lingered near the doorway, watching. You felt your throat tighten as his uncle crouched to hold him too, whispering something you couldn’t hear.

May looked up at you, her eyes swimming with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “He’s a special kid. I’m just glad we could help.”

Logan’s quiet presence at your side grounded you, his arm brushing yours in a way that let you know he was there. Peter looked over at you, still holding onto May’s hand. “Will I get to see you again?”

Your heart cracked just slightly at his question. “You bet, Peter,” you said softly. “Anytime.”

Logan nodded toward the door. “Let’s give ’em some time, darlin’.”

You followed him out into the hallway, lingering by the door as you listened to Peter chatter to his aunt and uncle about Yoda and Go Fish!

---

Logan was already in bed, sketching something in his notebook as you sat down by his side, your nightgown bunching around your thighs.

You put your head on Logan’s shoulder, your glasses riding up slightly as you watched him sketch. His pencil moved fluidly over the paper, and though you couldn't quite make out what he was working on, you could see it was intricate—full of tiny details only he could capture so effortlessly.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content in the shared silence, but Logan wasn’t one to miss when something was on your mind. He paused his sketching and looked over at you, his warm voice breaking the quiet.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your nightgown. You knew he’d notice eventually—he always did. Taking a breath, you lifted your gaze to his face, his expression open and patient.

"I was just thinking about Peter… and his aunt and uncle," you admitted softly. "How relieved they were to see him. He means everything to them."

Logan nodded, his hand brushing lightly against your knee. “Kid’s lucky to have family like that.” He studied you for a beat, his gaze sharp but gentle, the way it always was when it came to you. “That ain’t all you’re thinkin’ about, though.”

You swallowed, your heart quickening. He always managed to cut right to the heart of things, but he never pushed—not until you were ready.

"No," you said finally, your voice quiet. "It’s not."

Logan put the pencil down on the bedside table, his attention fully on you now. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

You played with the hem of your gown again, gathering your thoughts. “It’s been seven months,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Since we lost…” You didn’t have to say the words—Logan’s hand was already wrapping around yours, steady and grounding.

“I know,” he said softly, the rasp in his voice turning gentle for you.

A lump formed in your throat, but you pushed through it. “Taking care of Peter, seeing how much he means to May and Ben… it just… it made me wonder if maybe… maybe I’m ready to try again.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he shifted, turning to face you more fully, his free hand cupping your cheek.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I ain’t gonna lie, darlin’. It scares me, what you went through. What we went through. Don’t want you hurting like that again.”

“I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “I’m scared, too. But I keep thinking about what it felt like to be pregnant—how it felt to think about a future with a little one. Our little one. I… I think I want to try again. Not right away, but maybe soon?”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his eyes softer now, filled with something that looked like both hope and worry. "Soon," he echoed. "We take it slow this time. No rushin’, no pushin’ ourselves too hard. Deal?"

You smiled faintly, blinking back tears as you nodded. “Deal.”

Logan pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll get there, Y/N. Together.”

You stayed like that for a long time, Logan holding you as if to shield you from all the pain and uncertainty. And for once, you let yourself believe it might be okay.

---

During Christmas break, Logan surprised you by taking you to a cabin in Upstate New York, apparently it’s one Charles owns but rarely uses.

You had suggested going to a Christmas tree farm to find a tree, and Logan had immediately agreed, despite the snow piling up in Upstate New York. His only condition? “We’re not getting one of those scrawny ones,” he’d said, crossing his arms as you both bundled up to head out. “I want one that’ll make the cabin smell like Christmas exploded in it.”

Now, you stood in a clearing surrounded by evergreens, your breath visible in the crisp winter air. Logan’s gloved hand was warm as it enveloped yours, his other hand holding an old-fashioned ax slung over his shoulder.

“What about that one?” you asked, pointing to a modest tree that seemed the perfect height for the cabin’s living room. Its branches were full, the green vibrant against the white snow.

Logan tilted his head, giving the tree a scrutinizing look. “It’s not bad,” he admitted, but then his gaze drifted further into the rows of trees. “But look at that monster over there.”

Following his line of sight, your eyes landed on a tree that was practically a skyscraper. You laughed, your breath puffing out in clouds. “Logan, that’s not going to fit through the door.”

His lips quirked in a grin, the kind that made your chest warm even in the biting cold. “Could cut it down to size.”

You shook your head, pulling him back toward the smaller tree. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be. Besides, this one’s cute.”

Logan grumbled something under his breath about “cute trees,” but his smile stayed as he set the ax down. “Alright, darlin’. You win.”

Watching him chop down the tree was like stepping into a Christmas card. Logan moved with ease, his strength controlled but impressive, the sharp crack of the wood splitting echoing in the quiet forest. When he finally hefted the tree over his shoulder, he glanced at you with a smirk.

“Still think it’s cute?”

You grinned. “Very.”

---

Back at the cabin, you were in the kitchen setting up hot cocoa while Logan worked on securing the tree in its stand. The smell of pine was already filling the space, mingling with the scent of the cocoa you were stirring on the stove.

“Need help?” you called, peeking around the corner to see Logan wrestling with the tree.

He shot you a playful glare. “I got it. But if this thing falls, it’s your cute tree’s fault.”

Biting back a laugh, you brought two mugs to the living room just as Logan stepped back, hands on his hips, to admire his handiwork. The tree stood proudly, its branches brushing the cabin’s low ceiling.

“Not bad,” you said, handing him a mug. “You do good work.”

Logan took a sip, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “You just like bossin’ me around.”

“Someone has to,” you teased, leaning into his side.

The evening passed in a comfortable rhythm. You strung lights while Logan hung ornaments, occasionally passing one to you with a quip about how your “little nerd hands” needed the practice. By the time you finished, the tree glowed softly, casting the room in a warm light.

Settling onto the couch with Logan, you pulled a blanket over both of you, your glasses slipping slightly as you rested your head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of a lightbulb warming up on the tree.

“Think we’ll do this next year?” you asked quietly, your voice almost lost in the cozy stillness.

Logan turned his head, his lips brushing your temple. “Next year, the year after that… as many years as you want, sweetheart.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing over his knuckles where they rested on your knee. “I like the sound of that.”

Logan kissed your hair, his voice soft but firm. “Me too.”

---

The two of you had ventured out into Victor to buy a few gifts at the mall. Logan, for a brief period of time, had said he had to “find somethin’” and “not to worry your pretty head ‘bout it”. Which was fine, you were in a clothing store picking out a few items for Jean and Ororo for Christmas, even finding a simple dark red plaid dress you thought would be good for Christmas day, even if it was just you and Logan.

When the two of you made it back to the cabin, Logan started the fire while you unpacked your shopping bags and started wrapping gifts on the small coffee table in the living room. You glanced up occasionally to see him adjusting the logs in the fireplace, his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, highlighting his forearms.

“I wanted to show you something,” you said softly after a while, tying a ribbon around a small package meant for Ororo. Logan grunted his acknowledgment, dusting his hands as he stood and glanced over his shoulder at you.

“What’s that, darlin’?”

“Give me a minute,” you said, standing with the red plaid dress draped over your arm as you walked toward the bedroom. You returned a few minutes later, smoothing the fabric down nervously.

Logan turned, his brow lifting slightly when he saw you. His intense gaze softened as it trailed over you, taking in the way the dress hugged your figure just right. “Well, look at you,” he rumbled, crossing his arms. “That’s a damn good dress.”

“Not too much?” you asked shyly, adjusting your glasses as you stood there, your cheeks warming.

“Too much? Nah, darlin’, it’s perfect,” he said, stepping closer and tugging gently at your waistline. “You got a knack for makin’ things look better than they deserve.”

You laughed, swatting at his arm. “Thanks for the help, Logan.”

He chuckled but took a step back, his smirk hinting at something as he reached into the bag he’d brought back from the mall. “Speakin’ of things lookin’ good...” He handed you a small paper bag with tissue peeking out from the top.

Curious, you peeked inside, pulling out the soft, red lace of what was unmistakably lingerie. You stared for a moment before bursting out laughing, your cheeks burning even hotter.

“This,” you managed between giggles, holding it up by the delicate straps, “this is what you went off to find?”

Logan leaned against the edge of the couch, entirely unbothered by your reaction. His grin spread slowly as he shrugged. “Figured you’d like it. Or maybe I just wanted to see you in it.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I’m more curious about you buying it. Did you actually go into one of those stores?”

“Yup,” he said without hesitation, his smirk widening. “Gal behind the counter said this was ‘popular.’ I figured, why not?”

“Why not?” you repeated, laughing harder.

His tone turned teasing as he nodded toward the bedroom. “Go on, sweetheart. Let’s see if it’s as good as the lady said.”

You hesitated, eyeing the lingerie before glancing at him. “You’re something else, Logan.”

“Damn right, I am.” He gave you a light swat on the backside as you turned toward the bedroom, his grin feral but amused.

“Logan!” you yelped, laughing as you scampered off to change.

---

A few minutes later, you stepped out of the bedroom, clutching the edge of the sheer, flowy skirt of the babydoll dress nervously. The delicate red lace and corset-style detail fit perfectly, the bow at the top adding an unexpected sweetness to the undeniably daring outfit. Your glasses slid down your nose slightly as you met Logan’s gaze.

His expression shifted immediately, his eyes darkening as they raked over you from head to toe. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice rougher, deeper. “That’s... yeah, that was worth it.”

You laughed softly, trying to ignore how his reaction sent heat pooling in your stomach. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze lifting to yours, a crooked grin softening the intensity. “But I know what I like.”

Your nervousness melted under the weight of his appreciation, and you crossed the room toward him. He didn’t move, waiting until you were within reach to hook an arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

Logan’s lips pressed against yours with a slow, deliberate heat, his hands still spread over the sheer fabric of the babydoll dress. His roughened palms seemed impossibly gentle as they slid along your sides, brushing the soft material and igniting a warmth that pooled low in your belly.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a rumble that made your knees weak. One hand moved to your waist, tugging you closer, while the other ghosted over the delicate lace at the hem of the dress, sending shivers up your spine.

“Logan,” you began, your voice soft but teasing as you started to reach for the straps of the dress. “Let me just—”

“Uh-uh,” he interrupted, catching your wrist gently and lowering your hand. His grin was playful but commanding, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re keepin’ this on.”

“Why?” you asked, though the way his eyes darkened made your pulse quicken.

“Because I said so,” he drawled, one hand trailing lower to the garter strap on your thigh. His fingers slipped under it briefly before he let it snap back lightly against your skin. You yelped, a startled laugh bubbling out of you, and he smirked.

“Logan!”

“What? Feels like it’s got its uses,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He pressed a kiss to your jawline, then down the curve of your neck, nipping lightly as he went. “Plus, you look too damn good in it to take it off right away.”

You huffed a small laugh, but any retort you might have had died in your throat as his lips reached the base of your neck, lingering there. His hand wandered back to your waist, slipping beneath the flowy fabric to grip your hip, his thumb brushing the bare skin there.

“Logan,” you murmured again, a breathless edge to your tone this time.

“Hmm?” he answered, his mouth now teasing along your collarbone. He was thoroughly enjoying taking his time, and it showed in the satisfied little growl that rumbled in his chest when your fingers tangled in his hair.

Before you knew it, he was guiding you backward toward the couch, his lips never leaving your skin. When the backs of your knees hit the cushions, he gave you a gentle push to sit down.

“Right here, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and rough. His hands eased your legs apart as he knelt in front of you, the sheer skirt of the dress pooling around your thighs. The firelight flickered behind him, casting a warm glow over the room and making his features even sharper, more intense.

