#best kinda angst

[rapidhighway]

more.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Surprise Marriage

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> When you and Logan receive some...surprising news, it leads to a lot of unanswered questions.

Disclaimer: One or two swear words here and there. Mostly fluff, chaos, little angst, yearning, kissing and a happy ending. Not Proof Read.

The morning, so far, had been slow for Logan. 

Which, thankfully, due to the last couple of years, wasn’t out of the ordinary. Sure, a kid or two might forget to have done their homework or the coffee filter hadn’t been changed. But other than the small, common, everyday mishaps, everything had been pretty normal. 

But somehow, when Logan woke up, something felt off. 

Maybe it was the quiet hallways, maybe it was the fact he hadn’t seen any other professors in the break room or around the school, or maybe it was the fact that when he walked into the Professor's office, everyone looked at him with…worry. 

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“Logan, I think it’s best if you sit down.”

Logan looked around everybody and they all looked worried, too. Not “someone’s dead” worried, but worried enough to make him feel uneasy. 

“What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Y/n today?”

Logan shook his head. “She had a late night. She’s probably still sleeping.”

Professor X looked at Storm. “Go and get her for me, please.”

Storm nodded and made her way out of the door and towards your bedroom. Meanwhile, Logan was still confused. 

“Charles, what’s going on?”

The man took a small sigh and looked at the papers on his desk before looking back up to Logan. 

“Come on, clearly everyone else knows. What is it?”

The Professor went back and forth with himself for a minute before finally looking back up. “I suppose I should tell you. You’re married, Logan.”

Logan laughed. “Excuse me?”

“I received these papers this morning from a law firm in Oklahoma. It seems it took them a while to find an address for you both.”

“Both? What?”

“Here, take a look for yourself.” The Professor pushed the papers to the edge of his desk where Logan took them with caution and a lot of confusion. 

“What the hell? When were these even..drawn up? Better yet, who’s my wife?”

“Well, that would be the other question except-”

Just as the Professor was about to finish his sentence, the door to his office opened and Storm walked in with you not far behind. Everyone looked at you…worriedly. Like they knew something you didn’t. 

Logan looked annoyed as he flipped through a couple sheets of paper but when he saw you, he held the same expression but only for a minute then it turned into…into something else. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

Then you remembered. 

It had been laundry day. 

And you wore one of his shirts to bed. 

Standing in his t-shirt and some plaid pyjama shorts that you found in the back of your wardrobe, your hair down and slightly messy from having only just woken up, you looked around everyone. 

“What’s going on?”

“Well, Y/n-”

“Take a look at this.” Logan handed you the pile of paper he had been reading, and with a slightly tired and confused look, you read through it. 

What was it meant to be? A news article? A government contract? A kid’s essay who’s handwriting they couldn’t read…again?

But no. 

It was anything but. 

Well, maybe a government contract…of sorts. 

“This is a marriage licence.” You spoke aloud. “Logan, why am I looking at a marriage licence at eight in the morning? Oh my god, are Jean and Scott finally getting hitched. About time.”

“No,” Logan said. “It’s ours.”

“What?”

“It’s ours. We’re married.”

You stopped reading. Even if you had pretended to do so, all the words on the page suddenly became blocks of ink that you couldn’t make out. 

“What?”

Then the Professor started to explain. “We were hoping one of you could explain this to us, though if neither of you wish to, that’s completely fine. What happens between a husband and wife is none of our-”

“When did this even happen?” You asked Logan. 

“I don’t know.”

“A law firm in Oklahoma sent it over. Apparently it’s taken them a while to find your address.”

You thought for a moment. Yourself and Logan hadn’t been in Oklahoma for nearly ten months. And you certainly didn’t get married. At least, not from memory. 

“I need to sit down.”

Logan pushed out the chair beside him with his foot and you fell into the softer leather. You had just woken up and all of a sudden you felt like you wanted to sleep for at least a month. 

“We’re married? Are you sure it’s ours? Maybe they got the addresses mixed up and…I don’t know. Got it wrong?”

Logan leaned back and pressed his hand to the side of his face. “Flipped to the back page.”

And so you did. 

There was your name. And Logan’s. Signed and dated. 

You were married to Logan. 

Logan had become your husband as of ten months ago. 

You had become Logan’s wife. 

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Scott said. Jean hit him on the arm. “What?”

“Hard to not be a little offended at that.” Logan said, half under his breath, half to you. 

“Do either of you know when this happened?”

You shook your head, still trying to read the pieces of paper in front of you. When could this have-

“The library.”

“What?” 

Logan sat up. “We signed for a package. What kind of delivery company has us sign a marriage contract instead?”

“I don’t know but it had to be there. That’s the only time we ever…wrote our names, signed a piece of paper. It could have been this.”

“We would have noticed if it said “MARRIAGE LICENCE” at the top of the page.”

Then the bell rang. 

“We…should pick this up later. For now, let's just try and go about today as normal.”

You could only nod in agreement. And as everyone left, the Professor turned to both you and Logan who were sitting facing each other in your chairs. 

“I’ll give you both some time.”

Logan nodded a small thank you and waited until the door closed behind Xavier before he spoke. 

You were silent. Still processing. Your heart was like rapid fire against your chest and your vision was slowly losing focus on the paper in front of you. 

Logan pulled the paper from your hands and placed it on the desk before shuffling closer and holding onto both of your hands. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” One of Logan’s hands came to rest by the side of your face. “Just breathe. I can hear your heartbeat from here. Just…take a deep breath.”

“We’re married, Logan.” Your voice was quieter than usual. 

“I know.”

“We’re married.”

Logan nodded. “I know.”

“What are we going to do?”

“That one I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

You shrugged. “What are we meant to do? By all technicality…we’re married. Husband and Wife. According to this piece of paper, I’ve been a fraud to the government by not going by Howlett.”

“So we…we get a divorce?”

“How? Don’t there have to be…grounds for getting divorced?”

“So, we tell them it was a mistake.” Logan offered. “I’m sure we’ll be divorced as quick as we found out we were- are married.”

You could only nod. 

Logan rubbed a thumb over each of your knuckles. “Hey, we’ll be okay. It’ll all be fine. Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I woke up and found out I’m a wife with a husband. That’s what’s going on. Jesus, are the lights always this bright in here?”

You covered your closed eyes with one hand, trying your best to stop the pounding in your head. 

“How can you be so calm about this?”

Logan shrugged. “Figure you’re freaking out enough for the both of us.”

That made you laugh a little. 

“Come on, we need to get to class. And you need to get dressed. Unless you want to teach in your pyjamas.”

You looked down at yourself. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about using your t-shirt. Laundry day.”

Logan smiled. “It’s okay. Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

Hours later, you found yourself in a pair of jeans you fished from the bottom of your semi-fresh clothes pile and decided to keep Logan’s t-shirt on. A, because it’s one of the most comfortable things you’ve worn, and B, it was the only clean top you had. 

And after spending all day teaching classes, you found yourself going through each of your dirty items and throwing them into the washing machine, being careful to make sure there were no sneaky bright or dark colours that made their way into a wash they shouldn’t have been in. 

“Hey.”

You turned to find Storm waiting by the door before walking inside. 

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“After teaching a bunch of teenagers all day? Exhausted.” You said with a small laugh. And Storm chuckled for a moment before walking around you and leaning on the wall so she was facing you as you unloaded your dirty laundry into the machine. 

“I know that feeling but that wasn’t why I was asking.”

You nodded. You knew that. “I don’t know. It’s just…new information.”

“Have you seen Logan today?”

You shook your head. “Not since this morning. Though he did leave a coffee on my desk when I got back to my classroom after lunch.”

Storm smiled. Between herself and the others (including the kids - though they were yet to find out) Storm thought the best thing to happen was for yourself and Logan to get married. Okay, maybe not in the way it happened. But it was a positive thing. 

They had been watching you and Logan for years, becoming friends, becoming teammates, trusting each other, finding your own…ways together. Like with the coffee. Logan only did that with you. Or how, despite only knowing him a week, seemed to know more about him than anyone else did. 

You were both so close with each other than some of the kids in the school had questioned your relationship status with each other. 

“Have you talked about what you’re going to do?”

“What can we do? The most reasonable, and sensible, thing to do is get a divorce.”

Storm crossed her arms. “Have you talked about maybe…staying together?”

“What?”

Storm shrugged. “It’s an idea. Maybe this is a sign telling you both that there’s something more than just friendship. I mean, going off what you’re currently wearing…that is his, isn’t it?”

You looked down. 

“It’s laundry day. He let me wear it.”

“And are you going to give it back, or did he tell you to keep it?”

You were silent and Storm watched as small patches of blush warmed your cheeks. She had her answer. 

“Look, all I’m saying is, maybe this is a sign. Maybe this is your chance to see if there is something more between you and Logan.”

“If there was, something would have happened by now.”

Oh, how Storm wished that was true. 

But sometimes it was agony watching you both together. Like how at Christmas, you fell asleep against him by the fire and Logan smiled. It wasn’t a big grin, but he smiled. Or how you were the only one Logan would let near him when he had been impaled in his shoulder by a six foot rod. Or how you looked at him. And how he looked at you right back. 

There was more than just friendship. A lot more. 

“Just think about it.”

And with that she left. And you were left wondering. 

What the hell was there to think about? You and Logan were friends, sure, but…more? Sure, when you first met him, it felt instant. Instant likeness, instant trust. And that never came easy for you. Or Logan for that matter. And, yeah, maybe once or twice you had thought something could have happened. 

