#but hes the one that said he cares and is committed to this

[starksweasley]

Couch Wars // Rhysand x Reader

Summary: In which a petty argument leads to Rhysand proving just how impossible he can be (Fluff)

Word Count: 710

The bedroom felt too quiet without him. The argument had been stupid—a silly spat over who forgot to wash the training leathers—but both of you had let it spiral. Rhysand, with his calm, infuriating smirk, and you, with your dramatic flair. Neither of you would back down. So, here you were, dragging a blanket off the bed and storming into the living room like a martyr.

The couch wasn’t even comfortable. You huffed as you threw the blanket down, trying to convince yourself you didn’t care. As you curled up, staring at the dim light filtering in from the balcony, you heard footsteps behind you.

“What are you doing?” Rhysand’s voice broke the silence, smooth and curious. You didn’t turn to face him.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” you declared, voice clipped.

He walked closer, his silhouette casting a shadow over you. “On the couch?”

“Yes, on the couch. Away from you.”

Rhys crouched beside you, his violet eyes catching the faint light. He tilted his head, studying you like you were the most perplexing puzzle he’d ever encountered. “Darling, this is ridiculous.”

You huffed, clutching the blanket tighter. “Well, I don’t want to sleep next to someone who refuses to admit they’re wrong.”

His lips twitched. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

“Go away, Rhysand.”

Instead of leaving, he sank onto the couch beside you, one arm draping over your waist. He pulled you close with maddening ease, his scent—night-chilled wind and cedar—washing over you.

“Let go,” you muttered, squirming out of his grip. You flopped onto the other end of the couch, making your displeasure obvious.

Rhysand sighed exaggeratedly, the sound so theatrical it might have earned a laugh if you weren’t so irritated. “If this is how you want to play it, fine.” In one swift motion, he stood, grabbed you, and tossed you over his shoulder.

“Rhysand!” you shrieked, pounding on his back. Your laughter betrayed your indignation. “Put me down!”

“No can do,” he said, striding toward the bedroom. “This is for your own good.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“And you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

You’d barely managed to argue before he reached the bed. Rhysand tossed you onto the mattress with an unceremonious plop, climbing over you before you could escape. He pinned your wrists above your head, his weight caging you in.

“Let me go,” you pouted, your bottom lip jutting out dramatically, eyes narrowing into a glare that might’ve been intimidating… if he didn’t find it so endearing.

His grin was devastating. “Not until you admit you’re being a brat.”

Your glare could have cut glass. “Not until you say you’re sorry.”

Rhysand’s gaze softened, though amusement still danced in his eyes. He leaned closer, his breath brushing your cheek, his voice dropping to that intoxicating murmur. “Sorry.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry, darling. For whatever grievous crime I’ve committed.”

You hesitated, your stubbornness warring with the warmth blooming in your chest. Finally, you sighed. “I’m sorry too.”

A grin split his face, one so radiant it made your chest ache. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

You scowled, but your lips twitched upward despite your best efforts. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re irresistible.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, each touch lingering and soft. When he pulled back, his expression was unbearably smug. “Now, no more couch dramatics. Agreed?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Fine. But only because I’m too tired to fight you anymore.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, my love.”

As he settled beside you, his arms pulling you close, you realized the fight didn’t matter. Not when the night ended like this—his warmth surrounding you, his steady heartbeat under your ear, a constant reminder of everything you shared. The silence stretched, comfortable and soothing now, until you finally murmured, “I’m still mad about the leathers.”

Rhysand chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath your cheek. “Noted. I’ll make sure they’re spotless tomorrow. Anything else, my high-maintenance darling?”

“Just one thing,” you muttered, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Next time, I’m throwing you onto the couch.”

“Bold words,” he teased, pressing another kiss to your hair. “But we’ll see about that.”

[philosopherking1887]

Sorry to be pedantic, but I feel like I need to call attention to the careful composition of this gifset. In the four corners and the center are gifs of significant moments between Ed and Oswald, one from each season of the show, in the sequence: top left, top right, bottom left, bottom right, center. There are parallels between the two moments in the top row and between the two in the bottom row: both of the scenes in the top row involve a tense confrontation, where Ed has done something presumptuous and Oswald responds by threatening him, more or less subtly; and both scenes in the bottom row involve an emotional moment after Oswald has saved Ed's life, where one of them (Oswald in s3 on the left, Ed in s4 on the right) is processing the magnitude of what the other has been willing to do for them, and perhaps also having a Feelings Realization (at least, Oswald is on the left; Ed on the right is more ambiguous). The scene in the center from season 5 combines both of those themes: Ed has come to confront Oswald about a violation he thinks Oswald has committed against him, but ends up learning that Oswald in fact saved his life (again), apparently with purely altruistic motives, and they've just said their kind of insane death threat wedding vows.

Then the still images in the middle of each edge are all objects of significance to their relationship, ordered counter-clockwise chronologically: in the middle of the top row, the origami penguin that Ed makes for Oswald when he visits him in Arkham; in the left-hand column, the certificate of sanity that Oswald gets framed for Ed to hang alongside his own; in the bottom row, the mayoral portrait of Oswald with Ed in the background that Ed, as the Riddler, spray-painted with a neon-green question mark, his own symbol; and in the right-hand column, the coded letter that Oswald sends to Ed to get him to come to Arkham so that he can free the Riddler.

The significance of the bottom image is somewhat ambiguous: it represents Oswald's love for Ed, which motivated him to have his chief of staff included in his mayoral portrait (which is obviously unorthodox); but Ed resents it, most obviously because he figures out that Oswald had his girlfriend killed out of jealousy, but also (it's more subtly implied) because it shows Oswald prominently front and center, with Ed standing behind him, smaller, clearly in a merely supporting role -- we see Ed's resentment about that coming through in the way he seeks the limelight as the Riddler, and chafes at the thought of working in anyone else's service. He spray-paints his green question mark on the portrait as an act of petty vandalism, to mar Oswald's image... but the mark doesn't quite obscure his face, and can be seen as framing his figure in an act of symbolic appropriation rather than destruction -- marking him as belonging to the Riddler rather than blotting him out. The context of the rest of the gifset -- especially the images from later in the show -- has the effect of changing the significance: instead of showing Ed's symbol covering over Oswald, as a sign of having defeated him and left him behind, it shows their lives and identities as permanently intertwined.

