#and like somehow making this wasn't agonizing??

[apppletea]

01. Robot

prev — next.

In an ocean, a deep ocean filled with memories so distant that you simply can't try to fully remember. You sigh, again in the same nightmare, again in the same place.

Your eyes search for something or someone but you don't find it, you resign yourself and you wait for the signal to wake up.

Your gaze is fixed on the ceiling, the ceiling decorated with drawings, phrases, or childish things you decided to keep, another day, another year. How strange.

You turned your head to look at your watch, on time, you should have gotten up, but could you? Surely not, it was the same routine every day, every year, it seems like you were simply a robot, a robot resigned to simply existing.

You sighed again, your body moving automatically, getting out of bed, walking, changing, brushing your teeth, combing your hair and going down to the living room. The mansion felt empty, maybe it always was but this time it was quieter than usual, surely today you would have breakfast alone again.

Anyway, it's really not your fault, no, it wasn't.

You went down the stairs automatically, your eyes looked around the whole place before heading to the dining room, you caught an unexpected sight, everyone at the table, although in silence they seemed too focused in their own environment and somehow too tired to talk.

What the fuck.

You felt your insides twist in discomfort, you mentally prepared yourself and walked to the last available seat, at the other end of the table, it was always your place. You sat down and Alfred placed the plate of food in front of you, the same breakfast, arranged too perfectly.

‘Good morning, young mistress.’ a gentle and overly calculated tone, you nodded and he left without saying much more but before doing so he gave a glance to the other members of the family.

At times like this, it was best to finish quickly. Your trembling hands cut each piece of meat and quickly brought it to your mouth, desperate to fill that emptiness you felt in your stomach, the urge to vomit came immediately, you hated seeing yourself in that state when you were with them.

Your hands brought each meal to your mouth, one piece of bread, then another, and you ate nonstop, anxiety invading you even more.

And soon the anxiety collapsed, you focused on the empty plate, with the destroyed food and you saw your surroundings again, the empty table, without a soul.

You let out a shaky sigh and stood up suddenly, wiping away the remains of food near your mouth and quickly retreated, it was a normal morning, very normal, you tried to tell yourself that but you couldn't get that feeling out of your chest and stomach, a pressure that made you want to tremble but didn't.

‘ugh!’ the sound echoed dryly in the hallway, a reminder that you would be alone for the rest of your life, you spent so much time trying to free yourself from that feeling only for it to always come back, haunting you.

‘I have to... calm down, there's school today, I shouldn't get like this.' You murmured softly, making an effort to stabilize your breathing and calm the pressure that was making you spin.

You felt a gaze, an agonizing gaze that felt like a bullet through your head, you turned on the defensive, those green eyes as deep as a lagoon, yes, a dark lagoon.

Damian, that boy but not so small looked at you as if you were a weirdo (you were), repulsion soon reached your senses, again the urge to vomit came, the feeling of disgust always returned when they looked at you, they talked to you or tried to be nice when they really weren't.

‘Who are you talking to?’ He said with a funny and slightly annoyed tone, annoyed by the simple fact that you exist in this house and how you do nothing to contribute to humanity, surely if you knew about the life of vigilantes they had, he would boast, he would boast that he fought crime and you didn't, you just stayed at home, without contributing anything. (Which calmed him down a little.)

Maybe he didn't understand yet, or he didn't understand you, but that didn't matter to him, you weren't totally family.

‘Nobody, just forget you saw that.’ You hurried to the entrance to get ready and go to school, and thus avoid any more questions from him. You felt like his eyes were following you, every little movement, it was suffocating and the atmosphere became more so when Alfred went towards you to accompany you or rather take you to school.

‘Young mistress, are you ready?’ he asks, his gaze focused on you until he noticed the presence of the youngest son, whom he had greeted cordially and again focused on your departure to school.

‘yes, i am.’

‘Okay, let's go then.—

Goodbye, young master.’

You felt the cold sweat run down your back and you turned to look at him for a moment and you left, not a goodbye, not a good morning, you didn't want to put too much effort into creating relationships with them when they are so focused on themselves and their family.

He let out a snap and rolled his eyes as he watched her walk away, like a bird.

@darling-dearesttt @ollyissleepy

[pickles4nickles]

RUN AND GET YEWR MEGAPHONE, POKEY

[kamitv]

Secretly down bad!Naoya who walks around acting like he's a part of the whole "I hate my gf" trend when in reality, you drive him crazy in ways he couldn't possibly begin to explain or understand.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who gets hard whenever you yell at him. Something about that aggravation in your tone, the way you glare at him, and the overall frustration that takes over your body makes his cock twitch without second thought.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who can't handle arguments with you for that exact reason. Most of his past "lovers", if you can even call them that, would've left him after the first argument. But you? Oh, your tongues ten times sharper than his could ever be. He's tried insulting you in every way possible but somehow you always make him eat his words.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who's unintentionally become a gentleman around you. Following things like the "side-walk rule", referring to you as "ma'am", and doing things like holding the door open for you. All very simple things but all actions he's never done for anyone else. Ever.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who learned so much about himself ever since he got with you. You've suggested some wild things in the bedroom and although his initial response is usually no, he somehow ends up doing exactly as you've requested.

Secretly down bad!Naoya one time scowled at the mere idea of bondage, especially when you said he'd be the one restricted. And yet, there he was on that fated night with his hands tied behind his back as he watched you play with yourself right in front of him. He was so frustrated that night that he ended up cumming without you even touching him.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who still has a smart mouth, as expected, but he now only gets smart with you to provoke a reaction out of you. Sometimes you'll land a playful smack on his arm and all he can do is smile and ask you to do that again.

Which is roughly what opened his eyes to the fact that he quite enjoys a bit of pain from you. Choking him while you ride him to the point of throated grunts 'n groans catching at his throat? Telling him about himself in more ways than one and how he's such a shitty person?? Well, shit, he can't quite get enough.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who felt a shiver run down his spine when you once blocked him for something rather trivial. What really topped it all off was when you told him that the only thing that'd make you unblock him was if he sent an apology video, with tears.

And not just any kinda apology video either, no, of course not. The woman he's found himself with is far more demanding than that. Instead, you told him to send you a pathetic video of him getting off to you, still with tears, and a genuine apology.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who rolled his eyes at that rediculous request of yours. Never in a million years would he send some woman (the love of his life, btw--I know, surprising) a video of him not only jerking off, but also apologizing over something stupid he did? No way. Over his dead body-

Secretly down bad!Naoya who gives in after a total of three hours and sends you a lengthy video of his shaky hands wrapped around his cock as he pants out your name, whispering how sorry he is in a tone so unbelievably embarrassed that you can hardly believe it's him at first.

And if that wasn't enough, it's even more surprising to you how Secretly down bad!Naoya also has a pair of your panties pressed up to his nose and is ranting about how agonizing it's been not being able to text or call you for the past few hours.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who, at the end of the video, utters a bratty complaint about how much you get on his nerves. Which is so hilarious considering the mess he's made of himself, on video, all for you. And on top of this complaint of his? Seconds after, he's whining a plea for you to unblock him so he can get your attention again, even if said attention consists of you cursing him out again.

Secretly down bad!Naoya who gets unblocked about thirty minutes after he sent those videos of his and starts smiling to himself like an idiot. Somehow in that insane mind of his, he's managed to convince himself that he won whatever conflict was just between the two of you.

Even though he had to send you multiple videos of him jerking off and making an overall fool of himself...

Secretly down bad!Naoya who's not even 'secretly down bad', you're actually well aware of how pathetic your boyfriend is for you. He can't explain it too well but, you've always had him wrapped around your pretty lil' finger like no other.

[quarterlifekitty]

Follow up to this post (sorryyyyyy this took like 300000 years) Simon Riley/Reader

You glance down at the list on your phone, slowly ambling along with the shopping trolley while Joey directs all of his focus towards the little tupperware of yogurt melts in the cupholder. He picks up another piece with his tiny thumb and forefinger, pushing it into his mouth and teething as is starts to dissolve. You could always trust him with food— ever since he'd been old enough to hold onto his snacks. He'd never spit things out or throw them to the floor. Simon never wasted food either.

A sigh leaves your lips as you're forced to recon with the price of cold medicine. You know you should get it now— it's snowing out, and it's be a pain in the ass to be caught without it. Well, you could probably make do, but you'd count yourself as a bad mama if you didn't at least keep some of the stuff for infants stocked. In the cart it goes, ticking up the total you're keeping in your head.

Joey makes a gurgle the calls your attention. You could be imagining it, but it seems like his hair is getting a little lighter— maybe he's taking after his father? The same dark eyes, too. You smile when you see him and all of the tiny little ways he's growing every day. But can't help but wonder if Simon might've stayed— if he'd known you were going to have such a pretty, sweet baby. Nothing short of angelic.

-x-

You look different. Of course, it wasn't as if Simon had expected you to look exactly the same. Truthfully, he wasn't expecting to see you ever again. You look, somehow, more beautiful than he remembered. Tired, but beautiful. The cute little fella in your cart doesn't hurt. While he knew he coudln't be the one to give them to you, he'd always known any baby that came from you would be gorgeous.

He wants to be happy that you'd found someone who could give you that. Someone who must've wanted the same thing you wanted. A better man than him, almost assuredly. He tugs the hood of his jacket up, as if that'll make his brick shithouse of a body any less conspicuous— he's wearing all black against the painful white of the flourescent light and linoleum floor. The jarring beep from the card reader you're using jerks him out of his self consciousness.

-x-

Fuck. Your paycheck must not've cleared just yet. You'd thought for sure it had, but you'd been wrong before and you'd be wrong again before the day was out, most likely. It was embarassing enough to have a card decline when you were alone, but with a baby in your cart? You hope to god no one's looking at you and thinking about calling social services. Just as you're about to take the world's deepest breathe to suck up what could potentially be a torrent of tears, a pale, tattoed arm glides into view and taps a beaten-up piece of plastic to the reader. You turn to see a familiar set of dark eyes perched above a black facemask.

You stutter out an unsteady th-thank you, almost in a daze. Joey picks that moment to mumble some vague simulacrum of the syllables you'd utter, trying to copy the intonation.

Simon had never been a chatterbox. Sometimes it was a relief, and sometimes it was agonizing. The silence that accompanies the three of you as he follows you to your car is somehow both. You put Joey, all bundled with his tiny striped hat pulled tight over his ears, into his car seat before anything else. Simon's already popped your trunk and started putting bags inside.

You walk around and turn the ignition, just to get the heat going for baby. And—

… there's nothing. You feel like the sound you release in frustration echoes in the snowy car park.

-x-

The energy in Simon's car was tense. He'd offered to jumpstart yours, of course, but you didn't want to have your baby waiting around in his car while you tried to make it work. Seemed a better option to just strap his car seat into Simon's car and have him drive you home. You'd go back for your car another time.

Meanwhile, Simon's starting to get more and more furious with whoever the father in this scenario is. It was becoming clearer and clearer that he wasn't in the picture— and why the hell not? You're beautiful, the baby is an angel— even if he hadn't been cut out for fatherhood, how could he do this to you? Leave the mother of his child without enough for groceries, and with that shitbox of a car? Before he knows it, Simon has a growing to-do list in his mind. Once he's got you home, he's going on a hunt.

Home. It wasn't his home anymore. You had gotten despondent, nervous, and he was terrified of not being what you wanted, what you needed.

He carries the groceries in for you, of course. He feels transfixed as he watches you handle your baby, setting him on you hip in a well-practiced motion while you dig out your keys and jam them into the lock. Must still be sticky, like it was when he left. Whether Simon knew it or not, he'd find himself offering to tend to that too.

You set Joey down on the old recliner by the door, tugging off his tiny boots, hat, and other winter accoutrements. They go onto the coatrack, though their size makes it look a little ridiculous. Like you have a fucking build-a-bear for a roommate. The empty hook stares back at Simon.

While you set your baby in his play pen, Simon finds himself falling into old habits. Putting away the groceries. Everything is more or less in the same place. There's a feeling in his diaphragm that wells up, empty and sorrowful at the knowledge none of this belongs to him, and as soon as these things are away, he should leave. Maybe threaten the landlord on his way out regarding the lock.

"I'm going to put on a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

He nods, feeling his words catch in his throat. You don't bother to ask him if he takes it the same way you remember. Some things never change.

The little table in the kitchen still has a slight wobble. He tags it in his mind as something that needs to be fixed. That mental list is a long one. Before long, you have a mug and an opened pack of Arnott's assorted biscuits in front of him. There's more scotch fingers than anything else. You never used to leave them for last.

When you're sat in front of him, after a few deep breaths and sips of your black tea (he'd watched you add the same metric fuckton of honey you always did), Simon finds himself feeling uncharacteristically… chatty. He has a million questions, most of which have answers that would probably hurt you to say and hurt him to hear.

"I don't know how to thank you… For the groceries, the ride, all of it. I'm not sure what I would've done. I wish there was more I could offer."

If you had to guess what he'd want in exchange for his kindness, you'd guess he'd want to be left alone. That you'd let him leave quietly again. But you don't know how to offer that without it sounding backhanded. He casts his gaze over to the playpen for a moment, and you follow it.

"'Ow old is he?" The question catches you off guard. It occurs to you for the first time that Simon might not know this is his baby.

"Eight months. His first birthday will be in March." He squints as if his eyes have the ability to zoom, watching as your son sucks on some silicone teething keys.

"Woulda thought he was… younger."

"He's kinda small. He was born premature and he still hasn't really caught up to where he's supposed to be, weight wise. But he's healthy otherwise. His name is Joseph, but I call him Joey. Hi Joey-bear," you say, waving towards the playpen as your baby gurgles happily. That's one thing he doesn't share with his father— the expressiveness.

Then again, Simon's currently got a look of concentration on his face as if he's helping mission control launch a rocket. He's doing mental math. And he suddenly feels ready to kick his own ass.

Premature. And you were alone.

"So he's mine." It's not a question. He may not have wanted to be a father, but he did love you. He trusted you. The baby couldn't have been anyone else's given the timing.

"Yes, he is. Biologically, at least." His jaw aches from how he clenches it.

"When did you find out that you were pregnant?"

"A few weeks before you left. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, and… I knew that the way you left… Well, you didn't leave like someone who wanted to be found."

He wants to ask why you didn't go after him. Call him up and tell him what a bastard he was and that he left you on your own with a baby. But he knows goddamn well why you didn't tell him.

Because you didn't think he'd want to know. That he wouldn't have wanted to help. That if he did come back to take responsibility that he'd end up hating you for trapping him and forcing him to turn into something he didn't want to be.

