#but maybe some kid reads this & takes it to heart when i say you're more than your grades or your job or your productivity

[vettelsvee]

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE | Sebastian Vettel

High School History Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS

SUMMARY: Seb is stressed because his students did pretty bad in their latest History exam, but he gets more stressed and grumpy when Y/N, the cutest Primary School teacher according to Seb, arrives to the teacher's lounge to "annoy" him, but the truth is that there's more than that ↳ BASED ON THIS POST I MADE THE OTHER DAY!

WORD COUNT: 3099

WARNINGS: LOTS OF GRUMPY (Seb) X SUNSHINE (Reader), some bad words, cursing, nothing else but wait till the end because I assure you you're gonna love it!

TAGLIST: @koalapastries @vampsarereal @gracie23x @cutelittlefakejourneys @scopeiguess @hoziersfrancesca

VEE'S NOTES: I ABSOLUTELY adored writing this, and I hope you like it as much as I do! This goes all the way up to the top of my fave fics written by me. Also, a toast to you because you liked all this Teacher!Seb thing a lot 🥹 I'd love to read your opinions on this, so feel free to leave me a comment, an anon message or reblogging since it helps us creators a lot. Thank you so much for reading, and hope you like it! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

“How can you say that World War II ended with the fall of the Berlin Wall? My God...”

“It makes no sense at all, but if you ask whoever told you that, they’ll give you a convincing enough answer to make you pass their exam.”

Sebastian lifted his head, even though he didn't need to in order to know who was speaking.

Y/N Y/L/N, the second-grade teacher who is the pure representation of the sunshine itself. Your smile, always revealing your teeth, and your energy, isn’t exactly contagious to him, and even sometimes that'd be enough to make someone want to throw up.

You were standing in front of him, holding an absurd amount of papers. Seb couldn't avoid looking at you. No matter how much you might irritate him at times, he found you more than fascinating. He admired you in every single aspect and, somehow, that made him pretty angry with himself. You took the opportunity to silently show him some drawings of bees. Bees. Happy bees. Sad bees. Damn it, there were even bees wearing party hats and surrounded by confetti, and other baking and having coffee.

Sebastian said nothing. Instead, he ignored you and continued grading exams, but you didn't take it personally since you know how stressed he had to be with his class.

It didn't take long before a series of increasingly loud bangs started to get on his nerves.

When he looked up again, he saw you struggling with the printer, which seemed to have decided not to work.

“Why is it that every time I come here, this stupid, useless piece of junk decides to stop working?” you huffed, nearly shouting. “It’s like… like it’s out to get me!”

“Maybe it’s because you make too many copies every week,” Vettel replies.

“I have to give my students a quality education, Seb. And a quality education includes, among other things, making as many copies as I need to teach the contents properly!”

“And does your quality education include printing an entire colony of bees?”

You shrugged, offering no further explanation. Instead, you grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it until it was next to Sebastian. To his utter surprise, you sat down beside him, placing your absurdly thick stack of papers on top of the ungraded exams.

If you didn’t leave in the next few seconds, Seb swore he'd have a heart attack.

“My kids need all of this, Seb,” you said again, showing him those ridiculous drawings once more. “They’re learning about pollination, and what better way than by coloring little bees and then putting them all over the classroom to represent how they work?”

“I’m currently questioning whether I’m a complete failure as a teacher so, to be completely honest with you, the last thing I need right now is you showing me this... nonsense.”

You scoffed, knowing he didn’t mean it. He was just too stressed. His students failing with embarrassingly low grades didn’t mean his skills as a teacher were declining, but it did mean he’d have an army of parents breathing down his neck, demanding explanations for why their children’s performance was so poor.

“Stop saying things like that!” You smacked his shoulder, and his patience wore even thinner when he noticed a red pen mark on the exam he was grading. One that, knowing all too well his students and their thoughts, they’d probably say looked like a penis.

“You’re not a failure. Teenagers are just… idiots.”