💚💜 Nygmobblepot Week (2019) 💜💚

Day 7: Free Day

“The heart keeps its own time…”

[mariclerc]

betrayal and rescue (pt.2) | cl16

Summary: your ex betrays you, but luckily your teammate has your back.

Warnings: ferrari driver!reader, single mom reader, misogynistic comments, fluff and Charles being such a sweetheart.

Part 1

The last month living with Charles have been a real dream come true for you and Mia, he has been a very important support for both of you during this time, he's a very caring and gentle person, his soft touch and kind nature is what you and Mia needed to really start healing. It was a rare, lazy Sunday with no commitments pulling you two away from bed, Charles lay propped against pillows, dozing lightly with Mia curled on his chest. You smiled at their peaceful forms, carding gentle fingers through Charles' tousled and soft chocolate curls.

Mia stirred, yawning widely before spotting you. “Mama! Morning!” she crawled over to snuggle into your side, little hand gripping Charles' shirt.

“Good morning my pretty girl!” you say softly at her, kissing her cheek. “Good morning Charlie!” you giggled.

Chuckling softly, Charles' arms wound around both of you as his eyes fluttered open, he smiled sleepily. “Bonjour, mes amours.” he murmured, pressing kisses to your heads. (good morning, my loves)

You sighed contentedly, resting your cheek against his warm and comfy chest. In that moment, all the cares and worries of the world felt so far away, here in your very own cocoon of blankets, surrounded by the love of your makeshift family, nothing could touch the three of you.

Your mind wandered back over the torturous last months you've spent trapped in your ex's grip... the constant walking on eggshells, never knowing what might set off his volatile temper, never having that feeling of safety or protection, even in your own home with Mia...

Now, Charles' strong arms encircled you both, radiating an unshakable calm, warmth and safety you'd never known before. His affection for you and Mia was unconditional, showering you daily with kind words, gifts, and adventures that filled your hearts to bursting.

Tears welled in your eyes as you peered up at Charles' handsome, adoring face. “I never thought I could feel this happy and content.” you whispered. “You gave me and Mia the life, the family, we always wanted.”

Charles' gaze softened, brushing away your tears with his thumb. “I'm the lucky one, princess.” he insisted gently. “You both brought me more joy than I ever believed possible.”

Leaning down to capture your lips in a slow and tender kiss, he poured every ounce of love into it that you still had trouble believing was truly yours after so long in the darkness. But in Charles' light, you and Mia were starting to heal, to believe, and to understand that happy endings do exist for those who keep hoping.

Mia let out a squeal of happiness. “Dada, Mama! Kisses!” she said giggling.

Charles smiled at her. “We have multiple kisses for you too, petite étoile.” (little star)

He said and then he started to fill Mia's face with kisses, who giggled more and was so happy, you smiled when you saw them, it was your beautiful family.

***

The Miami race weekend brought new challenges as you and Charles tried to keep your blossoming relationship private amid the media frenzy in the paddock and social media.

You two arrived separately to avoid suspicion, only allowing your hands to brush as you passed beside each other in the paddock Charles' eyes lingered with a smile, filling you with warmth.

During the practice sessions your radios remained businesslike, but his frequent checks that if you were hydrated or had enough fuel said everything. Small glances across the garage were your only connection, yet more intimate than any public display could be.

Qualifying came, neither of you hold back—though whether from passion for racing or each other, even if you weren't sure. You were pushing your cars to their limits as if nothing else existed.

After that, you stopped by Charles' driver room under the guise of strategy debrief. But as the door closed, his lips captured yours feverishly. Your restraint finally snapped under the tension of the day, the kiss is very slow and soft, as you two break away from the kiss, you place your forehead against his.

You gazed up at him worriedly. “Do you think people will start speculating about us?” you whispered softly.

Charles brushed his lips softly over your forehead. “Let them speculate baby, I don't care who knows how much you and Mia mean to me.”

His words filled you with joy and longing for the day you could shout your love from the rooftops, but for now, this stolen moment between you two, where the world fell away, was enough.

The press conference after the qualifying session were in full swing, you fielded questions professionally about setup choices and tire strategies that put both of the Ferrari cars on the front row for sunday's race.

But one of the journalists had an accusatory tone. “Some think it's no coincidence you and Leclerc are performing so well together... Care to elaborate on rumors of an forbidden relationship distracting you both?”

You started to reply calmly when another cut in. “Yeah, she's probably just sleeping her way to the top! Honestly, what else is a pretty face good for in a man's sport?”

Venomous laughter rose from some journalists in the room, your chest tightened in panic and rage —this was your nightmare scenario. Being a woman and also being in motorsports, you have often encountered derogatory and unpleasant comments about you and about women in general, it's like most men are bothered by the fact that a girl is faster than them on the track or that women deserve a place everywhere as them, that includes sports too. Before you could respond, Charles suddenly grabbed his microphone.

“That is completely unacceptable.” he said in a low, dangerous tone that chilled the room. His green eyes blazed with barely contained fury. “She is one of the most talented and dedicated professionals in this paddock, regardless of gender. The disrespect shown here today is a disgrace to the sport.” Charles leaned over the mic, jaw clenched. “I suggest selecting your next questions more wisely and showing my teammate the respect she deserves not only as a driver, but as a human being... If not, this conference is over.”

An uneasy silence fell as Charles grasped your trembling hand supportively under the table, you took a calming breath, regaining composure.

You swallowed dryly. ”Our performances speak for themselves, which I think is good for the team.” you stated clearly. “Charles and I simply push each other to excellence through our competition and partnership, that's all.”

Max Verstappen also wanted to give his opinion on the journalist's misogynistic comment towards you.

“Forgive me for being so bold, but I think that kind of comment is very out of place. I mean, considering that y/n is a mother and an exceptional driver and she deserves the same respect as all of us, right?” Max said, staring at the journalist, who was completely pale. “I think you should ask her about her race and strategy, and not about her private life, I don't know, that's just my opinion.” he said and dropped the microphone leaving everyone in the room speechless.

The rest of the questions thankfully remained respectful, but later, outside of the press conference room, Charles embraced you tenderly.

“No one gets to tear you down like that. You are so much stronger than their smallmindedness, okay?” he whispered in your ear.

You smiled up at him through happy tears, gripping his race suit. In that moment, you knew that with Charles by your side, you could overcome any obstacle that came your way.