“You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?” you teased, though the way your breath hitched when he leaned in betrayed your composure.

“Damn right,” he muttered. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your skin. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss just above one of the garters. “Now, let me take my time, yeah?”

You nodded, your glasses slipping down your nose as you watched him. His hands slid higher, pushing the sheer fabric up slightly, exposing more of you to his touch. His lips followed, leaving a trail of kisses along your inner thigh that had you squirming beneath him.

“Logan...” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Patience, darlin’,” he said, glancing up at you with a devilish grin. His fingers gripped the lace at your hips, holding you steady as he pressed another kiss against you, this time over the delicate fabric of your panties. The heat of his mouth sent a jolt of electricity through you, and your head fell back against the couch with a soft gasp.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he finally hooked his fingers into the waistband and slid them down your legs. The cool air hit you briefly, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his breath as he settled between your thighs again.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all damn day,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he pressed a kiss to your bare skin. His tongue followed, slow and deliberate, drawing a shaky moan from your lips.

Your hands gripped the edge of the couch as his tongue worked against you, his movements unhurried but precise. He seemed to know exactly what you needed, each flick and stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you breathed, your fingers finding their way into his hair. He groaned at the contact, the sound vibrating against you and making your toes curl.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. When your hips bucked against him, he growled softly, his grip tightening just enough to keep you in place.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough and filled with need. “Let go for me.”

And you did, your body arching off the couch as the tension inside you snapped. He didn’t stop until you were trembling beneath him, your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to recover.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was smug, but his eyes were soft as he looked up at you. “Worth every damn minute in that store,” he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the lingering shudders of your release making your thighs tremble. Logan gave one last playful nip at your inner thigh before rising to his feet in one smooth motion. He loomed over you for a moment, his gaze drinking you in, the sheer red fabric of the babydoll dress bunched slightly around your hips, your skin flushed and glistening.

“C’mere,” he muttered, his hands sliding under your arms as he pulled you to sit up. Before you could fully process the movement, he dropped onto the couch and tugged you onto his lap, guiding your legs to straddle him.

“Logan—”

“Uh-uh,” he cut you off, his hands firm on your hips as he adjusted you to his liking. “You’re stayin’ right here, sweetheart.”

The rough denim of his jeans pressed against your bare thighs, the contrast making you hyper-aware of every point of contact. Logan’s hands roamed over you, one sliding up your back while the other traced the hem of the dress where it barely covered your hips. His touch was possessive, deliberate, his fingers flexing as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of you.

“Y’know,” he drawled, his voice thick with heat as his lips found your collarbone, “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you wearin’ this since I saw it on the rack.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled out of you. “You didn’t even let me look at it when you came back,” you teased, your fingers finding their way to his hair, tugging lightly.

He groaned at the sensation, his teeth grazing your skin just below your jaw. “Damn right I didn’t. Knew it’d be perfect. And look at you now.” His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and rocking you against him, drawing a gasp from your lips. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders as he leaned back slightly, giving himself more room to work. His mouth trailed lower, over the curve of your breast, and he nipped lightly through the lace of the dress. The sensation made you jolt, a mix of pleasure and surprise, and his low chuckle vibrated against your skin.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice a mix of frustration and need as his teeth scraped over the delicate fabric again.

“What?” he replied, feigning innocence as his tongue flicked out to tease the sensitive skin beneath. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Before you could respond, his hands slid up your sides, pushing the fabric of the dress higher until it bunched just below your chest. He paused for a moment, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. “Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hands were back on you in an instant, one sliding behind your back to pull you closer while the other cupped your breast through the lace. His thumb brushed over the sensitive peak, and you shuddered, your breath hitching.

“You’re drivin’ me crazy,” he said, his voice a rough growl as he leaned in to capture your lips again. The kiss was messy, desperate, his teeth catching your lower lip before his tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you completely.

“Logan,” you gasped when he finally pulled back, your head spinning. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he shifted beneath you. The unmistakable hardness pressing against you made your pulse race.

“Need you,” he murmured, his voice low and urgent. “Right fuckin’ now.”

You nodded, your hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers trembled slightly as you worked them open, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. He shrugged out of the fabric impatiently, tossing it aside before his hands returned to your hips.

“Keep the dress on,” he reminded you, his voice a gruff command that sent a thrill through you.

“I wasn’t planning to take it off,” you replied, a small smirk playing at your lips.

He groaned, his hands tightening on you. “Good,” he muttered, his lips finding your neck again as he began to guide you against him. The rough denim of his jeans added a delicious friction that had you both gasping.

Your hands found his belt, fumbling slightly as you unbuckled it and tugged it free. Logan’s lips never left your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as you worked to free him from the confines of his jeans. When you finally succeeded, he groaned, his hips lifting slightly to help you push them down.

“Goddamn tease,” he muttered, his voice thick with need as he lifted you slightly, positioning you over him.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, though your teasing tone faltered as you felt him press against you.

He didn’t reply, too focused on guiding you down onto him. The stretch was intense, stealing the breath from your lungs as he filled you completely. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the couch as he gripped your hips tightly.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”

You couldn’t form words, your hands bracing against his chest as you adjusted to the overwhelming sensation. Logan’s hands moved to your thighs, his thumbs brushing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“Take your time,” he murmured, though his voice was strained with the effort of holding himself back.

After a moment, you began to move, your hips rocking tentatively at first. Logan’s groan spurred you on, his hands guiding your movements as you found a rhythm that had you both gasping.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Just like that.”

Your movements started slow, each roll of your hips deliberate, drawing quiet groans from Logan as he leaned back against the couch. His hands stayed firm on your thighs, his touch grounding you as you adjusted to the rhythm. The soft material of the babydoll dress clung to your skin, the sheer fabric shifting with every motion.

Logan’s eyes burned as he watched you, his chest rising and falling heavily. “Fuck, darlin’,” he rasped. “You’re somethin’ else.”

Your hands rested on his chest, your fingers splayed across his warm, scarred skin. His muscles tensed beneath your touch each time your hips shifted, his breaths turning into low, guttural sounds. Every inch of him felt alive beneath you, responding to your every move.

As your confidence grew, so did the pace, your movements becoming more fluid. Logan’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh just enough to leave an impression. He groaned your name, the sound rough and needy, and the way it rolled off his tongue sent heat pooling low in your belly.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You feel so good. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. Your hips rocked faster, and Logan’s jaw clenched as he fought to keep control. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he began to move with you. He thrust upward, his movements deep and deliberate, meeting you halfway and sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers curled against his chest, nails digging into his skin as he set a faster pace.

“That’s it,” he growled, his hands keeping you steady as he thrust harder. The couch creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. His movements became more urgent, his breathing harsh against your ear as he pulled you closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern. His eyes flicked up to yours, searching your face.

You nodded quickly, your breath hitching as he moved again, deeper this time. “Uh-huh,” you managed, the word spilling from your lips without thought. Your head fell forward, resting against his shoulder as you clung to him, your body trembling with each thrust.

Logan’s hands moved to your back, sliding beneath the thin straps of the dress to hold you against him. Your chests pressed together, the heat of his skin searing against yours. His lips found your neck, trailing rough kisses along your pulse point before biting gently. The combination of pain and pleasure made you gasp, your nails raking down his sides.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin. His hips snapped upward with more force, each thrust dragging a whimper from your lips. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”

The words sent a shiver through you, your thighs trembling as you tried to keep up with his pace. Logan’s grip tightened, his fingers flexing against your back as he shifted beneath you. He leaned forward, pressing you down against him until you could feel every inch of him, his movements driving deeper.

“Logan,” you whispered again, your voice cracking as his name fell from your lips like a prayer. His lips captured yours in a desperate kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he swallowed your moans.

“C’mere,” he muttered, his hands moving to your hips. He shifted, pulling you down harder as he thrust up, his movements relentless. The friction and heat built between you, each motion sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, his voice rough and unsteady. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

Your head tilted back, a soft cry escaping your lips as he hit a spot that sent your body arching against him. Logan growled, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he moved faster, his grip on you firm and unyielding.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Let go for me.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. The tension that had been building snapped, your body shuddering as you reached your peak. Logan groaned, his movements slowing just enough to let you ride out the waves of pleasure.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his hands soothing over your trembling thighs. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”

You clung to him, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps as you tried to recover. Logan pressed soft kisses to your temple, his grip on you loosening just slightly as he gave you a moment to catch your breath.

But he wasn’t done.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Logan shifted beneath you, his hands sliding to your thighs as he lifted you slightly. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with raw need.

“You good?” he asked again, his voice softer this time.

You nodded, your fingers brushing his cheek. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice breathless but sure.

He grinned, a wolfish expression that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

With that, he shifted again, guiding you to lie back against the couch. The babydoll dress bunched around your waist, the sheer fabric clinging to your flushed skin. Logan loomed over you, his hands braced on either side of your head as he leaned down to kiss you deeply.

His hips moved again, slower this time but no less intense. Each thrust was deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Every damn part of you.”

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. Logan groaned against your lips, his movements becoming more erratic as he neared his own release. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove deeper, each thrust pulling a moan from your lips.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he pushed you to the edge again. His name was the only thing you could manage, your thoughts consumed by the overwhelming sensation of him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice strained but steady. “Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And with one final thrust, you did, your body arching beneath him as the pleasure crashed over you. Logan followed moments later, his groan low and rough as he buried himself deep, his body trembling against yours.

For a moment, the only sound was the ragged breathing that filled the room. Logan stayed over you, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. His hands moved to your waist, his touch gentle as he smoothed over your skin.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with quiet concern.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Logan chuckled, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight tonight.”

---

After waking up late the next day—only because Logan stuck to his word—you had made homemade banana bread that would have to cook for around 45 minutes before it was done.

While you waited, you decided to try something new. Logan was in the shower, and you knew his routine well enough to guess he’d be done soon. A flicker of boldness lit up inside you. Without second-guessing, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving them in a heap by the door. You placed your glasses carefully on the dresser—everything was a little blurry now, but it didn’t matter.

Quietly, you padded across the floor to the bathroom, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside. The air was warm and humid, the sound of water cascading against tiles filling the room.

Logan was standing under the spray, head tilted back, water streaming down his broad shoulders and muscled back. He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you stepped closer, your bare feet silent on the tiles. Steam curled around you, and you couldn’t help but take a moment to admire him.

“Darlin’, you forget somethin’?” Logan’s voice broke through your thoughts. He didn’t turn around, but you could hear the smirk in his tone.

You froze for a second, then let out a soft laugh. “Maybe I just wanted to join you,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced.

Logan turned slightly, enough to glance over his shoulder at you. His gaze flicked over your body, and his smirk widened. “Not that I’m complainin’, but what’s got you sneakin’ in here?”

You stepped closer, reaching out to brush your fingers against his arm. “Can I… do something?” you asked softly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. The question hung in the air, the intimacy of it sending a spark through both of you.

Logan’s eyes darkened, his grin fading into something more serious. He turned fully, the water flattening his hair against his forehead. “You don’t gotta ask,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You dropped to your knees on the wet tiles, the water spraying against your back as you settled in front of him. Logan’s sharp inhale was the only sound for a moment. He reached down, his fingers brushing your cheek as he looked at you with a mixture of surprise and heat.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now, though his arousal was clear.

You nodded, your hands already sliding up his thighs. “I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. You weren’t nervous because of him—you’d done this before—but there was something thrilling about the spontaneity of it.