And you named the damned thing Joseph. He'd never told you about Joseph. What a way for fate to twist the long glass shard stabbed into his gut. It shatters from the torque and leaves a thousand little pieces churning inside him with infinite sharp edges grinding together.

"I always kind of had the feeling that you'd leave. At least this way… it was like I could hold onto a part of you."

Joey picks that moment to whine, starting to get fussy and squirming. You nearly spring up, speeding over to the playpen to lift him up and bounce him with a palm to his back. Simon gets an agonizingly good look at Joey's face while his head is perched on your shoulder, your back to the kitchen. He can't see himself in his face. Just you. Nervous-lipped and innocent.

And fuck, you just look like such a goddamn natural handling his son. That's the only way he can see it now.

"I have to— I'm gonna put him down for a nap, I think he's a little cranky. I'll be right back but, I… I don't want to keep you. Thank you again, Simon," you force out with the littlest crack in your voice, but it seems enormous to him.

The dark circles, the declined card, your car, the lock on your front door, and you're giving him an out. A chance to leave and forget this ever happened offered up on a silver platter. He follows you to the tiny spare room he used to use as some mockery of an at-home office. Now it's a rather quickly assembled nursery. All of it you'd done on your own.

The walls are yellow. There are pock marks from the way things had been mounted on the wall, before. Must've been in a rush to get things ready, hadn't had time to fill them in. He didn't need to know that you cried when the paint wouldn't fill in the gaps, not that you'd expected it to. It was just one of those days where you wanted something impossible to happen because it would've made life a little easier to bear.

You shush and coo at Joey, wrapping him up in his favorite blanket to help him settle. You scoop a plush lion off of the floor to tuck into his arms as soon as you set him down.

"Such a big day for my big guy," you say softly, "I'm sorry your mama keeps getting into trouble." You kiss your pointer and middle fingers, touching them to his forehead as he loses the fight to keep his eyes open. You gasp when you feel the once-familiar sensation of Simon's calloused hand slipping over yours. He pulls you, urges you, into the hall, softly shutting the door behind himself.

You're pulled against him as his restraint reaches its end, mouth hungry and wanting, the welling pit inside him black and empty without the thrum of your pulse beneath his fingertips. He always was a nasty kisser— tongue running against your gums and tracing your teeth. Saliva strings between your panting mouths by the time he pulls away. You just barely manage to wrangle your synapses enough to swallow and clear your throat before speaking.

"Simon. We shouldn't— I won't do this. I can't. I can't handle having you for a night and being alone again. You can forget today happened if you want, forget that you ever found out about us, just don't do this to me."

"You wan' me on my hands and knees, then?" Your brows twist in a pained confusion.

"W-what are you talking about?"

"I'll beg. I'll beg if that's what it takes. If you let me be a part of this."

"A part of this what?"

"This family. I want it."

"You said you didn't—"

"I thought I didn't. I've never wanted to take something back more than that. I didn't… Didn't think anything that came from me could be good. Guess I forgot about your part of the equation. I left because I'm a fucking idiot and a coward. I thought you wanted me to be something I couldn't be." His hand circles the meat of your hip, thumb inching up the hem of your sweater. He feels a few more stretch marks than there were before. You grab his wrist as if to pull him away on instinct, but pause.

"I don't… It's not cute. How my body changed, that is. I don't… I don't think you'll find me all that attractive anymore." Rip out his heart and stomp on it, why don't you? You say it without a hint of bitterness. It wouldn't have hurt so bad if there'd been some venom in it, at least. But no, you say it like it's a fact. Plain and simple.

"Sayin' shite like that… S' like you want me to knock you up again to prove you wrong. Can't believe I missed out on seein' you all full and pregnant… I shoulda been here. Taking care of you."

It's hard not to melt against him. It always was. He's warm and encompassing and makes you feel sheltered.

"You have to promise you won't leave again. Not me, and not him." You've already pressed your cheek to the breast of his jacket. You don't know how you'll be able to live without this— if he decides it a promise he can't make.

He wants to tell you that you have cart blanche to kill him in whatever way you find most suitable if he does something that fucking stupid, but he knows that wouldn't make you happy right now.

"I promise, love. Never again."

[tokoyamisstuff]

I’m absolutely in love with ur Prison! Mark !!!

He’s so overlooked, I adore my bald-headed freak ♡♡♡

Got any HC for him, regarding his scars and or his massaging specialty ? 👀👀👀

Omg sure! I'd love to write a Oneshot for him but I don't have any inspiration, maybe you got a scenario in mind? 👀

Don't be fooled, this man is just as ruthless and sadistic as his multidimensional counterparts.

The greatest difference between him and the others however is that he fully accepts and even cherishes his human side, since it makes him stand out even from the other Viltrumites. [Slight Comic Spoiler: Adrenaline, iykyk]

For that very same reason he sees his bond with you not as a weakness, but the very souce of his strenght. Many times before, his love for you has brought him to exceed his limits when it came to keep you safe.

The thought of harming or doing as much as leaving you never crossed his mind. You're his precious soulmate, meant to reign at his side and he'd be damned if he let any circumstance take you away from him.

He's a self-proclaimed 'liberator', once even siding with the Coalition of Planets just to betray them in the end.

His motives have always been selfish, aspiring to create his own empire after getting rid of Viltrum from the inside.

When the Viltrumites found out about his intentions, they forced Nolan to carry out the punishment to prove his loyalty.

I really have no idea how exactly they did it, but they literally cooked him alive and somehow slowed down his healing afterwards, so he remained with the proof of those injuries.

Seems like he also inhaled some of whatever burned him, which is why his voice is so much more low and raw compared to his variants.

After this agonizing event not only his body was left severely affected. But instead of fearing the fire, he grew to crave it. #pyromaniac

That incident, and especially the fact that Omni-man putting you in harms way several times, trying to use you as leverage in order to make his son cooperate, are the cause for Mark's deep-rooted hatred for his father.

When he first reunited with you after all of this, his scars didn't seem to have diminished his confidence at all. He never doubted that you don't care about superficialities, after all.

And yet during intimacy he prefers to stay clothed.

This guy is a fucking animal in bed. Like, the sounds that leave his mouth are more animalistic than human. If it wasn't for him holding back due to your fragile human physiology, you would've probably died a very blissful death already.

Kiss or trace his scars with your finger while calling him your pretty boy and this beast of a man will become putty in your hands. Blushing and giggling and hiding his face in your neck, the whole package.

He really is the embodiment of a 'bad boy', but one with a soft core that is genuinely devoted to his partner. He'll make entire civilizations subdue to his will and then come back home taking care of you.

I hope you like big gestures, because this man cannot be subtle about anything. He really enjoys seeing you in charge and always encourages you to go all out, since whatever you desire he'll provide.

He'll gladly grant your every wish and always prepares unique ways to be romantic. Like, really concerning things that probably involve murder and such, but it's the thought that counts.

Loves to infuriate other Viltrumites by shoving his worship for you into their face. They'd send diplomates and he'll have you sit on the throne while he kneels at your feet, ordering them to address any matter to you instead.

Oh, he absolutely allows no disrespect to his mate. It's one of the few occasions where he actually loses his nonchalant attitude, and the consequences will be dire.

In general the two of you are like Bonnie and Clyde but on an interplanetar scale. You live in the moment, do whatever you feel like on a whim and leave the mess you caused behind.

It's only a matter of time until he finds the source to immortality, really. Asides from his other goals, he is searching relentlessly for a way to extend your lifespan during his travel across the galaxy.

All in all, with this Mark you're in for a fantastic sci-fi adventure that'll have you make countless new aquaintaces and experiences.

[shdysders]

a cold table

pairing: vada cavell & reader

summary: in which your anniversary with vada didn't turn out like it was supposed to.

word count: 4.8k

author’s note: proof reading this honestly just makes me throw a tantrum bc it’s ridiculously bad in my view. but i’m posting this in hopes of you liking it.

You and Vada were the epitome of "opposites attract."

On the surface, it seemed almost impossible that you two would end up together, let alone be the type of couple that made people smile just by looking at you.

Vada was the kind of girl who looked like she just grabbed her dad's clothes from the laundry basket and made it work. Putting together outfits that made no sense to anyone but her.

Oversized flannel shirts, baggy jeans and sneakers that had seen better days—she wore it all with an air of confidence that dared anyone to question her choices.

She didn't care about trends, and you couldn't imagine her spending more than five minutes deciding what to wear.

You however, were the opposite—always put together, wearing clothes that you knew looked good on you because you liked feeling confident and in control.

When it came to school, Vada was effortlessly good at everything she tried.

She could ace a test without studying, participate in class debates with barely any preparation, and somehow still find time to be the laid-back, carefree person everyone admired.

She had a mind that worked faster than most, but she didn't flaunt it.

You, on the other hand, had to work hard for your grades. School didn't come easily to you, but you cared enough to put in the effort.

You stayed up late studying, agonized over assignments, and took pride in every hard-earned B+ you received. Your determination was something Vada admired, even if she never said it out loud.

Although she would tease you about how seriously you took school, but when it came down to it, she'd show up for study sessions, sometimes even surprising you by actually helping.

And even though you weren't a natural at school, you made sure she didn't slack off too much, reminding her about deadlines and sometimes dragging her to the library when she'd rather be anywhere else.

Everyone at school saw how different you and Vada were. Some people were surprised when you first started dating, while others seemed to have seen it coming from a mile away.

Vada had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when you were surrounded by people.

She listened to you, really listened, like your thoughts were the most important thing in the world. When you talked about your day, no matter how mundane, she would look at you with those deep, thoughtful eyes and nod along.

And you were always there for her, too. Vada might have been the laid-back one, but she had her moments of doubt, and you were the first person she'd turn to.

People noticed how you two balanced each other out. You didn't try to change one another, but you definitely influenced each other in subtle ways.

You brought some structure into Vada's life, and she taught you how to loosen up a bit. You didn't make a show of your relationship, but the way you naturally gravitated toward each other said a lot.

Everyone could see that, even if you didn't make a big deal out of it, you were good for each other.

And even though people didn't really talk about you and Vada much—there wasn't any drama, no on-again, off-again stuff.

You were just there, solid and steady, the kind of couple everyone figured would last. It was easy to imagine you two growing old together, the high school sweethearts who actually made it.

You thought so, too. For the longest time, it just felt like you and Vada were meant to be, that nothing could really shake what you had.

But that was before you started to doubt everything the two of you had.

Before the incident.

You were in the library that day, tucked away in a corner with your books spread out in front of you. Vada had class, and you were trying to focus on an assignment due the next day. It was just another ordinary afternoon, where everything felt routine and predictable.

Then, out of nowhere, you heard it—a loud, sharp sound that made you freeze.

At first, you couldn't quite place it, but then it happened again, and suddenly the room around you shifted.

The quiet murmur of students working turned into panicked whispers, and then, in what felt like seconds, chaos erupted.

Gunshots.

The next thing you knew, people were scrambling, and you were being pulled down to the floor by someone you didn't even know. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. You could barely think, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

Meanwhile, Vada had been in the bathroom, just down the hall from where the first shots were fired. She wasn't alone—Mia, the popular girl everyone knew but no one really knew anything about, was there too.

When the first gunshot echoed through the halls, they both froze, their eyes wide with terror. Without a word, they rushed into the nearest stall together, instinctively pulling their feet up onto the toilet seat to stay hidden.

In the days that followed, everything felt like a blur.

The school was closed, news crews swarmed the area, and you were left trying to process what had happened. You tried to be there for Vada, but it was hard to know how.

She was different—quieter, more withdrawn, like she was lost in her own head. You wanted to help, to say something that would make it better, but nothing felt right. It was like a wall had gone up between you, and no matter what you did, you couldn't get through to her.

Vada barely talked about what happened in the bathroom with Mia.

When she did, her voice was flat, detached, like she was telling a story that had happened to someone else. She wouldn't look you in the eye, and that scared you more than anything.

You could see the fear and anger simmering under the surface, but she wouldn't let it out. She tried to act like everything was fine, but you could see the cracks forming.

You knew she was probably feeling a million things—guilt, fear, anger, maybe even shame for surviving when others hadn't. But she didn't talk about it, and you didn't know how to bring it up without making her shut down more.

Every time you reached out, it felt like she was slipping further away, retreating into a place you couldn't follow.

The carefree attitude that used to define her was gone, replaced by a tension that never seemed to leave. You noticed how she avoided certain hallways, how she liked to be alone now, and how she wouldn't talk about it. It was like she was trying to hold it all together, to not fall apart, but you could see how much it was costing her.

Vada didn't go back to school for a long time.

But eventually, you did go back due your parents forcing you. It wasn't easy, and you felt guilty every day.

The hallways felt different, quieter, like everyone was holding their breath. You went through the motions, trying to keep up with classes and pretending things were normal, but they weren't.

Not for you, and definitely not for Vada. It was hard walking into school every day, knowing she was at home, struggling with things you couldn't fully understand.

You tried to keep things normal, to talk about school, or movies, or anything that wasn't about what happened. But even then, you could feel the distance growing.

At first, the way Vada acted—or didn't act—around you didn't really matter. You understood she was going through something unimaginable.

You were patient, giving her the space she seemed to need, even when she seemed distant or didn't respond much.

What really caught you off guard wasn't the silence or the way she sometimes snapped at you, which you could understand given everything she was dealing with.

What hurt more was when Vada started disappearing.

You'd try to check in on her, but she was often unreachable, and you had this sinking feeling she wasn't just avoiding you—she was spending time with someone else.

You'd seen Mia post something on social media, little hints that made it clear Vada had been with her. It wasn't like you blamed her for needing someone who understood what she'd been through, but it stung all the same.

The fact that she was turning to Mia instead of you made the distance between you feel even wider, and that's when the doubt started to creep in. You knew she was hurting, but you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of something you weren't prepared to face.

And as the days went on, Vada started staying out late, not telling you where she was or who she was with. The first time it happened, you tried not to worry too much, but it kept happening.

You wanted to talk to her, to see how she was really doing, but every time you tried, she seemed to slip further away.

Then, one night, you decided to go over to her house, hoping to finally have that conversation.

When she opened the door, you could immediately tell something was off. She was unsteady on her feet, her eyes a little glazed over, and you could smell the alcohol on her breath.

She was drunk, and it had shook you more than you expected. This wasn't like her at all.

You tried to ask her what was going on, why she was drinking, but she just brushed you off, slurring something about needing to forget for a while.

It worried you, seeing her like this, knowing that she was hurting so much that she felt the need to numb it with alcohol. You wanted to help her, to pull her back before she fell too deep, but she wasn't letting you in.

Even with everything going on, you held onto the hope that Vada wouldn't forget about your three-year anniversary. It was the one thing you thought might still matter, even with all the changes and distance between you.