Despite of those awful comments, the Miami Grand Prix was a huge success for both of you, with Charles taking victory and you claiming second place on the podium, the third 1-2 finish in the season for Ferrari, you're in total bliss. You two opted to skip the official afterparties and all the glamour, eager for some low-key family time.

Back at the hotel, Charles ordered a feast from room service while you and Mia showered away the sweat of the day. Emerging refreshed in pajamas, your heart overflowed seeing Charles play with Mia on the floor, her giggles echoing.

“Mama, dada won! Yay!” Mia squealed proudly as you bent to pepper her face with kisses, Charles beamed up at you, eyes sparkling.

“You were so incredible out there today babe!” he praised, helping you plate your overflowing meal spread across the suite's floors and furniture.

The three of you dined under the moonlight spilling through enormous windows, talking and laughing for hours as Mia dozed in your lap. Finally content and full bellies, the evening wound down with Mia yawning off to bed, Charles gathered you into his lap on the couch, kissing you so deeply and yet gently as if you were made of flickering glass.

“Thank you for giving me the family I never knew I wanted... For filling these months with a happiness I ever believed possible.” he whispered softly against your lips.

You cradled his handsome face, memorizing every beautiful line and facet. “I should be the one thanking you, you know? For trying to heal the wounds of my past and giving Mia and I the love and safety we always deserved.”

He shakes his head. “It has been such a pleasure, being with you and taking care of both of you it's been a journey, a beautiful one.” he whispered and you giggled softly.

Your relationship was far from traditional, that's for sure! But on nights like this, in the blissful quiet of each other's arms, it felt more right than anything you'd ever known.

***

You definitely enjoy the little breaks in-between races, it's were you can take a moment to ground yourself outside racing and just enjoy the calm and warm of your little family and that can be just a rewarding like a race win or a podium.

“Mama!” Mia screams a little. “A scary ghost is following me!” she says while running and giggling around the living room.

Almost a second later, Charles appeared hiding in a white blanket trying to catch Mia in his arms, but she runs away... He almost collide with the coffee table.

You laughed at their funny antics. “Oh no Mia! It's a really clumsy ghost.” you say while giggling.

“Boo! There's a sneaky little girl around here, I'm going to grab her in my arms and turn her into a little ghost!” Charles' said imitating the voice of a ghost.

Mia giggled again. “No, no! Bad ghost, really bad!” she covered her mouth. “Catch mama!” she said pointing at you.

You opened your mouth, shocked. “Me? But I'm just trying to make some tea!” you say. “It's not fair baby!”

You and Mia started run around the living room, making Charles crash almost with every single chair and the rug, you two laughed at him.

You feel and arm behind you. “Haha, gotcha!” he said in a mocking tone, making you and Mia collide to the rug, he took off the blanket, revealing is disheveled hair and a flustered cheeks.

“Dada, again, again!” she said giggling.

Charles giggled too. “Oh baby, maybe tomorrow, does that sounds good?” he asked her and she nodded.

You just smiled at him, you never saw him looking so radiant and joyful, it's like he's reliving things from his own childhood and it's so nice to see him like this with Mia.

You smiled. “You are a rather scary ghost and a little silly.” you giggled.

He chuckled softly. “Well, thank you, love! It's been years of practice.” he kissed your cheek.

“You know? You're amazing Charlie!” you say softly.

He looks at you. “Really? Well, um... Thanks darling, the truth is I only do what I can.” he blushed. “It's just me.”

You kiss the tip of his nose. “And that's why you're so amazing! You're you, as silly as it might sound, you're so passionate and so gentle at the same time!”

Mia smiled and kissed Charles' cheek. “Mwah! Dada kisses!” she said softly and he giggled.

“Do you want kisses, petite princesse?” he said to Mia and she nodded. “Okay, here we go!” (little princess)

Then he proceeded to cover Mia's face with kisses all over and she let out loud giggles, you smiled at the beautiful scene, and you realized something very important... You were in front of the love of your life and your little ray of sunshine, maybe everything would have been very different if you had tried from the beginning with Charles, or maybe not, but you are very sure of one thing... You are at home, in your safe place, with your two favorite people, the ones who keep you on your toes most of the time, but you wouldn't change it for anything in the world, Not even all the podiums or victories the world has to offer you, nothing compares to this.

[tteotlma]

Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here. 

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in. 

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned. 

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place. 

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight. 

Not that exhaustion was new to you. 

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved. 

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem. 

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].” 

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around. 

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.” 

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind. 

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise. 

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin. 

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration. 

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you. 

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough. 

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body. 

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder. 

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back. 

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles. 

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click. 

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood. 

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for. 

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part.  “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat. 

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust.  Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up. 

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.  

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes,  wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him. 

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.” 

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking  your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed. 

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely. 

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

[mass-effect-galaxy]

Some more information that has just surfaced, in case your preferred news coverage "accidentally forgets" to mention it:

In 2013, during a struggle with health authorities, he threatened to commit an assault similar to that on the Boston Marathon. In 2014 he repeated said threats to social care authorities. For these threats, he was sentenced to a 900 € fine. He rejected this sentence and, in 2015, threatened to buy a gun to kill the judge. One year later, he applied for asylum, which was immediately granted.

The official story of the well-integrated doctor who just listened to the wrong people on Twitter is as thin as the script of Gladiator 2.

[theorphicangel]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

wc: 2.2k

tags: heian era!sukuna, true form! sukuna, reader is a villager and wears a kimono, gn!reader, mentions of cannibalism (brief), eventual fluff, strangers to lovers??, threat of death, reader has a sense of humor, reader risks life for a peach (real),

synopsis: stumbling in a random field, the gods have granted you the luxury of discovering a rare peach tree and it's all yours for the takings. at least that's what you're mistaken to think before you're confronted by the king of curses himself. coming close to death, you're forbidden to ever return.

it's just a shame you're incapable of listening to rules.

part one | part three | bonus scene

Part 2: Committing the sin

“...And I told him to stick his peaches where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“And then what?!”

“Well, he was so shocked that I spoke to him in that manner and his jaw fell wide open. Then I told him that I wasn’t scared of him and informed him that the tree was public property.”

“What did he say back?” Multiple sets of eyes peer into your face with eagerness and pure excitement. 

You pause for a moment –  for dramatic effect. With a deep breath, you speak again.

“He said, ‘do you not care for your life?’

“What did you say back?! What did you tell him?!” A dark haired child rose in front of you, his eyes wide. 

