#and she's still sticking by his side even now.....

[star-reaper]

Dean Winchester x Reader One-shot/Drabble

Anniversary

Synopsis: It's your first anniversary. He's supposed to be here. You're embarrassed, you're anxious, you're hurt. You're tired of not feeling like a priority to him. The entire walk home in the pouring rain has you thinking the worst, but what you find in your apartment is not what you had expected.

Hurt/Comfort, angst + major fluff, happy ending, fem!reader, pre s1 Dean, descriptions of injury, blood, typical canon violence

You're pissed. More than that, you're seething.

The embarrassment has twisted into white hot rage and the blood rushing through your body sends your heels tapping away erratically on the tiled floor of the restaurant, knee bobbing up and down and sticking to the leather seat.

The waitress has come back four times in the hour and ten you'd been there waiting, your glass of water anxiously sucked down and replaced with a sickly sweet mai tai twice. She glances up at you from the hostess booth every few minutes, pity practically seeping from her expression each time she does and still doesn't see your date with you.

Everyone knows you've been stood up. Guests around you peer over nosily, sneering. Or even glare at the loud fidgeting you're managing in the cozy corner booth of the facility. It's a nice place, you were so excited to finally try it out with Dean, immediately suggesting it when you two had planned this celebration a month ago. You'd eyed it every day on your walk home from the University you attended, it's classy appeal and crimson red walls practically glowing on the other side of the street, soft jazz music emitting from its doors. It was expensive, you'd both had to scrape together some savings to ensure you could afford it but god were you excited. Excited for a taste of normalcy, domesticity; a lovely night out with your lover at a gorgeous restaurant in the city, good food, fancy cocktails . . . It didn't seem like too much to ask for. And for your first anniversary it seemed fitting too. But now all you can think of is how stupid that notion was.

Normalcy with Dean Winchester? It was laughable. And really, you loved that about him, loved everything about him, but to think that for one night he would push aside his responsibilities to celebrate your anniversary together was just plain naivety.

You weren't a normal couple and you never would be.

And to think, you dressed yourself up all pretty, soft makeup adorning your features and your hair down just like he liked it. Your "once-in-a-blue-moon" jewelry set accessorizes your outfit perfectly, and really, you felt beautiful. You wanted him to see you like this, his green eyes glazed over with that lover boy haze, his usual smirk shifting into that sweet, gentle smile reserved for only you. He'd have his hands all over you and those pretty lips on your neck.

Now it all felt so silly.

You should've known the day was bound for failure when you woke up this morning and he was already gone from your apartment. Not completely unusual, you know of course what he does and you know what his father demands of him. You decided long ago that you didn't care. Anything was worth the pleasures of loving Dean— being loved by Dean. But you'd hoped today would be different. You'd planned to awaken together and spend all morning entangled in his body, loving each other lazily and sleepily and then finally rolling out of the sheets for a cup of coffee and stupid cartoons. Instead you'd left him a voice message,

"Happy Anniversary, Baby." You'd cut yourself off with a yawn, angling the phone away from your lips, then, "Was hoping I'd see you this morning to tell you in person but it looks like duty calls, huh? Call me back when you get this, I'm excited for tonight. I love you, Dean. Bye."

He hadn't ever called back, but really you just thought maybe it was a difficult hunt. He'd get back to you as soon as he could. You knew it. You ached to be angry with him for leaving you alone, for choosing another hunt instead of just giving you 24 hours of his undivided attention on this special day. But you swallowed that anger down and fought hard to remind yourself, it's okay. Shit happens. He isn't choosing work over you, and you know that it's so much more complicated than that. But then why did it hurt so bad? Why did your stomach sink further and further into you with each passing hour and no word from Dean?

The whole afternoon went by with still nothing. You'd called again to see if he was okay, if he was gonna make it to dinner. It went right to voicemail and at that point you felt it was up to hoping. Trusting. You trusted he would make it to your anniversary dinner because he knew how important it was for you. He knew how excited you were and he knew you'd be waiting for him. Part of you thinks you should have reminded him yesterday but you remind yourself that he's a grown man. He should be able to remember your plans together just fine without you breathing down his neck. He wouldn't have just forgotten.

Would he?

Hands shaking, you pull out your wallet and fish three twenties out of the zippered pouch. It's far more than what your drinks costed you and a pretty hefty tip but you felt it was only fair for your prickly attitude and the awkwardness your poor waitress had to endure. Your hand slaps hard against the cold, solid surface of the table. Your jaw is clenched so tight you swear you won't have any teeth left by the time you walk home. Rising on unsteady legs, eyes averted to the ground, you bee-line out of that prestigious restaurant and finally take a deep breath when your face hits the wall of freezing air outside of the building. It's cold in your throat and cold on your flush cheeks.

It's only then that you notice the onslaught of rain pelting down from the heavens in big, cold, droplets. It's just perfect, you think. How fitting would a cliche half-mile walk to your apartment be in the freezing cold rain after being stood up on your anniversary.

Fists clenched at your sides you start to feel that familiar tightness in your throat, prickling up from deep inside of you.

Don't cry. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, you think.

But it's too late, the tears are falling faster than you can stop them and the hurt, the embarrassment, the anger, the anxiety. . . it all comes crashing down in one big tsunami of fat tears running down your cheeks. You feel pathetic, but you just can't help it.

Your pretty dress slicks to your skin as you begin your trek home, the fabric darkening from the wet of the rain and you can already feel the soppy puddles forming in the soles of your heels. Your hair, once rolling perfectly down your shoulders in precise curls sticks to your face and plasters around your neck uncomfortably. You swear you're wearing holes into your bottom lip with how hard you're biting the flesh, the metallic tang of blood seeping into your mouth as you try to contain your sobs.

How could he forget this? How could he embarrass you like this? You're so sick of feeling like you're on the back burner all the time and you're scared it'll be the breaking point.

By now, you were supposed to be in the passenger seat of his Impala, driving home together with your bellies full and your hands clasped together on the center console, all smiles and loud singing to his music. He'd kiss you deep at the red lights and a familiar warmth would spread inside you at your core. Together you'd stumble into your apartment with a clumsy clash of teeth and lips and roaming hands— thinking about this was just making you feel so much worse. Nothing had gone to plan and now you weren't sure what would happen next. Not sure you could hold it together without blowing up on him as soon as you see him. If you even see him tonight. You have the feeling you won't.

Besides being absolutely drenched, it's also frigidly cold, the wind ripping through the tight collection of city streets and billowing your clothes. You shiver hard, teeth chattering loudly at this point and it's almost tempting to just run the rest of the way home. You probably would if you didn't have heels on. The evening dark sky casts a sad, blue glow across the wet pavement and across your skin, painting you in a cerulean hue of light disrupted only by the yellow luminescence of each street lamp you pass. You would think it was beautiful if not for your sour mood.

You think you're about to be rescued when you hear the thrum and idle of an old classic car pulling up behind you. You straighten up immediately and spin on the noise hopefully, wholly expecting to see that familiar, sleek black car and Dean, running to your aid with apologies shooting off his tongue. You deflate when you see instead, an old red Nova and a sweet elderly couple ambling into a shop together under an umbrella. You sigh hard and swipe your knuckles across your cheek in a useless attempt to will away your uncontrollable tears.

The usual ten-ish minute long walk home feels unbearably long and when you finally reach those double doors and push them open weakly you can't help but feel at least a little bit better. The lobby is dry and empty and warm and you relish in it for a moment before making your way to the elevator and up.

Your fingers are numb from the cold as you fiddle with your keys, fumbling a few times before finally unlocking the door and nudging it open with your hip. When you make it inside you slump against the wood of your front door and slide pathetically down to the floor into a ball, knees drawn tight to your chest and arms around yourself. You're crying again, sniffling and shaking and weeping and it feels horrible and relieving all at the same time.

Your apartment is dark save for the ambiance lamp left on in the living room and the light streaming through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. You cock your head to the side.

Wait a minute. You could've sworn you turned the off when you left, you're usually pretty good at remembering to shut off all the main lights. Then you realize the big, brown boots sitting next to you by the shoe rack. Dean's big, brown boots.

In an instant, you're standing again and striding in big, quick steps toward the bathroom door, heels discarded behind you and wet feet leaving imprints on the wood floors, your dress leaving puddles in your wake.

"Dean?" You call, voice so weak you barely hear it yourself, "Dean, where the hell have you been?"

Your hand is on the handle and you're wrenching the door open before he even has the chance to answer.

You can't help the gasp that slips loudly past your lips, your fingers following in wake to cover your mouth.

Dean sits crumpled on the bathroom floor, a wet washcloth in hand pressing against his temple and there's blood everywhere. Blood both fresh and dried caked on his face, oozing from gashes on his forehead and his neck. His skin is pale and his lips almost blue. His black tee is shredded into ribbons down the front with marks like an animal attack running all down his chest, angry and red, and swollen. Dean tilts his head against the wall he leans against and grimaces when the door you pushed into him knocks him hard in the knee.

Immediately you're at his side, down on your knees to tend to him and you're terrified because he's never come back this out of shape.

"I'm okay, Baby. Hurts like hell, but I'll live." He affirms, shaking his head at your concern, "Just gotta get cleaned up."

You pry the cloth from his hand and move to rinse the blood from it in the sink, wringing it out and re-wetting it before holding it back to the deep wound next to his brow. Your own are furrowed, no doubt displaying your every emotion to him consequently. It's almost instant how quick you forget your tears, consumed by the adrenaline in seeing Dean so beat up. It's not the first time you'd tended to his wounds after a hunt but it is the first time it's been so serious.

His lashes flutter and you realize how exhausted he looks as his eyes meet yours, then narrow as he takes in your appearance. You feel like shrinking under his gaze, averting your own as his hands come up to cup your cheeks and he pulls your face gently towards him to make you look at him again.

"Sweetheart, you been crying?" He asks tentatively, brushing his thumb past the sticky tear tracks drying under your eyes. With sudden clarity he's looking down at your body and your wet dress and sopping hair and his jaw drops wide open.

"Shit. Shit, Baby." His eyes widen and in an instant that exhaustion is wiped from his features, replaced with pure terror and guilt.

"I'm so sorry. Please tell me you weren't waiting for me out there. Please tell me you weren't sitting outside that restaurant the whole time waiting on me." He's shaking his head and for a moment you think he's going to cry now.

You sniffle and have to look away from him, swallowing that damned lump in your throat.

"You forgot." you manage to croak. "You forgot our anniversary."

"No, no, I didn't," - you narrow your eyes at him accusingly - "Well, I did— kind of! Baby, I'm so sorry I didn't realize that was today I just got so caught up in this hunt and Dad—"

"You always get caught up in a hunt. Dean, you left me alone in that restaurant. You left me alone all day. You disappeared before I even woke up, didn't leave a note or anything. You didn't answer your phone, you didn't—" You shake your head, trying not to cry again. "Do you know how embarrassed I was at that restaurant? You hurt me, Dean. This was important to me."

"Let me make it up to you," Dean grovels, eyes pleading, "Please, let me have a redo."

"I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to feel like I'm on the back burner. I know what you do is special. I know it's different and I know it's important to you. But you make me feel shitty when you don't put in the effort to remember these things. When you don't fit me in as a priority, too. It makes me feel like you weren't as excited as I was to celebrate this with you and that's hurtful." You remove his hands from your face to stand and you feel him panic for a moment, thinking you're walking away from him when you're just standing to reach the first aid kit on top of the mirror cabinet.

You pull from the box the bottle of antiseptic and some gauze and go to work on patching up those wounds. No matter how angry, how hurt you are, you weren't going to let him clean himself up the haphazard way he does it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was excited, I was excited to see you happy and to spend time with you. I was excited to show you off. Baby, you mean everything to me, don't think for a moment that you don't." Dean says, and you know he means every word. "I won't let it happen again, I'll shape up."

"Actions mean a lot more than words, you know." you say, not harshly, but matter of factly, quiet.

"I know. I'll make it up to you. It won't ever happen again. I swear it."

He rests his hands on your shoulders, soothing them up and down your arms. "Sweetheart, you're freezing. Ditch the first aid, let's get you into the shower you're gonna catch a cold."

You take one glance at his bloodied chest and know the shower would do him just as good rather than ruining all your clean laundry trying to soak up his blood.

"You too?" you ask, brows furrowed.

Dean nods before heaving himself up, using the wall as support even though you reach your hands out to him to hold him up. He shucks off his jacket and pulls what's left of his shirt over his head, leaving them in a dejected pile on the bathroom tile.

Next, he's pulling the kit out from your other hand and setting it on the bathroom counter before reaching his arms around your body to unzip your dress in the back.

"You still look beautiful. I'm sorry you wasted it on me."

"I look like a drowned rat."

Dean scoffs at that, his lips flitting up into that signature amused smirk of his.

"I love you." He whispers against your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there before slipping the straps of your dress off your shoulders and you return his words.

The dress falls around your legs with a sloppy, wet, slap on the tile and you slip out of it before turning the faucet on in the shower. Dean unbuttons his jeans and you peel off the rest of each others clothes before stepping into the warm shower.

The blood melts into the hot water and down the drain, Dean grimacing from the pain and you delicately circle a hand around his wrist.