Logan groaned softly as your hands moved higher, his muscles tensing under your touch. “Goddamn, darlin’,” he muttered, his head tilting back slightly as you began to explore him with your hands and mouth. The warmth of the shower and the slickness of the water added a new layer of sensation, and you could feel his body responding to every movement.

Your tongue flicked over him, testing, teasing, before taking him fully. Logan’s hand found its way into your hair, not guiding but grounding himself as a low growl rumbled from his chest. His hips shifted slightly, his restraint palpable as you worked him slowly, thoroughly, letting the heat and steam build between you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Logan groaned, his voice rough and strained. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

You glanced up at him, your vision a little blurry without your glasses, but you could still see the way his jaw clenched, his muscles taut as he fought to keep control. His reaction spurred you on, your movements becoming more deliberate, more confident.

“You’re so damn good at this,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Always know how to take care of me.”

Your hands gripped his thighs, steadying yourself as you continued, the warmth of the water cascading over both of you. Logan’s breathing grew heavier, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair as he murmured your name, a low, reverent sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

When he finally tugged you gently back, his chest was heaving, his eyes dark and intense. “C’mere,” he said, his voice a rough command that you couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, water dripping down your body as Logan’s hands found your waist, pulling you close. His mouth crashed against yours, hot and desperate, his hands roaming over your wet skin as the kiss deepened. The hunger in his touch was undeniable, but there was also a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Logan’s hands slid down to cup your ass, lifting you easily. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and he pressed you against the cool tile wall, the contrast of temperatures making you gasp. His lips moved to your neck, nipping and sucking as he positioned himself between your thighs.

You sighed his name, nails digging into his shoulders, the small crescent marks fading almost instantly. “I was s’pposed to—”

Logan cut you off, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “I know, sweetheart. But right now, I wanna be inside you.” His voice was rough, low, and the sound of it sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he shifted his hips, pressing into you with a deliberate, maddening slowness. The heat of him, the thickness, made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your legs tightened around his waist. Logan’s eyes locked on yours, his gaze unwavering even through the steam curling around you both.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his tone both commanding and tender. His hands slid to your hips, steadying you as he sank deeper. “None of that holdin’ back shit. Just let it out.”

Your lips parted, a soft whimper escaping as he filled you completely. It had become a habit, one you hadn’t even realized—biting your lip, muffling your sounds against his skin, or burying them in kisses. You’d gotten used to keeping quiet, especially back at the mansion. Now, the vulnerability of letting go felt foreign and exhilarating.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice breaking as he began to move. The rhythm he set was slow but unrelenting, each thrust purposeful and deep. Your head fell forward against his shoulder, and you bit down lightly on his skin, trying to keep from being too loud.

Logan’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing against your temple. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with care. “You don’t have to be quiet. I wanna hear every damn sound.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though it was a struggle to let go of the ingrained instinct. When he angled his hips and hit that perfect spot inside you, your head tilted back, and a sharp moan slipped free before you could stop it.

“That’s it,” Logan praised, his voice a low growl against your neck. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you down onto him as he thrust up. “Goddamn, darlin’. You feel so good.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as the pleasure built. “Right there,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “Feels so good.”

Logan grinned against your skin, his teeth grazing your jaw before he claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “Don’t stop talkin’ to me,” he muttered between kisses. “Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

Your legs tightened around his waist, and you moaned into his mouth, your body arching into him. “So good,” you managed, your voice breaking as he thrust deeper. “Logan, please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?” he teased, his lips moving to your throat as he sucked lightly on the sensitive skin. His hips snapped upward, harder this time, and your nails raked down his back in response. “Use your words.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “Don’t ever stop.”

Logan chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent heat pooling in your belly. “Not a fuckin’ chance,” he promised, his pace quickening. Each thrust dragged a new sound from you, the intensity overwhelming in the best way.

But then the habit crept back in. As the sensations grew, you bit down on your lip, stifling a moan as your head fell forward against his shoulder. Logan noticed instantly, his movements slowing as his hand tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“None of that,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Don’t hide from me, Y/N. I wanna hear you. All of it.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing. The apology was instinctive, but Logan wasn’t having it.

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice softer now. “Just let go, darlin’. No one else is here. It’s just us.”

His words broke down the last of your restraint. The next time he thrust into you, you let out a cry, your hands clutching at his shoulders as the pleasure crashed over you. Logan’s growl of approval only fueled the fire, his movements becoming rougher, more desperate as he chased his own release.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”

“Logan,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. The sound of it seemed to spur him on, his grip on you tightening as he drove deeper. Your vision blurred, not just from the missing glasses but from the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Let it all out. Don’t hold back.”

You clung to him, your body trembling as you reached your peak, the waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless surges. Logan wasn’t far behind, his hips snapping one last time before he groaned deeply, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled into you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the steady spray of water and the ragged breathing that filled the room. Logan’s hands softened their grip, sliding up to cradle your face as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with concern.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the damp hair from his forehead.

Logan chuckled, his hands sliding down to your thighs as he eased out of you, lowering you gently to your feet. Your legs were shaky, but he steadied you, his hands never leaving your waist.

“Good,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk. “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

You tried to meet his eyes, though you weren’t sure if you did or not, while giving a small pout. “But the banana bread is in the oven.”

His eyes widened for a moment before he turned off the shower, water still running down his face as he looked at you. “Well, don’t let me stop ya,” he said, though the twitch of a grin tugged at his lips, and his tone betrayed an unusual excitement.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “Are you—are you actually excited about banana bread right now?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing a towel from the hook. “I mean... it’s banana bread. Why wouldn’t I be excited?” His smirk turned mischievous as he turned back to face you, holding the towel open like a shield. “C’mon, sweetheart, outta the shower before I start thinkin’ you’re more fun than the bread.”

You snorted, water dripping from your hair as you stepped into his waiting towel. “Admit it, Logan. You’re acting like a kid waiting for dessert. I didn’t know you had such a thing for banana bread.”

Wrapping the towel snugly around your frame, he started to dry you off methodically, his calloused hands rubbing gentle circles against your arms through the soft fabric. “Ain’t just any banana bread—it’s your banana bread,” he said matter-of-factly, meeting your eyes briefly before going back to drying you off. “Gotta admit, though, you make the wait damn hard sometimes.”

The faint warmth of his compliment lingered as he continued his task. Logan’s attention was deliberate, unhurried, like he enjoyed every small moment between you. By the time he reached for another towel to gently dry your hair, you couldn’t help the grin pulling at your lips. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, giggling softly.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he teased, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before reaching for your glasses. He placed them on carefully, his fingers brushing against your temple. “There. Perfect.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re getting better at this, y’know.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning as he grabbed another towel to wrap around his waist. “Or maybe I just like seein’ you look all warm and cared for.”

Before you could reply, he grabbed one of the clothes bundles he’d laid out, already half-dressed himself as he guided you into a fresh pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt you recognized as his. The soft fabric hung loose around your frame, and you gave him a questioning glance as he smirked again.

“What? Looks good on ya,” he said with a shrug. “Now c’mon, let’s check on this banana bread you’re teasin’ me with.”

“Teasin’ you?” you repeated, laughing as you followed him back toward the kitchen. “Pretty sure you’re the one making a big deal out of it.”

He looked over his shoulder at you as he walked. “Damn straight I am.”

When you reached the kitchen, the warm, sweet scent of the bread filled the small cabin. You moved to the counter to check on it, glancing over your shoulder when you heard him shift beside you. Logan stood close, resting a hand lightly against your lower back as you crouched to peek into the oven.

“I’m just sayin’,” he added, leaning casually against the counter, “whatever made you think to make this today? Keep it up, darlin’. You might just have me makin’ excuses to stay in more.”

You laughed as you stood, shaking your head at him. “Logan, you already hate leaving the cabin. What excuses do you need?”

He grinned and pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss to your temple as he mumbled, “Good point. Still, if it’s you bakin’, I’ll take the extra reason.”

It was such a small moment—banter layered in the comfort of your daily life together—but standing there with his arm around you, your shared laughter filling the cabin, it was everything. Every piece of grief and hope between you felt quieter, a little easier to carry.

Logan remembered the hardest things about you, the pain of losing you five times before. Yet in moments like this, you made him feel like he was learning you anew each day—and damn if he wouldn’t keep trying for a hundred lives more.

that is 2008!

also here is the lingerie dress reader was wearing - i honestly don't know the mechanics of this dress, so if something was wrong in the scene, just ignore it pls😭

i wanted to write a shower scene because it's something i've never done before, but i'm aware it's a bit inaccurate for some people (as someone with wavy hair, shower sex would never happen unless it was wash day, and even then i'm exhausted after washing it. funnily enough today is wash day for me, so i gotta go-).

y'all know i'm a marvel/mcu fan at heart, so i couldn't resist throwing in a little peter parker! <3 (i'm also in love with tom holland and his fiance so...)

[shanastoryteller]

Tracking down a prince of hell is surprisingly easy. The other demons can’t avoid them if they don’t know where they are, after all.

Castiel gives up arguing against it, but instead he’s taken to brooding in the corner, arms crossed, and glaring at him. As his main source of human bodily expression, Sam wishes he wasn’t so good at it. He doesn’t look like that, does he? Jesus.

Sam knocks on Ramiel’s door. There’s no reason to be impolite.

“Huh,” Ramiel answers, wearing the face of a weathered old fisherman. Which, from all accounts, is exactly how he’s been spending his infinite life. Sam learned how to fish like he learned all of his father’s lessons, grudgingly, but compared to how he’s living now, he has to admit it sounds peaceful. “You’re the kid that killed my brother.”

“What,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “were you close?”

Castiel makes some sort of choking sound that Sam knows he didn’t learn from him. Maybe he should be monitoring his television usage.

Ramiel cracks a grin. “You here to kill me, boy?”

“Do you want to be killed?” he asks.

“Not especially,” he says. “But if you killed Azazel, then you can kill me. We going to fight about it?”

“You’re not hurting anyone,” Sam says. He’d checked. “I don’t think you’re especially loyal to Lucifer.” If he was, he would have made an appearance during the apocalypse, would have been helping Azazel find Lucifer’s vessel, not hiding out in the middle of nowhere fishing and drinking. “If he comes back, that’ll be a problem for you, I think. So helping me is in your best interest.”

“Well, if it’s in my best interest.” He steps back, nudging the door open a little wider. “Come on in.”

Ramiel is surprisingly open giving Sam his blood. He looks fascinated and doesn’t question what Sam wants it for, apparently already well aware that Sam and Castiel are in the process of destroying the remaining seals.

“He wants to destroy Lilith,” Castiel says, the first thing he’s said since Ramiel opened the door. Sam wishes he was close enough to hit, which is probably one of the reasons Castiel is staying propped against the wall rather than sitting down with them. His vessel doesn’t feel tiredness, so Sam’s impressed he’s leaning at all.

“You don’t think he can?” Ramiel asks. “Sure, not now, but at all?”

“You think I can?” Sam interrupts, hope causing his stomach to flip over. This whole thing is his idea, he remembers killing Lilith before, but Castiel has been so sure it wouldn’t work.

Ramiel looks him over, something in his eyes that he can’t quite place. “You remind me of him.”

Sam tenses.

“You must see it more clearly than I do,” Ramiel says to Castiel. “You knew him before the fall. I only met him after, obviously.”

“Lucifer and I were not well acquainted,” Castiel says stiffly.

“I’m nothing like him,” Sam snaps. He can’t be. He won’t be. Even in the memories from the future, when he’s drinking demon blood, he’s not the damn devil.