“I said I wouldn’t regret dying after tasting those appetizing peaches, so if he killed me right there and  then I would nonetheless be happy and satisfied.”

The children sit in a small circle around you, some expressing their glee aloud as their faces were filled with awe of your encounter with the king of curses.

“I squared up to him, unafraid to fight and he walked away first.” You let out a laugh. “His tail was between his legs like a dog,  I doubt he’ll ever come back to that tree!”

“Does he actually have a tail?” a child asked. 

“I thought he had 6 arms.” another child spoke, curiosity filling their tone. 

“I thought he had 9?!”

“No, there was no tail. The king of curses only has 4 arms and really ugly eyes.”

“How many?”

“Four!” You reply and you giggle as the children shudder. “All the better to see you with, I think. Very scary.”

One child says, “I don’t ever want to see him!”

“He’s a monster!” Another spoke. 

“Well, you won’t ever meet the monster if you all promise to obey your parents and not misbehave?”

They nod diligently, hanging onto your every word. One by one they disperse, breaking off into their own stories about the king of curses now based on the new information you had told. 

Among them, your eyes fell upon Miko. She stood alone, waiting for the others to drift away before speaking. You’ve known her to be the shyest girl in the village, with the other kids she doesn’t seem to speak or interact. You usually find her off on her own in the corner, playing on her own in a corner. 

Recently, you’ve taken her under your wing. Whilst her parents work away in the village, you made sure that not all of her hours are spent entirely alone. Interacting with her, you take her along with you on your errands or play along with her games. Even in your company she’s still a quiet kid but you don’t mind as long as she has someone to be with. 

She waits until the majority of children have gone, their conversation too loud to overhear her question. It slips out so quietly you almost think you’ve missed it but you manage to read her lips. 

“Can you get me one?” Miko looks down at her sandals, shy and timid.

You hum, wanting to know what she’s referring to. 

“A peach.” She speaks again, her small lips moving. Again her voice is quiet and her eyes are glued to the ground. “Could you get me one?”

Your heart yearns at the sight. You knew all too well that her family doesn’t have much. They barely manage to get the bare necessities monthly, so the simple act of indulging in the taste of a sweet ripe peach wouldn’t just be a luxury but equate to rich reward for her entire family and their hard work.

Crouching, you meet her eyes. 

“If you’re not scared of the king of curses could you do it?” She mumbles. “If you’re sure that he won’t come back.”

A small part of you hesitates, maybe your exaggeration went too far. The truth of the story weighs heavy in your gut and a part of you considers confessing your dishonesty. But just one glimpse into Miko’s warm coffee eyes and you melt again. You couldn’t break her heart and say no. It would kill you.  

Your gut churns as you mull over your answer. 

There was no part in your body capable of telling her ‘no’ so the corners of your lips flip up into a smile. 

“Of course, I can.”

/

The king of curses is away at battle. For the next two weeks to be presumed. 

Him and his army traveled past the village, heading down with their carts and horses. Obviously, you weren’t present and chose to  hide away to watch from afar. Even from a large distance you couldn’t help but feel his presence, his overwhelming aura seeping into every crevice of your skin.

But at least now you had your chance.

Just one week after his departure, you gained up the courage to return to the forbidden peach tree. You’d hope no one would be present at the estate, perhaps a few servants here and there, but you doubt they would commit to the long walk to the edge of the estate for a mere peach tree.

With a large basket in hand, you set out as early as you could, the sunrise warming up your cheeks. Rays of orange and red mix in the sky, the sunlight fixing its spot in the blue summer sky. 

You retrace your steps you had previously taken a few weeks prior, straying away from the original path. Again, the grass blades tickle at your ankles. Certain that the king of curses has disappeared, you take your time through the field watching as different species of birds fly over your head and how the bees keep obedient to their flowers, collecting their sweet nectar. 

Soon the shadow of the tree comes into view. 

At first glance it seems to be unchanged, however a new difference you picked up on is the range of new peaches available. With adrenaline running, you don’t hesitate to pluck the peaches, multiple at a time. In a span of five minutes your basket is already half full, emerging from your task. You start with the peaches which are easier to reach before dealing with the dreadful task of resorting to your tippy toes.

Before you know it, your eyes are caught once upon a scarlet red peach, perfectly ripe and round. Of course you have to get it, this one would be especially for Miko you think.

The only problem which rose was that the peach was located on the highest branch, straining, it was only a few inches away from your fingertips.

“Almost—” you strain, your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth.

“Seems like insolent fools never learn.”

A rough voice echoes into the distance at the exact moment that you manage to pluck a peach from the highest branch.  At the sound of a gruff tone,  a shiver runs up your body and the peach falls from your hand, dropping to the grass and rolling away.

Just as you felt previously, a menacing aura came over you, washing over your body like a heavy tide. Your temperature drops and your mind freezes, his ever so familiar aura now hitting you like a slap to the face. 

Of course, you turn to find the king of curses standing behind you. Tall and treacherous, you cower away, dropping to your knees.

He’s back. One week earlier than expected. 

Bowing your head, your mind runs over the brutal image of his appearance. Blood stains over his body and skin, dry of course and scars litter his chest, shirtless in front of you. 

“I thought I warned you to stay away, did I not?”

You clear your throat before speaking, your voice shakes. “You did, my lord.”

“So why did you not heed my warning? Do you wish death upon yourself?”

“No my lord, I-” you cut yourself off, searching for words which fail to leave your lips. Your hesitation and silence only seems to aggravate Sukuna.

“Speak.” He orders.

“I wanted to bring peaches back for the villagers.”

Sukuna doesn’t speak again. Trembling, you keep your eyes down onto the grass. He must be eyeing your basket right now.

You were definitely going to die. This was it. You had gotten away with it before and by the gods he was not going to let you leave alive again. 

The king of curses wouldn’t make that same mistake twice. 

Suddenly you find your chin in his palm and he forces you to look up at him. His eyes are cold and deadly. No ounce of human empathy or compassion lingers in his pupils. 

“You wanted to bring some peaches back for the villagers.”

You nod, a quiet whisper leaving your lips. “Yes.”

“Pathetic.” He spat.

From then on you expected to feel some form of pain. You have heard multiple stories about his brutal killings, simply decapitating limbs of people without a single care. Some people say it’s best to be killed right away by the King of Curses rather than his cruel method of allowing his victims to bleed out and die slowly.