"Are you sure you'll be okay? What happened today anyway?" You ask.

"It's a long story, tell you some other time." You leave it at that as his hands come up to massage the shampoo into your hair and your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

Together you clean up, pressing kisses to each other in various locations, Dean's hands gentle on your body and in your hair and arms circling your waist.

"I don't deserve you." he whispers so quietly you barely hear it over the patter of the water in the porcelain tub.

"You do, Dean. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be forgiven. You deserve everything good. I love you. And I forgive you because I know you mean it. I know you'd never hurt me on purpose."

You don't say it, but you forgive him because he's Dean Winchester. You love him so hard you'd let it destroy you. You forgive him because he really does deserve it. Dean Winchester who lost his mom tragically. Dean Winchester who looks out for everyone but doesn't expect anyone to look out for him. (No one does). Dean Winchester and the little brother he raised who doesn't even know it. Dean Winchester and his hard ass, stubborn father who treats him like a soldier. Dean Winchester and his heart of gold. Your Dean Winchester.

"I love you, too." He kisses you deep, nose brushing against yours and calloused fingers at your collar, the other arm around your back. Your hands reach around his neck and thread into the short hair at his nape.

"You know, that ice cream place down the road is open until 10." Dean smiles, "Whaddaya say we go get some Rocky Road and bring it home and we can marathon whatever you want all night on the couch?"

You can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you.

"Okay," you say with a smile, "that sounds perfect."

"Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart."

[as-nodt-ghostwriter]

RWBY: Marriage & Domestic Headcannons - Ruby Rose / Male Reader

requested by anonymous

——————————————

Marriage was something Ruby didn’t realize she wanted. But ever since meeting you, she wants to be your life partner and best friend.

Ruby didn’t want anything extravagant or big when it came to the idea of marriage.

Although the honeymoon ideas are something she definitely put alot of thought into while you guys were just dating…

She reassured you that she wanted something small but then you saw she invited everyone at Beacon Academy…and anybody she was mildly acquainted with at Vale..Vacuo…Mistral…and Atlas…

You’re not sure if you had enough tables and food for everyone…not on your budget

But everything worked out in the end when everyone chipped in their part in helping this wedding not fall apart.

And everything was made up for with the wedding gifts…Ruby was definitely loved by the public..

You honestly don’t remember after what you guys did after the reception…you immediately passed out on the hotel bed and your wife followed afterwards.

Your marriage didn’t falter in the slightest after the honeymoon.

If anything the honeymoon phase is still going strong for you two.

Ruby became a lot more mischievous now that you two live together.

She’s definitely a lot more bold and forward with what she wants.

Ruby oftentimes found herself daydreaming of kids walking around in your cabin home and training them to be mini huntresses.

Ruby is the cool mom everyone wants. Your kids always tell you that students at Beacon mention how cool their mom is.

Ruby still wants to do missions and slay some Grimm on the side while being a mom. The missions are mostly patrolling, close by or at Vale.

You two bake almost every day. Ruby has been practicing to bake the perfect batch of cookies ever since her dad Tai gave her Summer Rose’s secret chocolate chip recipe.

Ruby didn’t want to change her lifestyle when it came to the idea of settling down. You always reassured her that she’s already the best wife, always encouraging her to be the strongest huntress.

Ruby looked up to her mom a lot. In turn, she wanted to be the best mom ever to her kids.

Ruby often joked about the idea of having quadruplets that way they’d all grow up to be the best huntsmen team in Beacon Academy.

You sweated at the idea of raising four kids at the same time..you pounder if your wife was actually being serious or not.

She wasn’t.

Probably..

Regardless of how many kids, Ruby would love each and every one. She could never pick favorites!

Ruby loves big get-togethers. Parties, holidays, family dinners. She loves bringing in the family together for anything.

Yang and Blake are the cool aunts that your kids get excited to see whenever they come over. They especially love when Yang and Blake bring gifts/souvenirs from the Kingdoms they visit.

Weiss loves your family and is always the first to arrive when invited, even on short notice. She adored your kids when they were babies and still adores them now as if they were her own.

Weiss showers them with gifts that are more on the expensive side. Weiss mostly sticks with gifting them clothes ever since she gifted one of your kids a Vespa, despite them only just turning six..

Grandpa Tai gets the short end of stick. The kids climb up on his back and ask to be carried by him. It ends with Tai on all fours as he shuffles around the house with the kids riding his back.

Uncle Qrow shows up out of nowhere and always makes himself home immediately. The kids adore him just like Ruby.

Whenever Qrow has a PG rated story to tell, The kids gather around him and listen to all his past missions and stories. Always amazed and wowed everytime.

Your home life is warm, bright, although loud and chaotic at times. You and Ruby wouldn’t change a thing.

Ruby loves seeing all her friends, family, and loved ones altogether in one area. It warms her heart knowing that the house is never empty and always welcoming.

You just love seeing her happy and glowing, and that makes you happy.

[onthevirgooftears]

this may be the biggest cope of all time and i am in no way citing this as anything beyond that but like, hear me out.

drdt is very well written in general and one of my favourite things about it is how irrational the cast is and how that plays into the way that the trials operate. we see this time and time again, first with teruko and everyone immediately, without any real evidence or proof believing that she killed xander and then again with david and everyone believing he killed arei.

we also see the different kinds of reactions to this like how teruko fought for her innocence whilst david commits to playing the part.

here's where the coping part comes in because i am slightly, possibly convinced that a similar thing has happened with ace. i think that the way the trial was conducted showcases the irrational and fixed mindset most of the cast has (with teruko leading the charge surprisingly)

and i think the fact that for 40 minutes ace was for lack of better terms dogpiled on and TOLD he killed arei (like, multiple people said this without any reservations BEFORE the slingshot thing which is literally the only thing tying him and him only to areis murder and even that is kind of flimsy) and i think that the way he's been treated in general has been really shitty.

taking out this post as a whole and assuming he IS the killer he still made a really good point about how teruko is only siding with eden because she likes her more. which is like, obviously a very uncomplicated way to put it but it's also completely the truth. ace gets the short end of the stick because eden cries and teruko feels bad and she tries to prove it's ace BECAUSE of her confirmation bias and her reservations around his personality in comparison to edens. i don't think she's doing it on purpose but i think she's not as removed from making broad assumptions based on her emotions as she thinks.

anyways the idea of ace basically doing what david tried to do originally (commit to the bit) but successfully is almost laughable but so is all the evidence that he DID kill arei. teruko trying to get him to fight for his innocence proves to me that thinks (hopes? believes?) that there is something beyond what she's seeing (all that glitters is not gold or something like that) and him going silent, accepting his fate, not refuting any of the genuinely wild claims against him (eden just flat out saying he was the one stalking her when there's zero proof that it was him and everyone just believing her) and committing to the idea that he's never making it out alive so he might as well go down now rather than later is actually really compelling.

[acourtofthought]

I saw this Elriel post saying Elriel is basically Elorcan and honestly now I'm kinda conflicted because I loved them 🥺

Do you think she would pull an Elorcan with them? Or do you think Elucien will pull through with the reluctant mates trope? I've seen so much from both sides that I honestly don't even know what I want anymore lol I think I just want ANY book

The above is something Lorcan said to Elide in one of his dreams and a strong possibility for why he was willing to tie his immortal life to her mortal one.

Lorcan has no other mate, Elide has no other mate therefore him believing she might be his mate can not be challenged. He wants to be with her believing he's meant to be with her. Elucien's bond is confirmed, Az can scent it, Feyre confirmed it when she slipped into his head and Mor used her gift of truth on Lucien (the only reason he was allowed to enter Velaris / their home).

Lorcan believed Elide was his mate because of the way he felt for her. Az thought the Cauldron might be wrong because he's the third brother and his two brothers were with two of the sisters so why shouldn't he get the third sister? He never once spoke of actual feelings for Elain, he never even mentioned a single thing he liked about her outside of her beauty and the way her arousal smelled. He didn't give her credit for her bravery, for how she stood up to Nesta, how she saved his life, how she saved Nesta and Cassian's life, he never asked her how she was coping after her fathers death, if she still missed Graysen, how she was feeling after her fights with Nesta, etc. Az wanted a mating bond like his brothers because he thought that would have been the fair thing, Lorcan thought he might be Elide's mate because of Elide and only Elide.

That is not the same thing. Also, Elide was a bit dark in her personality which is why she was a match to Lorcan who was associated with death. She had a disability which prevented her from doing the things she wanted to do. Elain has no such physical disability but she avoids cruelty because it bothers her. Whereas Nesta gruesomely behead the king in revenge, Elain stabbed him, a killing blow, but only to the extent that was necessary and nothing more. Elide was never mentioned as being a gentle grower of things, with life shining in her eyes, who had a love of nature and flowers, who craved sunshine in the way Elain is. Lorcan and Az might be similar but Elide and Elain are very different. As far as reluctant mates. Nobody knows what Sarah will do but reluctant mates is a lot more of a sure thing in fiction than truly rejected mating bonds. I can name many authors who have gone the route of reluctant mates but I can't think of a single book or best selling author where a FMC rejected her mate and the series / book ended with the rejection sticking.

In terms of aesthetic, I think Sarah really hammered it home for us when she wrote CC. Solas - the Sun God was the lover of Cthona - the Earth Goddess. Lucien is set up to be the heir to the Day throne with Helion being described as the sun personified and Elain is definitely a lot like Cthona in terms of imagery.

[firinnie]

Erichthonius of Athens

(Before the main post I wanted to say that I want to add some more animal attributes to my gods. When I found out that Hephaestus has a donkey under his patronage I couldn't resist lol. Of course, they are gods so they can change their appearance or hide something in it but for now let's give them a little shine.)

So, since we're sticking with interesting Greek myths, I have a story for you today that involves Athena's (short) motherhood, still as a virgin goddess.

Safe part: So Athena canonically decided to adopt Hephaestus' son, Erichthonius, who according to one version was half boy and half snake. The goddess left him to be raised in Athens where he grew up, proved his power and wisdom, and later became a legendary king. Wow, happy ending! Now you can move on to the less happy part. 🙂

Mentioning attempted rpe: I remember what a big wtf I had the first time I read this myth but Erichthonius' birthday is much more complicated. You see, Hephaestus and Athena were supposed to have a friendly relationship, platonic on her side but not on his. One day Poseidon told his nephew that the goddess of wisdom was making advances on him. So he tried to seduce her and when she didn't want to - tride to rped her. You don't have to guess that the goddess experienced in fighting defended herself but despite everything, Hephaestus' "seeds" dirty her thigh, she pushed it on the earth in disgust and because of that Gaia (personification of the Earth) gave life, which literally came out of a crack in the same earth. Athena decided to adopt child even though SHE IS NOT BIOLOGICALLY CONNECTED TO HIM, which is important since she is still one of the 3 virgin goddesses. (with Artemis and Hestia) I once read a version where she was supposed to clean her thigh with a lock of her cut hair, but most definitely it is a piece of wood, so we can safely say that the child was born of Hephaestus and Gaia only.

Mentioning successful s*icide: It is worth adding that Athena gave the boy to the three daughters of Cecrops, current king of Athens, to raise. The child was in a basket that they were not supposed to open, but because they did, they went crazy and threw themselves off a cliff. Here too, there are two versions, one says that it was because Erichthonius was actually half a snake, the other that in the basket, apart from boy, there was also a snake that attacked the princess.

I hope you like this interesting facts. It shows how thin the ice of decency of Greek myths is, but it also gives a very interesting perspective on this. I still prefer the myth of Pallas tho.

[ggswaywardgifrepository]

Some interesting tidbits in this compilation of Noob intros in the read more... Like the pre-fight intros for the main game spoiled and alluded to its events, these also make mention of tons that went down in Khaos Reigns. So, be mindful if you haven't beaten the DLC.

Sub-Zero Bi-Han seems disgusted with Noob, which implies a: Noob's mind is not as restored as Liu Kang said after he was brought back from Titan Havik's domain. (Which we all already knew was bullshit because look how Noob acts. His ass is still batshit nuts from what Havik did to him.) This also suggests that there is still a part of Bi-Han that would benefit from being restored, even if he can't consciously perceive it atm.

Noob being all EMBRACE KHAOS until he's dialoguing with Havik, then it's like, "Not like that." Another point that suggests there is a part of him that's not as content with his outcome as he usually boasts.

Sektor's love seems genuine and is admirable but she's going to end up either turning on Noob and siding with Liu Kang to restore him, or her sticking with him will be their mutual ruin. I love that she clearly has his back no matter what terrible shit he does. But it needs to be said that this is enabling behavior, not the devotion either of them thinks it is.

Tomas breaks my heart. His interactions with Noob are among the simplest, yet most nuanced. Even more than his with Kuai Liang. Tomas sounds more tired and resigned to a poor outcome for Bi-Han, yet still definitely cares what happens to him (a thing Kuai Liang won't express).

Man... even as Noob, Bi-Han's interactions with Shang Tsung are among the best. Reminds me why I'm a BiShang shipper. That Noob and Sektor could have chemistry like this... I might support the ship if that were the case.

Many other dialogues seem to be implying the same thing: that Bi-Han's restoration isn't just about redeeming him. He's powerful enough to defeat a Titan now. He's right when he says Liu Kang wants to control him.