Every year, you and Vada had always done something special to mark the day. It was your tradition—whether it was a simple picnic in the park or watching the stars from the roof of your house, it was always something that brought you closer together.

You thought that this anniversary might be a turning point, a chance for both of you to reconnect and maybe find some of what had been lost in the chaos.

You knew things weren't the same as before, but you hoped that this day would remind Vada of what you had, of how much you meant to each other.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You had arranged everything perfectly. After some careful planning, you talked to Vada's parents about your idea, suggesting that they and her little sister Amelia spend the night at Vada's grandmother's house.

You knew your own parents would never approve of the two of you having the house to yourselves on a school night, but Vada's parents were different.

They saw how much you meant to each other and, more importantly, how much Vada needed something to remind her of the good things in her life. They agreed without hesitation, eager to give you both the space you needed.

With the house to yourselves, you planned to cook dinner for her—nothing fancy, just her favorite comfort foods, something that would make her feel safe and loved.

You'd set the table in the dining room with candles, making it feel cozy and intimate.

After dinner, you were going to to watch the movie you saw on your first date. It was your way of trying to bring things back to the beginning, to remind her of who you both were before everything got so complicated.

You wanted the night to be perfect, not in some grand, over-the-top way, but in a way that would show Vada that you still believed in what you had together. This was your chance to reconnect, to pull her back from the distance that had grown between you, and you were determined to make it happen.

As the day got closer, you tried not to let your anxiety get the best of you. Vada had been distant, but you convinced yourself that she wouldn't let this day slip by.

This was your day, after all—the one day you could both take a break from everything else and just focus on each other. You were counting on it, needing it to bring you back together, at least for a little while.

The day finally came, and you had everything set up just the way you imagined.

You spent hours in the kitchen, carefully preparing all of Vada's favorite dishes. The table was set with candles, the lights dimmed just right to create that warm, intimate atmosphere. Everything was perfect, down to the last detail.

The whole thing was meant to be a surprise—you hadn't told Vada anything, just that she should come straight home after whatever she had planned for the day. You imagined her walking through the door, seeing the setup, and maybe, just maybe, something in her would shift back to how it used to be.

But as the minutes turned into hours, the excitement started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of worry.

Vada wasn't coming home.

You waited and waited, watching the food grow cold on the table. You tried calling her, messaging her, hoping for some kind of response, but there was nothing. Each time your phone stayed silent, your heart sank a little deeper.

You knew deep down that just waiting around probably wasn't the smartest idea. Maybe you should've told her, given her a heads-up so she could be sure to come home.

The hours passed and the house stayed empty, you couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. The night you'd planned so carefully, the night that was supposed to bring you closer, was slipping away, and with it, the hope you'd been clinging to.

You kept glancing at the clock, the numbers glowing dimly in the quiet room. It was nearly 11, and you were clinging to the hope that she'd come through the door any minute.

If she did, you'd just reheat the food, relight the candles, and try to salvage the night. It wasn't ideal, but you were ready to make the best of it.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Vada walked in. You jumped up immediately, eager to greet her.

When she saw you, her expression was a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. She looked at you weirdly, as if you were weird for being there.

She seemed off—her steps were unsteady, and there was a distant look in her eyes that made you worry.

"What... What are you doing here, Y/N?" she mumbled, her voice slurring slightly. She seemed distant, making you worry even more.

You tried to smile, but it felt stiff and uncertain. "Today's our three-year anniversary," you said, your voice filled with hesitation. "I was hoping we could spend some time together. You know, like we always do."

Vada let out a scoff and began to walk toward her room, her steps slow and uneven. She glanced at you with a weariness in her eyes, as if the effort to respond was too much. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and she seemed to be struggling to focus on you.

"Do we really still care about this?"

It hit you harder than you expected. You tried to hold onto your initial excitement and positivity, but her tone made it hard to ignore the distance growing between you.

As she took those two steps toward her room, you felt a mix of disappointment and confusion, unsure how to reach out or fix what seemed to be slipping away.

Vada walked closer, and you could smell the strong scent of alcohol on her breath.

As she moved into the light, you noticed her eyes were red and puffy, and it was hard to tell if it was from crying or something else.

You hoped it was tears—something you could understand and help with. The thought of it being anything worse made your heart sink. You stood there, struggling to reconcile the image of her pain with the reality of what was happening.

You took a hesitant step forward and asked, "Are you drunk?"

Vada's face reddened with anger. "Are you seriously judging me right now?" she snapped.

You were taken aback by her reaction, and a wave of nervousness washed over you.

The fact that she was drunk only seemed to make everything worse.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady, said, "No, I was just wondering where you've been. Have you been drinking alone?" Your words trailed off, unsure how to continue as you watched her closely, hoping she'd open up.

Vada's anger seemed to wane as she noticed your genuine concern. "I was with Mia," she said simply, her voice a bit softer.

You hesitated for a moment before asking, "Have you done drugs?"

Vada's face flushed with anger as she spun around, muttering, "Oh my god." She shot you a fierce look, clearly irritated.

You quickly followed her, trying to explain yourself. "I was just worried because you've been spending a lot of time with Mia, and I was just wondering what you two were up to. I didn't mean to... I just wanted to know." You felt yourself rambling, hoping she'd understand your concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "I just need to know if there's something more going on between you and Mia."

You knew the question was direct and might come off as rude, but you were desperate to understand what was happening.

You needed to know if this was the end for you both, if there was something significant you were missing.

Vada's eyes widened in surprise, her face flushing with a mix of anger and guilt. For a moment, she looked taken aback, as if the question had cut through a fog of confusion. Her response was immediate but hesitant,

"What are you talking about? There's nothing between us." But her tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty, leaving you more unsettled than before.

Your curiosity was driven by the fear that everything you had might be unraveling, and you were grasping at any answers that could provide clarity.

You were grasping for understanding, your voice trembling. "I don't know. It feels like you've just—"

Vada cut you off, voice loud enough to make you flinch. "Why do you always have to question everything?" she slurred, her speech thick and unsteady. "Just because we're dating doesn't mean you need to know everything I'm doing or feeling! I'm so fucking tired of you prying into every little thing!"

Her movements were uncoordinated; she stumbled slightly as she spoke, her balance wavering.

The alcohol and possibly drugs made her seem disconnected, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She swayed slightly as she continued, her anger barely masking the haze of her intoxication.

You struggled to keep calm, knowing her anger was intensified by the substances she'd consumed. "I didn't mean to pry," you said, your voice trembling. "I just wanted to understand what's happening with us."

Vada glared at you, her frustration still evident. "What, do you expect me to lay out every detail of my life for you?" she snapped, her voice laced with bitterness.

"Do you want me to explain my feelings all the time, like it's some kind of control?"

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you quietly replied, "No, that's not what I meant." Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address. Vada's gaze remained fixed on you, her anger unyielding and her eyes burning with frustration.

Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address.

You had only been seeking clarity about your relationship, not demanding control or constant explanations. Her response felt out of touch with your intentions, leaving you confused and hurt as you tried to make sense of her accusations.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest, and asked, "What did you guys do?"

You didn't expect anything shocking or out of the ordinary. You just hoped she'd tell you they hung out, talked, maybe drank a little—nothing more.

You weren't trying to accuse her of anything; you just wanted to make sure they hadn't done something reckless or dangerous.

The thought of her putting herself in a risky situation was what really worried you.

That's why you asked—to ease the growing unease in your chest, to hear something that would put your mind at rest, and to reassure yourself that everything was still okay.

Vada's eyes flashed with irritation as she responded, "Nothing."

Her tone was dismissive, but you couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt inside you. You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. "Vada, it's almost 11 a.m. You've been with her all night. Of course, you did something."

The air was thick with tension, almost suffocating. Vada's posture stiffened, her shoulders tensing as she tried to process your words. You could see her face flush, her mind clearly racing as she grappled with the confrontation.

She had always hated these kinds of direct confrontations, and it was evident she was struggling to come up with a believable excuse.

For a moment, there was a charged silence. You watched as Vada's gaze darted around, her eyes betraying her panic.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, her face a mixture of frustration and fear as she searched for a way to deflect or minimize the situation.

Her hands fidgeted at her sides, clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to steady herself.

The silence dragged on, and you could almost see her internal struggle as she failed to come up with a satisfactory answer.

Her frustration began to bubble over, and her composure started to crack under the pressure. Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, she snapped.

"Fuck it," she burst out, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

"I smoked weed with Mia, got high and I slept with her, alright? Is that what you'd like to hear?"

Her admission was blunt and raw, a revelation that she hadn't intended to make but couldn't hold back any longer. The anger in her eyes and the way her voice wavered revealed the depth of her frustration and the extent of her emotional turmoil.

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

Her confession hit you like a punch to the gut. The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and you could feel the room closing in around you.

The shock made it hard to breathe. You tried to stay calm but struggled to process what she'd just admitted. "You slept with her?" you repeated quietly, your voice trembling.

For a split second, you saw a flash of regret in Vada's eyes, as if she realized the weight of what she'd said.

Although that look quickly faded, replaced by her defensive stance.

The moment of vulnerability was brief, almost as if she was trying to erase it before you could fully grasp it. You were left reeling, trying to make sense of her sudden, raw honesty and what it meant for both of you.

Did she actually sleep with her? Or did she just say it out of anger or because she was under influence?

Mia had always been someone you thought was a friend to Vada, someone who was there for her in ways you couldn't be after everything that happened.

You never saw her as a threat, never imagined that Vada's connection with her could be something more than just two people sharing their trauma.

But after every late night that Vada seemed to spend with her,  the doubt had tightened its grip.

You thought you had tried so hard to be there for Vada, to break through the walls she had built up, but now it felt like those walls were never meant to let you in. They were meant to keep you out, while Mia was welcomed in.

The realization that Mia, the girl Vada used to mock for her obsession with popularity and appearances, could have become something more to her, stung.

Vada had always rolled her eyes at the way Mia cared about what people thought, about how she looked. It was something that made you believe Vada and Mia could never be more than friends.

But now, you couldn't help but wonder if all that bashing was just a cover, a way to hide the truth even from herself.

Had Vada's complaints been a way to deflect from feelings she didn't want to admit?

You could feel the tears welling up, your lips trembling uncontrollably. You didn't try to hide it, but it felt irrelevant since Vada seemed to look right through you.

Her gaze was unfocused, her pupils dilated, wide and glassy, as if she was barely seeing you. Her mouth was twisted into a slight, almost mocking smile that made your heart sink even further.

You hoped and prayed that she didn't actually found this funny.

You tried to convince yourself that she would regret this later, that she'd understand the pain she was causing, and that the real Vada—without the haze of alcohol and anger—would recognize how deeply she had hurt you.

But not even your hopes seemed to be on your side as Vada let out a heavy sigh, the anger seeming to drain from her as she suddenly looked exhausted.

"I'm going to bed," she mumbled, her voice still slurred, but now quieter, almost as if the fight had taken all the energy she had left.

She turned on her heel, swaying slightly as she started to walk away.

But then she paused, her hand gripping the edge of the wall for balance, and looked back at you with a cold, detached expression.

"And clean this shit up before my parents get home," she snapped, her voice filled with disgust as she gestured vaguely at the table where the dinner you had so carefully prepared now sat untouched, cold.

"It looks fucking ridiculous." She spat out, her words like shards of glass cutting through you.

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling the sting as you glanced back at the table.

Her words echoed in your mind, and as you looked at the half-heartedly arranged candles and the untouched dinner, you had to admit—maybe she was right.

It did look ridiculous.

Without waiting for a response, Vada turned away, her frustration palpable as she stormed off toward her room. The silence that followed was heavy, the flickering candles casting long shadows that seemed to mock the effort you had put in.

You stood there, feeling like a stranger in a house you had once felt so welcomed in, like an outsider in a place you had imagined as your second home.

As you cleaned up like she told you to, the weight of what had just transpired settled heavily on your shoulders.

You packed the leftover food into containers, trying to salvage what you could for Vada's parents. Each movement felt mechanical, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind was consumed by a torrent of thoughts.

You sobbed quietly, tears falling onto the remnants of a dinner that was meant to celebrate love and commitment, that was meant to fix what you guys had.

It wasn't a formal breakup, but the reality was clear.

Vada's behavior, whether from being drunk or high, had made it clear that things between you were over, even if no formal words had been spoken.

There was so much left unsaid, so many questions swirling in your mind.

Although as you walked out the door of the Cavell house, you knew the answers no longer mattered.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Comfort

Damian Wayne x Batsis!Reader

wc: 1.3 K summary: your younger brother tries to comfort you when you're sick. warnings: none, fluff, platonic, no y/n used a/n: I'm doing this because i dont want to live, so here you go. (divider)

It started with a sore throat after patrol. Nothing too scary and you made yourself a warm tea to make it go away before going to sleep. But it was bold of you to assume that it won't get worse overnight. Tea isn't medicine after all.

It started to get worse in school, the next morning. You noticed the tremors going through your body and light sweat covering your skin as you went through each period, but you didn't want to skip the day just because of that. So, you powered through, even when you felt like a walking zombie by the end of it. After you managed all your classes, you get back home and make the agonizing way upstairs. Entering your room felt like heaven, being reliefed that it's over, but now you have to take care of yourself somehow.

Settling down in the kitchen, you make another hot tea and slice up some fruits, in hopes the vitamins will make you fitter. You sit down at the kitchen table with a light grunt, only now noticing the terrible aching of your limbs.

To make your throat hurt less, you take a few careful sips before you take a few small slices and try eating them. It feels refreshing but swallowing them down feels like getting sand paper getting shoved down your throat. And taking sips of hot tea doesn't help your case. So, you give up on eating the whole plate and leave it half-finished at the table. After downing the last sips of your cup, you move back upstairs and snuggle into your fuzzy blankets.

It feels heavenly and you wait for the shiver to go away, starting to warm up slowly under the mountains of blankets. Still in school uniform, you take a short nap, which didn't feel satisfying or restful at all. Your body keeps shivering and your head is pounding with a dull ache, not even being able to relax fully by yourself. Being fed up and still sick, you slowly creep your way towards the Batcave since your first aid kit in your room doesn't have medicine, and the most useful stuff should be down there.

Your aching limbs manage to carry you down to the elevator, eventually getting to the medical section of the batcave. The cold climate of the cave doesn't help you, only making the shivers become more violent. But you find the needed items for your fever and some for your runny nose, eventually turning around to get back upstairs.

There stands the smaller but chilling creature, your younger brother. You jump up and almost let the packets of medicine down before you compose yourself quickly

»What are you planning with the medicine? Are you sick?«

It's clear by his tone that he's worried, but he still frowns up at you, arms crossed tightly.