Your body freezes to expect a pinch of pain, a stab, a slice – anything, anything at all yet it doesn’t seem to hit you. Tilting your head upwards ever so slightly you notice a wound on the right side of his torso. . Blood, freshly red, drips down his side, staining his skin and clothes. 

“You’re injured.” It comes out as a murmur, pathetic and weak. 

Sukuna says nothing more as if he hadn’t heard you in the first place. You bow your head deeper, almost ashamed for pointing it out. Perhaps it would come across that you intercepted the King of curses as weak. A king having a deep wound is something that he wouldn’t want others to know. 

But— you could still use it as some sort of excuse. 

“It’ll get infected.” You speak again, gaining more confidence in your tone. “If you don’t clean it up soon.”

“I have taken care of it.” Sukuna speaks. “It’s just a scratch.“

You let out a scoff. “Barely, you’re bleeding out heavily.” 

“What’s it to you? It has nothing to do with you.” He snaps, his tone rising. 

“I have a speciality in helping people with wounds and illnesses. I could help you.” You raise your head slightly at your offer. You outstretch your hand towards his blood drenched clothes. 

“I do not like to be touched, I will heal myself.” 

You glance up at the king of curses, studying his face. For the first time you sense a feeling of exhaustion within Sukuna’s eyes, heavy lidded and tired. The king of curses was on the verge of passing out.

“I could help you–”

“I don’t need help from a thief.”

“A thief!?”

“The tree is on my property is it not?”

“I–”

“And this is the second time you have been caught stealing, correct?”

“My lord—”

“Correct?” His tone is rough, cutting you off with a sharpness that causes goosebumps to appear on your body. 

You say nothing, looking down at your feet. You can feel his eyes bore into you. “Pathetic human.” He mumbles.

You swallow, saying nothing more. Your hands turn into fists by your side. Just from your expression and energy Sukuna  feels your growing anger with every second that passes.

All of a sudden, the band snaps and you can’t hold in your emotions anymore. The next time you speak, you refuse to cover up your venomous tone.  

“And you’re just as pathetic as me if you can barely heal your own wound. You call yourself the king of curses for what?”

A silence comes after your words, not even the sound of rustling trees or tall grass can be heard. It takes no longer than a second for you to feel deep regret for your words. Similar to your first ever encounter with the king of curses, the fear of death looms upon you. 

If you thought he wouldn’t kill you the first time then he definitely will now. 

You await the moment for him to strike you. A pinch of pain, a slice, a beheading or even a stab to your stomach. Anything to disperse you as soon as possible. 

Instead of a violent action, he chooses to speak again with a challenging invite.

“So how would you suggest you would heal me?”

Did you hear him right?

You stammer, words failing to leave your mouth. “To heal you?”

He stares at you in contempt, “You said you knew how to take care of wounds, do you not?”

“I do.” 

“So…?” Sukuna raises a brow.

Your mind searches for a solution, malfunctioning under his venomous gaze. 

There’s a stream nearby, I could guide you to it so you can clean it.”

A pause.

“Where is this stream you think of?”

“Over there.” You point behind him.

“So be it.” He speaks in a gruff tone. “Lead the way”

You manage to get your feet whilst succumbing to a daze.

How have you managed to escape the punishment of death a second time from the King of curses?

Glancing behind you, the basket of peaches tempts you. There would be no point in taking it and running, you knew that he could kill you in an instant. The plump peaches would have to wait, for now you have to focus on surviving Sukuna.

You leave the basket behind.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

lmk if you would like to be tagged for part three!

[igneousiguana202]

SXF CHAPTER 108 SPOILERS!

.

WE ARE SO BACK!!

Two months without an episode but it’s ok because endo cooked 🙏

Ive been trying to find out what the cards mean in these positions but everything is contradicting everything I’m gonna cry 😭Here’s what I’m going with-

Past: Ace of cups. You were going through a period of new beginnings and emotional fulfillment. In terms of relationships, there was a time of blossoming romance and deep connections formed

((probably a reference to the last time anya and Damian were together, in chapter 96))

Present: Four of Cups reversed. You are beginning to appreciate the opportunities around you. In terms of relationships, this card represents a renewal of interest and commitment in which both partners work towards happiness and fulfillment.

((Not sure abt this one. Sy-on boy’s as thunders as ever))

Near future: Three of swords, reversed. Represents the easing of pain and the beginning of the healing process— a period of rejuvenation approaches. In terms of relationships, it represents potential for reconciliation and healing of wounds, a period of understanding and forgiveness and bonding

((please endo please give my babies a break 🙏))

Advice: Three of wands: you are advised to expand your horizons and be open to new possibilities. Atm you may be stuck or limited

((Could be referring to how she can’t advance with plan A while on a break from school, or that she should take a different approach to plan B/the B plan))

other’s heart: death reversed. ( the closest thing I could find for this was “how someone sees you”). This person sees you as something that pushes them from their comfort zone. They feel stuck and resist steps towards positive change. They’re frozen by fear instead of motivated by love, and they see you as a sign of negative emotion patterns. it’s up to you whether that changes.

((This does kinda sum up Damian. Tsundere raised to believe he is above the rest, suppressing his feElings for anya bc he thinks he’ll be looked down on and that he’s too far above her in terms of status))

Asker’s mind: 10 of pentacles reversed. This card means you’ve lost sight of the big picture and are too hyper-focused on something. May signify you’ve recently gone thru a challenging time and feel a lack of security

((Yeah this fits. Anya is starting to get quite centered around succeeding at plan B so loid won’t send her back to the orphanage, it’s almost like she subconsciously doesn’t trust him when it comes to taking care of her. Which I guess is fair— after all he is still quite a mission-driven spy, and anya probably gained some trust issues from the lab))

Final: The Star. (Melinda said this card is reversed but cards are actually supposed to be read in the POV of the person who the reading is about so I think that’s just her blundering it.) this card indicates a time of healing and inspiration

((But like Mel brought up, maaybe it’s saying Anya’s gonna get another Stella? :D))

Shoutout to www.sibyltarot.com for practically all these meanings

[hoonieyun]

score: love!

should i be a detective?

pairing: lee heeseung x reader "y/n"

warnings: profanity, criminal activity??? lol, dramaaa, overall 18+

ignore time stamps and possible typos lol - this chapter is partially written, please make sure you read the written portion to fully understand the story!

wc: 389

hyeju entered through the glass doors of the hospital, a familiar scent wafted through her as she was reminded of being here only a few weeks ago to get help for her sprained ankle. she scanned the front of the reception area to find a certain girl she had become friends with (hoping to be more) while she was in their care. 

sure enough, she spots her emerging from a door that led to another wing of the hospital, gowon. the sweet and cute intern that had helped her and kept her company while she was waiting for her sister to pick her up. 