Bi-Han is still so disrespected. Every time he points out that he did all the realms a pretty fucking big solid by dropping Havik, they brush it off. (Yet, this is the same power Liu Kang undoubtedly fears Bi-Han will ultimately unleash on his own timeline and that's no small part of why he wants to "restore" him.)

[tinybookgirl]

Makeshift Knives And Built In Locks

The classic story of how Doofenshmirtz lost his arm.

Also on AO3

It didn’t actually hurt all that much anymore, and Heinz was just aware enough to know that that was not a good thing.

It had been- actually he wasn’t sure how long he had been lying here. It must have been a few hours at least because it was darker than had it been earlier. He had already run his voice out screaming, begging for anyone to help. No one had come- they were far enough away from Gimmelshtump that no one would hear him, and the ocelots had ran away when the rocks fell. Heinz wasn’t as fast as they were, he hadn’t been able to dodge. He had tripped, and then before he knew it a boulder the size of a car had landed directly across his arm.

He supposed he should be lucky all that was trapped was his arm. It would have been just his luck to have it crush him completely, but he couldn’t appreciate that right now. Heinz really didn’t want to be out here when it got dark. The cave he lived in with the ocelots was safe, but out in the woods? There were all sorts of creatures that could find him. And they would find him. If the pork scent that always followed him wasn’t enough, the scent of his blood would certainly do the trick.

Heinz pulled uselessly against his arm. That only sent shock of pain into his shoulder. He was getting dizzy. How much blood could someone lose before they died? He had already lost a lot, soaking into the rags of his clothes and pooling into the dirt underneath him. Each time he tried to pull at his arm, he though he lost a little more.

He tried another tactic of using his free arm to push at the boulder. He screeched as pain rocketed down his shoulder and all the way through the rest of him.

The ocelots weren’t coming back, Heinz realized. Did they even realize he was gone? Even if they did come looking for him, they didn’t actually have hands. They couldn’t get the boulder off him. They just had-

They had teeth, and they had claws.

Heinz could already hear creatures moving through the woods. He didn’t have teeth or claws, but he did have- well, it wasn’t so much a knife, as it was a sharp piece of metal he had taken from the Gimmelshtump dump. He used it to slice of meat from their kills once he had realized trying to do so with his bare hands was useless. Sometimes Mama Ocelot would do it for him, but sometimes she was out or attending to his ocelot brother and sister instead.

It was an awkward reach with his free arm, but he pull it out from his belt. He grabbed a nearby branch, sticking it between his teeth. He was shaking. Something in the woods roared. Even trapped on the forest floor, he could feel the trees shaking.

Heinz placed the knife as close to the boulder as he could get. Clamping down on the branch in a vain attempt to muffle his screams, Heinz began sawing.

*

Heinz woke up to something licking at his arm. He tried to push it away only his arm wouldn’t move. Whatever was licking at him really hurt to. His other arm moved though and he reached over to find the thing licking his arm was his ocelot brother. He tried to figure out why his arm wouldn't move only to- oh. Right.

Heinz didn’t really know how he had made it back to the ocelots cave. He had found a bit of a stream, washing the stump of his arm the best he could and managing a bandage for it. It had still hurt. Hurt was an understatement, every step had sent waves of pain through it.

At least he had managed to make it back to the cave. He used his good arm to scratch behind his ocelots brother’s ears. He purred, abandoning the licking to nuzzle into Heinz’s side instead.

Was saliva sanitary? Human saliva had all sorts of proprieties like painkillers, did ocelots have that as well? Oh he could really go for a painkiller right now. He had never actually had one before, not the fancy pills that got imported from outside Drusselstein. Those were expensive. They had never had many in the first place, and they certainly weren’t going to be wasted on him.

Heinz blinked up at the cave ceiling. Everything was slightly blurry. His ocelot sister curled into his other side.

Could limbs grow back? That sounded right. The Gimmelshtump semi-public library didn’t have a very good biology section, or a very impressive any section, and he preferred mechanics and engineering. He was certain that he had read something about limbs growing back.

Yes, that was right. He had once seen Boris pull the tail off of a lizard. Heinz had caught it afterwards, taken it back home and before long it had grown a new tail entirely. Arms weren’t all that different from tails.

Of course not long after that his mother had found out Heinz was keeping a ‘filthy lizard’ in her house and that had turned into a whole different mess. He hadn’t been able to sit down for days. It still hadn’t compared to the beating he had gotten after she had found him hiding Hoarfrost in the woodshed. That had left him aching for weeks.

Heinz closed his eyes. His arm would grow back, and then everything could go back to the way it had been.

*

Heinz was only barely aware of the next few days. He sent most of it lying in the cave, only getting up when he absolutely had to. Mama Ocelot brought him meat, most of the time Heinz tried to cook it, but right now he simply couldn’t be bothered. He had tried to wash and rebandage the stump of his arm, but walking made him dizzy and the arm didn’t look like it was growing back. In fact, it looked like it was getting worse.

He threw up everything Mama Ocelot brought him. He managed a handful of wild doonkelberries from where they grew by the stream, and threw those up to. His arm felt even worse than it had at the beginning. The end of it felt like it was constantly on fire and instead of scabbing over properly the whole area was turning into a field of swollen blisters and pustules. That, Heinz knew, was very much not good.

He tried using his knife to pop them, squeezing out pus and blood. The pain rippled through his entire body, Heinz only barely managing to keep himself was passing out, although he did vomit anything still left in his stomach, although at this point that wasn’t much. He had washed it and rebandaged it except he was running out of anything to actually bandage it with. And by the next day, it felt as bad as it had before.

This, Heinz though, was not going to work. He needed more than water and vaguely clean rags only the only place he could get anything else was Gimmelshtump.

He wasn’t that far from Gimmelshtump. Sometimes when hunting with the ocelots they got close enough to the village that he could hear the creaking of the shaft. It wouldn’t take long to get there.

He couldn’t go to the hospital. No one went to the hospital unless they were dying or giving birth, not that his own mother had even bothered going at all, but they would almost certainly hand hi right back to his parents.

Sure, the cave was freezing in the winter, and the cave floor wasn’t all that comfortable. He didn’t have anyone that he could actually talk to, and if he didn’t get to the meat fast enough his ocelot brother and sister were likely to take it before he could. The water in the nearby stream wasn’t actually all that clean so much of the time it was filled with the polluted runoff from Gimmelshtump, but he drank it anyway. Mama Ocelot was prone to what Heinz could only describe as mood swings, if ocelots could even have those, and therefore sometimes clawed at him rather than cared for him.

He would rather take all of that than go back to his parents.

There was- well, she wasn’t exactly a doctor, but she ran the only apothecary in town and handled pretty much everything that wasn’t going to immediately kill you. She didn’t get along with his parents, meaning she probably wouldn’t bother going after them. The only problem was that she also hated him.

It wasn’t growing back though, and if the infection got any worse Heinz knew it could kill him. He didn’t think he had another option at this point except to go back go Gimmelshtump and hope he could make it to the apothecary without passing or, or finding someone who would tell his parents.

That was all. He would go to the apothecary, get whatever medicine she was willing to give him, then he could come right back and wait for his arm to start growing back.

Piece of cake.

Not that Heinz had a lot of experience with cake.

*

Heinz stood on the edge of the forest, leaning heavily against a tree. He had hoped that maybe his arm would have been better when he woke up, so he wouldn’t even need to do this. As always he had been disappointed If anything, it looked even worse. It felt worse too.

Every step had hurt. He was hungry and thirsty but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep anything down. His head ached, he had kept stumbling although whether that was from his balance being thrown off or just being dizzy he wasn’t sure. Either way it had taken him a lot longer than he had expected to make it to Gimmelshtump. He had hoped to arrive in the middle of the day, when people were at work or school and the streets weren’t so empty. Instead, it was evening and everyone was out.

At the very least, he was on the far side of the village from his parents house.

The noise only made his headache worse. He hadn’t come this close to the village in months. The woods couldn’t be called quiet, there was always noise. Wind, or animals rooting in the brush, birds chirping, twigs snapping, the ocelots purring or growling or scratching their claws along the stone. This was not just loud though, it was cacophonous.

People were shouting to each other, cars and wagons rattled through the streets. Horse whinnied, dogs were barking, goats were bleating. Somewhere a group of children were yelling as they played. The shaft creaked overhead. Every noise seemed to dig into his skull, making him wonder if going back to the cave and hoping for the best would be better.

Heinz took a breath, pushed himself off of the tree, tried to ignore the stabbing in his arm, and darted out of the trees.

Within in moments he was very aware that everyone was staring at him. Oh- of course they were. He was filthy, barefoot, his clothes ragged and dirty. His hair was long and tangled, and all of that was before the fact that he only had one arm, the other wrapped in a bloodstained bandage. The smell of pork that always followed him was likely worse than every, and now he probably smelled like blood as well.

Fine. It didn’t matter. They could stare at him all they wanted because he wasn’t going to be here for much longer anyway. As soon as he got what he needed, he was gone again.

Heinz stopped, squinting up at a street sign. What road was the apothecary on again? He knew what it looked like, he had been sent to her before when his mother wasn’t feeling well late (she would never risk sending Roger out on his own). He knew how to get there from his parents house. As soon as he figured out where he was, he could find it. Gimmelshtump wasn’t big, it couldn’t be that hard.

Someone knocked into him. Heinz screeched, only barely managing to avoid falling completely. He reached out to steady himself, grabbing onto someone’s skirts.

Whoever he had grabbed let out a screech in return, swatting him away like a fly.

Heinz let go, stumbling back. He looked up to see a woman glaring down at him. Heinz though he recognized her, but he wasn’t sure. Did run the bakery? No, maybe she was on of his mothers friends? No, she managed the claw machine district. That was it. He still couldn’t remember her name, but at least he had an idea of who she was.

“Filthy child-” she wrinkled her nose at him. “Aren’t you the Doofenshmirtz boy?”

Heinz didn’t get to answer before she finished taking him in realized exactly what she was looking at.

“Oh my-”

Heinz ran.

He knocked over more than one person as he fled, ignoring the yells after him. He darted down streets at random. He didn’t want to see anyone who knew who he was. He didn’t want to see anyone who might talk to his parents. They didn’t want him. He didn’t want them to know where he was.

What if they made him come back?

He skidded to a halt. He was at the edge of the kickball field. A group of children were busy playing, including Roger.

Heinz made a face. He was panting heavily. The running had only made everything worse. He had to get out of here before Roger saw him. This wasn’t worth it. He would go back to the ocelots and take his chances.

He leaned over, attempting to brace his hands on his knees, only to lose his balance, falling hard to the ground.

The kickball bumped against his feet.

“I’ll get it!” A girls voice called. Someone picked it up. “Heinz?”

Heinz looked up. It was Grulinda, her glasses askew and her hair frizzy and out of place.

“What are you-” Grulinda’s eyes widened. She dropped the kickball, kneeling down next to him. She reached out towards his missing arm. “Heinz, what happened?”

Heinz slapped her hand away. He tried to stand back up, only to immediately fall back into the dirt.

“Go away!” Heinz shouted. His voice was wheezy and dry from disuse, and soar from screaming.

“Heinz, I think you need help!” Grulinda reached out once again, attempting to held him stand. Her hand landed directly across the stump.

Heinz screamed. She may as well have stabbed him with a hot poker. He couldn’t breath, his breathe coming in short useless bursts. His vision went black. He pulled away from her, scrambling back along the ground.

“Go away!” Heinz shrieked. “Go away! Go away!”

Grulinda jumped back. She left the kickball where it was, running back to the field.

“Roger! Roger! Your brother is here! I think he needs help!”

Not Roger. Heinz didn’t want to see Roger. He didn’t want Roger to get their parents.

Heinz tried to stand. This time, he barely managed it. Black spots danced across his eyes.

Everyone on the field was heading his way now, Roger at the very front.

Panic welled up in Heinz. He stumbled away, probably not as fast as he wanted. A loose cobblestone jutted out through the ground. Heinz slammed his foot right into it. He tumbled into the dirt, and everything went black

*

Heinz groaned, opening his eyes to see- wood.

He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. Yes, that was definitely wood overhead. Whatever he was lying on was soft, much softer than his bed in the cave-

Oh.

This was his bed. It was awkward and lumpy and creaked every time he moved but his parents had always said it would be a waste of money to get a new one, even though Roger got something new whenever he wanted.

Something was clacking softly next to him. Heinz turned his head to see his mother. She was seated next to his bed, frowning over her knitting. She looked the same as ever, her plain dress and apron, her hair yanked back harshly into a bun.

She looked up as he moved, her frown deepening. Her knitting needles kept moving. “Finally, you are awake. You slept long enough.”

Heinz squinted blearily around the bedroom. It was his bedroom, although it had never really been his. It was mostly a storage room with a bed and dresser crammed into the corner. He was surprised the bed was even still here. It was just as crammed as ever, probably even more so, but Heinz was having a hard time cataloging what was a new addition.

He looked down at his arm. The rest of him was still filthy, and he was wearing the same rags he had before, but the bandages around his arm were fresh and clean. He shifted his shoulder experimentally. It still hurt when he moved it, but it was infinitely better than it had been. He reached out with his good hand to feel into the empty space.