Like the night in the motel room, funnily enough, in Oklahoma. 

It had been one bed and you had both woken up and turned to face each other. You had both been talking for a good twenty minutes when the conversation lulled and you were both there. You felt something. You couldn’t put your finger on it but you felt something. But everything was cut short when the owner of the Motel came to knock on the door so he could fix the leaky tap in the bathroom. 

Or like the night when you all went camping with the kids. 

Somehow, you had found yourself sharing a tent with Logan even though it had been planned for you and Storm to bunk. 

You teased Logan on how happy he was to be bunked with you and not Scott. And for a split second, you could have sworn you saw him blush. Though it was probably out of embarrassment of your teasing. 

But that couldn’t have been something. It couldn’t have meant anything, could it?

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Logan turned and found the last person he expected to be standing by the door. 

“Scott?”

“Figured you’d still be awake and lo and behold, I was right.”

Logan watched as he walked inside and sat across from him. “Have you come to say something, or just be a dick the whole time?”

Scott chuckled, “Maybe a bit of both.”

Logan raised his eyebrows and took another drink. 

“Have you talked to her?” Logan knew exactly who he was talking about. But he shook his head. 

“Not since this morning.”

“Have you talked about what you’re going to do?”

“What do you want, pal?”

Well, he wasn’t being Logan if he didn’t want to skip the pleasantries. 

“I think you and Y/n should give this thing a chance.”

“Excuse me?”

Scott smirked a little. “Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve not thought about it with her. How close you two are, how you both seem to know what the other does before they even do it. And call it what you want, I think this is the perfect excuse.”

“Perfect excuse?”

“To see if something can actually happen between you two.”

“And why should it?”

“Because you’re in love with her.”

For some reason, that felt like a punch to the gut to Logan. 

“Look, bub, I know-”

“Logan, the way you look at her isn’t the way a friend looks at another friend. I’ve seen the way you look at her. We all have. From day one, that girl has been something else for you, and even if you don’t know it, the rest of us do. You’re in love with her. You always have been.”

“No, I’m-”

“You can’t deny it, Logan.” Scott told him. “Eventually something is going to snap and it might be too late. So, you’ve done the whole relationship a little backwards. So what? You’d only get divorced anyway if it doesn’t work out. But you need to do something about your feelings, Logan.”

Logan had to laugh. “I think I’d know if I was in love with someone.”

Scott sighed. Did he seriously have to paint Logan a fucking picture. 

“You make her coffee every day. You bring her lunch and sit with her every day. She is the first person you go to when you finally want to ask someone for help. And I know for a fact she is the first person you tell anything to. She knows more about you than anyone else in this building does, and that is down to you and everything you have shared with her. Anytime anyone looks in her direction, you aren’t too far behind her.”

“I saw you, that day, when the Mayor and his brother turned up at the school.” Scott continued. “The way his brother was looking her up and down…Logan you were by her side in less than ten seconds and we all saw the look you gave him. That man left the Professor’s office trembling. He also never looked in y/n’s direction again.”

“What’s your point?”

“That you were jealous, Logan. And that, for as much as you can and probably will try and deny it. You love her.”

The conversation lulled for a moment. 

“All I’m saying is at least think about it. We’ve all seen you together. Maybe it’s time you finally noticed yourself.”

Logan didn’t see you until the next day when he caught you folding laundry in your room. 

“Want some help?”

You turned around and saw him. “Sure. You can start with that pile.”

Logan entered your room, a little more awkward than usual, and started folding clothes. 

“How are you…how are you feeling?”

You shrugged. “Like normal, I guess. What about you?”

“Yeah, fine.”

IT was a slight struggle after that but conversation flowed a little easier eventually. 

That was something Logan always loved when it came to being around you. He wasn’t the biggest one for talking to people but with you, it was easy. Probably helped by the fact you could somehow change topics at lightning speed. 

Conversations with you were never, ever boring. 

Even when they were probably meant to be. 

And it wasn’t long before your fear surrounding being married…faded. 

Around a week later, a leak had sprung on one side of the school which meant having to bunk rooms for a while. Of course, all the kids went with their friends. 

But it also meant you had to bunk with someone too. 

“You can bunk with me.” Logan told you. 

You nodded. “Finally sharing a room. Wow, we’re really moving generations in this relationship.”

“After you, wife.”

This became a common theme, until the weight of the words settled down on both of you once more. 

A divorce lawyer had picked up your case. 

It would take a couple of weeks to get all the papers sorted, but yourself and Logan would be divorced by the middle of the following month. 

Like nothing had ever happened. 

Except, it just so happened, that was when something did happen. 

Scott and Storms’s words had been playing on Logan’s mind and yours. Not helped by the fact it wasn’t the last time someone held that kind of conversation with either of you. 

You found yourself in a similar conversation with Scott, whilst Logan had a similar conversation with Jean. 

And then the Professor approached you both, without the other one knowing. 

Except he hadn’t been to sit down and talk to you about it. He just made small comments in passing that left you both questioning more and more about your true feelings. 

And then Logan found you in the library one night. 

“Here you are. You didn’t come to bed so…what are you doing?”

Standing close to the top of the book ladder, you were scanning through different books with a flashlight.

“The main light is too big and the fire’s light doesn’t reach this far back.”

Logan blinked. “That…still didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ve got a new semester of lessons set out. I wanted to get a head start on finding the books needed.”

Logan looked around. “You got a list?”

You looked at him. “Logan, it’s past midnight. Go to bed.”

“That’s not what I asked. Where’s your list? I know you’ve got one.”

Sighing, you reached into your back pocket and held it out. He walked over and plucked it from your fingers. 

“There’s twenty six books on this list.”

“And I currently have three. If you still want to help, any that you find, just place them on the table behind the sofa.”

And so he did. 

By two in the morning, you’d both found twenty three books in total. Just three more left. 

“Is this the right edition?”

“Let me see.”

Logan walked over to where you were still standing on the ladder and handed it up to you. You flipped through a couple of the first pages as you slowly climbed backwards down the stairs. 

“Yeah, this is the right one. The last two should be on a lower shelf.”

As you finally reached the last few steps, you felt your foot slip and your knees crashed against the bars. Except, instead of falling backwards, or rolling with the ladder itself, Logan’s hands steadied you. 

“You alright?”

You took a second to breathe. Having your life flash before your eyes for a couple of seconds really knocks the wind out of you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed a little. “I’m fine.”

You turned in Logan’s arms and was met with his broad and solid chest as his hands held you at your waist. 

“Good,” Logan laughed a little, too. 

The sound of your life had always been like music to his ears. 

A comfort, even when the moment hadn’t been all that comfortable beforehand. 

And for that moment, time seemed to still. Any silence that had been in the room was slowly becoming defending, until your hearing focused on his breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the quickening of your own heartbeat. 

The flashlight that you had held in your hands had rolled somewhere onto the floor when you slipped on the ladder. 

But you had never seen Logan so…clearly. 

You had known him for so long and had even spent nights and mornings in the same bed together. But for the first time, you were committing him to memory. Part of you felt like these moments would go, once the papers came through. That even if neither of you wanted it, something would inherently change between you both once the papers were signed and delivered. 

But something in that moment was changing too. 

Like how you were realising you never wanted to be away from him. That the best place on this earth was right where you were. In his arms, his eyes on you, and yours on him. 

You found yourself leaning in forward, almost as if, if you didn’t get closer to him, he might disappear. 

And he was doing the same. 

One of his hands came up to your face as he rubbed a couple of strands of your hair between his fingers before he slowly pushed it back and let his gaze wash over you. 

He was committing you to memory, too. 

His eyes locked on yours once more, just as his other hand trailed down your waist and to your hip. 

You fell closer to him. 

Or maybe he pulled you closer. 

Either way, you never wanted to be without his touch. 

What felt like an eternity later, you finally felt his lips against yours and yours against his. 

It started off slow. This was new territory for you both when it came to the other. It was slow, full of mixed feelings and…something else. 

Then it snapped. 

Logan pushed a little harder and you felt your legs hit the back of the book ladder just as his hand and arm snaked around and up your back, holding you flush against him as your own arms pulled him closer to you. 

Logan braced the hand that had been by your face, by the side of your head, holding onto the book ladder, keeping you both steady. 

And he felt your breath hitch as he stepped into you. 

Before you knew it, you were braced against one of the bars on the ladder as Logan’s lips went from yours, across your jaw and down the column of your neck. A small grunt escaped him as your own fingers scratched through the back of his hair and down the back of his neck. 

However, just as his lips returned to yours and his hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt– his t-shirt, as your own started reaching for the hem of his…a clock went off. 

“W-w-w-w-w-wait. Wait. Stop.”

“Is everything okay?”

You swallowed. “Yes…no. I don’t know. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Logan wanted to ask “Why? Why shouldn't we?”. But instead, lowered his head. He knew why. 

“You’re right…you’re right.”

Your own temple came to rest against his for a few moments, neither of you wishing to leave the moment just yet. 

“We should go…before someone comes in.”

“It’s two in the morning, who is going to come in?”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t.”

You stayed quiet for a long time, feeling Logan’s fingers draw circles over your skin. Eventually, the only sound you heard was his heartbeat and his breath, slowly matching your own. 

But no matter how much of you told you to stay, you tried your best to fight it. 

You and Logan were friends. Friends who were about to get a divorce from a marriage neither of you could remember fully consenting to. 

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Reluctantly, you stepped out of his arms, his light grip on your hand not letting go until you were both too far apart to hold on any longer, and made your way through the school until you came across an empty room. 