“That’s a shame,” Ramiel says. Sam stares. “He was the strongest angel in heaven, a general among kings, God’s most beloved son.”

Sam swallows. “Propaganda.”

Ramiel raises an eyebrow and looks over at the angel in the corner.

Castiel holds out for several long moments before saying, “No. Lucifer was that. Once.”

“God asked of Abraham to do to Isaac what he could not do to Lucifer,” Ramiel says. “He had no deity of his own to appease and so Lucifer was cast out rather than eliminated. He was brilliant, in the beginning, of course we followed him. He shone so brightly, so righteous in his certainty, so compelling in his grief.” His hand falls heavily on Sam’s shoulder. “I see him in you so clearly. It’s not a damnation. Until the moment he fell, Lucifer was the brightest star in the sky.”

He's silent for probably too long, trying to find some way to respond to that. Finally he says, “I won’t fall then.”

He can’t.

He won’t.

He’s going to ensure Lucifer stays in the cage forever and whatever it costs him will be worth it. But he won’t fall.

~

Sam is startled out of a dead sleep by his name.

SAM! Echoes through his head and he’s rolling out of bed, rolling upright and still half asleep when he shifts from one place to the other. The urgency in the call has him standing there still half asleep, barefoot in sweatpants and a grey t shirt just tight enough in the shoulders that he thinks it’s his brother’s.

He runs a hair through his hair, smoothing it back from standing every which way, and blinks at the crowd of people in front of him. “Uh. Hi?”

He’s in the Roadhouse in the middle of standoff, a couple dozen people blocking off the door while pretty much everyone else in the bar has their guns drawn and pointed. He notices his father among them and refuses to react, not daring to look at his dad’s face for long enough to read anything there besides shock.

Ellen has her rifle aimed, but Jo’s slumped against the bar, her arm around – “Dean!”

He’s out of it, eyes squeezed shut and curled half over. It’s only Jo that’s keeping him partially upright. He sees the blood dripping on the ground and is already moving towards them, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and pushing him upright enough to see the blood soaked across his torso, his stomach split open just like Jessica’s had been, just like their mother.

Sam sees red.

“Sam,” Jo says in relief.

“Sammy,” says someone else, and this time when he looks over, those people in front of the door all have black eyes. “Samuel. You killed Azazel.”

“Loyalists?” he snarks, shifting to stand in front of Dean and Jo. He’s going to fix his brother, but he has to take care of this first. Dean’s not dead, and he’s stronger than he was when he brought Jo back, but he doesn’t know what kind of shape healing him is going to leave him in. Better not to risk it.

“Yes,” says the man, eyes still black. “You have earned the throne, Samuel, but it remains not empty. You’re meant to lead us, Samuel, but you’ve been missing. We’ve been forced to go to extreme measure to get your attention.”

“I’m not mean to do shit,” he snarls. He’s so tired of this crap. His future self had that part right – taking the destiny Lucifer had wanted for him and making him choke on it, using that infinite power to send his memories to his younger self so Lucifer wouldn’t ever get a chance to taste fresh air this time around – good. He didn’t like it when it was his dad trying to dictate how he lived his life, and he has even less tolerance for it from Lucifer. These ass clowns? It should be a joke, would be, even, if he didn’t have his brother’s blood on him.

He raises a hand and all the demons choke on air, eyes going wide and feet glued in place. He doesn’t pay any attention to the hunters at his back, hoping that they won’t be stupid enough to try and kill him while he’s saving their asses. Even if they succeed, Castiel will bring him back.

He walks forward, eyes narrowed, wondering if they’re flashing gold and not caring. “Well, good job, hurting my brother does get my attention.” He leans in close to the man who had spoken, voice whisper soft and yet carrying easily in the near silent bar. “You don’t want my attention.”

Pulling the demons from their hosts is easy. Smothering them into nothing, turning black smoke into black dust as he kills them permanently isn’t much harder than that. The people start coughing and groaning, others limp and likely in need of a hospital if they’re still alive, but Sam ignores them to focus on one woman who’s still trembling and terrified, the one demon he’d left behind.

He moves her hair away from her face, hoping the woman inside of her isn’t aware of what’s happened to her. The demon looks at him in terror. “You tell everyone. You tell them what happens when they spill my brother’s blood.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I will, please. Please. I’ll tell everyone. I will.”

Her fear isn’t satisfying. He has to remind himself that it’s not this girl looking at him like this, but the demon inside of her. It doesn’t help much. He’d never wanted to be anyone’s nightmare. “Go.” Her head snaps back and he adds, “Gently.”

She hesitates then her head drops forward, black smoke oozing out her mouth, nothing quick or violent about it as the demon does it’s best to leave without doing any damage. As soon as it’s out, it disappears, running form him as quickly as it can.

The woman sways in front of him and he grabs her elbow to steady her. She blinks at him, dazed. “What happened?”

“You’re okay,” he says, patting her shoulder and letting go. She stays on her feet, although she still looks confused, but Sam turns away from them.

The hunters are still all silent, all still watching him. Most haven’t lowered their weapons, although some have. Ellen’s gun is still raised, but it’s not towards him, which is both comforting and not. He wonders who she thinks is most likely to try and kill him.

Dean’s passed out, out cold on the ground with Jo holding him up and pressing a hand towel from the bar against his stomach. “Sam,” she says again, eyes huge, but she doesn’t look afraid of him. That’s good.

“Thanks for calling me, Jo,” he says. “I’ve got him.”

He pulls Dean back against him, his brother’s chest rising and falling too quickly. He’s gone cold with blood loss and this wound might have even been the thing that killed him if Sam wasn’t here.

That’s never going to happen. Dean isn’t going to die. Dean isn’t going to go to hell. Sam is doing all this for his brother and just because he won’t be able to keep him doesn’t mean he’s willing to lose him.

He hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder and presses is hands against the wound on his stomach, feeling fresh hot blood spill over his fingers. He tilts his head just enough to graze his lips against Dean’s cheek, holding him steady as his body seizes under him.

Castiel heals with a touch, all if it happening too quickly for it to hurt. Sam’s not that good at it yet.

“Sorry,” he whispers, feeling Dean’s skin knit back together and his body go warm with new blood. Dean groans and coughs, body rebelling against being healed but not having much choice.

“John,” Ellen barks. “Don’t do anything stupid now.”

Sam looks over his shoulder to see that his father has stepped forward, the Colt directed at him. Dean got hurt by demons and Dad had the Colt and didn’t use it. Only two bullets left and more than two demons, sure, he gets it. But still.

“Don’t waste a bullet, Dad,” he says. He's still refusing to look at his father's face. He doesn't need to know.

Any gun will do. Although he wonders if being killed by the Colt would prevent Castiel from bringing him back. He’s not much interested in testing it.

He tips Dean back towards Jo, who braces him with an arm around his waist. “Take care of him for me.”

“I’m trying,” she says, honesty and dry and exasperated, which is how he knows she means it. He smiles, might have even laughed if things were different. He likes Jo. He’d thought he did, from his memories, but he hadn’t felt it. He feels it now.

“Sammy,” Dean says, eyes glassy and movements still weak as he reaches out to him. “Sam.”

He grabs Dean’s reaching hand, gives it a quick squeeze, and is gone as soon as he hears the sound of a gun being cocked.

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[goreandbunnies]

❝ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛!𝚂𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺

Inspired by @sweetlandspos ‘s fanart ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You see him again on campus a week later as you’re eating lunch in the park, nose in a book, not noticing that he spotted you from a mile away and has been watching you for a moment until he grew too impatient to wait any longer. 

Dealer!Sukuna who sits across from you on the picnic table, wearing shades and grinning like he just won the lottery. He leans in and peeks at the cover of the book you’re reading, snickering when he sees the spicy themed cover. 

“I knew you were a fun one under that shy attitude,” he teases before picking up a fry from your lunch and munching on it, his pink hair dancing in the warm breeze as you look up at him. 

“What do you want?” You ask, trying to sound resigned and confident but you almost choke on the words. 

You’ve been thinking about him. Of course you have. The campus’ bad boy offered you to spend a night with him and you just ran away like a scared cat. You were torn between shame and regret but also still deeply turned on by the memory of that night. The missed opportunity drove you mad, until now. 

Dealer!Sukuna kept his promise to himself and started chasing after you. 

“Do you want the polite version or the truth?” He asks back, grinning before placing a cigarette between his teeth. He leans back, throwing his shades on the table as his knee gently bumps into yours under there, sending electric shockwaves between your legs.

“Both,” you reply shyly, smiling a little. No harm in chatting with him and teasing back, right? 

“Well first I’d like us to be friends, baby,” he shrugs, drawing attention to the tattoos on his massive arms, his black tank top clinging to his upper body and not doing a good job at concealing how huge he was. He nods at you and leans over, you mimic him, like two friends sharing a secret. “Then I’d have you in my bed, making sure I’d ruin you for other men in the future. Fictional or real,” he adds mockingly, glancing at your book. 

Your breath is hitched, you feel too hot in your own skin and his presence crushes you in the best way. He’s intoxicating, much like the drugs he likes to consume. You wish you could be free to give in, to want him back openly, maybe even make him work for it a little since he wants it - you - so bad. But your studies are too important, you’re too focused on your goal to ruin your chances because of a frat boy. No matter how tempting. 

“I- I’m not interested, sorry,” you tell him, frustration and regret gnawing at your gut. 

Dealer!Sukuna who sees right through your lies. He knows the effect he already has on you. 

“One night, that’s all I’m asking for,” he offers, finishing his cigarette and crushing the butt on the wooden table. “If you don’t want to see me again after that, I’ll let you go,” he lies. But you believe him and this time, it’s too tempting to refuse. Again. 

Besides, one night of fun can’t be that harmless. Most students get trashed weekly and yet they still graduate. One night to unwind with the hottest guy on campus wouldn’t put your plans in danger. It’s been forever since you’ve had some adult kind of fun, sticking to smutty books to make sure not to get attached or too distracted by a real man. 

“What do you say, Princess?” He insists, one of his long legs sliding between your pressed thighs, prying them open. You let him. 

He doesn’t look like the type of guy who gets attached anyways. You tell yourself that you can spend that one night with him then just lie, tell him it wasn’t that good and get back to your bland, boring life. You already know any sex with him would be life changing. It scares you a little. He scares you even more. 

“Okay,” you eventually give up, heart pounding in your chest. 

Dealer!Sukuna whose eyes light up with malice and excitement the second that small word comes out of your mouth. He’s not the type to work for things, he’s used to people coming to him and giving everything he wants on a silver platter. 

This is a first for him. Just like it’s a first for you too. You’ve always made sure to keep away from trouble and he always stuck to the wilder girls out of habit. None of them had sparked a similar interest in him. 

His hand reaches out and cups your chin gently. His hand smells like the cigarette he just smoked and this alone ignites something in your lower belly. 

“Clear your schedule for me tonight then,” he demands, impatient. You shake your head. 

“Not tonight,” you feel stupid for saying no yet again. But you need more than an afternoon to prepare yourself for a whole night with him. 

Dealer!Sukuna who lets go of your face, huffing as he collects his shades on the table and snatches a pencil from your stuff. He scribbles his phone number on the margin in the book you’ve stopped reading. 

“Up to you now, princess,” he slides the book back to you before getting up, his playfulness gone as he leaves you there, alone. 

Your face falls as you glance at the phone number, feeling like you’ve just lost your opportunity to step out of your comfort zone. The one chance to experience more. Defeated, you collect your belongings and head to your next class. 