“It’s not growing back.”

His mother made a face, slamming her knitting down as she stood.

“Habengoosher,” she muttered, “you crawl back here after all these months and you cannot even come back whole. You,” she pointed at him accusingly, “should be thanking your brother. Roger got a doctor for you. He’s a good boy.” The unlike you hung unsaid, but Heinz didn’t need her to say it to know that it was there.

She made to leave, apparently having only been waiting for him to wake up, but stopped in the doorway. “Clean yourself up. You will be doing lawn gnome duty tonight.”

“What?” Heinz sat up. He found the window, the shuttered were closed, but there was enough light to tell that it was daylight. How long had he been asleep for? “But-”

“But what?” she snapped. “You come back here, you are going to contribute. It has been too long since we have had someone protecting our garden. It’s not as though you are good for anything else.”

Heinz shrunk back onto the bed as the door slammed behind her. He pressed the palm of his hand against his eyes. He knew it would be no good to argue. It would be no good to claim he hadn’t wanted to come back. It would be no good to point out that they were the ones who wanted to get rid of him in the first place.

The door opened again. Heinz expected to see his mother again, but this time it was Roger.

“Heinz?”

Heinz glared at him. He wouldn’t cry, not in front of Roger. “What do you want?”

“Where have you been?” Roger asked. “What happened to your arm?”

Heinz rolled onto his side, glad that his good arm allowed him to face the wall so he didn’t have to look at Roger’s smug, self satisfied face. He probably though he was some kind of hero for finding his poor lost brother. For dragging him back home like a dog playing fetch.

“Why do you care?” Heinz grumbled.

“You scared everyone at the park,” Roger said. “The doctor said it was really infected. If you hadn’t come home you could have died.”

Heinz didn’t answer. He shut his eyes, hoping desperately that Roger would simply leave on his own.

“Grulinda was asking about you,” Roger continued. “She wanted me to tell you she’s sorry for grabbing you. She didn’t think it would hurt so bad.”

“Go away.” Heinz said flatly. He didn’t want to hear Roger talking about his friends and his life and everything that made Roger perfect.

Roger lingered in the doorway a moment longer.

“I’m glad you came back.”

Heinz didn’t answer him. Roger left, the door closing behind his. Heinz’s room only had a lock on the outside, not the inside. Roger didn’t lock it when he left, but as far as Heinz was concerned he may as well have. He was trapped here either way.

[dylanconrique]

JUST LOOK HOW WORRIED MY BABYGIRL IS WTH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[aroacettorney]

dont mind me. im simply just putting together a ludgercasey angst collection.

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[cestacruz]

Mmm Jeanne

[hedgehog-moss]

Last spring my neighbour asked if I could let Pirlouit mow the grass around his barn from time to time, which Pirou was happy to do at first but if I left him there several days in a row he got pretty sad about being alone (lots of wistful, melancholy braying). So this year when my donkey was hired for this job again, I went for a different formula: for the past few weeks I've been bringing all the animals to the neighbour's barn for an hour of landscaping services now and then at apéritif time.

The fence is extremely not Pampe-proof so I have to have my apéritif while sitting on the road in a strategic position from which I can toss a stick in her direction if she tries to escape, but other than that I've been really enjoying this peaceful evening ritual, just sitting there reading and watching the animals while feeling like I'm doing my neighbour a favour. Pirlouit doesn't get all the grass to himself anymore but I've learnt that he prefers to be rich in friends than in food.

You'll notice that Merricat is present in every photo, looking alert. She too has been hired, but for the thankless job of Thought Police. She may look like she's just napping on the warm asphalt with not a care in the world...

... but she is working! Keeping an eye on the llamas, always.

I've discovered that in a specific context my three cats can act as precogs and warn me of Pampe's future crimes. My theory is that they developed this skill because of Poldine, who loves cats. Any cat who enters the pasture will soon be noticed and (lovingly) chased by Poldine, who wants kisses. Cats not only do not want llama kisses, they don't differentiate between individual llamas. They are all potential kissers. So even if it looks like she's all relaxed, Merricat is constantly monitoring where the llamas are and what they seem to be planning. If we are on the other side of a fence and Pampe approaches it a bit too slyly, Merricat will jump to her feet, ready to flee (and I will toss one of my anti-Pampe sticks, and say NON.)

Merricat and I are a very good team! We've foiled several of Pampe's plots, but we need to be on the road for Merricat to remain wary (if we were in the pen Pampe's escape attempts would involve getting away from us and the cat wouldn't care.) Cars are rare so it's okay (plus it's so quiet you can always hear them coming), and on the few occasions when someone showed up and asked why I was having apéritif on the road, I pointed at Pampe and they were like, "Ah! Didn't see her here. Good luck!"

"Hedgehog-moss, you're exaggerating. Pampe can't be that—"

She is! She is. And she always seems to notice when Merricat is on a bathroom break and I'm absorbed in a book.

There was one evening though, when she got distracted by a fascinating new idea. I don't claim to know what's going on in this llama's head (except when she's looking at a fence, then it's easy) but as you can see, once I brought the animals to the barn Poldine started eating flowers, Pirlouit started eating grass, and Pampe started eating the wall.

After a moment she slowly circled the barn, then stopped and lay down right next to it, settling down in a comfortable position but with focused ears and her head still turned towards the wall. It was suspicious behaviour, but on the other hand she now looked so uninterested in the road that I decided to take a risk and run home to bring back some dinner—and she didn't move while I was away! I even brought Pandolf, who is usually banned from these soirées because he would disturb my Merricat alarm system. He was happy to be finally included.

It's unclear if Pampe was eating the wall, talking to the wall, or carefully examining various parts of the wall as Step 1 of 27 of a complex plan only she understands, but she stuck close to the barn all evening instead of lying in wait by the fence so I was able to have a picnic in the grass rather than on the road, which felt more bucolic. I know that "Pampérigouste has a new, mysterious project" is a worrying sentence but at this early stage (feasibility study) it felt to me and Merricat like a little holiday!

[gothgoblinbabe]

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Warnings:  ( MDNI 18+) neighbor!reader,fem reader, Logan’s kinda rude for a lil’ bit, neighbors to frenemies to lovers? Idk, alcohol consumption (nothing 18+ happens while anyone is intoxicated), swearing, i can’t write Wade’s witty dialogue for shit pls bear w me, implied age gap, unprotected sex (wrap it up I beg of you), poking fun at the Kardashians a little, swearing and I think that’s it, but pls lmk if I missed any!

Summary: You have a little too much to drink one night in Wade's living room, resulting in an indirect confession that Logan absolutely hears through the thin drywall of his bedroom. Wade then ditches your usual weekend plans in an attempt at playing cupid - and it may just be the best favor he's ever done for you.

Word Count: 8K (get comfy bitch)

divider credit here and here

Being Wade Wilson’s best friend and neighbor included two main components:

Watching trash TV and getting drunk every other weekend - usually at the same time - and Wade wasn’t going to let his new roommate's attitude ruin it in the slightest.

“She’s gonna be here any minute and if you don’t pull the stick out of your ass and be nice, I'm going to lock you in your room like a sad, lonely dog.”

Logan only grunted in response, sipping his drink in the doorway and watching him run around the living room to make the place look livable.

He’d only moved in a couple weeks ago and Wade had been trying to introduce you both - inviting you over when he knew Logan had no plans - but every time, he was out the door before you were even opening yours across the hall. He’d try everything he could to avoid meeting new people, fearful that any type of real connection with someone would be ripped out from under him just like it had been many times before.

Wade huffed in satisfaction when he was done moving a few things around, standing in front of Logan with his hands on his hips.

“I mean it, kitty cat. She’s a sweet girl - keep the claws in.”

“Told you to stop callin’ me that.”

“Too bad, so sad, kitty.”

As Logan was considering puncturing three evenly spaced holes in both sides of Wade’s chest, they were both interrupted by a knock on the front door.

You were on the other side, of course, a twelve pack of beer under your arm. You rocked back and forth on your heels while you patiently waited for Wade to let you in. You did kind of hope you’d maybe get to meet his new roommate this time - it was a little odd that he was never there when you were.

He answered the door after a second, placing a hand over his heart dramatically when he saw the beer in your arms.

“For me? Aw, sugar, you shouldn't have,” he sighed as he took the box from your arms, ushering you inside.

“Did I have a choice?” you joked back, kicking off your shoes.

You followed him into the living room only to stop in your tracks.

Logan stood near the couch in his sweatpants, looking like he’d been dragged into the middle of the room to be put on display. He did reluctantly agree to stay for a second and finally let him introduce you so he could sulk back to his bedroom and nurse a bottle of whiskey till he fell asleep.

“Well, there he is,” Wade said in a lackluster tone, “now, he is house trained, but he does bite occasionally - “

“Fuck off.”

His deep voice surprised you a bit, unintentionally raising your eyebrows with your gaze still on him.

“ I'm Logan.”

You nodded politely and introduced yourself, shoving your hands in your pockets nervously. He was tall, definitely a good couple years older than you and incredibly handsome, all of which made your stomach erupt into butterflies.

And Logan did not like the way you were looking at him.

He’d seen it more times than he could count on the faces of every pretty young thing that tried to take him home from the bar, batting their eyelashes at him and laying hands on him like it would be persuasive in any way. It never worked, as his dismissive attitude sent a clear message. He couldn’t be bothered to take any of them up on their offers and wasn’t interested in fulfilling some fantasy they had about being with an older man. He didn’t think much about stuff like that anyway, avoiding any chance of vulnerability and attachment to someone he was sure he’d eventually lose.

And you still had that look on your face.

“Night.”

With that, Logan disappeared down the hallway to his room and shut the door.

“He’s not much of a talker,” Wade assured you, “probably for the best.”

From then on, you’d occasionally see Logan come out of his room while you were over - getting something from the kitchen, doing his laundry, coming and going - and each time you had to feign complete disinterest. Wade had quickly taken notice of how you tried to keep your head down every time Logan entered the room to hide your pink cheeks and - naturally - there was no way for him to be quiet about it.

When Logan came out of the bathroom one time with a towel around his waist and dripping wet hair as you and Wade sat at the kitchen island, your best friend was more than eager to run his mouth.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t do that to her!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards you, “you’re practically dangling meat in front of a starving dog - poor girl.”

You had your face buried in your hands with your elbows on the counter, wishing more than anything that you could sink into the chair and through the floor.

“God, shut up.”

Your voice was muffled by your hands but he still heard you.

“And put a stop to my job as cupid?”

Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning towards his bedroom. He’d seen the way your eyes widened the second he’d opened the door, traveling all the way from his bare shoulders to the trail of hair that dipped under the towel. You’d turned pink almost immediately. It would have been something he’d found cute maybe a couple decades ago, before the very last bit of his naivety had faded away. Now, it was just infuriating to him. He could try to drop every hint on earth that he wasn't interested (which for him, just meant avoiding you completely) and you still looked at him like a lovesick schoolgirl.

This weekend came along like every other, texting Wade back and forth about snack options and finally getting up to shuffle across the hall with a bag of chips.

He answered the door as usual, ushering you in. You plopped yourself down on the couch and kicked your slippers off, clad in sweatpants and a tank top. He sat beside you and you propped your legs up on his lap, snatching the TV remote from the coffee table to flip through channels. You heard what you assumed was Logan’s bedroom door open down the hall, keeping your eyes glued to the TV. 

“Peanut! Care to join?” Wade exclaimed as he watched his roommate enter the open kitchen, digging around in the fridge.

You still didn’t tear your gaze from the screen.

“Hell no.”

That wasn’t much of a surprise.

“Your loss!” Wade reached for the pack of beer on the table, offering one that you gladly accepted, “but don’t bother us, keeping up with the kardashians is incredibly important.”

“Uh - huh.”

Logan disappeared again in seconds and Wade shook his head.

You focused back on the TV screen.

“So, how many minutes into the episode do you think one of them is going to start a fight?”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Hours and many beers later, you were on the floor with your knees to your chest between the couch and coffee table as you tried to stifle your giggling. Wade was laid on the couch, no better off than you.

“Hey - hey, I wanna ask you somethin’,” his voice became a little serious, but he still had a shit eating grin on his face, “what are you into Logan for anyway?”

You dreaded the question, groaning and closing your eyes.

“Seriously! I mean, I’ve been here the entire time - “

“Wade.”

He looked at you expectantly, awaiting a response.

You contemplated your answer for a moment, your filter diminishing more and more with every sip of beer, “God, I don’t know, he’s - he’s jus’ big.”

You were snickering behind the beer bottle you drunkenly held in front of your face in an attempt to hide.

“I don’t think he’s that impressive. You know, he’s got small feet - tiny, like a child.”

That had you both doubled over, trying to muffle your laughs with your hands and the throw pillows strewn on the floor.

“Stop, stop - ” you choked out when you finally caught your breath, wacking him on the arm.

“Okay but really, what is it? I know you, you’re not into beefcakes,” he laughed and shook his head.

You sighed, not really thinking for even a second before you started speaking again.

“He’s older and he’s hot -”

“And completely cold and dismissive towards you.”