It was the smaller quiet space that overlooked the back of the school. Perfect for the nights when too much noise was keeping you up at night. 

Except, it wasn’t noise keeping you awake. 

It was your own mind, relieving the one thing you thought you would never do with Logan. The one thing you wanted most to keep going. The one thing you would never forget. 

When Logan woke the next day, part of him thought it was all a dream. But even he couldn’t have dreamed up anything from the night before and have it still feel so real in the morning. 

Then he didn’t see you for three days. 

Save for one moment when he brought a box of your things from his room, to yours. You opened the door, wearing another one of his t-shirts. One that went missing months ago. One that he had seen on your at least a dozen times since. One that he felt he was truly seeing for the first time, on you. 

The exchange, coming from the both of you together, couldn’t have felt anything more than awkward. 

And then another moment hit. 

You didn’t close the door. 

He didn’t know what to say. 

All he knew was that he wished he was back with you, in the library. 

And you were wishing the same thing right back. 

“I should-”

“You should-”

A small, awkward laugh came from both of you before eventually you shut the door, wishing you had enough confidence to open it back up and call after him. 

Two days later, Logan hadn’t seen you at all. 

And a morning meeting, with Storm going to get you from your bed, led to Logan realising why he hadn’t seen you. 

“She’s not there?”

Logan turned immediately. “What?”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She’s not in her room or any other place she usually is this early in the morning.”

“Doesn’t she have classes to teach?” Scott asked. 

“She doesn’t teach Wednesday and Thursday.” Logan told him. 

And it wasn’t long before Logan heard his name being called behind him by Xavier as he marched his way out of the office and to every room he could think you would be. 

You were nowhere to be found. It was almost like you hadn’t been there for weeks. The books you had taken out – the ones Logan had helped you find – were piled neatly in your bedroom. On your desk, you had a small wicker basket filled with letters and postcards, all arranged in date order, the newest ones being at the front. 

The pictures you had on your windowsill displayed all the people you loved the most. And included a picture from when you had ambushed him on his birthday. He rarely, if ever, took a photo. 

But he smiled, albeit a little awkwardly, with you. 

“Where could she have gone?”

Logan looked around your room. You wouldn’t have just gotten up and left for good. You loved teaching your kids too much, despite whatever else had happened. 

Then Logan saw the framed pictures on the wall, just across from your bed. 

“I’ll check with Cyerbro. She couldn’t have gone far.”

“She could be half way across the world by now!”

Logan shook his head. “But she’s not.”

A lot of them were confused, but Xavier watched Logan for a moment. 

“Do you know where she is?”

“I have an idea.”

With that, Logan reached for the wall and pulled down one of the smaller frames and carried it out with him.

“Hold on, I’m coming with you.” Storm called out to him. 

“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“Logan, you look like you’re just about ready to punch a bull. I know, right now, even if you are the last person she wants to see, you are the first person she needs. But that also means I know what you’re going to do and, love you or not, Y/n wouldn’t want you to hurt someone or even yourself to find her.”

And Storm was right. 

And she was right to tag along. 

Because just five hours later, Logan had pulled up outside a local pharmacy. They had received a call on the way; they were heading in the right direction, but they needed to go into the town first. Any chance of finding where she was in the mountains lay where she had been all day. 

And it wasn’t long before Storm had to step in to stop Logan from almost killing the cashier. 

He had been dancing around the question, leading them all on different tangents of conversation about the town and the people in it before finally he got to his answer.

The cashier nodded. “I don’t know where she lives, but Connie might. She knows everything in the town.”

“Where is Connie?”

The cashier pointed out of the door. “In the bakery, across the street.”

“Thank you,” Logan told him, swiping the picture back up from the counter and walking outside. Storm stopped short behind Logan when she saw he wasn’t moving off the sidewalk. 

Then she saw. 

You had just left the building and climbed inside your beaten up, old Jeep Wrangler. You pulled out of your parking spot and drove off down the street. 

And Logan followed. 

However, halfway up the road, he started to recognise the place. He’d been here before, except he was going up the way he would come down and out of the cabin. 

So, he took a turn. 

He was at your cabin ten minutes before you were. Storm had stayed behind in the town to call the others and let them know what was going on. 

“You fixed her up well.”

You jumped at his voice and threw a can of pumpkin puree at his head. Though he managed to catch it before his head made a dent in the can. 

“Jesus, Logan.” Then you realised. “How did you find me?”

“You forget that I know you. The pictures on your wall. They’re a lot more recent.”

You didn’t know what else to say so you turned back to your front door and pushed it open, Logan hurrying after you. 

“Why did you leave?” He called out, placing the can on the side. 

“I didn’t leave.” You called back as you unpacked some of your groceries. 

“You disappeared into thin air but you weren’t abducted. I’d call that leaving.”

“I needed a break, Logan. I needed…time.”

“Time from what?”

“From everything. From you, from marriage, from the school, from the library. It’s like I woke up one morning and, quite literally, everything had changed. One day we were- we were teachers and friends…we were us, Logan. And then…we kissed and…I don’t know what we’re meant to do, Logan.” You dropped your head as you pressed your palms onto the kitchen counter.

“Maybe we’re meant to do nothing.” Logan walked towards you. “Maybe we keep things as they are.”

“What? Single and married?”

Logan shook his head, bringing his hand to pull yours to look at him. 

“Married and together.”

Your lips parted for a moment, your eyes scanning his face, waiting for the joke to have its punchline. 

“So, we did everything a little backwards?” Logan shrugged. “So what.”

“Logan…”

“I love you, y/n.” Logan told you, nothing but seriousness and truth in his eyes. “And I think you love me, too. But you’re scared. And so am I. Do you love me, y/n?”

You were trying your hardest to keep your emotions inside you, but something was failing. “Of course I do.”

“Then we start here, just you and me.”

“If something goes wrong, I can’t lose you. You mean too much to me, Logan.”

Logan smirked. “Good job I can regenerate.”

You scoffed and hit him in the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Logan nodded, a faint smile on his face. “I know. You’re not going to lose me, Y/n. You couldn’t ever.”

“Promise me.”

Logan nodded. “I promise. Can I kiss you now?”

Logan didn’t have time to finish his question before your lips met his in a searing kiss, your hands pulling him closer to you whilst his own arms wrapped around you. 

Maybe you had done the whole relationship thing backwards, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Not when you finally had each other for life. 

[wandixx]

I've seen a lot of different takes on Fear Toxin/other fear causing stuff (Yellow Lanterns Ring or something)(later just called Fear Toxin cause I'm lazy) but here is another one.

Danny seems like he isn't affected by Fear Toxin because his biggest fear is that his accident changed him so much he is no longer human, he can no longer truly experience human things.

So when he gets lungful of fear Toxin, he feels normal. He was antsy before, because c'mon, it's a rogue attack but it's not worse. Or so he thought. Because the anxiety lingers. Not enough to register as abnormal just this slight hypervigilance that makes you see things about yourself and your surroundings that you'd never realize otherwise. He'd realize he doesn't blink as often. He'd realize that if he doesn't consciously focus, he sometimes seems to not touch the ground. Forgets to breathe. He can't feel his own pulse at time. He'd realize people will miss him when he's walking down the street as if he was invisible (people just don't care about everyone they pass by). When he'd look straight into his reflection, he'd look slightly to the left. Not enough to actually name anything that was wrong but just stretched enough to fall on the wrong side of the uncanny valley. If he just caught his reflection in the peripheral vision, it'd be vaguely shadowy creature with glowing green eyes and white smoke instead of hair. Overall he'd be just wrong enough to be distinctly not human.

For everyone else, he'd be just a dude. Literally couldn't find more normal dude than this dude. Will pass as absolutely normal human unless someone is specifically looking for ecto-ghost stuff. Even most magic users wouldn't clock him at the glance

Tldr: Fear Toxin makes Danny perceive himself as some sort of eldritch horror but not enough to make him believe he'd actually be affected, while from outside perspective he's Just A Dude™

[chaos-bringer-13]

I just told mom about some bits of Danny Phantom lore and it basically went like this:

Me: So, this kid goes into his mad scientists parents' portal, activates it, sorta dies and instantly resurrects as a half ghost.

Mom, terrified: Poor mother.

Me: Nah, his parents didn't actually notice, they're kinda negligent, too invested into their work.

Mom, more terrified: Poor children.

[seiwas]

Of course I forgot to send in the cute birthday celebration challenge forgive meee 😭 (but omg no pressure to answer if the birthday girl isn’t feeling up for it!!)

But let’s try…

Sun + Moon for our blasty boy Bakugo 👀

you catch katsuki in the in-betweens.

he’s grown suspicious of it—you know he out of all people would notice; but you neither confirm nor deny that it’s intentional.

there’s something about katsuki in that sliver of space and time right before sunrise and sunset—right before the shift into something new.

“someone’s excited,” you sneak up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you kiss his cheek.

he grumbles before giving you a side-eye, cheeks turning a shade darker under the twilight. his lips part slightly as if he’s about to say something, but he tuts instead, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth—no sharpness, no bite.

you look at him curiously, hanging on to the stillness of the hour.

today is supposed to be a busy day—the start of a long trip for you and katsuki; the start of his first ever long trip, actually.

“somethin’ on my face or some shit?”

you snap out of staring, gaze falling straight into his—vermillion red softened into a deep mauve amidst the blue light.

this is why you do it—

the perpetual frown on his face is gone, the tightness of his jaw loosened. there’s a look in his eyes that tells you there’s been something on his mind for a long, long while.