“gowon! hey, remember me?” hyeju asks and gowon’s eyes light up as they make contact with hyeju’s; a smile spreading across both of their lips. “how could i forget!” gowon responds and the two catch up before hyeju tells her why she’s actually there. 

“so you want me to commit a crime to help your friend prove that he’s innocent..?” gowon asks and now that she’s said it that, it does sound bad so hyeju starts thinking of other ways to help. “ok!” gowon asks, seeming more cheerful than she should be. 

gowon pulls hyeju behind the desk and they start skimming the logs, hyeju telling gowon to look out for the names eric sohn or chaewon kim and after looking through pages and pages of visitor logs, hyeju spots eric’s name next to a phone number that was identical to the number that has been bothering her big sister. 

“thank you, gowon!” hyeju says, taking photos of the visitor log as evidence before heading out. “hyeju, you owe me.” gowon says with a wink and a smile and hyejue swears no one has ever made her feel like that before. 

was this how you and heeseung felt with each other? 

just as hyeju is texting her sister and friends an update, she receives a text from gowon. 

text from: gowon :heart eyes:

our IT guy, niki, owes me a favor. i’m going to try and get him to send me footage of when eric was here to see if he actually stole the enhancements. good luck!

hyeju smiles at her phone and couldn’t wait to see where this friendship would go, because for her: she wishes it would go further than just a friendship.

masterlist - backhand - forehand

tennis commentator: hyeju coming in clutch and saving the day!! we love to see it! now that heeseung is proven innocent, what is Team HeeYN's next move and what do they have planned with Director Kang?

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

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[anxietycheesecake]

There's something so "performative" about the finale, not sure how to articulate it. I mean, it's been like that for a while, but there were still sincere moments every now and then (probably from the cast putting all their actussy into it). It wanted to make a statement so bad, regardless of whether you think they were mocking us or not. "I'm not a normal sitcom, I'm a cool sitcom, like Seinfield. I don't fit in and I don't want to fit in. Have you ever seen my characters evolve? Oh... Oh... No, you haven't! I artificially took that back every single time! That's cool."

They wanted to remove the sense of a plot and a purpose that season 3 and partially season 4 gave it so hard it's like they couldn't think of anything else. It's funny because it's pointless and unsatisfying, even though we have managed to balance raunchy comedy and emotional scenes just fine before. It's easier this way and it get us Reddit praise. But here's the thing, it wasn't even that funny. Season 1 was just sitcom shenanigans and dark comedy and it was hilarious. Like, when was the last time you physically bent over in laughter while watching this show and are you sure it wasn't because the actors were making a funny voice or a funny face that absolutely wasn't scripted?

But I mean, all that aside, I think it's just cringe. It's giving "how you doing, fellow kids?" It's overdone and so eager to be disruptive it ends up being anticlimatic. "That's the point! We were trying to be anticlimatic!" Ok, bro, you're either a shit writer because you couldn't come up with an actual conclusion or because you genuinely thought that'd make good tv.

Comparing wwdits to Seinfield is like when wannabe great American novelist says he's writing the next Great Gatsby. No you're not. And I don't mean this as "wwdits isn't worth shit compared to actual high art sitcoms such as Seinfield" (I actually liked it better when it wasn't trying to become Seinfield); it's just... There's already a Seinfield. And there was already a wwdits that had found its footing and its voice and was doing a near perfect balancing act between comedy and drama, while keeping it humor-focused at all times. Your story is yours but when my book was starting to sound a lot like The Girls by Emma Cline minus the ABSOLUTE LITERATURE of it (arguably the best thing about The Girls), my mom was like "this not you, girl, what are you doing?" And that was MY MOM, not some random people on the Internet who are a small portion of the people who put food on my table (hopefully, heh -pay writers better, bitches >:(-). Like, dude, you're in your 40s, how can you be this petty?

At the end of the day, it was just petty. It read like fanfiction a troll would write. And they can try to gaslight us into buying it was actually such a smart move and amazing writing, but we know the truth. "We've thought about six possible endings for Guillermo's arc and haven't decided on one", "We kind of just come up with things that might be funny and work them into an episode"; things being said about a show one its fourth and fifth season. Absolutely valid, of course, but you can just admit you bit more than you could chew and wanted an easy way out. We get it, it's your job, do whatever you need to get that (far too small) paycheck, but don't put a "subversive" label on it and call it a perfect ending.

And if you're so willing to disrespect your fanbase or convince them they were watching a completely different show mere three years ago, for fuck's sake, commit to the bit and at least make it entertaining. Characters just spelling out things that are going to annoy the fans or prove to them it was silly to care about the shit and fart show for half and hour? THREE TIMES? Dude, you can be more subtle, media litecary's been dead for a while now. It's not unfunny in the sense that it's offensive; rather it was offensive how deeply unfunny it was. How can you manage to be this dishonest while doing everything in your power to make yourself seem even more dishonest??? smh

[kiya-sparks]

Uhm-

This is my first ever post so here’s a small fanfic about Gaz from modern warfare adopting a child he finds on a mission :|

Uhm here it is ig:

The heat was oppressive, the kind that seeped into your bones and made you question every decision that led you here. Kyle Garrick, better known to his comrades as Gaz, adjusted his grip on his rifle as he moved through the desolate town. The mission had been straightforward—intel suggested that enemy forces had been using the abandoned area as a weapons cache. What they hadn’t expected was the eerie silence, the stillness that felt wrong.

“Clear on my side,” Price’s voice crackled through the comms.

“Same here,” Soap chimed in.

Gaz swept through a crumbling house, his boots crunching on broken glass and debris. The wallpaper was peeling, the furniture overturned. It was a ghost town. But as he moved into the living room, something stopped him in his tracks—a faint sound, almost like a whimper.

“Hold up,” Gaz whispered into his mic.

“What is it?” Price asked.

“Not sure. Checking it out.”

He followed the sound, heart pounding, until he reached a closet. Slowly, he opened the door, his rifle raised. What he found made his stomach twist—a little girl, no older than six, huddled in the corner. Her blonde hair was tangled, her face smudged with dirt, and her wide blue eyes stared up at him in fear.