The entire lecture, your mind is on the number written in that book, wondering whether or not you should text him and apologize - what for, being a coward? Or simply tell him that you can’t see him tonight because you’re too nervous. You end up doing nothing, going along with your day. 

You’re walking to your last class when a strong hand snatches you from the corridor into a fire exit. Before you can scream, that same hand covers your mouth as you’re being pinned against a wall. Pink hair and crimson eyes come into view and you suddenly become acutely aware of the proximity between your body and his. 

Dealer!Sukuna who is just tired of waiting for a taste of his new favourite drug.

♡ Taglist : @gojoscumslut @bohoooitsme @call-memissbrightside @yuujispinkhair @seellove @s3ns4ti0n4l ♡

Dividers by @cafekitsune and @firefly-graphics

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[rgwriteshockey]

the next step w/ luke hughes ⇒

luke hughes x gf!reader

summary: luke hughes gets drafted by the new jersey devils in 2021, but after michigan’s heartbreaking loss in the 2023 frozen four, he joins the devils for the remainder of the playoffs. as he navigates the nhl, his girlfriend y/n supports him from afar, and they make their long-distance relationship work.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: light angst

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

luke hughes had always dreamed of playing in the nhl. growing up with two older brothers, both of whom were incredibly talented hockey players, it felt like a given that one day he'd be skating on the same ice as them. but no one could have prepared him for how surreal it would feel, standing on the threshold of the nhl draft, knowing that his dream was about to become a reality.

it had been a tough season for the michigan wolverines. they had been one of the top teams in college hockey, and everyone expected them to make a deep run in the frozen four. but things didn’t go as planned. michigan had been knocked out by quinnipiac in a brutal 3-2 loss that left luke reeling. it felt like a punch to the gut. the game was over, and the season that had started with so much promise came to a heartbreaking end.

the locker room had been quiet as luke changed out of his gear, still processing the loss. he sat on the bench, his head in his hands, trying to push away the sting of the game. but even as his teammates comforted each other, his mind kept drifting back to y/n. his girlfriend of two years, who had been there for every game, every high and low. the thought of leaving her behind after this loss hit him harder than he expected.

after the game, y/n had texted him a few times, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to answer. he needed some space to process everything, and he wasn’t sure how to talk to her about it yet. he felt like he had let everyone down, especially her. she had been so supportive of his dreams, and now, here he was, standing on the edge of the next step, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

when he finally saw her later that night, sitting on the bench outside the rink, her usual bright smile was nowhere to be found. y/n was always there, always so supportive, but tonight, she looked tired. maybe it was the loss. maybe it was everything building up.

“hey,” luke said quietly as he sat down next to her.

“hey,” y/n replied, offering him a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

they sat there in silence for a moment, watching the cars go by. luke didn’t know what to say. how could he explain everything he was feeling? how could he make her understand that this loss wasn’t just about hockey?

“you okay?” y/n asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah, just... it sucks,” luke replied, his voice rough. “we had it, you know? we were supposed to win. we had the talent. but we blew it.”

y/n nodded, understanding that the loss was eating at him. but she also knew something else was bothering him. she could see it in his eyes.

“you’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you?” she asked gently.

luke looked at her, his throat tight. “yeah... i have to. i mean, the nhl draft is coming up, and i know i can’t stay here forever. i’ve worked so hard to get here. but... i don’t want to leave you, y/n. i don’t know how to do this.”

y/n reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “i know it’s hard. but i’ve always known this was part of it. you’re going to be amazing, luke. and i’m proud of you. i’ll support you no matter where you go.”

“but... what about us?” luke’s voice cracked slightly as he asked, his chest tight. “i don’t want to leave you behind.”

“we’ll make it work,” y/n said, her tone full of confidence, even if her heart was breaking a little. “we’ve done long-distance before, right? and look, i’m not going anywhere. we’ll figure it out. we always do.”

luke closed his eyes for a moment, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “i don’t know if i’m ready for this. i thought i was. but now, with the draft coming up, and everything else... it feels like too much.”

“it’s okay to feel unsure,” y/n said softly. “this is a huge change for both of us. i don’t have all the answers, but i know we’ll make it work, luke. we have to trust that.”

he looked at her, his heart full. “i just don’t want to lose you. i don’t want to miss out on what we have.”

“you won’t,” she said firmly. “i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere.”

the words hung in the air between them, a promise, a quiet reassurance that no matter what happened, they were still in this together. but deep down, luke knew things were going to change. he had no choice but to follow his dream. but leaving y/n behind, even for a while, felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done.

────────────────────────────────────────────

the days leading up to the draft were a blur. luke spent most of his time packing up his dorm room, talking with his family, and preparing for what was next. there was excitement, yes, but also a deep sense of sadness. leaving michigan meant leaving behind a place that had become his home. it meant saying goodbye to teammates who had become like brothers. and it meant leaving y/n behind.

the night before the draft, luke sat on his bed, scrolling through his phone, trying to distract himself from the nerves building in his stomach. y/n had sent him a few texts throughout the day, asking how he was doing, but he hadn’t had the energy to respond. he felt torn—he wanted to talk to her, wanted to tell her everything he was feeling, but at the same time, he didn’t know how to explain the whirlwind of emotions in his head.

finally, he called her. the phone rang a few times before she picked up, her voice soft and comforting.

“hey, you,” she said, a smile in her voice. “how are you?”

“i’m... i don’t know,” luke admitted, his voice sounding more vulnerable than he intended. “nervous, i guess. and sad. everything’s changing, y/n. i don’t know if i’m ready for this.”

“i know,” she said, her tone gentle. “but you’re ready, luke. you’ve worked your whole life for this. and yeah, it’s scary. but i believe in you. i always have.”

“but what about us?” luke asked, his voice cracking again. “what if it’s too much? what if we can’t make it work?”

“we will,” y/n said without hesitation. “we’ve got this, luke. i’m not going anywhere. i love you. i believe in you. and i’ll be here, no matter what.”

the words hung between them, and luke felt a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he was craving. in the midst of all the uncertainty, y/n’s words were a constant reminder of what really mattered. they had been through so much together already. this was just the next step.

“i love you, too,” luke said softly, his chest tight with emotion. “and i’ll make this work. i’ll make us work.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

the next day luke was sitting with tom fitzgerald, the devils general manager, and in front of him was his entry-level contract. jack was also in the room and couldn't contain his excitement, his little brother joining his nhl team.

the night was a blur of flashing cameras and interviews, but all he could think about was what would come next. it was time to begin the next chapter, to step into the professional world he had always dreamed of. but it also meant stepping away from the place he had called home for the past few years—and from y/n, the person who had been there for him through it all.

later that night, after the draft had ended and the excitement had settled, luke sat in his hotel room, texting y/n.

“i made it,” he typed. “i’m officially a devil.”

he stared at the screen, waiting for her reply. when it came, it was simple, but it made his heart swell.

“i’m so proud of you, luke. i knew you could do it. and i’ll always be here. no matter where you are, we’ll make this work. i promise.”

he smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. it wasn’t going to be easy, and things were definitely going to change, but they had made it this far. and with y/n’s support, he knew they could handle whatever came next.

it was the beginning of a new chapter. one he was ready to take on.

[summertiide]

THE BIZZYBOYS BLOCK YOUR PATH!

(link to the other part of these!)

got an ask about their fight in a continuation of the OFF-styled ones i did before, and i'd been procrastinating these for a while, so i finally got around to finishing them!! boss fight thoughts below the cut! :-]

this might be a little rambly so apologies in advance!!!

so to start with, i feel like it would be shortly before the Inspekta fight as sort of a miniboss - none of the bizzyboys on their own have a ton of health, but its a 6v1, so the difficulty comes in from that! with direction from Capochin, they're more organized, and if he's defeated, they're able to do more specialized attacks, but they're more scattered in turn order/lacking the previous flow to the fight, making it more clear which ones need to be defeated sooner than others

here's some ideas for each bizzy on their own:

Capochin (Bizzy Captain): potentially able to use a "rally" attack to bring back fallen bizzyboys, uses his turns when they're all up to make one of them do an extra attack - doesn't do all that much attacking, himself, but you'd wanna get rid of him first to keep the bizzyboys that you've already defeated down

Grujaja (Bizzy Brute): with Capochin still active, he's got a moderate attack recharge, and deals some pretty heavy damage, inflicting Palsied as a sort of "knockback" from each hit / when Capochin goes down, he still deals as much damage, but takes a significantly longer time to charge attacks, and has lower accuracy

Patty (Bizzy Defective): "defective" in the sense that she doesn't want to fight you and, when Capochin goes down, the fast but light-damage-dealing attacks almost entirely stop, save for reactive attacks when she's dealt damage

Bananathaniel (Bizzy Chatterbox): STATUS EFFECTS FOREVER!!! he's sort of the support of the two "casters" of sorts, boosting bizzyboy stats and giving them Hasty, while rarely doing anything to the enemies directly (if there's no other bizzyboys, he might have a low-damage attack, but i'm not certain on that one)

Alexei (Bizzy Glutton): moderate to heavy damage, occasionally healing himself from a snack-break turn! when Capochin goes down, he'll do a lot less attacking and a lot more healing, which makes him hard to take down, but easy to avoid damage from

Vibiano (Bizzy Couturier): the other "caster" of the group, but specializing in afflicting the enemy with status effects - Blinded, Madness, Poisoned, and Asleep are the main ones among those! similarly to Bananathaniel, when there's no other bizzyboys left, he has an attack, which is just slightly higher damage than Ban's, but a fair bit slower to use

ANYWAYS that's all i got!! i might find some excuses to do more art for this (idk if it qualifies as an AU at this point, i haven't thought about how it'd go plot-wise!), but thank you again for asking, anon, i love thinking about this stuff!!

[vbecker10]

For either Loki or Bucky… dating someone who uses edible glitter in food just because. They love glitter anyway, but sparkly food just brings an extra spark of joy.

For the record, I’m talking about the mica based glitter, not the plastic stuff. Makes the food sparkly, does no harm to your digestive system. Also tasteless and has no texture.

Scared of a Little Glitter?

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N) new relationship

Summary: Bucky spends the night at your apartment for the first time and he learns you have a very interesting food habit when he offers to make you coffee in the morning.

A/N: This is so adorable @firedrakegirl ! Lol I absolutely love this request. Thanks so much for sending it. I hope you like it! Sorry it took me literally forever to get back to writing it. Thanks for waiting! 💚

You open your eyes slowly when you feel a soft kiss on your cheek. "Good morning doll," Bucky says quietly, you can hear the smile in his deep voice. His metal arm is wrapped around your waist, keeping your back flush to his bare chest as your legs tangle with his under the covers.

"Good morning handsome," you smile sleepily, turning your head far enough to kiss his lips lightly without slipping from his comfortable grasp.

"Want some coffee?" he asks.

"Yes please," yawning as you nod and cover his metal arm with yours, your fingers intertwine with his.

"I'll need you to let go," he whispers in your ear. You pout and he chuckles in response as you let go of his hand. "It'll only take a few minutes," he kisses your shoulder from behind then pulls off the covers and gets out of your bed.

You roll over resting your chin on your palm as you watch him bend to pick up his jeans from the floor and slip them back on. "Enjoying the view?" he smirks when he looks up and makes eye contact with you.

You giggle, shaking your head, "Nope."

He laughs and walks to the edge of the bed, leaning down to kiss your lips when you look up at him. "Liar," Bucky winks at you, pulling his lips away from yours much too quickly for your liking.

"Y/N, can you come here?" Bucky calls from the kitchen moments later.