—this is why you catch katsuki in the in-betweens.

you give him a small smile, a little mischievous as you lean in and peck him on the nose.

“now you do,” you giggle as you inch closer on the wooden step.

he rubs his nose immediately, checking for smudges of lipstick, “fuckin—“

“just all my lovin’,” you tease.

you’re half expecting him to get back at you for it—to tickle you or smother you in kisses of his own; katsuki can be aggressive in love, a fact you’ve come to know well over the years.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he stares. a few paused seconds that feel slowed down to eternity. there’s the look again, like something’s been on his mind, combined with the look people say he only has for you.

suddenly, you feel nervous—for what, you don’t know, but your hand searches for his out of instinct. it’s damp when your palm sticks against his, his fingers intertwining with yours like a habit of his own.

he turns your clasped hands over, catching view of the back of yours.

it stays quiet for a few moments—a side of him you only see in times like this. you know there’s a war waging on in his head, a decision he’s been mulling over just waiting to be spilled out.

you know because katsuki only ever sits out before sunrise when he has a lot on his mind.

“you okay?” you whisper.

he hums, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, “just thinkin’.”

“you can tell me…” you nudge, “…if you want,” the butterflies in your stomach flapping harder.

you hold your breath.

he chuckles, that damn attractive half-sigh, “don’t know how yet.”

and you think you know what it is—a conversation you have every now and then, always with open-ended conclusions. katsuki has his issues, and so do you—

“just say it how it is,”

you never pressed him for answers, fully content to live at the pace he wanted because you loved him and that was enough.

—but when katsuki looks at you like this, like you’re everything gone right in his life, it’s hard not to think about the possibilities of more.

tears begin to collect along your waterline as he leads your hand into his pocket, your fingertips grazing a small velvet box.

you choke up, tears falling as you pout.

“woke up in the middle of the night with a fuckin’ god awful migraine,” he starts, wiping your tears with his thumb, “so i thought i’d go for a run, y’know, sweat it out and shit.”

you nod, listening.

“but when i got out of bed, you started mumblin’ my name,” he takes a deep breath, “thought you were awake, honestly, but you didn’t say anythin’ when i asked what you needed.”

“looked like you had a nightmare, so i went back to bed, and—” he pauses, collecting his words as he breathes out, “—you hugged me n’—”

his eyes gloss over as he tucks you into his side.

“—you told me you loved me.”

it’s not anything new—you both know that; you tell him you love him all the time. but—

“fuck, i’m ramblin’,” he half chuckles again.

“i love that about you too,” you sniffle, half-giggling as you nudge his chin with your nose.

you intentionally catch katsuki in the in-between’s because you love the side of him that comes out when he’s a little loose-lipped; a little less tense from all the day’s worries. you love the way he rambles, how he goes off on a tangent when he’s especially passionate about something.

he gives you a look so soft, your heart swells.

a small smile makes its way to katsuki’s face as he grips your hand tighter.

“couldn’t go back to sleep ‘cause all i was thinkin’ about was how to keep it this way forever.”

you’ve pictured this moment a few times before, all in different scenarios, situations, locations—always with the note that even if it didn’t happen, you’d be okay.

but now you have this: you and katsuki, on the wooden steps right by your garden bathed in twilight.

“decided on it for a while, just didn’t know when would be right,” he fishes the box out of his pocket, fiddling with it as he takes your hand in his other one.

“i know you said that lovin’ me was enough, but forever’s a fuckin’ long time,” he half-chuckles again, a little choked up, “you didn’t think i’d let you waste that on some loser who won’t even ask you to marry him, did you?”

you don’t think you’re coherent when you respond, a mess of tears and all the love you can pour out. katsuki doesn’t even get to show you the ring before you tackle him, nodding into his chest.

it doesn’t matter, anyway—

it was more than enough that he even asked.

n/a: thank u for sending this prompt erika!!! i am so rusty but i am writing this with all the katsuki feelings in me, my heart could burst!!!! sun & moon = twilight just because of the presence of both during that hour; i also just think it’s such a delicate balance to have—which i think also describes their relationship! katsuki has commitment issues 🥲 sorry, i love writing him in the process of healing ajkdndkd also !!! i also think katsuki can be romantic in his own way like wdym he reads all those shoujo mangas … there is stored romance in that boy . maybe not the smooooothest but yk. it works. and also, he wasn't rlly planning on proposing at this moment (more during the trip) but !! just felt right yk?

[serenity--writes]

Devotion | Peter Parker x Reader

Being friends with Peter Parker is easy. You fit together so well, it’s like sliding a puzzle piece into its designated slot on the first try. It’s studying together, laughing together, having him take you up to the Empire State Building in the middle of the night because he can, gaping down at the city in awe because wow, New York really can be beautiful. Or, Peter Parker as your best friend, your boyfriend, and then your husband (to be). //3.7k~ words. Unedited. GN! Reader. Any Peter, I just really like Andrew Garfield's face (even though it's hidden in the gif lol).

You can’t sleep. 

All you can think is, ‘Is he okay? What if he’s hurt?’ Your mind spins with each and every fear, and your body aches with it. Anxiety is nothing new, but it’s so constant now. You wake up and wonder if he’s still alive, if he’s safe, and it feels like you can’t breathe until you see him in person. Texting doesn’t help much anymore, because he could be texting you on his metaphorical deathbed and you wouldn’t know—

Your name echoes in the air. You whip around, eyes wild. “Peter?!” He’s barely inside your bedroom before you’re throwing yourself at him. The window falls shut as he slides his leg in with the rest of him. 

Peter winces as you enclose his waist in your arms, groaning. Jerking back, you peer worriedly at him. You spot dark red on blue and your blood runs cold. “Do I need to get the med kit?”

He shuffles over to your desk chair with his breath stuttering in his chest. Despite the jerkiness of his movements, his voice is even. If you hadn’t seen him, you wouldn’t think anything was wrong. That thought frightens you. “Yeah. Please.”

You’ve done this what feels like hundreds of times, but your hands still shake as you grab the stocked up med kit, courtesy of your nurse mom. She probably never imagined you’d be using it for Spider-Man. Who also happens to be the little boy (now teenager) she’d watched grow up with her kid.

She would shake Peter up and down, asking why he was putting himself in so much danger. 

In that, you and your mom are very similar. 

You return with the cargo, watching as your idiot best friend inhales, then exhales. He’s sprawled out on your chair, all long legs and mussed hair. His face is pale. No shit.

“Okay,” you start, hands ghosting over his suit. You don’t know where to touch and where to avoid, anxiety cruising through you like it was on a fucking joyride. You kind of want to puke, but don’t feel like vomiting up chili right now. It would burn. “Suit off. Can’t stitch you closed if the suit’s in the way.”

Peter wiggles his eyebrows, eyes still closed. “If you wanted me to undress, all you had to do was ask—”

“You’ve been saying that line for six months, Parker, learn some new material.” 

“Ouch,” he pouts, but complies. The suit is skin-tight, and he struggles to get it off without wincing so hard you’re afraid his face will stay that way, so you help him tug it off his shoulders, letting it pool around his waist. Blood soaks his stomach. “Last name already?”

Your stomach churns, his joke going in one ear and out the other. “Jesus Christ, Pete.”

He smiles shakily. “Not as bad as it looks, promise.”

Looks pretty fucking bad. You dig out the needle and suture kit without looking, then grab a disinfectant pad and steel yourself for another night of praying your hands don’t fail and you accidentally fuck him up even worse. 

Peter grabs your shaking hand and squeezes. “You got this,” he says, soft. His eyes are tired, but so kind. “You’ve done this before, and you were perfect. Okay? You can do this.” 

You nod, wiping your hands with the disinfectant pad before grabbing another. The wound looks daunting compared to the last, and it’s no wonder he’s drooping like a sunflower with too little sun; he’s losing a lot of blood. “Shit, okay. You’re right. Fuck, Peter, you really need to be more careful.”

His response is swallowed by a pained gasp as you run the pad over the serrated skin. “Fuck,” he whines. Then he laughs at himself. “Hurts more than getting stabbed, which is really w-weird.” 

“Duh. Alcohol burns, and you were probably running on adrenaline back there.” Your lips will be ruined in the morning, with how much you’re biting them, but you can’t bring yourself to care. The small sting of pain helps you focus as you thread the needle and start sewing him up.

You try to distract him from the pain. And yourself from the heavy weight on your chest; if this gets any worse, you’ll start suffocating. “So, we’re still on for the Star Wars marathon this weekend, right?”

Peter grins, and the sight of it steadies your hands. “Smooth. But yeah, unless there’s, y’know.”

You roll your eyes, kissing your teeth as you complete the first stitch. “Not all of us are masters of conversation, Your Majesty. And yeah, I do—gonna ditch me for your heroics, huh?”

“Let’s hope t—they… all decide to take a day off,” Peter jokes. Despite the improbability of it happening, it’d be nice to have a night with him all to yourself. “Mandated time off, even. With pay.”

“Paying criminals now?” You tsk teasingly. “Spider-Man, the meddling menace who’s secretly working with his, quote, ‘greatest foes!’ to make a quick buck—”

Peter laughs so hard he almost dislodges the stitches; would have, too, if you didn’t put a hand on his stomach (wow, he’s toned) to keep the wound steady. “You did not just try to imitate Jameson. Oh fuck, that’s funny—” He giggles breathlessly. 

“Laugh it up, Spidey, and there’ll be a new podcast out there slandering you any day now.”