“Bloody hell,” Gaz muttered, lowering his weapon.

The girl flinched, curling tighter into herself.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, crouching down to her level. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Her eyes darted to the gun, then back to his face.

“Gaz, report,” Price’s voice came through the comms.

“I… I found a kid,” Gaz said, still trying to process it himself.

“A kid?” Soap sounded as surprised as Gaz felt.

“Yeah. She’s scared out of her mind. I don’t think she’s been here long.”

Price’s tone shifted. “Bring her out. We’ll figure it out from there.”

Gaz extended a hand to the girl. “Come on, love. It’s not safe here.”

She hesitated but eventually reached out, her tiny hand slipping into his. It was cold, and it broke something in Gaz to think of her alone in this place.

---

Back at the makeshift base, Y/N , as they learned her name was, sat wrapped in one of Gaz’s jackets, clutching a cup of warm tea. She hadn’t spoken much, just short answers to their gentle questions.

“Parents?” Soap asked quietly as the three of them stood off to the side.

“Gone, I’d wager,” Price said grimly.

Gaz’s jaw tightened. “We can’t just leave her.”

“We’re not going to,” Price said. “But this isn’t exactly a daycare. She needs a stable home.”

The words hung in the air, and Gaz felt something stir in his chest. He looked over at Y/N , who was staring into the cup like it held all the answers. There was something about her—maybe it was the way she’d clung to him during the ride back, or the way she looked at him now, like he was the only safe thing in her world.

“I’ll take her,” Gaz said, surprising even himself.

Price raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that, son? This isn’t a short-term commitment.”

“I know,” Gaz said firmly. “But she deserves better than being tossed into the system. I can give her a home.”

Soap smirked. “Didn’t peg you for the dad type, mate.”

Gaz shrugged. “Guess I am now.”

---

The transition wasn’t easy. Y/N was shy, often retreating into herself. But Gaz was patient. He bought her toys, books, and a tiny pink bike she instantly fell in love with. He learned how to braid her hair, how to pack her lunch for school, and how to comfort her when nightmares woke her in the middle of the night.

The rest of the Task Force became her extended family. Soap was the goofy uncle who taught her Scottish slang, and Price was the gruff but caring grandfather figure who always seemed to have a Werther’s Original in his pocket for her. Even Ghost, with his intimidating demeanor, had a soft spot for Y/N, often bringing her small trinkets from missions.

One evening, months after he’d taken her in, Gaz sat on the couch, watching Y/N color in one of her books.

“Daddy?” she said suddenly, looking up at him.

Gaz’s heart stopped. She’d never called him that before.

“Yeah, love?”

“Are you gonna go away?”

The question hit him like a punch to the gut. He set his mug down and moved to sit next to her.

“I’ll always come back,” he promised, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “No matter what.”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. She went back to her coloring, and Gaz sat there, overwhelmed by the weight of her trust.

For years, he’d thought his purpose was on the battlefield, protecting the world from threats. But now, as he watched Y/N hum to herself, he realized his most important mission was right here at home.

[off-main-street]

Tiny Ficlet bc I have 101 WIPs that will probably never see the light of day...

The Swamp door clapped behind BJ as he ducked through, back from his last round in the OR. Hawkeye sat on the edge of  his cot, a yellow piece of paper held loosely between his fingers.

“Hey. What’s that—a letter from home?” BJ asked, his own cold cot settling underneath his weight as he settled into it. 

“It's  uh, from Boston, actually,” Hawkeye said with a heaviness in his voice BJ doesn't like to hear.

“Who do you know in Boston?”

“Trapper.”

The name shot out of his mouth, and hung in the air between them as BJ shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his bed.

“Trapper sent you a letter?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the first time you’ve heard from him, isn’t it?”

“In six months.”

“What does it say? Wait—no, you don’t have to tell me. That’s between you and Trapper.”

Hawkeye looked up, his eyebrows creased into deep caverns, “Why do you sound like that when you say his name?”

“Sound like what?”

“Like that. Disdainful. Haughty.”

“Haughty?” BJ laughed, but there wasn't any amusement behind it, “I don’t think I do.”

“You didn’t even know him.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. So what do I care if you got a letter from him?”

“You sound like you care.”

“I don’t,” he bit back. 

A long beat of silence stretched between them. Hawkeye looked between the letter and BJ, his hands folded nearly behind his head as he stared up at the canvas ceiling.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye,” Hawkeye finally said, breaking their silence. 

“What?”

“That’s what the letter said.”

BJ leaned up on his side, slightly, his voice soft. “I’m sorry, Hawk.”

“Yeah, well.” 

Hawkeye crumpled the letter in his hand and tossed it to the floor, but changed his mind the second it hit the dirt, and plucked it back up.  He smoothed  out the creases against his knee, his fingers lingering on the paper.

“What did he mean to you?,” BJ asked. Truthfully.”

It was a question he'd wanted to ask since the moment he met Hawkeye. Then it was just curiosity - why this man was so bent out of shape over the other getting to do what they all wanted to do, but now - now it burned a hole in him, now Trapper John was like a ghost that haunted their delicate friendship, one of the many obstacles that kept it in that state.

Hawkeye let out a long breath, the words coming slowly. “Truthfully? Trapper was - he was my air. I needed him like I needed six martinis to get through the day.”

“Right.”

“And in some ways, you and him are a lot alike. But there’s one glaring difference.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I don’t need you the way I needed him.”

BJ looked at him, the words cutting. “Is that right?”

“It is. Because the thing is, Beej, I want you.”

BJ’s brow furrowed  “What does that mean?”

“It means…I could probably survive here without you. But I don’t want to. It means that when I wake up in the morning—or in the middle of the night—the tightness in my chest is different when I see you there. I needed him to distract me, to keep me sane. But you? I just want you here. Every day. As close as I can get. I want to know everything about you—even if I know it’ll be a lie. I just want to hear your voice say something, anything.”

BJ swallowed hard. “Hawk, I don’t…I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.”

“Nothing. You don’t have to say anything.”

Hawkeye’s voice softens, almost breaking. “Just stop thinking that when you replaced him, all you took was his spot in the camp. Because you didn’t. You took his spot in me, too. And then you started to fill up every other crack and break inside me.” He huffed out a low, shaky laugh. “Maybe I need you, too. But it’s the want that keeps me going.”