You get up from bed quickly, concerned by his tone of voice. Throwing on Bucky's discarded shirt and a pair of shorts you leave your room and call back, "Everything okay?"

He waits until you enter the kitchen to respond which only makes you more curious. "I think your milk went bad," he sounds unsure of himself as he holds the container as far away as possible in his metal hand. "It's green," he shakes the milk slightly and the colors swirl together. "And blue?"

You laugh, "There's nothing wrong with it. I added glitter to it."

"Glitter?" he keeps his eyes on the container as the glitter slowly settles to the bottom and the liquid becomes white again.

"Yep," you confirm with a nod.

"Why?" your very confused boyfriend asks as you take the milk from him and unscrew the cap.

"Cause it's pretty," you answer, "Obviously."

"Okay sure but now we can't drink it," Bucky says as he watches you pour it into your mug. "Wait, Y/N-" he cringes.

"It's totally fine," you tell him with a smile. "It's not the same type of plastic glitter Tony uses in his pranks."

"It's not?" the super soldier furrows his brow as you add a bit of sugar and mix your coffee. You pour a little milk into his mug and he groans quietly.

"Nope, this is made for food," you explain. "It just makes it sparkly and fun." You pick up his mug and hand it to him.

He looks down into the mug, watching the glitter swirl around the coffee. "I'll take your word for it," he puts the mug down on the counter.

"Oh come on, give it a try," you blow on your coffee lightly then take a sip. "I promise you can't taste it and it doesn't have a weird texture or anything."

"I'll pass," he shakes his head.

"Scared of a little glitter?" you giggle.

"I'm not scared, I just don't want to drink it," Bucky says.

"Mmhmm," you hum as you walk past him to put the milk away and grab the ingredients to make breakfast.

"I'm not scared," he insists, folding his arms across his chest.

"I believe you," you say with a smirk, closing the door to the fridge. "Can you make some toast? Breads over there," you point towards the bread next to your toaster.

"Sure," he nods, thankful you've dropped the glitter topic.

Setting the eggs next to the stove you ask him, "Scrambled or omelet?"

"Scrambled please," he kisses your cheek after he loads the four slices into the toaster.

"Coming up," you grab a pan and a bowl. Bucky stands behind you, his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. After cracking a few eggs into the bowl you ask him, "Red or purple?"

"What?" he lifts his chin.

"Red or purple?" you ask again without any further explanation.

"Red?" he responds and you giggle at how unsure he sounds as you open the cabinet next to you and pull out the red mica glitter. "No," he groans but it's too late.

"What?" you play innocent as you whisk the eggs.

"Glitter again?" Bucky sighs deeply.

You take another sip of your coffee and hold it up for him, "You can't taste it. Give it a try."

"I'd rather not," Bucky mumbles.

You laugh, "You remind me of the grumpy guy from green eggs and ham."

"I have no idea what that means," he says, "But green eggs sound gross."

"That's what the guy in the book said," you smile as you add the red, glittered eggs to the pan. "But he never tried them, he just decided he hated them cause they were green."

"That's a fair reason," Bucky chuckles.

"Anyway..." you roll your eyes, "His friend keeps trying to get him to eat it and when he finally does-"

"He dies," he laughs louder and you swat him with the towel you keep on your stove handle.

"No!" you scold him, trying to keep from laughing. "He realizes they are delicious."

"That was my next guess," he smiles and kisses your cheek.

"I'm sure it was," you say sarcastically as you continue to cook the sparkly red eggs. He watches over your shoulder and you look up, kissing his neck. "Bucky, trust me. You won't even notice the glitter."

"Okay," he finally agrees and you smile as the toast pops. "I'll grab plates. You want butter for your toast?"

"Yep, thanks," you smile to yourself knowing you rolled the stick of butter in pink glitter a few days ago.

Bucky laughs in disbelief from behind you, "Really? Even the butter?"

"I couldn't help it," you tell him honestly when he comes back with two plates. One plate has toast with pink, melted butter and the other has plain toast. "No butter for you handsome?"

He raises an eyebrow at you to answer your question and you giggle then put half the eggs on each plate. Bucky sits next to you at the dining table, staring at his food in silence as he pushes the eggs around with his fork. You wait patiently as he finally scoops the smallest bit possible onto his fork and holds it up to his mouth. He looks over at you and you smile to encourage him.

"The things I do for you," Bucky says dramatically just before taking a bite.

You drink your coffee and he looks at you with a bit of a shocked expression. You smirk, "Can't even tell there's glitter in it can you?"

"You're so annoying," you shake your head and eat your eggs.

"No," he admits.

He pulls your chair closer to him, "You love me."

"I know," you smile and kiss his cheek as he steals a piece of your pink buttered toast, "But you're still annoying."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did ❤️❤️ Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[keferon]

I don't even remember the original ask about Shockwave and his kids but I will be FOREVER proud and smug over the fact that I AT THE VERY BEGINNING went "but what if bebes" AND NOW WE HAVE FISHDAD AND THE HOARD MWHAHAHAHA. I think someone mentioned the outlier group or what ever and I just went "this is the perfect chance to traumatize children" and I'm SO DAMN PROUD OF MYSELF HEHEHEHE.

Anyways. Thinking about Orion Pax and his group of misfits desperately trying to get off of the island only to meet Shockwave with the other half of the squad and everything is going to be so much fun. It's going to be chaos. I'm going to have to have a literal spreadsheet of names. I cannot wait.

I’m gonna inflict some pain on you real quick and remind that Shockwave’s final goal it so get the kids to a safe place with other humans. He is “tehheee fishdad” but he knows he can’t realistically just keep them forever. He has his own responsibilities and they have their own needs that only other humans can fulfill. He can’t follow them on land and they can’t follow him to the ocean depths.

So the final part of their journey would likely be them realising they can’t stay together

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 6: Tarzana]

A/N: Where has the time gone??? We are officially halfway done with this series! Thank you so much for reading, besties. It has been an honor to curse you all 🥰🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, T.J. Maxx, Chinese food, a phone call from Minnesota, illness, entertainment industry misogyny, Jace is clueless, Becca bakes bread.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

“What happened to your foot?” Baela asks from the kitchen. She’s doing yoga poses in the middle of the floor. Jace is noisily pawing around in the refrigerator. His iPhone is on the counter, and from it emits a horrible throbbing Charli XCX song that sounds like something they would use to torture prisoners at Guantanamo Bay.

“Yeah, I wanna dance to me, me, me, me, me,

When I go to the club, club, club, club, club…”

You are lying across the orange couch with your left ankle elevated on a stack of pillows and covered with an ice pack. You flip a page in one of those heavy coffee table books with lots of pictures from Barnes & Noble; Baela’s parents bought it when they were furnishing the apartment, and again you are reminded—the weight in your hands like solid gold—of how much they believe in her. The book is about the history of Los Angeles. “Becca pushed me.”

Jace gasps and looks up from the refrigerator. “Why would Baela do that?!”

“No, Jace, Becca,” you say. “My agent’s fiancée Becca. That’s who pushed me.”

“Oh,” he says, and resumes rummaging around in the refrigerator until he finds a cannister of Pillsbury biscuits. He cracks it open and begins plopping pucks of dough on a baking sheet.

“Did Becca find out?” Baela asks you as she does the Reverse Warrior pose. “About the���you know…”

You shrug, guilty, defeated. Your swollen ankle pulsates hotly. You are bone-tired and wholly uninspired, a foreign feeling that makes you wonder if the part of you you’ve always assumed was eternal could die after all. “I guess. I kind of tried to confess but she seemed to already have it figured out.”

Baela snaps upright and gawks at you. “Why would you confess?!”

“I thought you said what I did was wrong.”

“Well yeah, it was, but that doesn’t mean you tell his fiancée! You don’t know her! What if she’s crazy? What if she’s like that astronaut lady who put on a diaper so she could drive nine hundred miles to pepper spray her ex’s new girlfriend?!”

You frown morosely down at the book. “You’re right. It was stupid. I just felt bad.”

Jace slides his baking sheet of Pillsbury biscuits into the oven. On the kitchen counter, your sunflowers are beginning to wilt and shrivel in their vase. You have fed them and meticulously trimmed their stems at an angle as Google recommended, but still, they cannot last forever. Perhaps you’ll dry them and they will endure perpetually in some other form, trapped in a pressed flower frame, arranged into a wreath.

Now Baela is sympathetic. “Are you in a lot of pain? Your foot’s not broken or anything, right?”

“It’s my ankle. And according to Google, it’s probably just sprained.”

“Do you want me to take you to an urgent care place for an x-ray? Or get you a brace from the Rite Aid down the street?”

“I really don’t think I need an x-ray…and if my parents see the health insurance got billed, they’re going to freak out and call me asking why I’m burning through even more of their money. But a brace sounds awesome!”

“Okay,” Baela says, and gives you an encouraging smile. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. You’re going to slay the Marvel audition on Friday.”

“How’d you know about that?”

She points to the calendar. “You wrote it on there.” And sure enough, you did: red ink in a small black box labeled Friday, July 11th. That’s two days from now. Baela says to Jace: “Come on, we’re going to Rite Aid.”

He is distraught. “But I have to watch my biscuits!”

She groans. “How long do they need to bake?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“We’ll walk fast,” Baela says, and drags him out the door. Blessedly, Jace takes his iPhone and its disturbing Charli XCX music with him, now playing a song that sounds like television static.

As you lounge dispiritedly on the velvet orange couch, you return your attention to the book about the history of Los Angeles. A hundred years ago, Elysian Park was an oil field, lattice-like wooden rigs peppering the hills that now host Dodger Stadium, narrow sloping streets of working-class homes, Aegon’s unpretentious half-duplex, and you wish you weren’t thinking about him but regrettably you usually are these days.

You grab your phone and open Instagram. You are startled to see Becca’s profile picture in the row of stories at the top of the screen. She must have accepted the follow request you sent her weeks ago.

Why the hell would she do that now?

Surely, there are no benign reasons. After a moment’s hesitation you can no longer resist and click on Becca’s story to view it. It’s a photo of her giving Aegon a kiss on the cheek; they’re both laughing, his nose is scrunched up, it’s honestly pretty adorable. You tap the X in the corner of the screen to escape the image as quickly as possible, and yet it remains: red neon glowing on the backs of your eyelids, flames of arson in your throat.

You go to Becca’s profile. A quick browse of her stories and posts reveals homemade baked goods, scenic outings in nature, faux-candid selfies, and lots of home decorating. She has a blog that is linked in her bio—rebeccawilsonwrites.wordpress.com—like she’s freaking Gwyneth Paltrow recommending jade yoni eggs on Goop. She also has three Pekingese dogs, woefully inbred wobbling wheezing creatures, and you are reminded of your mother’s colony of Akitas.

Becca’s most recent culinary masterpiece is apple cinnamon bread. The loaves look flawless, golden brown and scrupulously sliced. Her caption reads: Made with delicious Honeycrisp apples, picked fresh at a local orchard! @superstargaryen loved them! Then there is a series of emojis: apples, hearts, bread, more hearts.

You return to your main feed and scroll manically through the photos and video clips there, desperate for a distraction. You see a post featuring a quote from Robin Williams—I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy—and a foggy memory is evoked like the rippling distortion of heat refraction rising up off a freeway.

You think: Didn’t Robin Williams die by suicide because he had a terrible disease?

You go to Google, conduct some basic research, and confirm the details. Then you search: Viserys Targaryen Lewy body dementia. But you find no relevant results.