»Uhm... « That came more as a croak, clearing your throat as you try to speak up properly. »Yeah... fever. « You finally manage out and sigh out afterwards, which only results into a coughing fit.

Damian leans away lightly, even though you're coughing into your inner elbow and try not to face him while doing so. With narrowed eyes, the younger teen gets the medicine from your hands and nods to the elevator.

»Please go upstairs and try not to slip and die. I will handle this for you.«

Despite his rough approach at this, you know that he only means well. With a softer expression, you get back into the Mansion and you make your agonizing way upstairs all over again. Finally there, you change into more comfortable clothes and collapse back onto bed. Waiting for Damian to return, you do nothing but stare up at the celing tiredly, and wish last night wasn't so rainy during patrol.

But you don't have much time thinking about it, hearing a short knock before Damian steps in with a bigger tray in hands. He comes closer and sets the tray on to your night stand, looking you over again.

Damian prepares a few pills and hands them over to you with a cup of water. »Take these.«

After swallowing down the few meds, you finally take in what's on that tray he brought in. There's a steaming cup of tea and a bowl of soup, a smaller plate with garlic bread and there's also a banana. He rubs the back of his neck as you take it in, eventually taking the bowl and almost salivate.

»I wish my nose would be working right now...« You rasp out, voice being mostly broken due to the fever and your stuffy nose. Damian presses his lips tightly together, eventually gesturing to the tray.

»Eat up. I know it's not the best, but at least you'll be better afterwards... do you need anything?« You shake your head at his words and start eating the warm soup, feeling like you might just descend into the sky. Your younger brother eventually quits your room and trusts you to rest up, even though he'll make sure to check up on you every now and then.

After finishing some of the soup and fresh garlic bread, you got back into your sheets and took a proper nap. Your fever went slightly away during that time, still feeling a bit cranky when you wake up. It's later into the evening and you're unsure if you can patrol tonight. Your determined mind, however, comes up with every excuse to go out anyway. A few moments later there's a short knock at your door before Damian enters again, checking up.

»How's your fever?« He asks straight away, coming up to the edge of your bed. You shrug lightly, leaning back against your headboard.

»Better, I think I'm healing up. Was just a bit dramatic earlier.« Knowing him, he will definitely be against going out on patrol with you tonight. So, you wait for his answer, but he doesn't and simply presses the back of his hand on your forehead. He frowns lightly, letting go after a moment.

»You're not dramatic. But that fever is dramatic. You need rest.« He stubbornly crosses his arms and tilts his head up, trying to look down at you this way. It makes you huff out, shortly after getting another coughing fit. Damian proves himself right and grins lightly, eventually handing you the banana you didn't finish up.

»Eat. I'm sure father won't you let out tonight either.«

And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves your room without further argument.

You stay in your bed for the rest of the evening, getting another portion of food from Damian for dinner. This time it was a salad and some warm mashed potatoes, saying that you should eat some light food but with enough nutrition. It does make you feel satisfied and you take another nap without even realising.

He quietly takes the dishes out of your room while you sleep, eventually leaving you alone again to rest up plenty. And indeed, when Bruce finally goes up to check up on you, he won't let you go out to patrol and instead makes sure that Alfred will keep an eye on you, ensuring him that you won't sneak out.

Now bored and sick, you do your studies as best you can, but eventually give up on them as well, after being unable to concentrate due to your growing headache. Falling asleep another time, Damian comes back inside after patrol and tucks you in properly, carefully laying your studies away and takes you in briefly before leaving to his own bed. He would be lying if he said he isn't worried. He almost panicked when he saw your pale and tired face back in the Batcave, having thought something way more serious has happened. But even after taking care of you like this, he still feels a tiny bit concerned. Be assured you'll be made fun of once you get back on your feet.

←MASTERLIST

[madelynraemunson]

NEED…MORE…EX-HUSBAND!EDDIE…I AM FERAL AND FOAMING AT THE MOUTH PLEASE BLESS US MORE I’M BEGGING

IT’S ANGST O’CLOCK!!!

𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠)

ex husband! eddie x fem!reader

“all that still matters is ‘love ever after’ — after the life we’ve been through” — life after you // daughtry

WC: ~950 words

3AM. The witching hour.

The air smells of twilight musk and marinating dew. It's pitch black all around you, the nearest gas station being an agonizing 1.3 miles away. You're also 10 miles from Hawkins, pulled over in nothing but platform heels, a black mini dress, and expired pepper spray in your purse. To make matters worse, the only friends up who seem to be up at this hour are hungry bears and obnoxious, chirping crickets. And skinwalkers if you're where you think you are.

A horrible ending to a girls night out. Just what you needed.

Alone and afraid, you decide to call the number one person on speed dial, whose gradual distaste towards you renders itself very evident from the moment he answers the phone.

"What?! I'm trying to sleep."

"Eds." you whimper into the phone. "I need you."

There's a long pause in response to your petrified sobs, followed by the clicking noise of a phone keyboard before you hear cursing and the frantic ruffling of sheets.

"I’ll be there."

"Well?"

You watch as Eddie crinkles his forehead in concentration, examining your car while his soot-tainted hands explore every crevice of your hood. Routine maintenance has never been as issue because you've always had a personal mechanic at your feet. But since the divorce, you've gotten pretty bad about it. Otherwise, the you and Eddie wouldn't be stuck in this situation. Obviously.

"Weeelp." Eddie sighs, stretching out every bit of the syllable. He slams the hood shut. "She's just about blown out. You're lucky that thing didn't overheat too much with you in it."

You've prided yourself in not needing a man to change your tires, wiper fluid, OR oil nowadays. But in the midst of your journey towards self love and independence, you somehow forgot that your car could also overheat.

"Oh..”

You try not to watch intently as Eddie cleans his hands off with his hanky, the one he keeps neatly tucked into the back pocket of his flattering dark, denim jeans. Your eyes then trail towards his leather jacket, which housed his broad shoulders and delicious waist so nicely, you would've thought it had been tailored just for him. And you could just about fall right into him when he angles his torso towards you, his sculpted jawline glistening in the moonlight — but nearly not as glistening as those gorgeous chocolate eyes, the ones he used to his advantage during your marriage to get you to forgive him for whatever mistake he seemed to make that week. Before you could fawn any further, Eddie snaps you back to reality.

"When was the last time you put some coolant in this thing?"

"Some what?"

"You keep Prestone at the house?" Eddie pesters. "Antifreeze? Peak?"

Cheeks reddening, you shake your head. "No.”

"You get this thing examined often?"

“Not unless you do it," is what you shamefully admit. “For the most part…”

Eddie's face scrunches out of frustration. He knew this would happen.

"God, I hate when you do shit like this," he snaps. "For all I know your engine light could've been on for weeks."

"But it wasn't." you mutter softly. You're already scared. This is the last thing you need.

"You know your car in particular needs to be serviced every half year?" Eddie mutters. "Oil changes, tire rotations. Your break pads have also seen better days. Which is concerning."

"Ok.”

"And how many times do I have to say you gotta pay attention to this fucking radiator?!" Eddie hisses, slapping at the hood again with his open palm. You shudder at the loud *THUNK* noise that echoes across the woods. "We wouldn't be out here in 3AM if you had just taken proactive measures.”

"Stop YELLING at me!" you whine, a piece of your inner child spewing outwards to combat Eddie's belligerent word vomit.

"I'm not yelling." Eddie firmly insists.

He turns his back to you and starts towards your car again.

"Yes, you are, you always do." you croak miserably, balling your fists up in frustration. “You always do Eddie, and I'm sick of it! You always want to be right, and you always kick me when I'm already down to-"

“Okay, okay, okay." Eddie hushes you. He runs a frantic hand through his hair. "Agh, fuck, okay — I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with guilty, glimmering eyes as you shift your body away from him. Guarded, tense. Closing up all access of you towards him because he lost those rights a long time ago. Muttering to himself now, Eddie scrapes at the pebbles beneath his feet, fiddling with the chain of his wallet before he dares to speak to you again.

"I just worry about you a lot."

You peer back over at him. "Deadass?"

He snorts. "Well yeah."

With your permission Eddie stalks closer to you.

"I don't want to wake up to a phone call talking about my wife's car bursting into flames — with her inside." He rolls his eyes. “All because she hasn't been maintaining her shit.”

"I have been," you fib just a bit, though most of it rings true. just forgot to iron out some little details."

Eddie relaxes his shoulders.

"I know," he surrenders. “I guess there's a part of me that secretly hopes you'll still need me somehow. Some way, or another."

"I'll always need your presence," you reassure him.

Your ex husband softens up. He always thought that during your separation you had found another Superman to save the day. Some other handsome devil to fix your car and maintain all the leaky faucets inside your once shared home. But as you've always insisted, nobody has your back like Eddie. Your very own George Reeves. At your disposal for you and you only.

He suddenly wraps his arms around you, and as you predicted you ease right into him, the comfort and familiarity of Eddie melting away any ounce of hostility you guys have ever harbored against each other. You both have your days, but the love you two have for each other has always remained the same. Just changed form, is all.

"I'm glad you're okay," is all he says.

'I'm glad you're here," you sniff. "Always playing hero, per usual..."

"Well for you, always."

He plants a gentle kiss on top of your forehead as you two sway around in unison. You hum to showcase your endearment.

And he'd do it again.

———

🏷️ tagging peeps who seemed interested in this lil universe 🫶🏼✨ thank you guys for reading :)

@highinmiamiii @potatobeans99 @mediocredreams @joshlmbrt @eddiesxangel @enam3l @mmunson86 @davidblowies-blog @thatissonnina @oskea93 @aurora-austen @lesservillain @madeofmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munsonssweets @nailbatanddungeon @swiss-mrs @winchester-angel @belokhvostikova @curlyjoequinn @strangereads @marrowfrog00 @shadyunknowncreation @tuolcaniacoc @catherinnn @prestinalove @pleuviors @cinemabean @calumfmu @littlexdeaths

[fungateshortcakes]

Hello! This is like my first time giving a req and I just really really loved your writing about Oldman Logan! I really wanted to know Old Man logan x reader who has like a pet bunny? Ik it sounds stupid😭 but like I really wanted to see Oldman logan super annoyed with readers' Pet Bunny. Like he is super annoyed by the fact that reader gives attention to the stupid little furball instead of poor tired logan or the time reader takes her bunny to little trips to the beach with logan and he is again annoyed that ot was like supposed to be a lil date between him and reader and the bunny just like took all the attention away☹️ it can be fluff!

{And if you can! Can the reader be like a curvy one? Ik I'm sorry it might not be a part of the plot, but I really loved ur plus size! Reader x old man logan one🫶🏻}

Sorry if there are any mistakes! But I just love the way you write logan in general. Love ya'!!🩷🩷

Beachy Bunny

This is such a cute idea! Logan gives me these 'dad said he didn't want a dog but now he loves the dog more than anyone else' vibes. Give it time, he is gonna love that bunny

Pairing: Old man Logan x chubby! Fem!reader

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings/tags: fluff, short and sweet, jealousy, chubby reader, pets, arguments, making up, kissing, brief description of (somewhat) nudity, slightly suggestive, english is not my first language, !not proof read!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Logan had been through a lot in his long, miserable life- wars, losing his loved ones, mutant extinction, his own body poisoning him, you name it. But somehow, none of those compared to the slow, agonizing torture of being second place to a damn rabbit.

He was talking about your pet rabbit. Before you two started dating, he knew you would bring your little furry friend with you if you two every decided to move together. But he hadn't expected to lose to a bunny that only slept and ate most of the day.

You sat on the couch as usual, giggling as your fluffy white bunny, Thumper, wiggled his pink nose up at you with his big, round eyes. Logan, slouched next to you, let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples like he was dealing with a headache.

Thumper was allowed to free-roam in your apartment, going to places whenever he pleased. He had a cage you put him in for the night, but by day, and only if at least one of you were home, he was able to hop around the whole house. And Logan hated it. He occupied every space, following Logan to personally annoy him. That bunny had too many right in this flat, in his opinion. “You spoil it too much” Logan muttered, his voice gravelly.

“You spoil me too much” you shot back with a smile, not even looking up as you were busy scratching thumpers cute fluffy head “So, really, it’s only fair.”

Logan scoffed, shaking his head while crossing his arms over his chest “Difference is, you’re my girl. That thing’s just a freeloader.” he declared, staring down your rabbit with a nasty side eye.

You gasped dramatically “How dare you?” you shrieked, scooping up Thumper and holding him tightly to your chest protectively “He’s family!”

Logans teeth were grinding together. He was supposed to be pressed to your chest while you coddled and kissed him, not this thing.

“He’s an attention-sucking nuisance” Logan muttered, eyeing Thumper as he twitched his nose, his hanging ears flopping while he stared back, almost smugly, if you asked Logan

The real offense, though, happened at the beach.

Logan had planned this day just for you, well, mostly for you. He wasn't really a beach guy, but he figured seeing your gorgeous thick curves in that bikini, your soft tummy out and enjoying yourself, would make it all worth it. And hell, it had been worth it when you stepped out of the car, the soft fabric of the short sundress you wore over your bikini hugging every inch of your body in just the right way, your exposed skin glistening with a layer of sun screen. He had been this close to dragging you back into the car and forgetting the beach altogether.

But then, of course, you had to bring him.

Thumper.

In a little carrier. With a tiny sun hat. You even packed a little basket with fruits he could munch on. Logan had never felt so defeated. He had begged you to not take him, that Thumper would survive being in his cage for a few hours, but you insisted on taking him, talking about how he needs to get more fresh air.

Logan sat on large towel next to you, arms crossed, watching you build a tiny bunny-sized sandcastle next to the blanket, while Thumper laid comfortably in the shadows under the umbrella, looking pleased as ever, as if you were only his servant that did everything he asked.

You glanced up at Logan, your eyes squinting from the sun, and smiled. “Why do you look so grumpy?” you teased him, rubbing your hands that were full of sand off on your thick thighs.

“Because” Logan started with a huff, motioning at the relaxed rabbit that laid only a few inches away from his legs “this was supposed to be a date. You know, just us two, being romantic and shit" he complained, the edge in his voice making you tilt your head. You knew that Logan wasn't too fond of Thumper. But that's just how Logan was with new things in his life. He hadn't been fond of you at the start, too, always keeping you at arms length. But eventually, he caved, gave in to the feelings he haboured for you ever since his eyes fell on your dolled up form in that bar, a pretty thing for an old man like him, so you thought he would warm up to Thumper too. Slowly, you were losing that hope.