You rolled your eyes at his interruption but still nodded, “yeah - yes, but that’s not my point.”

Wade took another sip of his beer and motioned for you to continue talking.

“He, uh - ” you tried to bite down a giggle, your face turning pink, “I don’t know, I think he’d be good in bed.”

That made him sit forward on the couch, his mouth open in surprise, “I knew it! I knew you were a horny freak!”

“Am not!” you picked a pillow up from the floor and launched it at his face, “I’m allowed to be, anyway!”

“Whatever,” he caught the pillow in his hands, “I'm on operation ‘Cupid’ and I have never quit a mission, cupcake. So, what about him makes you think that? Is it because he's a hundred and eighty - something years older than you? He’s probably been passed around the block like a wh - “

“Okay,” you cut him off, cringing at the thought, “ I think I got the picture.”

Your mind began to wander again about Logan and you narrowed your eyes in thought, staring at nothing.

“What’cha thinkin’, honey bun?”

Wade's voice cut through your concentration and you shrugged, a smile creeping onto your face.

“Oh no,” he started, stretching the vowel, “you’re having a sex fantasy right now, I can see it on your face - disgusting. Tell me more.”

“What, you want details?” You laughed, giving up on trying to hide it if Wade could already read you like an open book. You were both terribly honest with each other - almost to a fault. 

“Not the full middle-aged-white-women erotica novel version,” he answered, “I can accept cliff notes.”

You thought for a moment, going down the mental list you’d made of all the assumptions you had about the older roommate that you rarely ever saw.

“He’s gotta have a huge dick. Like, massive.”

Wade nearly spit out his beer but nodded for you to continue.

“I’d let him, like - like,” you were giggling between words as you tried to form a sentence, “ fuckin’ rearrange my guts.”

That did make Wade spit his beer, which set off a train of uncontrollable laughter that you both tried to stifle. 

Still, throw pillows and hands over your mouths were not as effective as you believed. 

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, squinting in the dark. The digital clock on his nightstand read ‘2:24 am’ in red LEDs. He closed his eyes again and tried to drift back to sleep, only to be jolted up by the sound of the two of you laughing obnoxiously from the living room.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbled to himself, getting up to walk towards his door so he could tell you both to keep it quiet. As his hand touched the knob, he halted when he heard your voice.

“He’s probably good at eating pussy. He’d be like an animal - “

Logan was stuck in place, his eyes narrowed. Who the hell were you talking about? 

“Can we go back to the rearranging guts thing? ‘Cause I have to tell you, sister - he’s made of metal and he’ll really do it.”

That couldn’t be about him. He refused to believe you two were actually talking about him like that in the next room.

“I’d let him,” he could hear you snickering.

“Is this a daddy issues thing? The ‘I can fix him’ maneuver?” 

“I didn’t say I wanted to fix him, I said I wanted to fuck him.”

If this was about some guy, Logan should be relieved; thankful that you’d found a new target of infatuation. He should be relieved, but he was gripping the door knob like he was going to break it off.

Wade’s voice broke through his thoughts, “you’re lucky Logan’s not much into relationships, then.”

So you were talking about him. 

Your voice echoed in his head, your words cementing themselves into his brain. 

On the living room floor, you were chucking pieces of popcorn into Wade's direction, trying to land one in his open mouth. 

“Hey,” he started after catching a piece between his teeth and eating it, “if you do end up in Wolvies bed? Pics or it didn’t happen.”

You gasped and nearly chucked your empty bottle at his head, deciding against it when you remembered Logan was asleep in the other room. 

Logan was in the other room.

Just as you were about to panic to Wade about Logan overhearing your foul-mouthed and horny drunk rambling, you both heard the click of his door coming unlocked and the creak of the hinges. He appeared at the doorway in a beater and pajama pants, his hair sticking up in every direction. Truthfully, he looked cute.

“Shut the fuck up, both of you. It’s two in the morning.”

Adorable, even. 

“Oopsie! Sorry, Peanut. We had very important things to discuss,” Wade replied.

Without another word, Logan shut his door again and you and Wade sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“Do you think he heard me?” you whispered, grimacing.

“We’ll find out.”

With that, you both decided to call it a night and you returned to the familiar comfort of your apartment.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next morning, Wade was up far earlier than his roommate, as usual. He sat on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, turning his head when he heard Logan’s door open.

“Sleeping beauty! So kind of you to bless me with your presence. What’s the occasion?”

“Breakfast.”

“Technically it would be lunch, peanut.”

Logan was facing the pantry in the kitchen and Wade could still feel the anger radiating off him. 

Ignoring his seething silence, Wade began to speak again, “you didn’t happen to overhear any conversations last night, did you?”

Logan was facing him again, pouring cereal into a bowl and speaking without looking away from it, “you mean the one where your little friend said she wanted to fuck me? Yeah, I heard enough of it to get the jist.”

Wade had a gleeful look plastered on his face as he turned in his seat, “so you’re gonna take her up on the offer, right?”

“That wasn’t an offer, and besides,” Logan was shoveling cereal into his mouth, “ ‘m not interested.”

“See, you say that, Peanut, and yet you just have to come out here at least once while she’s over.”

Logan was glaring daggers into his skull. 

“I live here.”

The younger of the two clicked his tongue, turning his attention to the TV screen, “All I'm saying is that she’s our neighbor, she's a sweetheart, she is single and has a job and an apartment all to herself, dude. Bone city.”

“Ew.”

“Think about it.” “Don’t need to.”

As Logan scarfed down the rest of his breakfast and put the bowl in the sink, Wade was already typing furiously in his messages to create a plan. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Another week rolled by, meaning it was time to get hammered and make fun of the Kardashians again. You held your breath waiting for Wade to answer the door, anxiously picking at your fingernails. 

He opened the door and ushered you in like any other time, except he was dressed to go out instead of the usual PJ attire.

“What, are you leaving me for a hot date?” you teased, dropping the snacks you brought onto the kitchen island.

“Yes!”

You furrowed your eyebrows and frowned, awaiting his explanation.

“I’ve got a date with Vanessa, but - “

Logan emerged from his room, navigating his way to the kitchen as if neither of you were there.

“Peanut! So glad you decided to join us! Hey - “ Wade tapped the kitchen island, motioning for him to come over so he could talk to you both at the same time.

“Okay - I have a date with Vanessa tonight, so I need you,” he motioned between the two of you, “to get along.”

You were about to interrupt, insist that you can just reschedule, but it was as if he’d read your mind.

“You’re already here, cupcake, just stay and chill out. And you - “ he turned completely towards Logan, “you’re going to be nice like I asked you. Do you think you’ll survive?”

Logan was staring at him, unblinking with a scowl on his face.

“You, uh, you don’t have to sit with me,” you mumbled to him, forcing him to finally acknowledge your presence.

He’d half expected it to be your idea as much as it was Wade’s - some kind of ploy to get him alone - but you weren’t jumping at the chance, trying to be touchy-feely with him, begging him to stay. 

He almost wished you would.

He cleared his throat and looked back to Wade, “I'm not gonna babysit your friend.”

“Who said I needed a babysitter?” you chimed in.

 They both turned to you to watch you slam the top of a beer bottle on the edge of the countertop, sending the metal top flying somewhere into the living room. 

“We have a bottle opener in the drawer,” Wade sighed in defeat, ”anyway - you don’t need to babysit her, I'm just saying she doesn’t bite and It would be uncool to leave her all alone.”

“Aren’t you the one leaving?” you asked, taking a sip of your beer.

“Not the point,” he answered, grabbing his jacket from the coat stand as he walked towards the front door, “play nice, don’t eat anything in the fridge with my name on it and there’s condoms in my nightstand!”

He opened and shut the door, leaving the both of you in awkward silence. Logan’s face was actually red, a mix between rage and mild embarrassment. 

“He’s a dick,” you muttered, trying to make some kind of small talk, only to be met again with silence. You sighed, going to the couch and picking up the remote. You finally made yourself look Logan in the eyes, your cheeks burning uncontrollably when he never broke his stare.

“Listen - it’s fine, I get it, you’re like…the lone wolf,” you laughed a little to yourself, having to divert your eyes to the fabric of the couch, “I’m not gonna burst into tears if you don’t sit with me.”

He was a little taken back by your bluntness, though it was refreshing. He figured you’d be pink in the face - practically begging him to stay - but you weren’t. You pretended you couldn’t give less of a shit with your eyes now glued to the TV. You were as cool as you could act on the outside, but you nearly lost that cool when he spoke again.

“I can sit for a bit,” he shuffled over to the couch, settling himself down next to you. If you weren’t gonna be all over him like he thought you would, he could withstand a couple episodes of whatever the hell you and Wade had been watching. He didn’t dislike you, really - just terrified of the possibility of intimacy. You were pretty, and from what he’d overheard now and then, you were funny too. He liked the way the smell of your body wash and perfume flooded the apartment whenever you’d stop by and how you’d always bring some leftovers to be sure both of them had eaten - leftovers of which the roommates would always get into a spat over - usually because Logan ate it all before Wade could even see what was in the container. 

Unfortunately for Logan, he began to enjoy you being around.

You could feel your stomach tie itself in knots when he sat beside you but nodded in acknowledgment, flipping through TV channels. You settled on the Kardashians again, tossing the remote on the table.

“This is the shit you guys watch, huh?” he teased, grabbing a beer from the pack Wade left behind. 

You smiled a little to yourself, noticing how he was slowly getting more comfortable with you, “mhm, top tier - wait till you see one of them talk, it’s like watching an alien.”

You actually pulled a miniscule of a laugh out of him and your heart nearly skipped a beat at the sound.

As the show went on and you both made snarky commentary at just about everything, you felt more and more like you were just hanging out with Wade - comfortable and casual, except for the way your face burned up every time he stretched and his white beater rode up his stomach.

“So,” you began as the episode ended, “thoughts? Opinions?”

He was looking between you and the screen, thinking hard, “I don’t get it.”

You shrugged, “me neither, to be honest, but god is it funny to watch rich people lose their shit sometimes.”

He chuckled again at your response, placing his empty bottle on the table next to yours.

It was silent for a moment, the air tense with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

“What do you usually watch on TV?” you asked, intending to flip the channel to whatever he may be interested in - if he had to sit through Keeping Up with The Kardashians, it was only fair.

“Nothin’, really,” he answered, his eyes moving from the screen to rest on you, like a heavy weight on your chest.

“Do you even watch TV?” you asked, the both of you having abandoned the idea of trying to find something else to watch and just letting it play in the background.

“Nah,” he shrugged, his arms crossed against his chest, “ I don’t do much of anything.’

You could tell his answer was earnest and you frowned a bit, swinging your legs up on the couch and turning to face him completely, “nothing? There has to be something.”

He was unsure about how close you were to him now, your knees to your chest as you looked at him expectantly. He thought he’d be met with that look - the one you kept giving him in passing that he hated so much - but your face was neutral, waiting patiently for him to respond. Truthfully, he didn’t hate the look itself - or you, for that matter - but hated how it made him feel.

As if there were some sliver of hope for a future worth living through.

He cleared his throat, turning his body towards you on the couch, “I work out, sometimes - “

‘’Yeah, clearly’’, you wanted to say.

“Other than that,” he continued, “I don’t know, the bar - sometimes I'll let Wade drag me out somewhere but I usually leave after half an hour.”

“Huh, so you really are by yourself a lot,” you realized aloud.

 Logan never thought it sad until he heard it from your mouth.

“I like it that way, most of the time,” he shrugged.

“I can tell - took you two weeks to finally say hello. I think this is the most I've ever heard your voice, actually.” 

He realized you were right and did feel a little bad, “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I just don’t like meeting new people.”

“Me neither.”

It was silent then - save for the TV - either one of you waiting for the other to explain just why that is. You figured it would be easier if you went first.

“I never really had a lot of friends growing up. I had a hard time in school and a lot of the other kids didn’t like me. It was just tough to make friends, especially because - “

You stopped, thinking over what details to include and what to leave out.

“Because?” Logan prompted and you sighed, biting back a giggle.

“Because I was goth. I don’t mean I just dressed in black - I mean I wore white face paint and huge boots and ate lunch in the art room.”

That actually pulled a real fucking laugh out of him and you couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

“I’m not laughing ‘cause you were goth, that's not weird” he clarified, “I'm laughing because I just can’t picture it.”

You didn’t embrace the style as much as you used to, trading Siouxsie Sioux makeup for reading glasses and teased hair for your natural texture.

“I’ll bring over my highschool yearbook sometime,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

Realizing it was now his turn to speak, he readjusted himself in his seat and cleared his throat, visibly becoming a little uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, you know,” you reminded him gently, giving a soft smile. 

It only made it harder for Logan that you were so damn nice.

He tentatively explained the timelines, the different versions everyone has of themselves, how he’d gotten there. You hung on his every word, unintentionally giving him a sympathetic look when he had finished explaining. 

“So…you were just alone after all that?” your voice was soft, worry clear in your tone.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “yeah, yeah.. ‘till I met Wade, obviously.”

You gave him a small smile, “you’ll never be alone again, you know.”

For some reason, the unfamiliar comfort made his stomach turn and he simply shook his head, “Yeah, I'm never gonna be able to get rid of him.”