“The funny thing is, I need you,” BJ said after a moment, his voice thoughtful, almost hesitant. “Peggy and Erin keep me grounded. They remind me I have a reason to go back home. But you? You keep me alive—you give me a reason to stay here.”

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. “Not your sense of duty? Your commitment to medicine?”

“No. It’s your blue eyes and terrible jokes. They make this hell bearable. And maybe…” BJ paused, the words catching in his throat. “Maybe there’s some want there too. A want I haven’t been able to name. That I’m afraid to name. That I never thought I’d be the kind of guy to even have to name. I mean…what do you call this want, Hawk?”

Hawkeye tilted his head, his voice soft. “Loneliness.”

BJ shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. It’s not that at all. It’s something new, something wholly different. Something I think I always would have felt with you.”

Hawkeye let out a short laugh, but his eyes stayed on BJ. “Nah, I’m only pretty to you because your beautiful wife is thousands of miles away. Put us side by side, and I’m just hamburger steak.”

BJ smiled faintly, his voice warm. “I like hamburger steak.”

That drew a laugh from Hawkeye, genuine and light. He folded the letter carefully and slipped it into the box with the others he’d gotten from home, and with  a quiet sigh, he stretched out on his cot, his gaze lingering on BJ for a moment.

A silence settles between them, one that wasn't heavy or strained, but full of something unspoken—something new, and  BJ turned toward him, watching the steady rise and fall of Hawkeye’s chest, feeling the cracks in his own walls begin to shift.

[rememberedbyamark]

Literally why the fuck did he say that??

[seeminglyseph]

Apollo's entire vibe in God Games feels like "Dad Said I Had to Be Here" and I feel like that's so Golden Child of him

[moretheta]

im so tireddddd of the "halkenburg is just as bad as benjamin now" hot take. listen a halkenburg villain arc does sound fascinating i won't lie but we are so very far from that point. yes, halkenburg has abandoned pacifism. but also have you ever considered that pacifism could have... flaws.... when you are an (unwilling) part of a fatally unequal system that children are steadily losing their lives to.

sorry you can't handle a radical but i'm still with halkenburg on this. you'll never get me to side with mr. military industrial complex

[spotaus]

Hey i am back with a thought.

I know we already mentioned like. The future future plans concerning kids in the New Age storyline.

I was thinking. Who would carry/get the kid in the couples? (Yes this implies mpreg. If this aint your thing no worries you can just ignore everything else :3 )

As you mentioned before. Nightmare and error would most likely adopt.

Between dream and blue i think blue would end up carrying the kid. Dream would feel too locked up and locked down if he had to take it easy. Also. Let this man pamper Blue. He deserves that.

Ccino and Killer. Ccino wouldnt want kids for a LONG time and even just the idea would be slow going. But killer has his soul situation (is that also a situation in this story?) And he is a knight being out and about. Ccino is safely at home and would be the safer option. But they would need a long time before ccino would feel comfortable with the idea.

Horror and Crop. Crop. Hands down. Horror with his work and Crop has help on the farm. But i doubt thwy would get a kid because they have along distance relationship.

Cross and Lust it depends on who wants it more. I can see both being the one who does it mostly because i can see pros and cons for both sides.

Reaper, Geno and Dust. Only one option. Reaper. Dust doesnt have a healthy enough soul and that with his spell around it? No way he can carry a kid. Geno meanwhile only has a soulshard so he isnt healthy enough to carry a kid either. Leaving only Reaper as an option.

Okay that was it. :D

Haha! Omg I keep forgetting this is smth I can think about! Usually it's not my scene so it might not cone up much in-stiry but it IS how I picture the cast having kids in this one, so!!! We're diving in!!

Like u said, those boys are adopting hehe-

With Dream and Blue it's a bit hard, because I think that Dream would be really really worried about Blue the entire time. Like, terrified his magic would accidentally trigger the whole Twin thing. But, ultimately, yeah, probably Blue! Dream *would* get too restless, and Blue rlly does deserve to be pampered hehe- (I just think Blue would have to really really talk Dream into it. Dream does NOT want to be like his mother anymore.)

Killer and Ccino... let's go with a yes on Killer's soul situation, so Ccino would be their only option. But, like you said, it would be ages before they even thought about discussing the idea, let alone actually having a kid.

Ohhh yeah. I see Horror and Crop as the ones least likely to have kids (as u said, long Distance relationship, but also they just have to much on their plates? They're practical guys and focus on their work and existing families first. Plus, someone has to be the cool uncles to their nieces and nephews!) But definitely Crop. Especially because Horror is pretty low on natural magic as-is and even though his soul is healthy, his body might not even be able to form a firm ecto, let alone anything safe to harbor a forming soul. (Unlike Ccino, Horror was born that way, and the injury didn't help lmao-)

Cross and Lust? I think they'd both regularly get baby fever, but neither of then would be ready to settle down for a *while* in that way, so I think they'd push off the question until years later. Then when it comes up, they 'fight' over it. Insisting that they should carry- I think they'd end up choosing Cross though! As much as Lust seems like the more convenient option, as he's not a knight, Cross is just built different and insists that if anything goes wrong he wants to be the one it happens to. Which, ofc, leads to him doing training whilst in the early stages until someone (probably Killer or Dust) notices he's a little off and then Cross admits he's got a soulling. He did not expect to immediately get horrified looks (because they were fighting someone with a lil guy inside them, not because he has a lil guy) or to immediately get ushered out of training and to his room because??? Idiot??? What were you thinking??? Cross is the worst at staying off his duties, but his brother's have him covered, thank god-

And yep, put perfectly! Reaper is so genuinely the only option! It leads to some odd interactions, since Reaper can't exactly stop being King, but he manages shockingly well and has Geno there to help him (and probably later on Dust, since Night isn't about to leave Dust out of that due to work-) And. I like to think these three in particular have multiple kids perhaps, Kane and then another, and it's kinda a running joke that Reaper's the one hauling them around lmao- (Also very convenient! Because Reaper is the one with death magic in his soul, the kids are effectively immune to it! They were made from that stuff basically, so ofc they're fine!)

[lil-red-reaper]

Recently a friend of mine got a cameo from Miles about what a hypothetical relationship between Jaune and either Ruby or Weiss would look like

I’m just sharing the Lancaster part here, but if you want to see the whole thing you can look at this thread

Miles is hilarious and it definitely made my day to hear him have fun talking about my OTP

Enjoy, and remember this is all for fun! Be respectful!