“This is romantic” you shot back, gesturing to the scenery around you two, the shining sun, the refreshing sea just a few feet away, the sound of the crashing waves and the cute little picnic basked you had packed for today. Logan rolled his eyes "Yeah, it would be romantic if this little shithead wasn't here, taking up all the space and attention" he grumbled out, expecting you to answer him, and you were about to, but then Thumper sat up and started to clean his face and floppy years and it was the cutest thing you have ever seen. You instantly started cooing, completely ignoring what Logan had said.

"See! That's what I mean! I am talking to you, he does something, and you don’t even care for what I was trying to say" Logan argued, clearly offended. He felt embarrassed to have such big feelings over a rabbit, especially in his old age, but he couldn't helo but be annoyed and more than a little pissed off

You quickly snapped out of your awe and looked at him apologetic, realising that he was right. "You're right, I'm sorry. I have been treating you a bit unfairly" you muttered, avoiding his sharp gaze.

"But please, don't blame him" you then pleaded, brushing your hand over Thumpers soft fur. "It’s not his fault, you know. It's mine. I shouldn’t put you last" you admitted and crawled closer to him and, shame on him, he had a good view of your cleavage then. Logan’s eyes followed the motion, his irritation fading slightly.

You supported yourself by placing your hand on his strong thigh, leaning up to give him a kiss. His thick salt and pepper beard tickled your lips and when you pulled back, his slight anger had melted away completely. "Don't tell Thumper, but you are still my favourite" you whispered teasingly, your heart hammering in your chest as your response got a small smirk out of him. "That's right, I better be, sweetheart" he muttered, one broad hand snaking around your naked waist, pulling you in for another short kiss. And another, maybe a third one wouldn’t hurt either.

You could have kissed him forever while the salty breeze brushed through your hair, but suddenly, Logan felt something nugde his leg. It was Thumper, who was desperate to claw his way onto his lap. Logan grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Next time, he stays home. I'm serious”

“Maybe” you said with a sly smile, knowing full well that Logan had already lost this battle.

He sighed, running a hand down his face. He was a tough, hardened man. He had survived everything. But when it came to you and your damn bunny, he never stood a chance.

But who knows, maybe one day Logan will realise that this little ball of fur was only half as bad as he thought he was.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

I hope this was like you imagined <3 I called the bunny thumper and gave him floppy ears because my pet bunny was also called thumper and had floppy ears. I wanted to include him in the fic as a little memorial, I hope that's okay

[ticklygiggles]

Lunch break | Asaba Harumasa x Mocha [n$fw]

Commissioner's OC | PPYMIA COMCO

A/N: Collab with always precious and beautiful @ppystkposts commissioned by @kusuguricafe! We hope you enjoy this, thank you for your support!

Big thanks to always wonderful @lovelynim for beta reading this fic and also for providing the images used in this fic hehe mwah love

Friendly reminder that we still have two free slots!

Summary: Harumasa has a little visit during lunch break.

Words: 2.7k

Reports, reports, and more reports.

This was, without a doubt, the most mind-numbing and soul-crushingly dull aspect of his job, and, of course, the one he detested the most. As he sat there, staring blankly at the endless stream of paperwork, his mind inevitably wandered to his stunning girlfriend.

A goofy, soft grin spread across Harumasa's face at the mere thought of her, his heart skipping a beat that sent a delightful shiver coursing through his chest and down to his stomach. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he felt embarrassed for behaving like a smitten schoolboy with his first crush, unable to shake off the silly, lovesick feeling that had taken hold of him.

As he glanced at the clock on the wall, he realized that lunchtime was fast approaching, and a wild, impulsive idea suddenly came to his mind. He swiftly grabbed his phone and opened the messaging app, his fingers flying across the screen as he navigated to her chat, a sense of excitement and anticipation building in his chest.

He chuckled to himself, feeling exactly like an excited kid. He quickly glanced behind him, making sure the Deputy Chief wasn't around and that Soukaku and Miyabi had their nose buried in their own work, (something he should be doing as well), and quickly answered her again:

Boosted… well, it didn't matter. He quickly typed again:

His heart pounded against his chest; somehow he felt the exact nervous anticipation he had felt when he mustered the courage to ask Mocha to be his girlfriend. There was really no reason to feel so terribly nervous, but he was desperate to see her and get away from the stress these annoying reports were causing him. His heart skipped a beat as his phone vibrated in his hand with a new notification. He straightened his back and read the new message, letting out a sigh of relief. 

Those five minutes, followed by the agonizing wait until lunch time, felt like eons to Harumasa. The clock's hands seemed frozen in place, refusing to move. He would glance up, convinced that a good ten minutes had elapsed, only to discover with great horror that a mere sixty seconds had ticked by. He fought against a loud whine, frustrated to the core. 

Finally, after three eternities, it was lunchtime and Harumasa jumped up from his chair, making it spin. 

“Ah, Harumasamasa!” Soukaku’s voice stopped him. “Are you having lunch with us?” 

He groaned internally as he turned around to look at her and Miyabi, smiling the kindest smile he could muster. “Not today. I'm having a little visit over lunch break, I need to go pick them up now– I'll see you later!” 

He dashed out of the office and the building, quickly spotting Mocha near the entrance. A warm, loving smile spread across his lips as he approached her with silent steps, almost tiptoeing, her back facing him. Grinning mischievously to himself, he stopped just a couple of steps away from her and leaned close.

“Did I make you wait long, beautiful?” He whispered against her ear, making it twitch, and he laughed loudly as Mocha jumped nearly out of the stratosphere. Mocha's tail hairs stood on end as she quickly turned around and hit him in the chest. “Ouch?” Harumasa said with a smirk.

“You scared me!” She said with a pout that Harumasa couldn't resist pinching tenderly, making her whine. “Is this how you say hello?” 

He grinned, leaning down to steal a tender kiss to her lips. “Hello, beautiful. You look stunning today, what's new~” he purred and seeing her adorable pout morph into a shy smile, he knew he had won her over again, his heart fluttered. 

He laced his fingers through hers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze and guiding her into the building and into the empty office. Mocha had been there a couple of times before, but she always seemed adorably surprised by it all. 

“That truly looks boring,” she said as she checked a few forms piled up over Harumasa’s desk. “Now I understand why you always procrastinate.” 

He chuckled softly, sitting back in his chair and reaching out to grasp her wrists, gently pulling her onto his lap. Mocha's soft giggles filled the air as she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, her tail wrapping around his waist. Harumasa gazed at her adoringly as she took in every nook and cranny of the empty office.

“It's quite scary with just the two of us here,” she said in almost a whisper and Harumasa chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle his face against her neck. 

“It's not as loud and fast paced as your cafe, is it?” She shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she felt a tender kiss being pressed to the side of her neck. The sensation sent shivers down her spine, and she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. Harumasa smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“N-Now now…," she giggled, her voice trembling as his hand caressed up her thigh, slipping under her skirt to tease the soft skin. "Masa~ we're in your office," she reminded him, her voice laced with laughter as his fingers lightly tickled her thigh.

Harumasa mumbled against her neck, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "Hmm, doesn't matter," he whispered, pressing his body flush against hers. "They're all having lunch somewhere."

A soft little mewl escaped her lips as another kiss was pressed to her neck and Harumasa felt a shudder run down his spine. 

“There are cameras, though, we better-” 

She began, but her words abruptly cut off as she suddenly jumped off Harumasa’s lap, catching him off guard. To his surprise, Mocha grasped one of his wrists and dragged him towards a closet in one of the corners of the office. Harumasa’s confusion deepened, but he didn't resist her. Instead, he extended his other hand, giving her a playful spank that made her squeal and blush. Mocha shot him a playful glare over her shoulder as she opened the closet door and unceremoniously pushed Harumasa inside. He chuckled, still confused. 

“What are you- mff-!” Mocha slipped inside as well, closing the door behind her and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him into a passionate kiss.

Harumasa hummed in approval, moaning softly against her lips as his hands grasped her waist, pulling her close against him. Their hips met, rubbing slightly against each other, filling the little closer with soft sighs, whimpers and moans. 

“This is so naughty,” Harumasa said breathlessly, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips. When he woke up that morning, he would never have imagined that he’d spend his lunch break satisfying another kind of hunger with Mocha in a closet in his office. 

She grinned, her eyes half-closed in pleasure, as she pressed herself closer to him, their bodies flush against each other. Her breasts crushed against his chest, sending a flush of embarrassment through Harumasa's cheeks. 

“Don't pretend you don't love it,” she whispered against his lips as she started to unbutton his shirt, each button revealing a silver of Harumasa's skin to her gentle, teasing touch. His skin erupted in goosebumps as her fingers danced across his chest.

Harumasa's heart pounded against his chest as he looked at Mocha's beautiful face, her delicate fingers undoing each button. His eyes were filled with affection and dark with lust. Mocha could make him feel a hundred emotions all at once with just a simple glance. He wanted to cherish and protect her, almost possessively, and, at the same time, wanted to take her, to claim her as his own in every single chance he got. 

His fingers, trembling slightly as if this was his first time with her, sneaked under the hem of her shirt and she grinned, visibly shuddering as he squeezed her waist, digging into the flesh, making her bite her lip in a vain attempt to stifle a moan. 

“Someone's been very naughty today,” she purred, her tail lazily swishing from side to side as she started to untie his tie.

Harumasa smirked, leaning down to place a soft peck to her lips. “Don't pretend you don't love it,” he teased, grinning. Mocha chuckled, her cheeks blushing pink.

“I do love it,” she admitted with a nod. “But I also think you need a little punishment.”

Harumasa's eyes sparkled with lust and amusement. “Oh? Don't threaten me with a good time, kitten,” he whispered, blowing cool air against her ear, making her squeal and her ear twitch.

She glared at him playfully, seizing his wrists from her waist and binding them with his tie. Harumasa gasped, looking at the door of the closet out of instinct before he looked back at the cute bow she had created.

Mocha grinned mischievously at him as she lifted  his arms, hooking them around her neck. Harumasa sighed, blushing as her eyes roamed over his exposed skin. She licked her lips like a hungry lion. 

This certainly was… new. She really wasn't one to try different things during their intimate times, but he couldn't say he was against it.

Harumasa chuckled softly, shuddering when her fingernails grazed the skin of his stomach, his flesh waking up with goosebumps as she traced the contours of his abs. He squirmed slightly, choking on a soft squeal as she circled his belly button. 

“It tickles,” he mumbled with a soft gasp, his body jerking away from her touch. 

Mocha grinned, tracing the curve of Harumasa's hip bones. “It does, doesn't it?”

His heart jumped and his eyes widened in realization. He shook his head. “N-No! Not that, M-Mocha, please!” 

“Shh shh shh.” She tiptoed to reach his lips, kissing them once. “Someone might hear you,” she purred, her fingernails dragging up and down his sides, making him arch with gasps and whimpers that eventually morphed into giggles and soft squeals.

Her touch was gentle, just like the caresse of a soft feather, almost itchy– tortuous, yet, somehow, kind of nice. A sudden burst of laughter escaped Harumasa's lips as her nails danced along his waist, sending shivers down his spine. 

He wanted to lower his arms, but he knew that would put pressure on her neck and he understood why she had chosen that position. Mocha knew he would do his best to not hurt her with any harsh movement. Harumasa whined, giggling again as her nails dragged against the back of his ribs.

“Thihis is so unfahahair, Mocha! Why are you even- ahahaha! Wait! Wahahahit!” 

Ugh, he really was too ticklish for his own good, it was almost embarrassing. Some simple squeezes to his waist were enough to have him giggling like a stupid kid, and twisting his body from side to side, trying to shake off her teasing, wiggling fingers.

“Does it tickle, baby?” She asked teasingly, giggling along with him as he jolted and squealed. “You're so terribly ticklish, are you not?” 

Harumasa whined again, the volume and desperation of his laughter increasing as she moved lower, her thumbs rubbing deep, maddening and so horrendously ticklish circles into his hips that nearly had him shrieking with laughter. 

“Stahahap! I'm seheherious! I fuhuhucking- ahahahaha! Plehehease!” 

“Oh my, oh my, what language is that?” she teased, squeezing his hips in a frantic pace that had Harumasa throwing his head back with loud bouts of laughter. 

Mocha's random ideas always seem to catch him off guard. Instead of the steamy moment he was expecting to have with her, she'd chosen to torment him with tickles, knowing full well that he–

“AHAHAHA! NO! No, nohohot thehehere! PLEHEHEASE!” He leaned against the cold metal wall of the closet, shifting back and forth, trying to get away from Mocha's wicked fingers that had found a place under his arms, tickling his poor armpits as if her life depended on it. 

Harumasa laughed nearly in hysterics, the back of his head banging against the closet wall, as if he wanted to distract himself from the overwhelming sensation. Mocha laughed, but her fingers didn't stop for a second. 

"Stop that! You'll hurt yourself!" she scolded him, but her lips were spread in a wide, playful and mischievous smile as she pinched the ticklish never right in the middle of Harumasa's armpits. 

Harumasa shook his head, his cheeks bright red and his tears twinkling in his eyelashes. “STAHAHAP! You k-knohohow I'm sihihick! Thihis wihill mahahake mehehe- AHAHA! Plehehease!” 

Mocha rolled her eyes fondly, pressing herself a bit more against him to pin him against the wall, but a soft gasp escaped her lips when something poked at her thigh. 

Harumasa widened his eyes, looking down at the same time Mocha did, her fingers coming to a sudden stop as they both looked down between their bodies. 

He gasped in horror and Mocha's mouth fell open. “Ohoho~ do you want me to take care of that?” 

Harumasa shook his head almost desperately, finding a way to unhook his arms from around her neck and reaching down to try and catch Mocha's hands that were starting to unbutton and unzip his pants. Why on earth was be hard?!

“M-Mocha!” He pleaded. “B-Baby, I don't think- oh, fuck~”

Mocha giggled softly. “Oh yeah, that feels so good right?” Her hands had pulled down his clothes in the blink of an eye, his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles. Harumasa threw his head back as she began to stroke his hard cock slowly, so painfully slowly. Shivers of pressure ran down his spine, causing him to arch his back and slowly roll his hips. 

“M-My lovely, ngh! Oh shit, faster please, faster- ack! N-No! Nohoho, wahahait! Nohot tihihickling!”

While her strokes became faster just as he had asked, her other hand had also sprung into action. Harumasa squirmed, trying to press his arms to his body as much as possible. But Mocha's fingers were slender and deft and she didn't struggle to sneak back under his arm to tickle his armpit once more.

Harumasa's voice was a combination of hysterical laughter, broken moans, ragged breathing and the occasional whimper, he was a complete mess. Hating the tickling, but loving it at the same time, his hips moving quickly as he fucked himself into her hand. 