That made you giggle, nodding in agreement.

“You can try, but he will always find you - like a determined cockroach.”

That got the both of you and you’d never seen Logan smile that way - though, to be fair, you never saw much of his face anyway.

The version of you that sat on the couch across from him was far from who he thought you were. He felt guilty now for assuming things just from looking at you, but it was a habit he had yet to shake. It was clear you were beautiful - that was never a question - but talking with you made him realize just how much he may have missed out by keeping himself so closed off. You laughed at almost every joke he had made, comforted him when he was nothing but rude and always checked up on him and Wade. You smelled so nice, your hair looked so soft and he almost found himself wanting to reach over and run his fingers through it. In his eyes, you seemed to be everything he was not; all of the best qualities he believed he didn't possess.

“Oh, hey - do you want some popcorn? I brought the microwave kind, I keep telling Wade to get it himself and he never does,” you snapped him out of his trance and stood from the couch, already walking to the kitchen.

“Uh, sure,” he found himself getting up to follow you, not wanting to pause a moment of conversation.

You tossed the bag in the microwave and hit the button, leaning yourself against the counter. Logan leaned himself besides you, significantly taller. You’d held your composure so far, but having him so close and realizing just how much bigger he was made your heart beat like a rabbit’s. 

“So, you never asked about the mutant thing,” He spoke over the popping, looking down at you and waiting for the twenty questions.

You only shrugged, “I figured If you wanted to tell me, you’d tell me. I wasn’t gonna interrogate you about it. Plus, Wade told me.”

“Of course he did,” Logan scoffed, “I’m afraid to know what exactly it was that he told you.”

“You’ve got adamantium instead of bones,” you replied matter of factly, “and you’ve got claws. I mean, I’ve never seen them, but that's what he told me.”

He thought for a minute, stepping in front of you a little. He was about arm-length away, putting enough distance between you both that he was sure he wouldn’t accidentally knick you.

In a second, the adamantium claws protruded from between his knuckles, glistening in the kitchen light. You flinched for only a second, leaning in to inspect them. 

“Woah,” you muttered, bringing a finger up to the very end of one of them and letting it poke you, “cool.”

He was a bit confused by your calm demeanor, but relieved by it anyway. It was never a good time when someone had a bad reaction to the claws. The microwave beeped and he retracted them, stepping out of your way. You opened it and held the scolding bag with two fingers, realizing you needed a bowl to put it in.

“Logan, can you grab a-”

You felt one hand on your hip and could see his other reach above you, opening a cabinet you couldn't and handing you a bowl. Your back was almost flush to his chest, making you feel warm all over. He reluctantly pulled away from you and you cleared your throat, shaking the popcorn into the bowl.

He watched you from where you stood, taking in the curve of your waist and hips and realizing he was in much more trouble than he’d originally thought. He’d heard your drunken giggling about him - heard you vulgarly talk about how good you think he’d be at giving head - but he was still thinking it over with his bottom lip between his teeth. He finally broke the silence that filled the room.

“You know, the claws aren’t the only thing abnormal about me.”

“Mm, no?” you laughed a little with your back still turned to him. You could feel that your face was hot.

“Heightened senses,” he said simply, “hearing and smell, mostly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Like right now, I can hear your heartbeat.”

Your eyes went wide and you practically froze in place.

“It’s fast.”

His voice was closer.

“Really fast,” his breath was in your ear, his hands coming to rest on your waist, “got even faster when I pointed it out.”

You swallowed hard, knowing very well there was no way to lie to him.

“Jus’ nervous sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything,” you exhaled, attempting to still your shaking hands. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, his deep voice reverberating through your chest because of his proximity, “what about the other night, though?”

You narrowed your eyes and turned to finally face him, nearly chest to chest.

“What are you talking about?” 

You knew exactly what he was talking about - you just hoped it wasn’t what you thought.

His hands were on the counter behind you, boxing you in.

“C’mon,” he looked at you expectantly with a shit eating smirk on his face, “what made you think I’d be good at eating pussy, anyway?”

You were red with embarrassment, pulling your hands up to cover your face, but Logan caught your wrists gently and clicked his tongue.

“Pretty girl, it’s alright - “

His gruff voice calling you such a sweet nickname nearly made your knees buckle.

“I can smell how wet you get, you know that?”

One of his hands moved to hold you by your throat, barely using any pressure.

“F-Fuck off,” you managed to mutter, stuttering when he pushed one of his thighs inbetween yours. This was nowhere near what you pictured happening when Wade dumped you in his living room with a guy who would barely even look at you.

He chuckled, his other hand pushing on the small of your back to pull you closer into him.

“Yeah? I don’t think you really want me to, sweetheart. Besides, you didn’t answer my question.”

You could barely think, nevermind answer whatever it was he had asked. You were almost nose to nose, Logan craning his neck down a bit to level his face with yours.

“I, um,” your breathing was shaky, “fuck, I don’t know - I jus’ think about it a lot.”

“Me too,” he admitted before crashing his lips to yours, tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of your head. It was truthful - he’d probably thought of you every day since the night he heard you talk about him like that. 

You couldn’t help moaning into his mouth when he kissed you, letting him slip his tongue past your lips. His hands roamed down your back and to your ass, using his grip to rock your hips over his thigh.

“So beautiful,” he whispered as he moved down your jaw and neck, kissing and biting at the soft skin, “drove me crazy, hearing you say those things.”

“How much - how much did you hear?” you tried to ask, overwhelmed by his teeth grazing your neck. Your hands rested against his chest - as if you were going to push him away - but you never did.

You felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin, “heard enough.”

“And what exactly was that?”

If he was going to tease, you might as well bite back.

He pulled away momentarily to look in your eyes, knowing damn well he already had you where he wanted you.

“You don’t want to fix me, you want to fuck me, right?”

Your own words sounded so much hotter coming out of his mouth.

“Mhm,” was all you could manage to get out, too focused on the feeling of him pushing and pulling your hips over his thigh.

“Huh? Use your words, sweetheart.”

There was something about the affectionate nicknames he was using in contrast to the filthy way he was trying to push you down even harder on his thigh that made you lightheaded.

“Yeah - yes, I want to,” you practically whined.

That was all the confirmation he needed to hoist you up onto the counter with his hands on your ass. He was kissing you hungrily, his fingers hooking around the straps of your tank top to let them fall down your shoulders. You didn’t waste any time in breaking the kiss momentarily to strip yourself of the garment, tossing it to the kitchen floor.

“Fuck, jesus christ,” He groaned at the sight of your bare chest and immediately brought his large hands up to massage your breasts. A chill went down your spine when he leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue. Your hands were threaded through his hair, tugging every so slightly when he would pull his mouth off you with a popping sound. The majority of your chest was glistening with his spit when he finally brought his mouth to yours again, leaving a clear coating over the developing hickies that he left. You tugged at the hem of Logan's white beater to signal that you wanted it off. He did as you pleased, leaving plenty of skin for you to run your hands over. 

“Been thinking of you, all spread out of me,” he murmured in between kisses. He used his grip on your ass to grind you against him, his hard cock pressing against you. The pressure from it was enough for your pussy to start aching.

“I wanna know what you taste like,” he continued, holding your chin to tilt your head up, “can I find out?”

You nodded frantically and nearly choked on your own spit. You lifted your hips to let him strip you of your pants and underwear, leaving you completely bare on the counter in front of him.

You felt vulnerable, pressing your knees together only to have Logan use his hands to spread them apart.

“Uh-uh,” he clicked his tongue, “let me see your pretty pussy.”

He got on his knees on the kitchen floor, hooking his arms around your thighs and settling his face between them. He nipped at the hot skin of your inner thighs and you inadvertently tugged his hair every time he did so. He finally laid his tongue flat against you and you whined, the sound echoing through the kitchen. He was sloppy, practically drooling into your cunt and using it to lubricate his fingers so he could slip them into you. Your theory from before was proven right; he was kind of animalistic when he ate you out.

He was curling his fingers as he thrusted them in and out, sucking on your clit at the same time. You gasped when he spoke with his mouth still buried in your cunt.

“Tastes so fucking good.”

Your ankles were locked to keep his head between your thighs, leaning yourself back against the wall.

“Jesus christ, Logan - “ you whined, cut off when he growled into you.

“Mhm, ‘feels good, baby?”

You only nodded, unable to communicate with how deep he was curling his fingers into you. He continued to mumble praises against your cunt, amused by how much it clearly spurred you on.

“This is all mine, huh? Know you wanted it, could smell how bad you needed me every time you were over.”

You could feel the pressure in your lower stomach start to build.

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl - makin’ such a fucking mess.”

It wasn’t long before you were pulling him back by his hair.

He reluctantly detached himself, looking up at you with concern. His mouth and chin were wet, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips.

“What’s wrong? You okay?”

“ ‘m fine, just - I was close -”

He groaned in a way that almost sounded annoyed, diving his tongue back into you, “C’mon, do it, then - come for me, pretty girl.”

His praise was enough to trigger your orgasm and you couldn’t help rocking your hips against his face as you rode it out. You were cursing, tears starting to form in your eyes when he didn’t let up. 

“L-Logan, fuck,” you cried. You could’ve pulled him off, told him it was too much, but he was so determined and skilled in the way he flicked his tongue that the discomfort of overstimulation dissipated into pleasure within seconds.

“One more for me, baby, one more. Think you can?”

You were moaning so loud at that point that you tried to bring a hand to your mouth to muffle the sound but Logan caught your wrist and brought it back to his hair, encouraging you to keep tugging and pulling.

Your second orgasms approached hard and fast, tears rolling down your cheek. Your legs shook uncontrollably as he finally sat back on his heels. 

When you caught your breath, he pulled himself up to slide his arms around your lower back and plant a kiss on your forehead, wiping your wet cheeks.

“Can I take you to the bed?”

You nodded and smiled wide, leaning up to kiss him.

He effortlessly carried you through the hallway and into his bedroom, your bare chest pressed against his. The second your back hit his mattress, his cellphone started to ring from his bedside table.

You watched Logan furrow his eyebrows and reach for the phone. He read the caller ID and bore an amused smile, switching it to silent.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, wrapping your arms around him when he came to hover above you.

“It’s Wade,” he chuckled to himself, “probably calling to see if everythings alright.”

That made you giggle, “yeah, we can tell him we’re doing just fine.”

“I’ll call him later.”

His lips were on yours again, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against you as he pinned you to the bed with his hips. You slid your hands from his neck, down his back and around the front of his waist to rest on his belt buckle. Your fingers made quick work of the metal fastener and you tugged the leather from his jeans. He stood up off the bed for a moment to strip himself of the rest of his clothing. When his cock sprung up from his boxers and hit his stomach, you almost had to choke back a gasp. Again, you were proven right - he was huge. He crawled back between your legs and positioned himself on top of you. 

“You’re okay with this?”

If anyone told you maybe two hours earlier that you’d end up under Wade’s grumpy roommate, your chest heaving from the anticipation of finally having him slot into you, you would’ve called them crazy. Now, however, it was a reality - one you would’ve gladly spent the rest of your life in.

You realized he was holding back, gripping the sheets next to your head and waiting for a definite answer.

You nodded and scratched at the back of his neck affectionately. He guided himself into you and you groaned at the feeling of his tip alone.

“ ‘s okay?”

Logan was practically slurring his words with how hard he had to hold himself back. Your warm chest to his, your thighs locked around his waist, the way you smelled; it was all overwhelming in the best way possible.

“So good,” you whined, trying to push your hips up to encourage him to go even deeper, “want all of it, please, please.”

He was chewing on his lip when he finally let himself fill you completely in one thrust. You dug your fingernails into his back, leaving scratches that healed themselves within seconds. He let out a guttural moan with his face buried in your neck, concentrating on trying to build a steady rhythm without finishing things too fast. He propped himself up on his elbows on either side of you as he tentatively rocked in and out.

“So fucking pretty,” he huffed, a hand coming up to wipe the sweat dampened hair from your flushed face. It was so sweet, so intimate; nothing you’d ever really expected with or from him.

“You're handsome,” you managed to reply, amused by how taken back he seemed by the compliment, “perfect.”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him that - handsome, definitely never perfect - while actually looking at him like they meant it. Your eyes were trained on the features of his face, attempting to memorize every line and wrinkle; every bit of him that made him Logan. Your eyes felt to him like they could burn right through the wall he’d managed to construct.

Still, he instinctively scoffed as he hovered over you. He was never good at accepting compliments.

“I’m not the lying type, you know,” you assured him, whispering in his ear as he continued at a steady pace, “besides, do you think I'd be under you right now if that wasn’t true?”

“Mm - shut up”, he fought a smile and increased his pace in the hopes that it would render you speechless.

It did, of course.

You were a moaning mess atop his sheets with your back arched to accommodate Logan’s arm sneaking around you. His pace was enough to rock his headboard into the wall and he was thankful it was your apartment on the other side instead of a stranger’s. You were chest to chest as he whispered filthy things into your ear.

“Takin’ it well like I knew you would, baby doll - knew you’d like it when I fucked you like this.”

You were still at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the pressure in your lower stomach.

“You think you’ve got another one in you? C’mon, sweet girl, let me see it.”