The last stitch is done, and you don’t even attempt to hide your grin as you tie off your work. Peter hands you the bandages before you can reach for them, whispering a small ‘you’re welcome’ before you can say anything—typical Peter—and helps you wind it around his stomach. 

“For the record, your podcast would suck.”

“Suck it, Parker.”

—

Being friends with Peter Parker is easy. You fit together so well, it’s like sliding a puzzle piece into its designated slot on the first try. It’s studying together, laughing together, having him take you up to the Empire State Building in the middle of the night because he can, gaping down at the city in awe because wow, New York can be beautiful.

It’s… patching him up after a long day, taking him in your arms as he weeps because he couldn’t save her—God, I couldn’t—and trying not to cry as your hands shake and you feel like your body is an electric current, so in tune with him that it feels like you’re falling apart with him but not knowing why. 

.

.

.

“Honey.”

You narrow your eyes. Shake your head. 

“Love?”

You grimace. 

“Yeah, not British enough.” His eyebrows furrow. “Love-er?”

“Pete, we are not British. We are also not in the middle ages.”

He laughs, throwing his hands up. “'Babe'! That’s literally a classic. Can’t go wrong. It’s like the bread and soup of pet names.”

You wrinkle your nose. 

“C’mon, that’s perfect. You’re acting like a baby, so it fits, anyway.”

“Fighting works, Parker,” you warn him, biting your smile away. 

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Right,” he drawls. You don’t look at him but you know he’s flexing his irritatingly good-looking arms. Yeah, you have eyes. And a functioning brain. 

“Just call me by my name,” you suggest. Like a normal person. 

He sighs like you’ve exhausted all of his patience. “I love you, babe, but you are seriously in need of some relationship etiquette lessons. I’m sure Aunt May would love to be president. She’d be great at it. And she wouldn’t charge you admission because being my boyfriend has benefits—”

“Yeah, gotta make up for the lack of health care somehow.”

You turn around to find him wide-eyed. 

…

Okay, maybe that was too far. “Pete?”

He collapses onto the floor with a dramatic gasp. “Stone cold words from the love of my life! That hit harder than Rhino, and I gotta tell ya, he hits like a truck. Wow,” he chuckles breathlessly, eyes meeting yours. 

You soften. “Hey, bugboy.”

He doesn’t make fun of the nickname, but you can tell he wants to. “Hey, lover.”

“... Still weird. Why’re you so bad at pet names?” You crawl over and lay down beside him, cushioning your head on his upper arm.

He shrugs his other shoulder. “I guess I just excel in every other field but that one. Don’t hold it against me?” Cue the puppy-dog eyes. 

You snigger. “Help me with that chem question, and we’re all good.”

“Mmm, fair trade. I accept.”

—

You’re familiar with it: the longing. The loneliness. It doesn’t get better, but you adapt to it. It hurts less, even though the sting lasts longer now. You can’t brush it off as easily.

You know what you signed up for, and you’re not a quitter. 

Especially not when it comes to Peter Parker. 

He’s late, again, and you know why—it’d be hard to not see the fight happening a few miles away. Social media is blowing up with doom and gloom, worry for Spider-Man, hate for Spider-Man (you block people who post those comments; you don’t need to see that shit), and demands for better security. 

Peter’s swinging circles around Electro, who blasts electricity at him in between moments of chase. How he got out of the Raft is anyone’s guess, but he did, and now your boyfriend is chasing him around Harlam like it’s life or death. Which—you guessed it—it most likely is.

Being in prison, much less one like the Raft, festers a type of hate that can only bring destruction for the person who put you in there. 

People rush to the windows to gape at the scene, pressing you against it as they vie for a look. You’re suffocated literally and figuratively, your breath stuck in your chest and unable to escape. “C’mon, Spidey,” someone whispers from beside you. 

You glance at the man, but he’s already walking away. 

Your fists clench at your sides as you brave another look at the man who haunts and blesses your dreams. Electro staggers as Peter throws something—a car door?—at him. Your body lights up with hope from the inside. Yeah. C’mon, Peter. You can do it. 

Soft, brown eyes. Gentle, calloused hands. Warm, inviting arms. Feathery, windswept hair. You breathe out slowly, remembering the feel of him. The sound of him. He’ll be okay.

He always is. Even if it takes a while. Even if it’s hard. Sometimes, it feels impossibly far away, but you’ve been there throughout it all. You know him.

And he promised—

“I’ll always come back to you.”

—

“Honey?”

You pause your stirring, heart beating so fast that you have to take a deep breath before turning around. Tears well in your eyes and he panics, stumbling forward. He calls your name as you tremble. 

He holds you against his chest, knowing just what you need. Thump, thump—

Peter’s arm moves away from you, moving the pot off the burner. It makes a small clink against the glass stove. You exhale warily, knees shaking as the stress that weighed on your shoulders dissolves. Thump, thump, thump. It’s all you can hear, that lovely sound. His heart beating is your favorite thing to wake up to, and it’s so beautiful. Too perfect to put into words. 

“You’re okay?” you ask, voice a whisper. You can’t manage anything more.

Peter’s grip tightens for a moment as he tugs you away from the kitchen and to the couch. “Just a little fried. I’m okay, everything’s pretty much healed already.” He pauses, and you wait. There’s more. “He wasn’t prepared like last time. I don’t know who got him out, but… it was a spur of the moment kind of thing.”

Not Octavius, then. 

“I’m sorry for missing dinner. I—I really wanted to make it. I tried to text but he fried my phone.”

Thump, thump, thump. 

You shake your head against his chest. His heartbeat jumps as you settle against him, and you smile. Thump, thump—thump. You want to crawl inside him, that’s how empowering your love is. It scares you, sometimes, how much you crave him. A world where only you and him exists doesn’t sound too bad on days like these. Love crawls up your throat like acid, but it’s sweet. You can’t help but let it go, let him experience your devotion—“I love you, Peter Parker.”

His name is like honey on your tongue. 

Peter laughs, voice wet. “I love you, too. More than anything.”

You grab his wrist and slip your fingers between his, and marvel at the snug, comfortable fit. It’s perfect.

—

Being partners with Peter Parker is like a trip on acid, if you had to sum it up. It’s messy, full of ups and downs, euphoric but with a crash that’s unlike any other. But there’s always another rainbow on the horizon, another chance that maybe it’ll go better this time. It’s a life unlike any other, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

.

.

.

Peter gets down on one knee the day he almost dies. 

He’s pale as a ghost, blood crusting underneath his fingernails. His arms shake as the pain sets in, but his eyes never leave you.

Neither of you are dressed up, and you both desperately need a shower, but he gets down on one knee, no ring, and lets his devotion spill from his lips and the genuine love in his eyes make the emotions bubbling inside you burst. A sob tears through your throat, and you let him devour it with his lips, and it feels like healing. 

Yes, yes, yes, yes—

It’s an easy choice. 

Blood soaks your clothes as he falls into you, but his frantic eyes and strong hands pull you from your worry and you fall into pleasure. He’s lovely, this way, so fierce and vibrant, vigour pouring out from him in waves. 

Thump, thump, thump—thump. 

He murmurs your name, and that’s all it takes.

I love you.

—

“Blue,” you suggest. “And white. With hints of red.”

Peter side eyes you as you conspire with your mom about the colors of your wedding. You smirk at him when she turns away, and he grins back, bashful, before letting May steal his attention.

“You’re not at all patriotic,” your mom complains. “Where is this coming from? And why couldn’t you do this when we went to that football game—”

“Spider-Man wears red, white, and blue,” you explain. You know you’re confusing her, but it’s fun to watch. And Peter’s blushing face never gets old, even as you two do; teasing him is one of your favorite pastimes. 

Your mom thinks Peter has a ‘man-crush’ on Spider-Man, and she doesn’t tolerate it. ‘His heart is meant for you, and only you, honey. This Spider-Man is a good man, but he’s not Peter’s man. Take some sense into him before I do.’ 

It’s hilarious. 

Peter’s gone through this before, which makes it even more funny. Posts on Twitter about him dating Spider-Man have gone viral before, and you tease him about it mercilessly, more than a decade later. 

“You’re not really planning our wedding based on Spider-Man, right, honey?” Peter slides an arm around your waist, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek as your mom watches in approval. She loves Peter, Spider-Man crush notwithstanding, and she makes sure he knows it. He’s been a part of your family for a while, but she doesn’t want him to question his place. Even your father loves Peter, which is a miracle in and of itself. 

“They are,” your mother sighs, leaning back in her chair. You and Peter share an amused look. “I told them that blue and white were perfect, but they insisted.” She eyes you. “Talk with him, and get his opinion. It’s your day together, not just yours.” She smiles at Peter as she stands, patting his head like she always does. “Don’t let them strong-arm you into something you don’t want, Peter.”

You cross your arms, every bit the petulant child you were twenty years ago. She says that you’ll always be her little baby, and you’re kind of convinced she’s mind-controlled you or something. She did have a pocket watch when she was younger… Maybe she hypnotized you, like that one Scooby-Doo episode; you’ll ask Pete later, he’ll know. “Mom.”

She does that mom-thing, you know the one—she goes ‘ah-ah-ah’, finger wag included, and gives you a look. “You are stubborn, and Peter is madly in love with you. He will say yes to everything, despite what he wants. Be mature, child of mine.”

Peter pouts as she walks away. She throws her arms around May and laughs; they’re the perfect picture of best friends. You smile before turning back to your lovely fiancé, whose pout dies down as you snuggle up to him. “Hey,” he says breathlessly. “Love you.”