“Fuhuhuck~! Angh! More, more~” he begged, tears of laughter, pleasure and desperation streaming down his cheeks. 

Mocha giggled softly, her cheeks flushed as her eyes studied Harumasa's expression. He cried softly as her thumb swept against his tip, teasing the glands just as she knew he loved it. 

Harumasa moaned loudly, his mind overwhelmed with the sensations that seemed to come from all sides. The tickles moving from his armpit to his ribs and then to his hip, Mocha's hand jerking him off, and even her lips, which had begun to move on his neck, leaving wet kisses on all the places she had memorized were sensitive. 

He felt his body tense, his breathing becoming more frantic, his eyes crossing. He was on the edge, it only took a small push to be able to cum in Mocha's hand. Just a little– 

Two knocks on the door. “Asaba-kun.” It was Yanagi. “Lunch break is almost better cut it out before…” 

Yanagi's voice faded as his eyes rolled back, cumming hard. Mocha pressed a hand against his mouth to muffle the moans as he came undone under her ministrations. Harumasa trembled with pleasure, his cum dripping from Mocha's hand as she milked the last drop of his release. 

Yanagi's heels softly faded away. Of course, she didn't want to be there when Harumasa and Mocha came out of the closet in a mess. Harumasa gasped as Mocha slowly pulled her hand away from his mouth, a trickle of saliva connecting his lips to her palm. 

As he returned from his high, his eyes met Mocha's and he grinned lazily. 

"I think I'll get an administrative report," he said with no concern in his eyes and Mocha laughed lightly. 

“I think you're going to be in a lot of trouble," she said with a bit of empathy in her voice. 

Harumasa hummed. “Maybe…” He looked at the watch on his wrist and then looked at Mocha with a mischievous smile. “Untie me. We still have five minutes.” 

Mocha blinked. “Five minutes for what- ah~!” 

Feeling Mocha's wetness on his fingers almost made him cum again. Five minutes was definitely more than enough. 

[lukesvangelista]

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄ˡʰ⁴³

in which luke longs for the one person who understands him.

warnings; sad luke, crying luke, weddings, prom

part one here

part two here

part four here

Luke stood at the edge of the reception hall, watching the newlyweds glide across the dance floor. The bride, radiant in her white gown, laughed as Matt, Luke's cousin and her husband, spun her around, their joy infectious. The room was filled with the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle hum of conversation, but Luke's mind was far away, lost in the memories of the relationship the two of you once shared. Jack and Quinn were talking beside him, reminiscing on the childhood memories the three of them shared with Matt, but Luke could've cared less. Instead, he zoned in on the couple with longing eyes, his face expressionless - that should've been him twirling you around on that dance floor.

It had been nine months since he and you had parted ways, but it felt like a lifetime. The two of you had met in high school, two awkward teenagers drawn together by a shared love of sports, music, and movies, and a mutual disdain for the superficiality of your guys' chemistry teacher. His first dance with you had been in your living room, the two of you clumsily stepping on each other’s toes to a scratchy vinyl record your father had given to you. The two of you shared so much laughter that day, the sound mingling with the music. Luke didn't think he was capable of laughing that much, but somehow, you had brought it out of him. In that moment, Luke had thought that your relationship would last forever.

As Matt and Amelie continued their dance, Luke remembered the night he had taken you to prom. You guys had spent weeks preparing. You agonized over your dress to the point where Ellen had offered to fix it up however you wanted to. She spent a week sewing this, and hemming that, but that dress couldn't have been more beautiful. It complimented you perfectly, the red satin fabric allowing your eyes to radiate. You laughed as Luke fumbled with the corsage during pictures. At the time, he didn't appreciate it, but now, he would give anything to hear your laugh again. When the two of you had finally arrived, the gym had been transformed into a magical wonderland, complete with twinkling lights and a live band. You guys had danced until your feet were sore, holding each other close as if the world outside didn’t exist.

Luke felt a lump in his throat form as he continued to watch the first dance. There was an empty seat beside him, designated for another one of his cousin's who couldn't make it, but Luke couldn't help but feel like it was for you. It was just another reminder that you weren't with him, but you should've been. All he wanted was to look away, but it's like he was frozen. It felt like a god damn punishment. And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, he realized what song they were dancing to - 'Like Real People Do'.

No, no, no. This was your guys' song.

Tears sprang into Luke's hazel eyes immediately, and he jumped up from his seat to excuse himself. Quinn and Jack looked at their little brother like he was crazy, but Luke muttered some half-ass excuse about having to use the bathroom before walking out of the reception hall and outside the building.

As soon as he was outside, Luke tightly gripped the red brick of the building. He felt that if he didn't, he would've collapsed right then and there. He tried to take some deep breaths to calm himself down, but it felt as though nothing was working. So, he whipped out his phone and opened his contacts.

As he hovered over your contact, Luke tried to convince himself that it was because he wasn't in a clear state of mind. Maybe he could even blame it on the drinks that Jack had snuck over to him earlier in the evening. But deep down, Luke knew that wasn't true. He missed you, and maybe, just maybe, his longing for you would decrease if he heard your voice again. The night was quiet, which only seemed to amplify his thoughts. He missed you - every laugh, every conversation, every moment the two of you had shared. He missed you more than he could bear.

But the longer his fingers hovered over your contact, the more hesitant he became. The two of you had broken up nine months ago. The last time he had seen you was the night (or morning, he didn't even know) you showed up to his apartment, where he was sleeping with another girl and practically yelled at you for coming to see him. And it was the night that you needed him most. You were missing your dad and needed comfort. That was it. He had royally fucked up.

Was this a good idea? Would you even want to hear from him?

Doubts crowded Luke's mind, but the ache in his heart overpowered him. He took a deep breath and pressed call.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. Four times, five times, six times.

Luke was about to hang up when the dial tone went away. Static ensued and then he heard exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Hello?" Your voice was soft, cautious.

Luke let out a whimper, a tear falling from his eye, "Y/N/N, hi. It's Luke."

There was a pause, then, "Luke. Hi. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, it has. I-" he struggled to find the right words, "I know it's sudden, but I just needed to hear your voice. I miss you, Y/N."

The line was silent for a moment, and Luke feared that you might've hung up. But then you spoke, your voice trembling slightly, "Why'd you call, Luke?"

He let a sob ring from his lips, his tone heavy, "Matt got married today, and him and Amelie just looked so happy. And I looked at them and it was like I couldn't even see them, I just saw us," another sob rang out, "I just... whenever I looked at you, Y/N, I saw my future. I would've married you if I had the chance." he admitted.

The line went silent again, this time for even longer than the last. Boy, did that scare Luke. Had he said too much too soon? He wouldn't be surprised if he did - his brothers had always told him that that was his fatal flaw. Thirty seconds had passed before he spoke up again, pure desperation evident in his voice, "Y/N/N?"

He heard you sniffle over the line. A few more seconds of silence followed before you spoke, your voice trembling a little more than before, "I... I miss you too, Luke. I think about you a lot."

Relief washed over him, but it was quickly followed by regret, "I messed up, Y/N. Remember that night when you called me an asshole? It's all I've thought about since that night. You needed me and I kicked you out and..." Luke had to pause as he felt his chest tighten. His breaths were ragged and it felt as though he couldn't catch his breath.

"Luke? Luke, are you okay?" you asked him, concern evident in your tone.

Luke was able to compose himself just enough to keep talking as he heard your voice, "I was an asshole. I can't believe it's taken me seven months to admit it, but I was the asshole, and I am so fucking sorry, Y/N."

You took a shallow breath on the other end of the phone, your own eyes welling with tears.

Luke continued, "Listen, I don't know if we can ever go back to what we had, but I just needed you to know how much I miss you."

You sighed softly, tears of your own now slipping from your eyes, "That was hard for me, Luke. It hurt. But hearing you say that means a lot. And I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I didn't fuck up, too. We both made mistakes, and here we are." you faked a laugh.

Without thinking, Luke whispered through the phone, "Can we meet?" There was a lace of hope in his words as he spoke. Maybe it was a little bit of a facade, just to trick him into thinking he had more of a chance than he actually did, "Just to talk. Maybe start over, even if it's just as friends."

There was a long pause, and if it was as if Luke could almost hear you weighing the decision through the phone. It felt like hours had passed before you spoke again, your voice gentle, "Luke... it's not that simple. I miss you - more than you know - but I think that we both need to heal and move forward, even if it's hard."

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Luke?"

"It's pathetic really, how much I still hope it's you and me in the end."

"Take care of yourself, Luke," you said, "Goodnight."

Luke wiped the tears from his cheeks, feeling the weight of your words. As you hung up, though, he felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. He knew you were right - you both needed to move on, to heal. But at least for tonight, he had the comfort of hearing your voice, a small connection to the woman he had loved and lost.

[mya-valentine]

Teasing in Silence

Synopsis: Wanderer’s usually teasing and confident girlfriend suddenly grows quiet, leaving him unsettled and worried that she no longer wants to be with him. As her silence stretches on, he steps out of his usual detached demeanor to give her more attention, only to discover she was afraid her teasing had pushed him away. In the end, they both realize their love doesn’t need to change, and they accept each other as they are.

The sun was setting over the rolling hills of Sumeru, casting a warm, golden hue over the land. Wanderer and his girlfriend had made it a habit to explore the wilderness together—him, ever the aloof and quiet presence, while she was the teasing, confident counterpart that kept things lively. She loved poking fun at him, playfully commenting on how stiff he was or how his expression rarely changed from its usual brooding look.

"You know, you should smile more often, Wanderer. Might make you a little less terrifying," she'd often say, a grin tugging at her lips.

And Wanderer, who had never been one to let people get too close, somehow found comfort in her teasing. Her confidence, her light-hearted jabs, the way she never took anything too seriously—it all balanced out the weight of the world he carried.

But today was different.

They were walking along a familiar path through the forest, the same one they'd taken dozens of times before. Normally, she'd be chattering away, throwing in her usual playful remarks, but today, she was silent. She walked a few steps behind him, her gaze fixed on the ground. There was no teasing, no quips about his serious expression or how he always seemed to be lost in thought.

Wanderer glanced back at her, frowning slightly. It wasn't like her to be this quiet. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice its usual calm, controlled tone.

She blinked, seemingly snapped out of whatever trance she had been in. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine," she replied, but there was a tightness in her voice, a forced lightness that didn’t quite match her usual carefree attitude.

He didn’t press her further, deciding to give her space. But as the day went on, the tension in the air became palpable. She barely spoke during dinner, her usual teasing absent, and Wanderer found himself growing uneasy. It wasn’t like him to care so much about another person’s mood, but with her… it was different. Her silence felt like a weight pressing down on him.

As the days passed, her strange behavior continued. She wasn’t avoiding him, but she wasn’t herself either. Wanderer noticed the way she hesitated before speaking, how her usual confidence seemed to falter. He would catch her staring at him sometimes, a strange look in her eyes, but when he asked her what was wrong, she would just shake her head and smile that same forced smile.

The more she withdrew, the more Wanderer found himself unsettled. What if she no longer wanted to be with him? What if she had grown tired of his cold demeanor, his inability to express himself like a normal person? He had always been afraid of letting someone in, afraid that they would see the broken, hollow person he was and walk away. And now, it seemed like his worst fears were coming true.

He didn’t know what to do. Normally, he would shrug off feelings like these, bury them deep inside where they couldn’t bother him. But with her, it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t just ignore the way his chest tightened every time she looked away from him or how the silence between them seemed to stretch longer each day.

Finally, after days of agonizing over it, Wanderer decided to act. If she was pulling away because she thought he didn’t care… he would show her otherwise.

The next morning, he sought her out. She was sitting by the river, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring out at the water. Normally, he would wait for her to come to him, but today, he went to her. Without a word, he sat down beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers. She glanced at him, surprised by the sudden proximity.

"You’ve been quiet," he said, his voice low but filled with an uncharacteristic vulnerability.

She blinked, caught off guard by his directness. "Yeah… I guess I have," she admitted softly, her gaze drifting back to the river.

Wanderer was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. This wasn’t something he was good at—talking about feelings, being open. But if he didn’t say something now, he was afraid he might lose her.

"I’ve noticed," he finally said, his tone a little more forceful than he intended. "You’ve been… distant."

Her eyes widened slightly at his words, and she turned to face him fully. "I—what?"

Wanderer clenched his fists, his usual cool demeanor slipping. "I thought…" He hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before he forced himself to meet her eyes. "I thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. His chest felt tight, and for the first time in a long time, he felt uncertain. She was the one person he had let get close to him, the one person he had allowed to see beyond the mask he wore. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than he had ever anticipated.

For a moment, she stared at him in stunned silence. And then, to his surprise, she burst out laughing. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but a genuine, hearty laugh that made her shoulders shake. Wanderer blinked, completely thrown off by her reaction.

"What?" he asked, his voice flat with confusion.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still giggling. "I… I thought the same thing about you!" she admitted, her voice breathless from laughter. "I thought you were getting tired of me teasing you all the time, so I backed off because I didn’t want to push you away."

Wanderer just stared at her, processing her words. "You… you stopped teasing me because you thought I didn’t want you around?"

She nodded, her laughter dying down but a smile still on her lips. "Yeah… I thought I was annoying you. So I figured I’d dial it back."

He shook his head, a small, almost exasperated smile tugging at his lips. "You’re ridiculous."

"Hey, you’re the one who thought I didn’t want to be with you," she shot back, grinning now, her usual playful spark returning to her eyes.

Wanderer sighed, leaning back on his hands as he looked up at the sky. "We’re both idiots, then," he muttered.

She shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Maybe. But I guess it’s kind of sweet in a weird, dysfunctional way."

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the tension that had been building between them finally dissipating. Wanderer found himself relaxing, the familiar warmth of her presence grounding him.

"I don’t need you to change," she said softly, her voice more serious now. "I like you the way you are. Teasing you is fun, but I don’t want to push you away. I’m happy with you, Wanderer."

He felt something inside him loosen at her words, a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying lifting off his shoulders. "I like you the way you are too," he admitted, his voice low but sincere. "Don’t… don’t change that."

She smiled, her hand reaching for his, their fingers intertwining. "Deal."

And just like that, the silence between them was no longer heavy with unspoken worries and doubts. It was a comfortable, peaceful silence—the kind that only existed between two people who truly understood each other.

For once, Wanderer didn’t mind the quiet. He had her by his side, and that was enough.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[thinkinonsense]

Magnetic ──★ Logan Howlett x fem!oc: Chapter One

╰┈➤Summary: After years of torture, Daphne decides how she wants to spend the rest of her life; at the bottom of a lake. Out of nowhere, Logan pulls Daphne from the water and finds her help. Now they must navigate how to live with their decisions.