You open your email, and at last you have your distraction: a reply to a message you sent yesterday night, an invitation for an interview.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her office is on the third floor. Early afternoon daylight floods in through the glass walls; there is a large tropical orange flower in one corner of the room, a specimen that could never survive here in the arid Southwest without shade from the sun and religious misting. Marion May Davis, Mari for short, is in her mid-fifties and has lines in her face and natural grey hair cut into a tidy Anna Wintour bob. She looks her age, and she looks real, two things you liked about her when you found her online. Mari is an agent. Maybe she’ll even be your agent soon.

“Oh, I love Maroon 5,” she sighs romantically as she scrutinizes your resume.

“Me too!” you lie, smiling so forcefully your cheeks are beginning to ache. You don’t want to leave Aegon, but you have to. He’s torturing you, he’s killing you. The Marvel audition is tomorrow, and you cannot bring yourself to care about it. There is a pink neon sign on Mari’s office wall that reads in whimsical cursive: good vibes only. Not terribly original, but you appreciate the sentiment.

You tap your black ballet flats anxiously against the bamboo floor as you watch Mari contemplate your resume. You have hidden your ankle brace in your purse. You are wearing a simple sleeveless grey sheath dress that Baela saw at a Brooks Brothers and bought for you—It’s so classic! she had said—and matching cool-toned eyeshadow: sparkly lilac Betrayal by Urban Decay, silver Iced Out by Huda Beauty.

Mari asks: “Did you have any trouble finding the office?”

“No, not at all! But I did have to park super far away because I am awful at parallel parking, and somehow it feels even hotter than usual here.”

“Well, we’re so far inland.”

You are in Tarzana, and it is Thursday July 10th, and you have the sense that time is rapidly ticking down, not just to the end of the year when your parents will summon you back to Minnesota but to September when Aegon is getting married on Turks and Caicos. From outside you can hear cars and pedestrians on Ventura Boulevard, an east-west asphalt artery of shops, hotels, and offices in northwest Los Angeles, the site of a former ranch established in 1919 by Tarzan author Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Mari puts your resume down on her transparent glass desk, naked except for a MacBook Pro. Frigid air pumps out through the vents on the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll take you.”

“Really?!” you squeal; and yet you cannot ignore that this feels bittersweet. Aegon’s really getting married? I’m really leaving him? “Yay!”

“Yeah, I like your energy. And your outfit is great, very European, very chic. The makeup, well…” Mari chuckles. “They’ll do that for you at shoots. But tone it down a bit more for auditions. They want to see you as a blank slate they can scribble all over.”

“Sure,” you agree instantly. “I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be your best client ever!” I won’t even hook up with you and thereby enrage your significant other!

Mari is typing on her MacBook Pro. “Give me a few days to send your stuff out and see what I can find for you. I love that picture of you with the sunflower…where was it taken?”

“The Flower District,” you say, thinking of the day you went there with Aegon and got ice cream afterwards, and he had remembered that you like vanilla.

“Delightful.” Mari is still typing. “I’m also going to email you the contact info for a friend of mine. He’s a plastic surgeon, he’s fantastic, I recommend him to all my clients. I’d like you to do a consult with him.”

You are ripped out of your not-so-distant memories, your effortful enthusiasm, and you have to be intentional to not seem offended. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate that, but I’m not interested in breast augmentation.”

“Oh no, I was thinking of your face.”

You stare at her. Reflexively, you touch your fingertips to your cheek. “My face? You want me to change…my face��?”

“Not change, dear!” Mari says. “Just enhance. Just make little tweaks here and there. I think you could really benefit from a rhinoplasty, and maybe something around the brows too…a lift? John will know when he examines you. He’s a magician! Have you seen the before and after pictures of Blake Lively? Or Mindy Kaling, or Taylor Swift? You’ll still look like you. You’ll just be an even better version of you!”

Outside, some tiny dog is yapping from a stroller or a purse. In this office, icy air blows down from the ceiling vent. You study Mari: undyed hair, no face or neck lift, probably not even Botox or Juvederm. “But you…you haven’t had any procedures done, have you?”

Mari smiles patiently, like she’s trying to explain a hard truth to a child, the fact that parents don’t always stay together or that pets inevitably die. “I work behind the camera, dear. Not in front of it.” Then she resumes typing on her MacBook Pro.

You watch her for a few seconds, listening to cars whooshing by on Ventura Boulevard. Then you grab your black Michael Kors purse—borrowed from Baela’s closet, at her suggestion—and stand up. Your wounded left ankle gives a shriek of protest. “Thank you for your time, but I don’t think this is a good fit. Have a great weekend!”

“What?” Mari says, peering up incredulously at you from behind her laptop, like she’s not used to being the one who gets dumped. You are already at the doorway.

“Bye!” you call with a wave, and sprint to the elevator at the end of the hall. You hammer the circular button and run inside when the doors open. Once you are alone and descending, listening to an instrumental version of Despacito, you take your ankle brace out of Baela’s Michael Kors purse and put it on. Then the elevator doors open again, and you are in another cold sterile hallway, and you hurry through a glass revolving door and escape out onto Ventura Boulevard.

The sun is blinding, the heat like an oven, your heart pounding heavily in your ribcage; your ankle throbs through the dose of Advil you took this morning. You stand on the sidewalk, jostled by women carrying shopping bags and men striding importantly by as they talk on their phones, and you try to remember which direction you came from.

I don’t want another agent, you think dizzyingly, nauseatingly. I want Aegon. But he’s driving me insane, and he’s hurting me, and soon he’ll be gone.

You get your bearings and walk east. It must be a hundred degrees. The palm trees are sparse and very tall and cast almost no shade; sweat drips down your face, your underarms, the ridge of your spine. You can’t tell if you’re panting because of the heat or because you’re freaking out or both. It’s probably both.

Your phone is ringing. You yank it out of the Michael Kors purse and answer in a breathless huff. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey!” Mom chimes. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you say, although you’re certainly not. The sun is beating down like you’re a lizard under a heat lamp. “I just had an interview with—”

“Listen, we have to get you home for bridesmaid dress shopping,” Mom continues briskly. Ambiently, you can hear Clara chatting away about different fabrics, chiffon and tulle and satin and lace. “I’m looking at flights right now. How’s the first week in August?”

“Well, Mom, I’m really not sure because my schedule is changing all the time and I never know when I’m going to have an appointment or an audition and my manager Josh yells at me when I don’t put in enough hours at Cold Stone and—”

“This is important,” Mom snaps. There is the click click click of her manicured fingernails against her laptop keyboard. “Your sister only gets married once.”

“I know it’s important.” But what I’m trying to do out here is important too. “And I’m really happy for her and I’m thrilled about the wedding. I love weddings.”

“Then act like it.”

“I just honestly don’t have a regular schedule right now and missing a week can make a big difference. Do I have to be there in person for the dress thing? Can I just send you my measurements? You and Clara have a vision for this, so just pick whatever you want me to wear.”

Mom sighs impatiently. “No, we can’t do that! Honey, you know you have difficult proportions. We need to see the dress in person and order any alterations.”

“Okay,” you concede, feeling woozy and leaning against a streetlight that burns your arm. “Fine. Yeah. The first week in August is great.”

“And it’s especially vital that you look your best because you’re going to be the maid of honor. Yay! Isn’t that exciting?!”

You touch your furrowed forehead; it’s slick with sweat. Your period started this morning, and that can’t be helping the situation. “Does Clara want me to be her maid of honor?”

Faintly, you can hear Clara saying something about her best friend Kinsley, and your mother shushes her. “It should be her only sister,” Mom tells you.

“…Is that a no? Because Kinsley can do it, I really don’t mind. If I land a role I’m not necessarily going to be able to fly back for planning and parties and stuff—”

“You will be the maid of honor,” Mom insists. “Your father and I are paying for the wedding. We want you to be the maid of honor. Friends come and go, but family is forever. That’s the end of it.”

“Okay,” you say, and it comes out like a whimper; the heat is overwhelming. “Mom, I have to go, I have to try to find my car. I forget where I parked.”

“I’ll email you the tickets once I buy them.”

“Thanks!” you manage weakly, then hang up and wobble on your sprained ankle in the direction of your Honda, eastward, away from the ocean, back towards the Midwest from which you once made your botched exodus.

Suddenly you feel violently ill, and your vision begins to go dark, and you know you need to sit down before you pass out on the sidewalk and roast to death. You dart into the nearest building, a T.J. Maxx, and flee through throngs of shoppers to the furniture section. You collapse into a leopard-print armchair and sit there slumped and gasping, glistening with sweat, the room spinning around you. There is a fawn-colored shag rug on the floor that reminds you of one of Becca’s Pekingese dogs. You lean over and vomit the contents of your stomach onto it: a piece of toast with a teaspoon of peanut butter, a banana, some red grapes, a lot of Diet Coke.

Oh God. Oh no.

You look around to see if anyone has noticed yet; it doesn’t seem like it. Then you quickly roll up the shag rug and shove it under a dresser. You return to your leopard-print armchair and cover your flushed face with your trembling hands, your blood like boiling water beneath your skin.

Do I have to change my face to be an actress?

You shake your head, trying to expel this thought like seagulls from a picnic, sharp bold beaks pecking mercilessly for crumbs.

I have to get out of here. I have to get back to my car.

Your 2003 Honda Accord is parked no less than a ten-minute walk away. You wait a little while to give yourself time to cool down—a T.J. Maxx employee asks if you need assistance and you politely decline, then he frowns down at the floor as if he’s thinking: Isn’t there supposed to be a rug here?—and then you venture back out into the heat. Immediately upon leaving the shade and air conditioning of the T.J. Maxx, your nausea returns with a vengeance and you stumble as the sidewalk sways beneath your black ballet flats. People laugh at you like you’re drunk or high. You retreat back into the T.J. Maxx and seek refuge in the leopard-print armchair.

What am I going to do?

You fumble your phone out of the Michael Kors purse and go to call Baela…then you remember she’s currently on a transcontinental flight to Paris to film Yorgos Lanthimos’s new movie. You call Jace three times, but he doesn’t pick up. Maybe he’s in class. Maybe he’s asleep.

Aegon?

“No,” you mutter to yourself. “No way.” Out of ideas, and not able to think all that well anyway under the present circumstances, you call Mason. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey!” he says excitedly. “You back in Minnesota?”

“No, sorry, I’m in L.A.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “How’s that going?”

“Actually, not that great at the moment.”

“Yeah, you sound weird.”

“I’m really sick. I think it’s the heat. I’m trapped in a T.J. Maxx and I can’t get to my car, and even if I could I’m worried I’d crash while driving home.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Mason says distractedly, and you can hear that he’s typing two thousand miles away in his Minneapolis office.

“What should I do?”

“Call an Uber?”

This is sensible, and yet you moan helplessly in your armchair. A T.J. Maxx employee is sniffing around the dresser where you’ve stowed the soiled shag carpet, grimacing. “A ride all the way down to Harbor Gateway is going to cost over a hundred dollars. And my parents will see the charge on my card. And what if I pass out and the Uber guy robs me?”

“Call your agent?” Mason suggests. “He probably won’t rob you.”

“I can’t call him.”

“Why not? Isn’t that his job, to take care of you?”

You blink dazedly at a rack of baby clothes, sailboats and elephants and ladybugs. “It’s complicated.”

“Well I can’t drive to L.A. to pick you up, so you gotta figure something else out.”

“Okay,” you surrender. “Thanks anyway. Bye.”

“Bye. Let me know next time you’re home for a visit!”