(… Your mom may have had a point earlier.)

If you thought you fit together perfectly before, years ago, then you are practically melded into one being now. His skin against yours was like being enveloped in warmth, and his breath mixing with yours could send you into a lovesick spiral if you weren’t careful, too drunk on him to do much else. But his smile, crooked and unabashedly stunning, stands out as the moon to your night sky. 

You kiss him, slow and deep. He tastes like chocolate and mint tooth-paste. You pull away when your smiles become too wide to continue. Your voice is tinged with sweetness as you giggle into his neck. “I love you, too.”

—

The hectic day of wedding planning ends with the sky streaked in golden rays, oranges and yellows towering over the blues. It ends with long, dark eyelashes resting against soft cheeks, chocolate eyes hidden from the world. Soft, chestnut curls tickle your cheek from where Peter leans into you, and your thumb drifts over his hands, calloused and worn but ever-so gentle.

Your music hums in your ear, the artist crooning about love and life and the days that fly by. You tap your foot to the beat, the slow rhythm unfamiliar but lovely all the same. It gives you nostalgia for a life you’ve yet to live.

Suddenly, you get an idea. 

Gently guiding Peter onto his back, your couch significantly better than the one he’d endured while he was fresh from May’s house, you press a kiss to his forehead. 

Your earbuds stay in your ears, and you sway back and forth as you enter the kitchen, letting the infectious happiness of the music overtake you. 

One thing you know Peter loves is wheat cakes, May’s recipe. Of which she’d just given you as the two of you left. ‘A little gift,’ she’d hummed, clicking her tongue as you stammered and thanked her. Her hug was warm and kind, and you had melted into it without a second thought. May Parker will always be a lovely woman, but she shone like diamonds to you in that moment, when she pulled away and told you that you were the best thing to ever happen to Peter.

Even now, just thinking about it makes you tear up. 

Knowing how much Peter values May’s opinion makes it all the sweeter. You feel like you’re on top of the world. It’s almost too much, but the view you’re gazing at now is so much better than the one you saw on the Empire State Building; you’re staring at Peter, and he’s so bright, a star glowing amongst the dark, and he’s yours and you’re his, and he’s the best thing to ever happen to you, too.

—

You shake Peter’s shoulders, coaxing him out of sleep. He groans and wipes his eyes groggily. “Lover,” he says with a lop-sided grin as he takes you in. You’re wearing his clothes. A soft, faded MIT sweatshirt with sweatpants that hang low on your hips. You’re surrounded by the smell of him, and the only time you’ve felt safer was in his arms.

“Bugboy,” you retort fondly. The game is old and familiar, memories of nights spent play-arguing rushing to the forefront of your mind before they’re stolen by the lips pressing against yours. You smile against his lips as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. They’re broad, strong enough to hold the world upon them if they must. And your ankles, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I made food,” you say as he pulls away. He looks dizzyingly attractive, all flushed and pliant. You want to eat him instead, but you worked hard on that dinner, damn him. 

He’s smug as though he knows what you’re thinking, scooping you up and into his arms as he waltzes into the dining room. Your music plays softly in the background, earbuds unplugged and set aside. The wheat cakes are finishing baking on the stovetop, the smell enough to make him perk up and remove his face from your neck.

Peter’s eyes sparkle. You want to grab his camera and capture him in the moment—you're rarely the one behind it, and it's a shame. “No way!” 

Abruptly, the tension—the good kind—fades into lighthearted tones. From rose-red to tulip-pink, from dusk to sunrise. You grin. “May gave me the recipe,” you say, settling into your seat.

“Really? Oh wow, they smell so good…”

Without looking, you call out, “No dessert until after dinner. Y’know the one I just spent an hour making!” His chair, right beside you, sits distanced from the table, right where you left it. 

“Whatever you say, honey.”

You grin smugly, swallowing your bite. “Good boy.”

He doesn’t whimper, but it’s a near thing.

—

Being (almost) married to Peter Parker is like… dancing in the dark, not knowing where you’re going but having so many feelings in your heart that you’re about to burst. It’s small moments of silence, comfortable in each other’s presence that no words are needed. It’s biting back tears as he grimaces and comforts you as he bleeds onto your floors. It’s the days where you wake up to his face, painted gold and flush by the morning sun. 

It’s the small acts of devotion. Notes left in every nook and cranny of the house, small little assurances and reminders and nonsense that leaves you smiling. Dinner made and put away for him to reheat when he gets home, cold and hungry. Little things you had your eye on, placed perfectly in your space so you can’t miss them. Arms open, so he can soak in your presence and bask in your love for him. Music playing, low and crooning, as he takes you into his arms and twirls you around your home, laughter decorating the walls and saturating the air.

Thump, thump, thump.

[bet-on-me-13]

Misunderstandings really really suck Pt.2

Edit: Part 1 link since it took me all day to find it again

Damian had a Rival.

Scratch that, Damian had a Nemesis in the form of a girl in his class by the name of Danielle Nightingale. Although she insisted she be called "Ellie" instead.

The trouble started on the first day of classes. Damain had just arrived at the Manor recently, and unfortunately his father had decided that he needed to go to School in order to keep up a Civilian charade. So, he had been sent to Gotham Metro Academy, a rather prestigious school that he could not give less of a fuck about. Why would he willingly subject himself to the borderline preschool teachings of a Civilian school when the League had taught him everything he needed to know years ago? Of course, that was his attitude before he met her.

Danielle was in the seat right next to him for most of his classes, and at first they had not interacted all that much. She had attempted a friendly greeting at first, but Damian had quickly shut her down in a rather rude way.

It wasn't until the next time they took a Science Test together that they really regarded one another. It was supposed to be a test to see where their education level was, but Damian had decided he would Ace the test and move onto some more interesting stuff.

He finished his test within a few minutes and got up to turn it in, at the same time Danielle did. He looked over at her and saw that she was just as surprised to see him getting up. Later on, they learned that they were the top 2 scorers in the class by a wide margin. Danielle had gotten a 100%, while Damian had gotten a 99%. She gave him a smug Smirk, and that was when he decided that he would best her no matter the cost.

From there they made every class a contest. Always on opposite sides for PE, always competing for the best scores on Tests, they even made getting to the cafeteria a race.

Damain found that he genuinely enjoyed competing with her, since she was the only one who could keep up. And they could never decide on a good winner. Danielle always beat him in Science Classes, but Damian was the better in the Math Classes, and somehow they always tied in PE no matter the sport they played.

And after a while, they began to talk with eachother about stuff aside from their little contests. He learned that she was going to the school on a Scholarship, which was why she always tried her best to excel in exams. He learned that her older brother owned a small Shop a few blocks from Park Row, which he used to provide for the both of them to live comfortably. He also learned that he enjoyed his conversations with her as much as he enjoyed competing with her, it was genuinely fun to just sit down and talk to her once in a while.

He finally decided that they had grown from Rivalry to full on Friendship about halfway through their first year of school together. He had found her backed into a corner by some snobby rich kids who didn't like that a "street rat" was getting better grades than them so often. To her credit, she was holding back her emotions much better than he would have.

When he tried to help her, they turned on him. They began mocking his status as a bastard child, calling his mother many horrible names, and even began to make racist remarks about his Arabic heritage. He didn't even get the chance to retort before one of the kids was on his back clutching his broken nose, Ellie standing next to him with her arm extended. The other one soon followed, this time by Damian's hand.

Of course the incident got them both detention, but from then on he knew she was his friend.

...

Damian began noticing something was off about Ellie about 1 year after meeting her. Her 12th birthday had just passed, and the new school year was just beginning, and for some reason she was much competitive than usual. She didn't seem to think he had noticed, but she hadn't tried this hard to beat him since they had first met. She wasn't talking to him as much, distancing her self more and more as the weeks went on.

It finally came to ahead during a game of Dodgeball in their PE class. She had been competing with him relentlessly, but even then she wasn't preforming up to her usual level. He could see she was tired, exhausted even, from such a simple exercise, sweat pouring from her skin in buckets. Which didn't make any sense, since he had seen her do much more intense things without breaking a sweat.

He also knew that she was a Metahuman, and therefore had more stamina than a normal person. (She had told him over the summer, after deciding that she trusted him with her biggest secret)

Before the game had even ended, he was asking her to just tell him what was wrong. She denied that anything was wrong, right up until she collapsed in the middle of the game, unconscious.

He had immediately rushed her to the Nurses Office, where she finally opened up about what had been disturbing her so much recently.

She was dying.

She had a genetic disease, linked back to her Meta-Human abilities, that was slowly killing her. And they were running out of the medication needed to treat it.

She took out what looked like an Epi-Pen and injected herself with the medication inside. Damain could instantly see the color come back to her skin, her muscles got less tense, and her breath became more steady.

"That was one of our remaining Doses", she explained, "This dose will last me about a month. We have enough left to last until December, but after that there won't be anymore left. It was only ever produced by a single pair of scientists out of state, and they died in a car accident a few years ago."

Damian is extremely worried, his best friend is dying and he doesn't know how to help. He tried to offer his dad's help, but she refuses.

"I'm a Metahuman, if a person as high profile as your dad stepped in to help, it would draw attention to me. And Gotham is way to dangerous for a known Metahuman to live, especially a 12 yr old one." She says, "And besides, my brother says he's working on replicating it. I trust him, and he's been researching it relentlessly."

It takes a while, but Damian agrees to let her take care of this.