╰┈➤C/W: mentions of death, suicide, cursing, age gap, mild violence, issues with infertility, slight sexual themes. ᯓ★ mdni.ᐟ ᯓ★word count: 2.1k+

ᯓ★ reply to be added to the tag list <3 ᯓ★ spotify playlist link

ᯓ★ next chapter

✮⋆˙ At the bottom of the lake was cold water and silence. Years of running can bring you to the edge of a cliff. A lifetime of pain needs to be healed somehow and suddenly, life never felt so peaceful for Daphne.

Finally Free.

Until someone jumps in, wrapping his arms around her unconscious body; lifting her to the surface. Panic began to run through the man's veins as he laid her on the ground. Her heart is beating slowly which helps steady his own.

Daphne coughed up some water while blood rushed to the cut above her eyebrow. The man uses the sleeve of his brown flannel to soak up some of it.

Without a second thought, he scoops her up in his arms again; knowing exactly where he must take her.

──★

"Where did you find her, Logan?" Jean asked, watching over one of the monitors.

"Down by the lake," Logan answers, tapping his foot impatiently.

Daphne's body has barely regained consciousness before her mind starts racing as memories flood yet none of them answer her questions. Logan carefully runs his calloused fingers down her left leg, knee to ankle. 

"Charles was able to build a report on her. She's a mutant." Jean explained. "Her mutations can cause agonizing and illusionary pain, self-healing, telekinesis, and attraction control. She is quite powerful."

"Attraction control?" Logan tilts his head, never having heard of the ability. Jean bites back a smile.

"People find an attraction and gravitate towards her."

"Just sounds like an attractive woman." Logan shrugs, still not quite understanding.

"The government created her years ago; tortured and altered her as they pleased. Magneto was even after her for a while. He wanted to create a weapon out of her. She finally ran away a few months ago. I'm not sure what she was doing at the lake. Perhaps she accidentally fell in the water? I don't believe she was pushed or-"

"She was trying to kill herself," Logan states, eyes not leaving Daphne's soft features. "I saw her jump. I-I wasn't sure what she was doing at first and then..."

Jean places a hand on Logan's back, rubbing a smooth circle.

"She is going to be fine, Logan." She assures him.

He nods, trying not to worry anymore. Honestly, Logan wasn't sure why he was worried. In the past, he's felt protective over Rogue and his teammates but this woman was a stranger. It must've been due to the nature of her attempt to take her own life, he justifies.

Daphne's hair rests damp and curly against the table Logan laid her on when they arrived. On one of the monitor screens behind Logan, Jean notices a rapid change in breath, and the tables around them begin to shake. Before Logan could get his claws out, Jean and him hit the floor, groaning in pain. 

Charles had been right, the pain was agonizing. Jean felt as if someone was closing her throat; making her unable to focus and stop Daphne. Logan's pain was in his chest and abdomen. His claws break through the skin of his knuckles but he can't move.

"P-Please.." Jean begged, gasping for air. "Let us e-explain."

Reluctantly, Daphne releases them both. Logan and Jean noticed her glowing eyes as they shifted back to normal. Her top was ripped from when Logan tried to give her cpr and her pants were still soaked. She was shivering like a dog, Logan thought. Quickly, he shrugged off his flannel and offered it to her; an olive branch. Daphne knew better than to take offerings from handsome strangers. 

"Where am I?" She asked.

"Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Jean answers, catching her breath. "You were found unconscious at the bottom of a lake. Do you remember any of that?"

Daphne's gaze lands on the floor. She remembered all of it.

"No." She lies. "Who are you?"

"I'm Jean and he is Logan." Daphne flickers her attention to both of them as Jean continues. "Logan pulled you from the lake."

Before Jean or Logan could ask her anything else, the doors opened revealing Professor Xavier. The man in the wheelchair rolls next to the table where Daphne sits. 

"Hello, Daphne. I am Charles Xavier." The older man says to her. "Can we talk?"

"A-About?" Her voice comes out broken and shaky. 

"What were you doing at the bottom of that lake?" 

In all truth, he already knew. He could see those last moments before she jumped and he knew the pain that lived inside of her. 

"I don't know." She lies again, this time more effortlessly. "I already told them. I don't know why I am here either."

Charles was aware that it would be difficult to get her to admit why she wanted to end her life. His heart ached for her. Similar to how it did for all the other children here. Carefully, he placed a hand over her own.

"You're safe now, dear." He says. "Get some rest." 

As he turned away, he ushered Logan to follow him; leaving Daphne and Jean alone. Jean helped Daphne change into a white tank top and pajama bottoms with the school's logo on the pocket. Now, that Daphne is awake, all of the cuts and bruises that adorn her body can heal themselves. Once dressed, Jean led her to one of the empty bedrooms. As they exited, Daphne snatched the flannel left on the table.

"Some of the older children are on a mission right now but they should all be back soon for dinner." Jean's voice echoed ever so slightly down the empty hallway. "It's quite incredible to watch them and their powers evolve."

Daphne couldn't help but mumble, "I wish I had something like this when I was a child."

"You're welcome to listen in on one of the classes if that interests you." Jean smiles. "There's a lot to learn about yourself and your powers."

Daphne nods as they approach one of the bedroom doors. Jean unlocks it and both women step inside. The room was comfortable, Daphne thought. A real bed and some privacy. She was lucky to get even three hours of sleep a night due to frequent nightmares or someone pulling her for testing. There were no glass cages or lingering eyes. 

──★

On the other side of the mansion, Logan sat in the chair by Charles' desk. He wasn't sure what the other man would have to say. Instead, his thoughts moved towards Daphne and how she must be doing; If she was still cold and shaking from the lake. 

"You did the right thing by bringing her here, Logan" Charles said, capturing Logan's attention again. "She's going to be fine."

"Why'd she do it?" Logan grunted. 

Charles sighs, unsure if he should tell Logan. 

"She was tortured and used as a weapon for decades, finally having made her escape from them she discovered that they stripped away her ability to have children too." 

Logan wasn't sure if he understood exactly. He knew that the government had done that to female mutants in the past to eliminate the rise of mutant children but this girl was still young. Why would she be worrying about having children right now?

"The attraction control was only further torment installed on her," Charles explains. "They trained her to cause pain knowing how gentle her heart is. She was forced to take the lives of people she wanted to help. She is afraid to live, that's why she jumped."

Logan exhaled sharply. He wanted nothing more than to rip apart the people who tortured her with his claws. Daphne's image appears in his head again; soft features and shivering hands. How peaceful she looked with her eyes closed; and beautiful. Logan brushed the last part as the attraction control got to him. 

"She is young. She can still live a full life, get married, and settle down if she wants." Logan said. 

She looks incredibly young, Logan thought when he first pulled her from the water. Old enough to live alone but not nearly as old as him. 

"Daphne believes that she is cursed. Everyone that she has ever caused pain to has left her."

"The pain was bearable."

Charles stares at Logan and then says, "If you think so, tell her that."

"It's not like that." Logan squints at him while lighting the cigar that was in his pocket. "She's too young."

"She stops aging in two years at thirty." Charles lets slip.

"She isn't even thirty?" Logan mumbles to himself. "Jesus."

"I can see how you found her and brought her here."

"You said it yourself, I was just doing the right thing."

Charles chuckles, letting it go. Logan gets up and leaves since they both know there are more important things to worry about.

──★

The mansion is dead silent. Odd considering how many people live here, Daphne thought while staring at the ceiling. All the children were in bed by nine while the adults roamed the halls until midnight. She wrapped herself up in the flannel and locked herself away shortly after Jean left her alone. Around six, Jean knocked on the door a few times to invite her to dinner but Daphne didn't move from under the warm beige sheats. She lay there for hours staring out the window or at the ceiling. Sometime at four in the morning, Daphne figured it was a safe time to make a run for it. This place was lovely and so were the people but she had already decided where she wanted to be. 

"Where do you think you're going, bub?" Logan's voice made Daphne spin on her heels to face him. Her gaze moves up his body he's dressed in a fitted white tank top and plaid pajama pants. It was difficult for her not to stare but she fought the urge. 

"Making your life easier and leaving," Daphne responds, reaching for the door when his hand lands on her wrist with a small pull. 

"I can't let you do that." 

"And why can't you?"

Daphne glared into his hazel eyes, trying to intimidate him but he only found it amusing. 

"Because I don't want to have to save your ass again."

Daphne couldn't help but laugh. Did he seriously think she cared about how this affects him?

"I don't need you to 'save my ass'."

"You sure did earlier." He cockily adds. "Plus they want you to stay."

"Why? So they can use me how they want and discard me when they are done? Look, I've done that whole thing before and it never ends well." Unknowingly to Daphne, her eyes glow maroon again, causing Logan's claws to peak out a bit in case.

"I get it. Trust me, I do but running won't help you either." He says, attempting to calm her before deciding to jump into action. "These people won't hurt you, Daphne."

Daphne's hand drops from the door, releasing his grip and her eyes roll back to their original shade of green.

"Are there any leftovers from dinner?" She asked, seeing one corner of his mouth curl up a little.

Logan led the way into the kitchen, pulling out the leftovers and a beer. Daphne made a plate and warmed it up while he pretended not to watch her. So many questions left unanswered about each other yet neither of them wants to be the first one to ask. It was silent while Daphne twisted spaghetti on a fork and Logan slowly drank his beer.

"Where are you from?" He asks, breaking the silence.

"Not entirely sure." She shrugs. "How old are you?"

 He didn't look much older, she thought. Maybe mid-thirties?

"What's it matter to you?" He answers in a rough voice, almost sounding irritated by the question.

"Curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat, ya know?"

"Good thing I'm no cat." Daphne smiles for the first time. Now he knew he had to give in.

Logan sighs, looking defeated. "I'm over 200 years old."

He moves on immediately, not giving Daphne any time to respond.

 "Parents?"

"None."

"None?"

"Nope. I'm nobody's daughter." 

Daphne avoids Logan's stare. He thinks back to his talk with Charles earlier about her life; isolated, tortured, and trained to cause damage. How lonely she must be.

The grandfather clock reads five forty-five. Everyone would be awake soon. Daphne had to ask this question while she had the chance.

"Why did you bother to save me in the first place?" She asks quietly, not looking up from her plate. 

Logan didn't answer for a minute but he watched her intensely. Something about being under his microscope intimidated me.

"You were dying." He states in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Regular people die every day. I bet you don't save all of them." The response flies out of her mouth before she can catch it.

"You aren't a regular person."

"Right," She sighs. "The mutant of it all."

Suddenly, she rises from the stool and places the plate in the sink, no longer feeling hungry. Logan calls after her twice but neither time does she turn back. Instead, she shut the bedroom door and crawled back into the bed alone again.

[winchesterwild78]

Goodbye, My Love pt 3

Master List

Catch up on Part 1, Part 2

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader (wife)

Warnings: Angst, fluff

A/N: Oh this is a heart wrenching, soul crushing story. Sorry. I’ve been going through a lot lately and like they say, writers pull from their own lives. 

This story will be in 3 parts. I cried while writing this. If you don’t want to read something that may make you cry, please don’t.

This story follows Jensen and his reader wife as they struggle in their marriage.

Trigger Warning: Depression, dark thoughts (not suicidal, but wanting to disappear)

No disrespect to Jensen or his family, this is a work of fiction and in no way reflects real life. 

All work is my own don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

The knock on the door was soft, hesitant, as if he wasn't sure he had the right room, or perhaps, wasn't sure he deserved to be on the other side of it. Your heart leaped into your throat, a frantic flutter against your ribs. Two hours. It felt like both an eternity and a blink of an eye.

You moved slowly, your legs feeling heavy and unsteady, towards the door. Through the peephole, you saw him. Jensen. His hair was slightly disheveled, his eyes red-rimmed, and his face etched with a weariness that went beyond the long drive. He looked… haunted.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you – relief at seeing him, the familiar ache of longing, and a deep-seated fear of what this reunion might bring. You hesitated, your hand hovering over the deadbolt.

He knocked again, a little louder this time. “Y/N? It’s me.” His voice was thick with emotion, laced with a vulnerability you hadn’t heard in a long time.

Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and pulled it open. He stood there, framed in the doorway, his gaze locking onto yours. The air crackled with unspoken words, with the weight of the past months, the pain of your goodbye, and the desperate hope that had driven him here.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just stood there, gazing at each other, the silence filled with a thousand unspoken apologies and a desperate yearning for connection. His eyes searched yours, a silent plea for forgiveness, for understanding.

Then, he took a hesitant step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. The space between you closed, and the raw reality of his presence, the familiar scent of him, washed over you, threatening to shatter the fragile composure you had been clinging to.

The sight of him, truly there, solid and real after the agonizing hours of emptiness, was your undoing. The fragile dam you had built around your emotions finally broke. With a choked sob, you lurched forward, collapsing into his arms.

His arms closed around you instantly, a fierce, protective embrace that squeezed the breath from your lungs but felt like the only safe place in the world. You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, the familiar scent of his skin and the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat a balm to your wounded soul.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, soaking into his shirt. They were tears of relief, of exhaustion, of the raw pain that had finally found a release. You held him so tightly, as if afraid he would disappear again, as if your very life depended on this embrace.

He held you just as fiercely, his own breath catching in his throat. You could feel the tremor in his body, the depth of his own emotion mirroring your own. His hand stroked your hair, a gentle, soothing gesture that spoke volumes of his remorse and his desperate need to comfort you.

Neither of you spoke. There were no words adequate to express the turmoil of the past hours, months, the fear, the despair, the fragile hope that now flickered between you. The embrace said it all – the unspoken apologies, the desperate yearning for forgiveness, the raw, undeniable love that had somehow endured the distance and the pain.

In that moment, wrapped in the safety of his arms, the suffocating loneliness that had consumed you began to recede, replaced by a fragile sense of being found, of being held, of not being entirely alone in your pain. The journey back was still uncertain, the wounds still raw, but for the first time since you had left, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be okay again.

He held you, a solid anchor in the storm of your emotions, until your sobs finally subsided, leaving behind a lingering ache and a profound exhaustion. Slowly, hesitantly, you pulled back, your hands resting on his chest, your gaze searching his face.

Disbelief warred with a fragile hope in your eyes. You looked at him, truly looked at him, at the raw emotion etched on his features, the redness in his eyes, the genuine concern that radiated from him. It was a stark contrast to the distant figure he had become in recent months.

“You… you came back,” you whispered, the words barely audible, as if afraid that speaking them aloud would shatter the fragile reality of him standing before you.

He nodded, his gaze unwavering, his hands still resting gently on your arms. “I came home, Y/N. I came home to you.” His voice was thick with emotion, the words carrying the weight of his realization, his regret, and his unwavering commitment.