“Totally.” But you have no interest whatsoever; you can’t even envision kissing him. You are, to your misfortune, very much so a one-dude type of girl, as Aegon put it.

You stall for a moment, opening random apps on your phone, scrolling blindly through Instagram. Now you feel less sick and more exhausted, like you could fall asleep and never wake up, although you’re developing a powerful hammer-like thudding just above your left eye. Another T.J. Maxx employee asks if you need help finding something, and you pretend to be considering buying the leopard-print armchair. A manager is using her radio to ask if anybody knows where the shag rug went. Out of alternatives, you call Aegon.

“Hello?” he says when he picks up, like he’s surprised to see your name on his screen.

“Hi,” you reply miserably. “I’m dying.”

He snorts a laugh. “You’re not dying. Where are you?”

“I’m stranded at a T.J. Maxx in Tarzana. I think I have heat sickness or something. Every time I try to walk to my car I almost pass out.”

“Yeah, you’re not used to temps like this, are you?” Aegon sounds kind, gentle, wise, and you hate how much you want to like him again, to be friends, to be more than that. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m just finishing up a shoot in Studio City and I can probably be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Cool!” you cheer feebly.

“A T.J. Maxx, right?”

“Yup. On Ventura Boulevard.”

“Okay. See you soon, I’ll let you know when I’m close.”

“Thanks,” you murmur drowsily.

“No problem,” Aegon says, and hangs up.

You drag yourself to the bathroom, splash cold water on your face, gulp some down to clean your mouth out and immediately throw it up into the sink. You hide in a stall and rest your head in your hands for a while—ankle throbbing, skull aching, cramps in your lower belly—and only leave when Aegon texts you that he’s two minutes away. As you stumble past the leopard-print armchair now damp with your sweat, you see an employee discovering the shag rug under the dresser and unrolling it. He recoils and shouts: “What the fuck is that?!”

Just outside the T.J. Maxx, Aegon is double-parked and receiving jeers and honks from his fellow motorists. He ignores them. Aegon has closed the top of his Chrysler Sebring convertible and inside the air conditioning is on full blast, an Arctic tundra, the ice cream freezer at Cold Stone Creamery. You throw yourself limply into the passenger’s seat and pull the door shut, which feels like it takes immense effort. Then Aegon surges into traffic and barrels down Ventura Boulevard. You rest your head against the car window and close your eyes.

Aegon prods you with a large chilled bottle of blue Powerade he must have grabbed from a 7-Eleven or something.

“I can’t drink that,” you say dimly.

“Yes you can.”

“Do you have, like, a sugar-free version or—?”

“Shut up. Drink the Powerade.”

You take the bottle, twist off the top—again, this seems to take far more strength than it should—and swallow several gulps, hoping they’ll stay down. Almost immediately, the hammer strikes just above your orbital socket begin to dissolve away, and you feel a little more alert, and your nausea does not make another appearance.

“Better, right?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” you admit, touching your skull in dull amazement.

“It’s the magnesium. It’s good for headaches. And the salt helps you rehydrate. What the hell are you doing all the way up here in Tarzana, anyway?”

You sip your Powerade as you stare out the window, watching buildings and palm trees soar anonymously by. Aegon gets on the 101 heading east towards Elysian Park. You know that’s where he’s taking you without needing to ask. “Do you think there’s something wrong with my face?”

“What?”

“My face. Like my nose and my eyebrows. Do I have weird eyebrows? Is that why no one thinks I can be an actress?”

“Your eyebrows are fine,” Aegon says, glancing over at you, confused. He’s wearing the black suit that he dons for film sets, a skinny tie, a half-untucked white shirt. He notices the brace on your left ankle. “Damn, Sunshine, you’re a mess today. What happened there?”

You drink your Powerade as you debate whether to tell him about Becca. You decide against it. “I tripped and fell because I’m an idiot.”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“So my new agent will take me seriously.”

Aegon must be startled—he turns to look at you, then back to the rushing five eastbound lanes of the freeway—but he stays calm, dispassionate, like he’s trying not to scare you away. “Is that who told you to cut up your face?”

“Turns out I don’t like her, so. Never mind.”

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Aegon says, sounding a bit relieved.

“I am.” And maybe you’re relived too. “For now.”

“You down to get lunch?”

“I don’t want to vomit in front of you.”

He smiles. “I’ve seen worse things, I guarantee it.”

“What about my car?”

“Where exactly did you leave it?”

You have to think for a while, finishing the Powerade and letting your mind become useful again, and then you recall that you parked on a side street by a dog daycare, Dog-E-Dayz or Dog-E-Den or something like that.

Aegon picks up his phone and calls his receptionist Brandon. “Hey, Brando! Listen, your favorite client left her car in Tarzana. Yeah, I know. Way out there. So it’s parked near a dog daycare about a half-mile from the T.J. Maxx. Can you look up the address and get a tow guy to pick it up and take it down to the garage at her apartment building? Great. You have the model and plate number and everything? You’re a genius. And I’ll pay you extra for the inconvenience. No, no, I insist. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Then Aegon plugs his phone into the aux, and for some reason he puts on an Eminem playlist, and you doze against the cool clear window until you get to Chinatown.

The waitress Lanying asks Aegon about his siblings—“How is Aemond? What about Helaena? Okay, and what about Daeron?”—and Aegon smiles and nods and patiently reiterates that they’re all fine. You are led to the usual spot by the fish tank, massive black-and-orange oscars floating behind the glass and glowering at you, their bulging eyes reddish and hostile. Soon the table is cluttered with a tea kettle and two cups, wonton soups, your moo goo gai pan, Aegon’s boneless spare ribs. You eat cautiously, each bite slow and groggy. A family seated nearby has a baby girl, and she giggles and smacks the table with her tiny chubby hands each time you wave at her. Aegon watches this, oddly wistful for someone who admittedly has never wanted children.

“Here,” Aegon says, offering you a forkful of his boneless spare ribs. “Eat.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You look droopy. You need fat and sugar and deliciousness.”

You acquiesce and let him feed you the morsel of pork, sweet and fatty and rich and sublime. You chew very slowly, and still it’s gone too soon.

“You have to eat more,” Aegon says. “I think that was part of the problem today.”

“Thank you for rescuing me. I’m pretty sure it was just the heat. And I was kind of upset about the appointment with the agent lady, and my mom called and stressed me out about Clara’s wedding. And oh, by the way, I got my period so no need to worry about that. Whoo hoo.”

Aegon doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke. He gazes at you thoughtfully, then uses his fork to point at the baby girl at the next table. “Do you want kids?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. I love kids. But I have like fifteen more years to reproduce, and if I want to be an actress I kind of have to do that first.”

“I figured. You worked at summer camps in Watts, right?”

“After-school programs. All the other employees hated me, I never wanted to yell at the kids or tell them what to do, I’d just get down on the ground and play with them. I’m so great at Uno.”

Aegon smiles. “Yeah?”

“And Sushi Go, and Scrabble, and Apples to Apples.”

“Apple girl from Appletown,” Aegon says, skimming the zodiac calendar written in red ink, twelve animals and their descriptions, attributes, shortfalls, perfect mates. Then he taps it. “Which one are you?”

You flinch, cave in, feel tremendously low. He really doesn’t remember. It didn’t matter to him, I didn’t matter to him. You stab at your moo goo gai pan with your fork, looking down so he won’t see how upset you are. “You are so fucking mean.”

But Aegon is bewildered, like he’s not sure what he’s done wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, July 14th, and you are ringing up a Gotta Have It-sized Cookie Doughn’t You Want Some for a Los Angeles Southwest College student when Aegon walks into Cold Stone Creamery, the string of metal bells jangling against the glass door. You go to meet him by the ice cream freezer, where Aegon scans the menu of Signature Creations. He is carrying a manila folder and wearing a yellow t-shirt with a tan jacket thrown over it, dark jeans, and white-and-gold Nike Killshots. He seems confused.

“You don’t want an Our Strawberry Blonde like last time?” you say. You haven’t seen or heard from him since your Marvel audition, which was pretty dismal. Aegon stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, and even though he put on his black sunglasses and grinned at you when it was over, you could tell he didn’t mean it.

“Oh yeah,” Aegon says. “Yeah, I do, thanks. That’d be perfect.”

You make his ice cream, Aegon pays in cash, and then you ask Josh if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. Aegon evidently wants to talk to you; he sits at the table by the window and watches you expectantly. Josh reluctantly agrees and you take a seat across from Aegon. He holds out his spoon and won’t speak to you until you take a bite. Eventually, you do: chunks of fresh strawberries, sticky caramel, rich fluffy whipped topping, jarringly sweet and cold and perfect, even if it’s not what you’d usually order.

“Well, you didn’t get the Marvel job,” Aegon says.

“I’m not shocked. They barely looked at me.”

“But I might have found you something else.”

“A dog food commercial? A brief and soulless flashback of somebody’s dead wife?”

“A feature film,” Aegon says, and you stare numbly at him.

“What?”

“Indie, Sundance. Starring role. First billing. I got you an audition.”

You snatch the balloon down just as it begins to float away. You’re trying to prepare yourself for disappointment. “They’re not going to like me.”

“They might,” Aegon says. He lays the manila folder on the table and slides it over to you. “I’m not supposed to let this out of my office, so don’t lose it.”

“It’s the script for the audition?”

“It sure is.”

This can’t be happening. “How did you get them to agree to put me on the list?”

Aegon shrugs. “I didn’t do anything. They reached out to me.”

You place your palm on the folder to make sure it’s real. “What’s the movie about?”

He smiles as he licks strawberry ice cream from his spoon. “Vampires.”

“It’s horror?”

“Kind of horror. Kind of romance. I think it’s just right for you.”

“When’s the audition?”

“This Saturday.”

“Okay,” you say, savoring it, this liminal hope you can’t stop yourself from feeling. You’ve always been an optimist. Perhaps no number of curses can change that. “Okay. I’ll be ready, I promise.”

“Don’t forget about the charity gala,” Aegon reminds you. “It’s Saturday night, the same day. But there are like ten hours in between so it shouldn’t be a problem, even if the audition runs late.”

You peer through the window at pedestrians walking by outside. It’s twilight, and streetlights are turning on, and neon tubes glow with cold chemical fire. “I don’t think I want to go to that.”

“You have to. It’s work. I can introduce you to industry people.”

“Is Becca going to be there?”

“Of course. But she won’t bother you.”

Why does he cheat? you think forlornly, and then you remember something Aegon said the day you first met: Life is short. I try to keep it delicious. “I’ll go,” you agree under duress.

“You sure will,” Aegon says, and scrapes the last of the ice cream from his bowl and gives it to you, his plastic spoon heavy with melting pink magic.

When you return to your apartment well after 11 p.m., Jace is sprawled across the orange couch in his pajamas and watching Blade. He is noisily slurping Pad Thai from a takeout container. You kick off your work Sketchers and remove your ankle brace. It still twinges, but you’re healing.

Abruptly, you recall Aegon’s paranoia concerning Jace’s presence at your 4th of July festivities. “Hey, Jace?” you say, getting an idea.

He glances lazily over at you. His dark hair falls in chaotic curls around his face. “Yeah?”

“I have to go to a charity gala on the 19th. That’s this Saturday. It’s very fancy and very formal, and I don’t really want to go alone and have no one to talk to. Do you want to go with me?”

You had imagined this might take some convincing, and yet Jace is immediately amenable and has only one question. “Will there be free food?”

“Yeah, I assume so. Probably an open bar too.”

“I’m in.” Then he winks and makes a joke. “It’s a date.”