Over the next few months, Damian and Ellie act as if everything is normal. From time to time they will talk about it, but they largely try to ignore it for the most part.

Sometimes Ellie will joke about it though.

"At my Funeral, make sure they don't lie. I was a fucking Goddess of Chaos and I won't have them defiling my name by spouting out that whole 'heaven has another angel' bullcrap."

"In my Will, I'm gonna set up a whole Indiana Jones Style Quest for you to follow before you can claim anything of mine. You gotta work for it."

"Don't worry, I won't haunt you after I die. I'll be too busy conquering the Afterlife to manage anything like that!"

"At my Funeral, I want you to make a speech that's just 'this is so sad. Alexa play despacito'. Nothing else, just that."

It goes on like this for months, and both of them have mostly accepted that their time together has a potential time limit, so they try to make the most out of it.

Damian even forces her to formally introduce her brother, an older guy named Danny, who is very enthusiastic to meet him. Apparently Ellie had trouble making friends in her last school, and he was just so happy she had found such a good friend in the last year.

They even invited him to visit whenever he wanted. Sometimes he would even stay the night, sleeping in Danny's room while Danny took the couch.

He even found the Lab, or makeshift lab, that Danny had made to try and find a way to replicate the Medicine for Ellie. Damian had to admit, Danny was a certified Genius, and he had Hope that Danny would find a way to save Ellie soon.

He asks for an explanation on the Medicine, and Danny explains it as "Ellie's powers draw on a type energy called Ecto, which helps keep her body stable. Unfortunately, she has a birth defect that means she can't absorb it faster than she uses it up naturally. What the Medicine does is bolster the amount she already has in her system to make it more potent and last longer."

He even shows Damian his notes, and at his insisting he begins teaching Damian about Ectoplasm and the science behind it all.

Damian begins coming over on the weekends to hang out with Ellie and check up on the progress of the Medicine. He tells the rest of his family that he just wants to get a little more comfortable in his Civilian Life, and is indulging in his urge to actually be a kid. (They still don't know about Ellie's situation, cause she asked him not to tell anyone.)

...

A few months later, Jason comes back from patrol and informs the rest of the team that he just found a Scienist creating a Super Soldier Serum in the middle of Gotham.

Unfortunately, Damian was staying over at Ellie's house for the weekend, and didn't get the memo.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Haiii! I saw your writing for the phantom of the opera (Erik destler) and I was wondering if you were able to do a small fic or head cannons about what you think if the reader had unalived someone for him, and what his response would be. Not describing the unaliving of course. If not that's okay, but I love your writing and work and would be thrilled :)

js a short n sweet drabble for my fav scrimblo warnings/tags- mentions of death, murder, non descriptive dw, fluffy angst word count- 286 words

He stared at you as if he were trying to see through you—strip away your skin and soul and understand the why. You had spoken quietly, your hands clasped tightly in your lap like a child about to be scolded. But you weren’t a child, and he wasn’t just a man.

“I did it for you,” you said, voice barely above the soft drip of water echoing from the walls of the underground lake.

Erik didn’t speak. He simply stood there, gloved hands twitching at his sides, the half-mask glinting dimly in the candlelight. There was a storm in his eyes. Not anger—no, he was no stranger to violence. But you? He had seen you read poetry aloud to the rats. Seen you wince when you found a crushed rose petal beneath your shoe. And now you were telling him you’d taken a life—for him?

"You shouldn’t have," he finally whispered.

"But I did."

He turned away, the cloak swishing behind him, hand running through his dark hair. You waited. You weren’t sure if you should beg for forgiveness or expect a warped sort of praise.

When he turned back, his voice was lower, aching. "Do you know what you’ve done to me?"

You blinked, confused.

“You’ve tied your soul to mine now. There is no undoing that.” His voice cracked. “You can’t go back to the light after this. And I—I don’t know how to live knowing you’ve fallen for me.”

You rose and took a step toward him. “Then fall with me.”

He caught your wrist gently. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do,” you said. “And I don’t regret it.”

His lips hovered near your forehead, trembling. “Then God help us both.”

[disaster-magician]

Looks like you found one of those golden retriever girls! Good luck with that, Tamarack

(Fake screenshots! These are fan made based on incorrect quotes and not in the game)

[yandere-yearnings]

Absume. (Yandere!Best Friend x GN!Reader)

feat. sui's ai

♡ oneshot, approx. 1k words

♡ post-specific warnings: melancholy (?), angst (??), angst w/o happy ending (???)

♡ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML SUIIIIIII❤️ i did not have as much time on this as i would've liked but no matter, i wasn't gonna exist on suiday w/o a suiday celebration dar style. i present to you ai angst❗❗(it was meant to be fluff but i'm a fucking dumbass who can't write lmao) ai belongs to @suiana and is from her stellar, absolutely fantastic game, Anything Will Do. sui i want you to know you make everything worth it and i wouldn't still be here on tumblr if it weren't for you. all my love to you mwah mwah <333 unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

This life was strange to you.

Sometimes it went by so fast, you’d wake up with no recollection of the days passed; staring at the ceiling with open eyes. It’s the same crack in the paint that had always been there, long and thin and unnoticeable if it weren’t for the fact you sought it out unconsciously. You remembered it, even if you didn’t remember crawling into bed that night, or having dinner at the table, and what exactly it was that your mother fussed over. 

There was a growing emptiness since you first noticed. No matter what you did, or how many people you were surrounded by, inside of you something was caving in. You didn’t know who you were. You didn’t know your place in this world without landmarking it by your achievements — and yet, when you looked back, there were none. How had you gone on so long? What had you been doing all this time?

Perhaps you lived in your head a little too much. Everything could be a little lighter if only you’d let it be. Sweeping every thought aside, you rolled, trapped your arm under your own weight and looked at your reflection in your mirrored bedside table. You were as you had always been. This was you, and this — whatever it was — was yours.

Lukewarm air, no temperature gradient, it should’ve made it easier for you to leave your bed, but you stayed there some long minutes before moving. Your clock was broken. Not conventionally. It only moved by the hour. Time was yours and you could waste it. There was security in the feeling that you had a choice to not start your day.

Morning, mundane as always, slathered you in its hues. Washed browns jittery under your feet, like there was no ground beneath you from wood to tile. The bathroom mirror had your fingerprints. You’d touched it many a time. Left a mark. This too, belonged to you. You could no longer believe this wasn’t real. Maybe it was that you were sensationless at your soles, treading carefully over loosely carpeted steps, trying to feel the tickle of those familiar fibres. When had you lost it all?

Your mother was in the kitchen, you don’t remember a time when she wasn't. It’s as if she can’t leave this lower floor, like she cannot rest, like her duties do not end. The door to her room never opens or closes, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen her without that plaid apron. She never notices you unless you speak to her. She never says anything different.

At the table it’s fruit, and it tastes like nothing. No texture, nothing to chew. It feels like you’re eating air. Play-pretend at a plastic table with a plastic knife and fork. You’re young again and your sister ropes you into her fake kitchen. You don’t have a sister. Not here, at least.

There’s a knock at your front door. It’s light, like the person on the other side is afraid to be heard, but wants your attention still. When you open it, there he stands — the only thing in this world that you can reach out and touch, that thrummed beneath your fingertips, as alive as you were desperate to feel.

Ai takes your hand, and the breeze picks up just like that. Ever so easy. You watch your feet and every step they take to the pavement, nothing skips; you can commit it to memory. He’s speaking to you but you can’t hear the words just yet, there is only wind and the rustle of leaves. His hair billows, bleeds out heavy cyprus that blends into the backdrop of trees. He has always given you these beautiful bits of him, and you had let yourself go blind.

Letting go was something you should’ve done long, long ago, but you guessed he was your comfort. Solace. A shelter you could run to. Leaving never felt right, not when you knew he’d stay waiting. Ai told you once, he loved you beyond all of this. Outside the street lights would flicker, and in the flashes it was his face illuminated, tucking you in after a dreary day. You could never hold onto those scenes, in your mind they were fragmented, and you forgot about them as quick as they came. If you asked him why, you knew he’d tell you that this was the price, whether either of you could pay it, whether either of you could even endure it anymore.

On a deep inhale, you finally resolved that it was no fairer to him as you found it was to you, that now was the only right time. Now would be the only time you’d have him by your side like this again. This moment alone, he was real and he would not slip through your fingers.

You had set out for school, but with your textbooks weighing what your heart could not, you had no intention of going there with him. Instead these empty streets faded, and quickly noon set over the park you ended up at. The swings did not creak, but they were old. You wondered how they could carry the two of you — you and Ai, and everything you’d both been piling up inside. 

Back and forth you went, here and in your head, trying to find the words to say you don’t think you could do this anymore. If you said sorry, would it make him mad? His due returns weren’t meant to be apologies. You were meant to fill him up just as he had done for you, you were meant to make everything worth it, every sacrifice, every stilted interaction from the day you understood that you were losing him. It was meant to get better. All this was meant to pass. Your mind was blank, and you were waiting for something but your clock was still broken, so nothing would ever come. You wanted to say I love you. You wanted those to at least be your final words — you just didn’t know how.

Ai was kind to you. He had always been. So he took your head in his hands, didn’t cry a single tear though it should’ve gone with that smile, and made the cut clean.

He said: “anything will do.”

[xullian]

Passive.. my baby boy. I love him so much augh my HEART.

Clutching my pearls for him.

Passive Nightmare and Dream belong to jokublog

Bonus!!

Because i need them to be HAPPY.