His coaxing had your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head as he pounded into you. Besides the grunts and moans between you two, the only sound echoing in the room was the slap of skin against skin and the squelching of your pussy as he dragged himself out and back in again.

You were almost drooling from how deep he was able to fuck you. The familiar fire in your stomach had you feeling warm all over, building and building itself up. As if he could read your mind, Logan’s hand reached down between the both of you and he started to trace tight circles around your swollen clit.

“F-Fuck, my god, Logan - “

He hummed affirmatively, almost as if to acknowledge that was indeed his name that you were chanting.

You squeezed your eyes shut so hard that you almost saw stars when your third orgasm hit hard and fast. You were probably loud enough for the entire building to hear as he worked you through it.

“Good girl, good girl - c’mere,” he praised, flipping you over so that you were on your hands and knees. You laid your chest as flat as you could against the mattress and arched your back. He didn’t hesitate in fitting himself snuggly inside of you again, his hands kneading at and smacking your ass as he used his grip to push and pull you. It wasn’t long before his thrusts started to become sloppy. He leaned down and hooked an arm around you, lifting you up a little so that his chest was pressed to your back. He moved his hand to your throat to tilt back your head. The way you looked back at him, your beautiful eyes boring into his soul - that was all he needed to finally let go. You felt him flood you with his come, a mixture of yours and his soaking the sheets underneath you. He gently pulled out and almost immediately pulled you against him to cuddle, his eyes already fluttering close. You didn’t take him for the cuddly type but it was just another wholesome thing you’d learned about him.

“You should call Wade back,” you mumbled, already drifting to sleep with your head on Logan’s chest.

“ ‘m busy, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

You chuckled to yourself, letting exhaustion overtake you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Wade practically sprinted up the steps to his apartment the next morning, keys already in hand. If Logan hadn’t answered - even if it was just to tell him to fuck off - something really bad must’ve happened. You hadn't answered any of his fifteen texts, either.

He unlocked his door and prepared himself to be met with a gorey scene, only to be surprised that there was no sign of a scuffle. There was untouched popcorn in the kitchen, clearly abandoned at some point right after making it. Did Logan upset you enough last night to make you leave early? 

Of course, he’d completely missed your clothing that had been tossed just out of sight from where he was standing.

Wade sighed in frustration, striding through the hallway and stopping outside Logan’s bedroom. He banged his fist on the door and rested his hands on his hips as he spoke through the wood.

“Hey! Peanut! Did you make our guest leave early last night? How’d it go? You didn’t answer your phone and neither did she.”

On the other side of the door, your heads both popped up at the sound of wade’s banging. You stifled a laugh, looking to Logan for him to say something.

“Uh, yeah…she had somethin’ to take care of.”

Now you had to bury your face in his comforter, uncontrollably snickering. 

Without warning, Wade groaned and swung the door open - one neither of you thought to lock because no one had been home.

“You better get your ass across the hall and apologize for whatever it is that -“

He was met with the sight of the both of you in Logan’s bed, covered by the bedding. It was obvious you were both undressed, Logan’s boxers somewhere near Wade’s feet.

He gasped, looking between the two of you in confusion before a giddy smile appeared on his face.

“Oh, I see, I see. Right, mhm - “

Logan was already trying to shoo him out but Wade wasn’t going to let him before he got the last word in.

“You're welcome, by the way!”

He shut the door and you laughed.

Logan laid back again, resting his arm around your shoulders so he could pull you back into his chest again.

In the comfortable silence, doubt settled itself in the form of a pit in your stomach. What if this was a one time thing? 

Almost instantly, you felt his hand comb through your hair.

“Hey, uh,” he started, looking down into your eyes, “listen, I know I was supposed to ask this before I got you in here, but - um..”

You could feel your stomach turn, borderline terrified of what he was going to say next.

“Would you want to go out for coffee sometime?”

A wide grin spread across your face and you nodded eagerly, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’d love that.”

A/N: this ones long as hell but so is just about everything else I write! if you've made it to the end I loooove u and pls interact if you enjoyed; hearing feedback is what motivates me to keep writing! as always, my inbox is open as well <3

[rizsu]

+ extra: canon-type family relations: jin itadori & sukuna are brothers, itadori is a child here ( 8 years ).

boyfriend-girlfriend life with sukuna except he thinks he's being replaced — in all seriousness. sukuna's seconds away from destroying his nephew's remote-controlled cars collection.

can the kid move? he wants yuuji gone. he's not jealous of him, he just wants your undivided attention back on him. if he knew beforehand that agreeing to jin's invitation over would result in this, he'd probably fly out of the country with you to avoid it.

manspreading on the sofa with one hand slung over the backrest, he swirls the beer in his other hand. his brother's in the kitchen, stacking the extra beers in the fridge.

“you can help me, you know?” jin calls sukuna out, lacing his voice with slight annoyance.

“nah,” sukuna responds, waving him off.

he's busy watching you sit on the floor with yuuji, pretending to race against time with him.

it's not all that bad when he thinks about it — never mind, it is. the kid's had you on the floor since you walked through the door. not a moment spared for his uncle. all yuuji did was look up at sukuna, stick his tongue out, and engulfed your legs in a big hug.

ever since then he's been sulking in the corner. jin can only pity him for so long — it's been an hour, he needs to get over it.

jin sneaks up behind sukuna, gathering his fingers to surprise attack him. in only a matter of seconds he's subjected to the ear-pinch-and-ring combination.

sukuna flinches, immediately swatting jin's hand off.

“you must've gone fucking crazy!?”

he gets yet another ear-pinch-and-ring combination from jin.

“i have a son, don't curse.”

“fuck that boy,” he whispers under his breath, cupping his ear. it's hot from the pain — most likely already gained a red shade.

even after such commotion both yuuji's and your attention didn't turn to them. you both are far too immersed in the racing game.

the brothers are now both on the sofa: one has his attention on you and the other has his attention on the unattended mail on the coffee table that's been neglected two days ago.

“this one? no... that one? also no...”

“jin, quit mumbling.”

“cover your ears then.”

rolling his eyes, sukuna downs the last bit of beer remaining in the bottle. he's now officially out of beer and too lazy to get one.

being left without a distraction, he's forced to observe jin's house. it's nothing extraordinary. he believes his house to be better.

he voices out a sigh, slouching and spreading his legs further apart. the boredom's hitting him earlier than it usually does — this is your fault. if you weren't busy zooming cars around the living room with yuuji then he wouldn't be bored.

as sukuna's busy with complaining, he doesn't notice yuuji speed walking to the sofa with a broken car in hand. you're right behind him, sporting a smile that says you got yourself in some trouble.

“daaad, the car!” yuuji whines, climbing onto the free spot between his dad and his uncle.

jin hums, raising his eyebrows but his gaze is fixed on the mail as he's still sorting them out.

“it broke,” the boy complains, pouting at the toy.

“it lost control and rammed into the wall,” you explained further, sitting on the armrest on sukuna's side.

sukuna's arm fixes itself around your hips. he's slightly smirking at the news.

that doesn't go unnoticed by you. you're more than familiar with your boyfriend's joy at other's misery. you shot him a glare with a light tap on his shoulder.

“is that so?” jin's attention is now fully on his boy. he takes the glasses off, pulling yuuji onto his lap.

taking the car into his hand, he inspects the damages. it's not too much, and it's fixable.

“dad will fix it later, okay,” reassuring yuuji, jin ruffles his hair.

yuuji nods, jumping down from his dad's lap to return to the toys. as he's on his way, he turns, appearing to have suddenly remembered something.

“(y/n), come play with me!”

“no, she won't,” sukuna answers for you, ignoring the harder hit you gave him on his shoulder.

“i'll be right there, yuuji,” this time you answer, giving him a warm smile and a thumbs up.

“give the boy a fucking brother,” sukuna grumbles, looking at jin with pure annoyance.

jin shoots his brother a smile, giving him no reply before he goes back to reading the final mail of the bunch.

[teddybeartoji]

zombie apocalypse au where you end up in a settlement and meet a cutiepie satoru. he's lived almost his entire life there – sure, he goes on runs every once in a while but you've been out there. it's different.

right?

the dark bags under your eyes have yet to fade but satoru has never heard you complain. he knows everybody gets a talk when they first come to this place; where they can get help, who they can talk to when if they have any problems. if you can't sleep. or eat. or if you still feel restless. it's understandable that the change from having to fight for your life on a daily basis to not even having to carry a gun with you is hard.

the food tastes weird when you're not starving and drinking water seems like a complete waste when you're not dying of thirst. the bed you sleep on is too soft, the sheets feel like silk and it makes your skin itch. it's off-putting.

and yet, not a single complaint has left your lips. you observe your surroundings while handing out pretty little smiles like they're candy. you say thank you and goodbye, you offer to help out with the chores that weren't even yours to begin with and you're willing to entertain the kids with silly jokes. it's an almost perfect mask.

but you're tense; your eyes are always scanning your environment despite the fact that you've been at the settlement for almost a week now. you stretch your lips to show your gratitude, but satoru sees the way your fist tightens whenever the room is too crowded. the way you pocket smaller snacks when you think that nobody is looking. the way you flinch at a faraway sound of a child's laugh.

satoru finds you utterly intriguing.

people come and go, but you... there's something different about you.

maybe it's the dark, murky look in your eyes whenever you're handling a knife. carving a piece of meat like it's something you do every day; your eyes are the only things that change – you give a small smile to the lady working next to you as a thank you for whatever kind of advice she just gave you. she pats the steak while laughing and satoru doesn't miss the way your lips twitch.

you lick the remnants of the meat that stick to your fingers, the liquid that dribbles down the side of your hand the second she turns around. and satoru can't look away.

but there's no obvious malice.

it's interesting.

satoru is no detective, but he's done his fair share of people looking. what else is there to do when you're locked behind big walls; people are interesting, especially now that the world has ended. they tick faster, they explode bigger. they shiver more, they cry more. the lies have more consequences. it's hard to trust others, it's hard to trust anybody at this point. but satoru's eyes are keen, more so than anyone else's there.

you're not some caged beast, you're no dog on a leash, but you're an animal nonetheless. satoru just doesn't know which one yet. which of the living things that reside in the woods is calm enough to get so close to other people? confident enough. arrogant enough.

which one of them is as curious as you are? as sly? which one of them knows how to hide their sharp teeth behind a warm smile? satoru promises to himself that he'll figure it out, no matter what it takes.

or maybe the 'something' is the way you handle yourself when things go south. you didn't look away when a walker that managed to slip in through the gates sank his teeth into a man's neck. when everybody else was in shock, their eyes set on the gory sight in front of them – you were the first to grab the closest thing resembling a weapon and to deal with it.

blood splattered all over your clean clothes, your hair, your face. but you paid it no mind. this is what you're used to, this is what's normal. taking a knife to the poor wailing man laying on the ground was nothing special either. you kneeled down beside him and looked him in the eyes as you did it.

desperate hands reached out for you as fear settled in his stomach. he grabbed onto the collar of your shirt and pulled you closer, pleas stumbling from his lips like a waterfall. but to you, he was dead already. there's no remorse, there's no guilt. you're not a killer, you're a survivor.

satoru's mind raced as he watched you work while all the other had turned away, their sobs barely reaching his ears. no remorse, no guilt.

he just thought the blood looked beautiful on you.

but you're keen, too.

you try not to pay him too much attention, you try not to look but you feel his curious eyes wherever you go. you hear him laugh and you see his big smiles. he likes to play with the kids and he likes to tease his peers. he seems to know just about everybody, mingling in their lives by acting like a cupid or just indulging in gossip like some high schooler.

but something rotten sprouts deep inside him as well.

there's blood on his hands and you know it the second your gazes meet from across the big dining hall. the corners of his eyes crinkle and his dimples make a show as he gives you a grin, sharp teeth shining right at you. he knows you and you know him.

a survivor always recognizes a survivor.

[notjustjavierpena]

Swelter

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.��

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

.

.

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3 times Phantom's Guardian was Mentioned + 1 Time He Showed Up

One

Phantom’s introduction to Young Justice wasn’t as dramatic as Empress’ or Slobo’s, or even Arrowette’s first introduction to the cave. No, it wasn’t during the Olympics, or on a battlefield, and he didn’t come in injured and looking for help. 

Impulse just brought Phantom in one day and insisted that he should join because he’s their age, interested in justice, and now that Greta’s human again they need another ghost member. So Phantom stayed, popping in and out for missions but never really sticking around all that long. 

Today is one of the days that Phantom’s with them on a mission, that being looking around a lab of the Brain’s that had an energy surge recently, despite it being presumably abandoned. 

Kon got paired up with Phantom to check the rest out first, since they both have better hearing than Anita and Tim, who were both still in the main room working on checking the computers for previous activity. 

The room is dark except for the light green ball glowing slightly above Phantom’s hand. He waves it around enough for it to reflect off of glass, then throws it up to the ceiling. The light expands enough to illuminate the room. 

Phantom mumbles about not knowing he could do that. Kon ignores him and moves closer to inspect the glass tubes to the side of several monitors set up. 

“Looks like cloning equipment,” Phantom says, casually. He drags a finger through the dust gathering on one of the monitors. “Don’t think they’ve been activated recently, though, so that’s good.”