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they were different. They weren't just tears of sadness and despair, but tears of disbelief, of a tentative hope, of a love that had been tested and, perhaps, had not broken after all.

“But… the project,” you stammered, confusion clouding your features. “The year… overseas…”

He shook his head, his gaze filled with an intensity that made your heart flutter. “None of that matters, Y/N. None of it. What matters is you. What matters is us.” He reached up, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “I was so focused on… on everything else, that I almost lost the most important thing in my life. I’m so sorry. So incredibly sorry.”

His words, raw and heartfelt, resonated deep within you. The fact that he had chosen you, had turned his back on a career-defining opportunity to come back to you, was a powerful testament to the depth of his feelings. The silence that followed was different from the suffocating emptiness you had experienced before. This silence was filled with unspoken emotions, with the fragile beginnings of reconciliation.

You looked at him, this man you loved, who had hurt you, but who was now standing before you, his eyes filled with a desperate sincerity. And in that moment, amidst the exhaustion and the lingering pain, a tiny seed of hope began to bloom in your heart. He had come home. He had come home to you. The journey ahead was still uncertain, but the fact that he was here, holding your gaze with such raw emotion, felt like the first step on a long and arduous road back to each other.

The hours that followed were a slow, tender unfolding of raw emotions and hesitant truths. You talked, the words tumbling out in a torrent of pain, confusion, and the deep-seated loneliness you had felt. He listened, his gaze never leaving yours, his hand often finding yours, his touch a silent reassurance. He spoke of his own blindness, his regret at not seeing your pain, the terrifying realization that had gripped him when he read your text. He didn't offer excuses, just a raw acknowledgment of his mistakes and a desperate plea for forgiveness.

The weight of the past months began to lift, ever so slightly, with each shared word, each tear that was shed and gently wiped away. The silence that fell between your words was no longer heavy with unspoken resentments, but filled with a fragile understanding, a tentative bridge being rebuilt between two wounded hearts.

As the night deepened, a sense of weary peace settled over the small hotel room. The tension in his shoulders eased, and the guarded look in his eyes softened, replaced by a familiar tenderness. You sat close on the edge of the bed, the remnants of your tears drying on your cheeks, the exhaustion of the day weighing heavily on you both.

He turned to you, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a gentle tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes, filled with a love that seemed to have weathered the storm, searched yours.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

You leaned into his touch, the familiar warmth of his hand a comforting presence after the long hours of feeling so utterly alone. You didn't speak, but your eyes held a question, a hesitant yearning.

He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to your lips. The air between you thickened, charged with the unspoken history of your love, the pain of your separation, and the fragile hope of reconciliation.

Then, slowly, gently, he kissed you.

It wasn't a passionate, all-consuming kiss, but a tender, tentative exploration. His lips brushed against yours, a feather-light touch that spoke of reverence and regret. It was a silent apology, a promise of tenderness, a hesitant reaching out across the chasm that had formed between you.

Your own lips trembled as you responded, a small, hesitant pressure against his. The kiss deepened slightly, a fragile connection being re-established, a silent acknowledgment of the enduring love that still lingered beneath the layers of pain and misunderstanding. In that moment, held in his gentle embrace, the future remained uncertain, but the possibility of healing, of finding your way back to each other, felt real for the first time since he had walked out that door.

The kiss was a turning point, a silent promise that things could be different. In the days that followed, Jensen made good on that promise. He called the production, explaining the situation with a raw honesty that surprised even himself. He requested, and was granted, a leave of absence, his career taking a backseat to the urgent need to mend what had almost broken irrevocably.

He stayed at the hotel with you for a few days, a quiet sanctuary where you began the slow, arduous process of healing. There were more tears, more heartfelt conversations, and a gradual rebuilding of trust. He listened intently as you poured out the depth of your loneliness and the crushing feeling of not being enough. He shared his own struggles, his regret at his emotional absence, and his unwavering determination to earn back your love and rebuild your marriage.

You returned home together, the silence in the house slowly being replaced by tentative conversations and small gestures of affection. You both put in the work, consciously and deliberately. There were difficult moments, old wounds that needed careful tending, but there was also a renewed commitment, a shared understanding of what you had almost lost. Date nights were no longer a suggestion, but a priority. Uninterrupted conversations became sacred. You rediscovered the small joys of your life together, the comfortable silences, the shared laughter.

A month later, the atmosphere in your home had shifted. The heavy cloud of despair had lifted, replaced by a fragile but growing sense of hope and renewed connection. Jensen’s leave was coming to an end, and the inevitable question of his return to filming loomed.

After many heartfelt discussions, weighing the pros and cons, and acknowledging the lessons learned, the decision was made together. You would go with him. The distance had almost destroyed you, and the thought of repeating that experience was unbearable. This time, you would face the challenges together, supporting each other, making your marriage the priority.

The thought of leaving your familiar life at home was bittersweet, but the prospect of facing the future with Jensen, truly together, filled you with a sense of anticipation. You started packing, not with the frantic despair of a month ago, but with a quiet excitement, a sense of embarking on a new chapter, stronger and more united than before. The rings, which had sat cold and abandoned on the nightstand, were now back on your finger, a symbol of a love that had weathered the storm and emerged, scarred but stronger, on the other side.

The night before you were set to leave, a bittersweet ache hung in the air. The familiar comfort of your home was tinged with the anticipation of a new adventure, a new beginning, but also with the quiet acknowledgment of leaving a chapter behind.

As dusk settled, casting long shadows across your bedroom, you and Jensen found yourselves drawn together, a silent understanding passing between you. The months of distance and emotional turmoil had created a void, a longing for the intimacy you had once shared so freely.

He reached for your hand, his touch gentle, his eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrored your own. You intertwined your fingers, the simple act a powerful symbol of your re-established connection.

The air grew heavy with unspoken emotions, with the weight of your shared journey back to each other. He drew you closer, his arms encircling you, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, a rhythm you had almost forgotten.

There were no rushed words, no frantic urgency. Just a slow, deliberate rediscovery of each other. His lips found yours, the kiss soft and lingering, filled with a tenderness that spoke of healing and renewed desire. It was a kiss that acknowledged the pain you had both endured, but also celebrated the fragile strength of your rekindled love.

As you lay together, the familiar comfort of his body against yours was a balm to your soul. The lovemaking that followed was slow and tender, a rediscovery of the physical intimacy that had been absent for so long. Each touch, each caress, was imbued with a deeper meaning, a silent reaffirmation of your commitment to each other.

It wasn't just about physical release; it was about reconnecting on a fundamental level, a merging of two souls who had almost drifted apart but had found their way back to each other. It was a celebration of your resilience, a testament to the work you had both put in to mend the broken pieces.

In the quiet aftermath, lying tangled together, the weight of the past months felt lighter. There was a sense of peace, a quiet confidence in the future you were building together, this time, hand in hand. The night before leaving felt not like a final farewell to your old life, but like a tender embrace, a reaffirmation of the love that would now be the foundation of your new adventure.

Lying there in the quiet darkness, the weight of the past months finally feeling like a distant echo, you and Jensen held each other close. The physical intimacy you had just shared felt like more than just a reconnection of bodies; it was a reaffirmation of your souls intertwined.

In the stillness, you spoke softly, your voices hushed with the weight of your shared experience and the promise of a new beginning. You looked into each other’s eyes, the vulnerability there a testament to the raw honesty you had both embraced.

“We have to always remember this,” Jensen murmured, his hand gently stroking your hair. “We have to always make each other a priority. No matter what comes up, no matter how demanding things get.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and a newfound understanding. “Yes,” you agreed, your voice firm. “Life will always throw things our way, but we have to face them together. Our marriage… we have to be the constant.”

And so, in the quiet intimacy of that night, you made a solemn vow to each other. A promise to actively choose each other, every single day. A commitment to nurture your relationship, to communicate openly and honestly, and to never again let the demands of the outside world overshadow the precious bond you shared.

You promised to be each other’s safe harbor, a refuge from the storms of life. You vowed to listen without judgment, to support each other’s dreams, and to always make time for the small, meaningful moments that had once been the foundation of your happiness.

The journey ahead wouldn't be without its challenges, but you faced it with a renewed sense of unity and purpose. You had stared into the abyss of almost losing each other, and the experience had forged a stronger, more resilient bond. As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, there was a quiet confidence in your hearts. You were a team again, a partnership built on love, forgiveness, and a conscious decision to always, always put each other first.

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[overnighttosunflowers]

Once again I essayed in the tags of something a few weeks ago and have been meaning to pull it out into its own post, and I guess there's no better time than twelve hours before we see Bell's Hells again:

It absolutely breaks my heart that after Imogen has spent all this time agonizing over whether to trust her mother, it's come to this. Because I can so easily imagine that guilt is going to tear Imogen apart. She's the one who didn't tell her mom to come with them to Exandria, worried about endangering herself and the Hells and the world by doing so, and instead she abandoned Liliana to this fate. In the weeks since, you can see her agonizing over that choice. She's been moving in the direction of the one she didn't make then: to trust her mother. She told Liliana she loved her. She let herself get Power Word Stunned by the Matron's facsimile. She stood in the top of Caleb's tower wondering if that trust was dangerous, if she would ultimately doom the world by wanting a mother. And then none of it mattered. She didn't doom the world. She doomed her mother instead.

That's not what happened. But it's how she's going to blame herself, I think.

And it kills me, because like so many of the things Imogen destroys herself with guilt about, it wasn't her responsibility. Liliana chose to leave. Liliana chose to stay gone. Liliana has been dwelling on a version of her child that doesn't exist anymore, and she fell so deep into a cult to protect that long-ago child that it took her months of Imogen begging and begging and begging to realize that her daughter was a person and not just an idea. That she was hurting that daughter more than she was protecting her. And that the way to save her was to listen to her. And she was so unmoored and lost by then that she looked to Imogen to make her choices for her—looking to her daughter the way a child looks to their mother.

None of that is Imogen's fault. None of it.

I have a deep well of empathy for Liliana—who has not been a good mother, but whose daughter wants more than anything to let her relearn it now—but Liliana is where she is because of herself. And I know that even if Imogen is somehow able see that, if she's able to feel at all angry at or betrayed by Liliana alongside the guilt and grief, she'll feel even more confused and guilty and agonized for it.

But, god. All Imogen has ever wanted was a mother. And she deserved to have a mother who stayed, who loved her plain and simple in that quiet-life way she wants to be loved. She deserved to have a mother who prioritized the daughter in front of her in over the abstraction in her memory. And she deserves to have a mother who will come out the other side of this, not because Liliana intrinsically deserves that, because Imogen wants to give her a second chance.

How devastating, then, to get this different version of a mother she deserves: one who will, for her, face and maybe fall to the danger she's created.

Because ultimately, that's the reason the Hells had her stay on Ruidus: it wasn't just about trust, it was about where she could help. And she has. And now her story might be bookended by doing things for Imogen that break Imogen's heart.

Anyway, what I want more than anything for Imogen to get to save Liliana, and hold her close, and cry on her, and yell at her. I want her to get to have a mother who's in a position to do small things for her, not just awful sweeping ones. And I want Liliana to have the opportunity to struggle with how she can earn the second chance her daughter has given her. To learn how to be a mother to a real live daughter and not a memory.

I don't know if Liliana deserves that. But Imogen does.

Liliana left Gelvaan for Imogen, and in doing so helped doom the world. Liliana stayed on Ruidus for Imogen, and in doing so she might've helped save it.

Maybe one of these echoes has a mother who dies for her. And maybe one has a mother who lives.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I've been having this idea ever since I've been slowly going back into pokemon/pokepasta (and how I've been reading some of your writing which is just. So good)

how about a pokepasta reader based on the Trapped In A Cave pokepasta? They are more of a ghost, and are seen more at places where it has food and such. They just make sure that Pokemons are fed and keep them away from places where they might be able to get trapped in forever-

I just got around to reading Trapped in a Cave and it's short but SAD AUGHH :(

...........

It was a rather sad and tragic end to your life...

Being trapped in a cave that had collapsed, freezing cold, without food or water.

And having no companion except your partner, your ace, your first first Pokémon: a Charizard who had to resort to...desperate measures to keep their hunger at bay.

As much as they tried to ignore their rumbling stomach and cried and whined and refused..you insisted that they ate your limbs.

And one by one, they did until only your head and torso remained.

It was agonizing, although the frostbite numbed some of the pain of their teeth tearing into your flesh and breaking your bones.

You had no strength left to scream anyways.

You hoped it would give them the energy they needed to burn their dying flame a little brighter and the strength to break out of the cave.

But after you closed your eyes for the last time, you suddenly found yourself floating outside that very cavern.

All of your limbs were attached, aside from bearing deep bite marks and exposing your muscle and bone.

You went inside, only to realize that a lot of time must have passed, as your Charizard had succumbed to starvation.

The only traces of you left were your hat and backpack, which they used as a pillow in their final moments alive.

With tears staining their face and your blood around their snout, your heart was broken.

You couldn't save them, but deep down..you expected this.

Your efforts only prolonged the inevitable.

However, their ghost showed up sometime later, and...while explaining that you were both dead wasn't easy, your beloved Charizard was happy to be with you and could receive all the pets they wanted now.

You two couldn't battle anymore, but instead made it your mission to ensure something like this never happened to another Pokémon nor trainer ever again.

Somehow your souls were tethered to the vast network of caves across the region, allowing you to travel from one to the other instantly.

You were also naturally drawn to areas where there was plentiful food. Such as the forests where berries grew in abundance.

You've spent most of your time ensuring Pokémon who wandered deep into caves didn't get lost and had enough food.

For caverns you sensed were unstable, you'd "spook" trainers to deter them from further exploration, with harmless techniques of course.

Eventually your travels led to you meeting other haunted trainers--such as Grey and Steven, who were exploring the cave Shinto ran into.

Steven almost flew into a rage upon seeing your Charizard's ghost, confusing them for Miki and accusing you of trying to "steal" her.

Only for her to show up a second later, confused.

Poor Grey is scared out of his wits, so you explain your story to them while Miki and your Charizard mingle (with Steven being lowkey surprised that they can see her as a normal member of their species and not as the broken, glitching mess she is).

After that, you meet Glitchy Red, Blake, and Gold, deciding to relay your story to them, too.

Much to Blake's and Grey's relief, you weren't another spirit/entity out for blood, but rather you wanted to help whoever you could to ensure they didn't meet a fate like yours.

Even though you couldn't travel everywhere with the trainers, you can warp from cave to cave to hang out with them, keeping their Pokémon well-fed and happy.

Most of them didn't need food anymore, but you like to pretend you're helping them.