[rayssion]

There's something just so beautiful about a character falling in love with their best friend who is sadly not into them and already had their partner.

[lesbian-rook]

could you draw ragatha comforting an abstracting pomni? like ragatha calms her down enough to make the abstraction go away! thanks :3

🎶When darkness is all you see This is our Sweet Blasphemy🎵

[undead-supernova]

make me thaw / Masterlist

pairing: Steve Harrington x gn!reader

plot: Steve has to house sit for his parents and has to resist the urge to call you to come over

warnings: not just having mommy or daddy issues (it's that secret third option!), intimacy issues, angst/comfort, pronouns never mentioned

wc: 1.8k

song inspo: I Wouldn't Ask You by Clairo

note: this isn't like any big thing, but I thought the little concept was interesting. anyways, have some angsty Steve

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to call.

There are just certain things that one must experience alone, things that are just too complicated for someone else to truly understand. Things that someone can’t articulate, so why even bother trying at all?

Or, at least, that’s what Steve had thought his whole life.

Because Steve hated his parents. No, it was something that extended past hate. Steve loathed them. He loathed the way they waved their hands around in dismissal. Loathed the way they came in and out at their leisure, only asking how he was when they felt rather obligated. Loathed his mother’s negligence, his father’s absence.

The thing he loathed the most was how much he truly loved them.

But they weren’t even here.

No, they were in Sicily. Another one of their infamous arguments ensued when his mother found love letters from another woman in his nightstand. And instead of trying to deny it this time, his father decided to take his mother on a nice vacation. Some sightseeing, fancy dining. 

Nothing said “I’m sorry for cheating on you for the sixth time” like a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine next to the Mediterranean Sea.  

So he was called to house sit for a few days, making sure their cat was fed—the one obtained after the fourth "mistake".

Steve wanted to tell them to fuck off and that they could call literally anyone else. But his father offered him a good amount of cash, way more than Family Video was giving him and he just…caved. Couldn’t look his father in the eye when he was told that part of the deal was to never tell anyone about his infidelity. Keep his mouth shut, especially to that little plaything of his.

He looked around his childhood bedroom, feeling a weight beginning to push him further into the mattress. Frames that once held his awards now hugged paintings of Mr. Harrington's favorite vacation spots. Carpet now ripped out in exchange for hardwood flooring. Walls coated in a new shade of off-white. Potpourri sitting on a new dresser to mask his scent. Boxes of his stuff sitting idle in the attic.

And maybe it was a byproduct of hunting monsters and evil spies, but Steve thought the house was haunted. If not haunted, then haunting.

And he could’ve fooled himself into believing he heard echoes of his parents arguing downstairs. Even in the dead quiet. Even in the midnight hour when the rest of Hawkins was lulling in and out of slumber.

It was freezing cold in here, colder than it’d been before—even in the dead of winter. A sweatshirt, thick sweatpants, and fuzzy socks weren’t even enough. Nothing was enough.

Steve didn’t know why, but he thought of you. Thought about how you’d never actually been in this house. You were a more recent friend, a more recent something or other. A friend that he appreciated, a friend that he was too terrified to entertain as anything more than just a friend.

And, sure, you were a friend that he’d tried to introduce to his parents. For whatever reason. But when you walked into the foyer and introduced yourself to Mr. Harrington, he took one look at you, snorted, and walked away. You’d turned back, resigning to sitting by the pool, wondering out loud what made you so laughable. 

Steve had tried to comfort you, tried to explain that his dad was just a prick. He hated everyone that didn’t look or act or dress just like him. His dad called it weakness.

And Steve was the weakest of them all. 

His knees had brushed yours and his lips trembled as you nearly made what he told himself was a mistake. In that moment, he almost let everything go, had almost let himself wake up to the idea of something new. 

But instead, he shook his head and stood up. Walked away. Stood by the car and waited for you to get the hint and follow him. Blamed the rudeness on wanting to get to your shared shift on time. Let the car fill with The Psychedelic Furs and deprived it of conversation.

Because, just like this house, Steve was cold.

After everything with the Upside Down, something he swore he’d never think of again, Steve retreated into himself. Sure, he was still running around with Robin, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, and Erica. But those were just things now. Low stakes. 

He didn’t have to let himself find new ways to break his heart. He didn’t have to put you in any compromising position when he could just stay silent.

And that’s why he didn’t call.

Clink.

Steve’s attention diverted towards the window.

Clink.

Clink.

Without so much as a flinch, Steve sighed and made his way over. He half expected a new monster to appear, an added cherry on top of his loathing.

But as he peered out, he spotted you with your arm pulled back, ready to launch another acorn. The reflection of the pool lights shone off of your smile that only widened as you noticed him.

Eyebrows furrowing, he quickly lifted the windowsill.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, leaning out.

“Came to hang.”

“Could you not use the front door?”

Tilting your head in confusion, you said, “I’ve been knocking for the last five minutes.”

“Oh.”

“Are you gonna let me in or what?”

Steve watched you unzip your beat up backpack, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. He felt bad that he hadn’t spoken much since he let you in, but you didn’t seem to mind.

He sat up against his headboard, arms crossed as he stretched his legs. You were on the other side of him, cross-legged. Not close enough to accidentally touch, but not so far away that you couldn’t be there if he needed you.

But he didn’t need anyone.

You pulled out a large thermos, gesturing towards it as if you were presenting him with an award.

“I give you…ginger tea,” you said, imitating an announcer. 

“You could’ve just brought the bags. We have a kettle.”

“That’s no fun.”

Despite his comment, he took the thermos from you. Warm, was his first thought followed by, Thank you.

But he said nothing, opting instead to drink the tea. 

What was there for him to say? Steve was elsewhere, lost in his head in ways that he couldn’t decipher.

“Robin and I missed you at closing tonight.”

And you were here, offering him some relief that he didn’t want to feel. He didn’t need it.

“Is that why you came?” he asked.

You shook your head, going back to rummaging around your bag. “I was thinking about how shitty your parents have been and how uncomfortable it must be to just sit in an empty house.”

Here you were, caring. And for whatever reason, he couldn’t stand it.

“It’s not like I haven’t been doing that my whole life.”

“That’s true,” you agreed. “but that doesn’t make it any easier when you find a real family and then have to come back and sit with what used to be your reality.”

“You don’t need to take care of me.”

“Sure I do,” you said simply. 

Like it was a no brainer.

Steve shook his head, wanting the thought of an us to leave his head.

“Life isn’t fair,” he stated, watching as your face began to fall. “And…and this is just the life I was given, you know? And everything that came after that—all the pain, all the bullshit—it’s just…”

Steve trailed off, unsure where to go from there. Unsure where the words were supposed to fall.

Until it came.

“My parents suck. They have no real relationship. I don’t even know why they stay together. And they think that what they have with me is family. Maybe that’s what they were brought up with. I don’t know. But that’s…that’s not it.”

“And knowing that gets frustrating,” you stated, fingers reaching out toward him.

Your hand rested on his knee, the warmth matching that of the thermos. Trying to diffuse his anger, trying to unveil what was hidden.

“Love doesn’t last,” he whispered.

“I don’t think you really believe that.”

Your fingers ran against his knuckles, seemingly soothing him. But there was that hardness in his chest, the kind of protection that couldn’t be torn down so easily.

Even if you were getting good at it.

“What are we, then?” Steve asked suddenly, nearly sounding defensive.

He thought you’d pause. Thought you’d pull your hand away. Anything. But you didn’t flinch, didn’t miss a beat while continuing your absentminded pattern.

“We’re best friends,” you said with a shrug. “Mixed with a hint of something extra.”

“Doesn’t that just complicate things?”

You glanced up. “Not for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you like me back.”

Steve paused, unsure of what to say to you. Unsure of what to think about this conversation. It was supposed to be awkward, right? This wasn’t supposed to feel comfortable.

But it did.

“I don’t understand.”

“The things you’ve been through the last however many years. Your parents,” you explained. “Of course you don’t want to risk falling for someone else or give your heart away. How could you when your own parents can’t even recognize that they have hearts?”

Steve watched you, nearly begging you to be anything besides understanding. Anything besides caring.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you continued. “I just know. I mean, I suspected for a while. But we almost kissed that day. You know, after your dad laughed at me?” He nodded. “I just knew it was a matter of time and…I decided not to push it unless you said something.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to switch it on anytime soon,” he explained, solemn as he looked back over at the empty thermos. “If I could just kiss you and, I don’t know, make everything magically reappear, I would. But…” he trailed, sighing before his eyes met yours again. “I just can’t.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” you replied, eyes trained on your hands. “I’m willing to wait until you’re ready.”

“But I’m just like my shitty parents,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m like ice.”

You shrugged. “Well, ice thaws.”

Steve watched you, watched the way your eyes stayed put on his hand. Watched as you stayed like that, all hopeful and at peace in his room. Perfectly content with the idea of waiting. Not rushing, not arguing.

He thought of his parents, how he’d never seen them engage in physical affection; intimacy. How they could never just have a civil conversation about their emotions. How they could never admit the truth without having to pay a toll.

There was nothing between them that mirrored this.

And maybe Steve was starting to understand what you meant.

[king-spite]

i know the red queen tv show is now less likely to happen than katy perry going to space BUT if it DOES happen i think they should pull a rhaenicent and make elara and coriane have a failed tragic homoerotic friendship before becoming "rivals". nevermind what actually happens in the books. i think that would save me actually

[starlos-soulmate]

Love talking with a friend and discussing how a popular canon x canon ship would not actually work out. Like at all