“What? You got a problem with clones or something?” It’s a quick and defensive answer, and Phantom puts his hands up in surrender. 

“Not in concept.” He shrugs and joins Kon near the tubes. “But not a lot of people ask before making clones.”

“So I don’t need to sic Superman on you?” Obviously Kon could chew Phantom out himself, but few can do a “not mad, just disappointed” face better than Clark. 

Phantom scrunches his face. “Why would you need to?” 

Kon stops pretending to inspect the tube and stares at Phantom. “You do know I’m a clone, right?” The blank look on Phantom’s face tells him that no, he did not. “Well I am. Clone of Superman, though we’re pretty much brothers now.”

“Cool,” Phantom says, not a bit less friendly. He hesitates for a second before continuing, “Could I maybe ask you how you got there? Me and my clone have landed on cousins, but that was also, like, given to us by her evil dad. So.”

Phantom trails off. Huh, that makes three members of the team that have been cloned. Not a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened three times. 

“You’re making sure she feels accepted, right?” 

“Yeah! Well, whenever she’s around. She,” Phantom waves his hand around, looking for the right word, “She’s a wanderer. Exploring the world and stuff. But Richard has a room for her at home, and I remind her of that whenever she does stop by.” 

“Well, first of all, don’t push it so hard,” Kon says. Phantom nods enthusiastically. “And second, who’s Richard?”

Kon doesn’t know a lot of Richards, and he doesn’t think that Phantom ever mentioned one before. Or even if he remembers his living life. 

“Oh, he’s my, uh, guardian? I guess that’s the best term. The guy I’m living with who forces me to go to school sometimes.” Phantom looks away and back to the tubes. 

Before Kon can ask for more details, Robin and Empress come in with a report of dead computers and wanting to know where they’re at with the cloning room.

They’re unimpressed with their lack of progress.

Two

Wally doesn’t really need to come by the Hamilton Lodge that often, not when that’s Young Justice’s territory and he doesn’t want to get involved in all of That.

But Red Tornado said that the team has a file on a planet that’s very quickly becoming a league problem, and he figured it might be a good time to try to check in with Bart, anyway. Make sure he hasn’t run any cars off cliffs again and all that. 

So he stops by Manchester to ask Bart about the file, then they both head East to actually find it. 

When they arrive at the hotel minutes later, Wally’s surprised to actually find it… clean? There’s no visible trash or overturned furniture or anything else he’d expect from an abandoned hotel filled with teenagers. Well, maybe not filled, lately. He doesn’t think anyone’s living here currently, with Greta at Elias’ for the school year and Slobo gone. 

Still, the room smells slightly of artificial pine scent, and Bart perks up before disappearing and reappearing rapidly, holding a teammate up by his armpits. Said teammate just accepts this, his legs folding into a wispy tail, and head rolling against his shoulders. 

“This is Phantom!” Bart holds him up higher. Phantom waves. Wally’s only heard of him through Max’s updates, the same way he would hear about Preston or Carol, but with more wariness about the supposed ghost. 

Actually looking at the pale face and glowing green eyes contrasting against the darker than dark jumpsuit, Wally’s a little more ready to accept his claim at being undead. 

“He stress cleans,” Bart explains, moving to carry Phantom under his arm. Wally bites down the urge to tell him to put him down, but only because Phantom doesn’t resist the hold, only moving to get into a more comfortable position. His hands are touching the floor. “So what happened?” 

Bart directs the question downwards, and Phantom heaves a very dramatic sigh. Definitely a teenager. It does raise the question of who exactly this kid’s mentor is. Hopefully he does have one. Maybe he’s the Spectre’s kid?

Phantom phases through the arm holding him only to lay on top of Bart’s hair. “I accidentally called Richard dad. And then fled.” 

Bart nods sagely. “Classic. One time I accidentally called Max dad, so I had to start a fire to distract him.”

Phantom sighs again, almost dreamily. “Genius.” 

Wally doesn’t have time to unpack all of that. Well he does, but he’s not going to, because there’s really only one Richard that comes to mind that might have the heart to take in a dead kid, even if he doesn’t go by his full name.

But surely Dick would have told him, or any other Titan, if he had adopted a kid. Right?

But there’s still a little shadow of doubt. Maybe Dick wanted it to be a secret, or it was really new or had a rocky start. Phantom doesn’t seem to hold himself like a Bat, but it’s not a guarantee Dick would have trained him. 

“The lodge looks nice,” Wally offers out loud, which Phantom shrugs at and wraps his tail around Bart’s head to keep secure. “Anyway, Impulse. The file on Myrg?” 

“Oh yeah!” Again, Bart disappears then reappears a few seconds later with a paper file. They really need to start digitizing more of these things. “That’s the planet where we played baseball so that they wouldn’t destroy Earth!” 

“You what.” 

The prospect of Dick following in his dad’s footsteps is forgotten in the face of what the hell Young Justice got up to on Myrg. 

Three

Tim may be in a…Predicament. 

It’s not his fault. Really. He knew what he was doing. He couldn’t let a civilian fall for the trap. But they were already so close, so he just, kinda, pushed himself into the rope instead. 

So there Robin is, tied upside down in a warehouse, with the Joker below next to an overly complicated control panel. The clown’s rambling about bombs hidden all over the city that Tim knows Batman is already tracking down with Batgirl. 

Tim’s not really paying attention to the rant because of that, more focused on wiggling enough to get the spare mini-birdarang out of his glove to cut the rope without notifying the Joker. 

“Yikes, bad time?” Asks Phantom’s voice beside him. Based on the source and accounting for the slight echo, he’s floating with his head near Tim’s, likely upside down. “Want some help?” 

Tim gets the birdarang out and starts sawing at the thick rope. They should be fine anyway, but stalling the Joker for extra time would be helpful. “Can you possess the Joker? Just hold him still.”

“The correct term is overshadow, but sure.” The voice disappears, and a few seconds later the Joker freezes. 

His body jerks forward, then backward, and a laugh chokes out of his throat. His hand claws over his mouth at the noise and he hunches over. All movement halts before he rights himself, shaking out his hands and rolling his shoulders. Phantom looks up at Tim and his eyes are glowing. 

Tim cuts through the rope, kicking and using the momentum to right himself and land on his feet. He brushes past Phantom in Joker’s body to handle the control panel. He turns off the radio broadcast and dismantles the bomb strapped to the panel.

Threat handled, he turns to Phantom and holds up some handcuffs. “Let me arrest you?”

Phantom obliges, turning the Joker’s body around and putting his hands behind his back. Tim lets him walk by himself out of the warehouse and moves the handcuffs around a lamppost. The Joker’s body jerks again, then slumps forward, just as Phantom reappears next to him, scowling down at the unconscious body. 

“That felt really slimy. Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Phantom grouches. 

“Why’re you in Gotham?” Tim asks. It’s not like Phantom makes a habit of visiting. The last time he came into the city, he complained about feeling the dead under the streets. Fortunately, that let Tim uncover a few tunnels that Talons travel through. Phantom, however, was unnerved by the Talons and left quickly. 

“Oh, Solomon Grundy’s back in our sewers. Richard said I should probably tell one of you Gotham heroes, since you keep track of those guys.” He shakes out his hands like they were cramped in the Joker. 

They hadn’t seen Grundy in a while. Tim assumed he was currently in a less violent personality. “What’s he doing?” 

Phantom shrugs. “Just chilling. Mostly underground. I tried to talk to him but he only grunted back at me. He also tried to pick me up, dunno what that was about.”

“Maybe because you’re both dead?” Tim guessed. That would be a surface level connection. Ivy and Woodrue have had more luck working with Grundy than anyone, and Phantom definitely doesn’t have the connection to the Green that’d help with that. 

Police lights turn around the corner, and Tim shoots a grapple to get to the roof above them. Phantom follows, but disappears as soon as they’re on the roof. Going back home, probably. 

Cass drops down from the roof she was listening on. “Richard?”

“Not the same one.”

They both stick around long enough to watch the Joker get put into the cop car. 

Plus one

A spaceship landed in the forests of New York, and Cassie’s team was the first to respond to it. Technically not respond, but check it out, since there wasn’t any alert or anything. 

Still, Wonder Girl has Empress, Robin, and Superboy on the other side of the ship, watching what looks like the back door, while she, Impulse, and Phantom watch the other door and main window. She has binoculars, but the windows are so tinted she can’t quite make anything out. 

No aliens have come out yet, and she hesitates to have anyone go in, in case whoever inside does turn hostile. 

Impulse has offered to run through a total of five times already, and it’s a testament to his restraint that he hasn’t, and a testament to Cassie’s that she hasn’t yelled at him yet. Phantom at least isn’t being annoying, but he’s not necessarily helpful, either. He’s not even watching the spaceship anymore. Now he’s trying to make a flower crown out of dandelions. 

“Door’s opening on our side,” Robin says from the comms. “But no one’s coming out.” 

“Alright, good enough to try to get in,” Cassie decides. She turns to Phantom, who’s closing off the circle of flowers. Beside him, Impulse has since pulled out a gameboy. “Phantom, go in invisibly through the open door and report back. Try to see what their plans are.” 

“Oh, sure. One second.” Phantom finishes the crown and tries to put it on Bart’s head. It doesn’t quite fit over his mane of hair, but Phantom shrugs and leaves it sitting there anyway before going invisible. 

“Maybe I should shave my head again,” Bart says as his game character dies. 

He gets a resounding no in response. 

Half an hour later they have a very annoyed Green Lantern lecturing them about league jurisdiction and knowing when to call someone else. 

Apparently, the alien ship was just stopping to complete some maintenance, and did not appreciate any spying on them, and especially did not appreciate who did it. Green Lantern was more than happy to explain that Wonder Girl’s team is not really a part of the Justice League and he can help with their maintenance. They denied his help and left to find a place with less people in it. 

“-and you!” Green Lantern rounds on Phantom next, but Cassie knows none of them are really listening. Sure, they messed up by freaking out the visiting aliens, and yeah maybe they should have contacted the league about it, but they’ve dealt with stuff worse than this! It’s not Cassie’s fault she thought that this would have stuck to the formula. 

“Who even are you?” Green Lantern runs a hand through his black hair, stupid green gauntlets shining in the sunlight. “Do I need to call your mentor?” He frowns. “Or do they know you mess up alien technology by just being around it?” 

Phantom scoffs and rolls his eyes. “How was I supposed to know their tech would go all fuzzy when I came in?” 

“You wouldn’t have to know if you just stayed out of the spaceship!” 

“Hey!” Cassie cuts in. “Technically that was my call. It’s not all on Phantom.”

“I still could've been more careful,” Phantom says to her, ignoring Green Lantern as they argue about blame. 

“Cut it out for a second, okay?” Green Lantern puts a hand between them and they stop to glare at him. He pulls the hand back. “Look, can I just talk to one of your adults about this?” 

Robin glares. “We don’t need an adult. We have this under control.”

“Only because I’m here now.” 

“I’ll call my mentor,” Phantom says. Kon opens his mouth, most likely to offer to call Superman instead in hopes of a lighter sentence, but Bart covers his mouth, smiling like he knows something Cassie doesn’t. Tim and Anita share a look, and don’t intervene as Phantom pulls out a phone from his chest. 

It rings once before it’s picked up. Cassie can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but Kon’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Hey, do you think you can pick me up? Green Lantern wants to talk to you.” Phantom looks Green Lantern up and down then says, “No, this one doesn’t have a cape.”

Phantom says goodbye after rattling off their coordinates, hangs up, and stares at Green Lantern in silence for a few seconds. 

And then a swirling mass of black seeps into the space next to Phantom. The end of a cane steps out of it, followed by a leg, then the rest of the immaculately dressed man holding the handle of the cane that’s shaped like a bird’s head. 

“Phantom,” The man says. His voice drips with condescension in only a way a british accent can, yet Phantom smiles up at him. The shadowy portal behind him disappears. “What, exactly, happened?”

“That’s the fucking Shade,” Anita hisses to Robin, who shrugs noncommittedly at her. Green Lantern seems to recognise him too, taking a step back and clenching his hand that holds his ring. 

“Well, the team and I were staking out this spaceship–super cool, by the way–and I went inside to check it out, but my presence messed with their tech–which was an accident–and they freaked out, so I freaked out, and then we kinda got into a little fight until Green Lantern came to mediate.”

“Hm. Is that right?” The Shade asks Green Lantern, who nods slowly, still anticipating an attack. “It seems like the problem’s fixed, then.”

“Well, yes, but–”

“And it does seem about time for these kids to get home, doesn't it?” The Shade pulls out an actual pocket watch, chain and all, from his suit pocket and takes his time in checking it. “I’ll see them home.” 

Shadows grow from behind the team, swirling until they become a giant, gaping maw that swallows them up and spits them out in a different forest, or maybe just a different part of the same forest. 

Either way, Cassie has to take a moment to make sure she doesn’t throw up from the sudden vertigo the shadow portal caused. 

The Shade looks at Phantom, and raises an eyebrow. “You can’t expect me to always bail you out.” 

Phantom shrugs, looking guilty. “I know. Thanks, Richard.”

Oh, so that’s who Richard is. Annoyingly, neither Tim or Bart look surprised by this revelation.