“Is that your opinion as a professional in the education field?2

“Of course!” you shouted, waving your hands dramatically. “Why do you think I teach Primary school? Little kids are way cuter, and they think I’m a genius just because I can spell difficult words without getting any help.”

Seb tried not to, but a small smile started creeping onto his face. He quickly bit his lower lip and shifted in his seat, attempting to maintain his composure even though sitting next to you made him more nervous and, especially, more entertained, than he would have liked to admit.

“Look at you! I made you smile!”

“If I admit that you're almost funny, will you leave me alone?”

“Let me think about it… No.”

Sebastian didn’t even get a chance to answer before you suddenly jumped out of your chair and rushed toward the printer again.

“I just remembered why I came here! Oh my god, why do I have to be sooooooo forgetful?”

“I suppose that’s to make my life more miserable,” the German replied, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s just a bonus, Seb,” you turned to him, still smiling. “So, yeah, this printer isn’t working because… Well, I don’t know why. But I really need to make these copies, so I guess I’ll have to go back to the Primary school teachers' lounge…”

Sebastian stared at you, unsure of what to say.

Was he misunderstanding things because of stress, or he understood that you had actually walked all the way to the High School section, which was not anywhere near the Primary one, just to make copies, despite having a perfectly good printer in your own area?

“Did you come all the way from the Primary section to the High School one just for… some photocopies?”

“Yes!” you nodded enthusiastically.

“You're perfectly aware that there's a much better printer over there, right?”

“Well, that’s debatable if you consider…”

“Y/N, cut the bullshit.”

You pressed your lips together, unsure of how to tell him that your free period, and your desire to see him, was the real reason you had come all this way, even if it had earned you a few questioning looks and whispered comments from some of your colleagues in the upper grades.

“Well… Maybe I also decided to come here to see you,” you admitted.

Vettel had no idea how to reply to that. He tried to think of something friendly and lighthearted, but his stress seemed to take over before he could filter his words.

“I'm this close to kicking you out, Y/N.”

You only laughed, placing a dramatic hand over your chest and letting out a fake gasp. Seb loved when you acted like this, but right now, he hated it more than ever.

“Oh, please, you wouldn’t dare. I’m your favorite person out of all the people in this school.”

“Funny, because right now you happen to be exactly the opposite,” he muttered.

“You didn’t mean that. I know you didn’t.”

Seb shook his head and buried himself back in grading exams. Of course, he hadn’t meant it. No one was perfect, but somehow, you came pretty damn close without even trying.

“Stop making that weird face, or you’re going to get wrinkles ahead of time,” you teased. By now, you had sat back down beside him and were carefully cutting out flower-shaped drawings with impressive precision.

“You are insufferable, Y/N, really,” Vettel shot back as he meticulously corrected a student's answer about the causes of World War II.

“And yet, you still haven’t told me to shut up.”

Seb frowned. He wanted to do it. He should do it. But he couldn’t. You were too kind to him for him to snap at you… just like what was happening now.

He cursed himself mentally and swore that, from now on, he would grade exams at home to avoid this kind of altercation. Though, deep down, he also knew he would do it because, maybe, it would give him a little more time to spend with you.

Suddenly, you moved closer to him, too close, and took his chin. Your eyes locked, and for a few seconds, neither of you could say anything, let alone voice everything running through your minds about each other.

“You need a break, Seb.”

Your hand instinctively moved to his cheek, caressing it with a kind of affection that neither of you expected. He swallowed hard, trying to stay calm, but his heart only pounded faster and faster, and he couldn’t see it as anything other than a betrayal of his feelings for you.

“Why do you always have to be a threat to me, Y/N?”

You simply smiled before leaving a kiss on his cheek and standing up.

“You can keep pretending all you want, but you know you love it,” you said, grabbing your things and heading toward the door, though not before turning back to him.

Sebastian knew exactly what you meant by doing that. He let out a deep sigh and carefully gathered all the exams, placing them in his briefcase along with his pencil case and phone.

“If I go with you wherever you’re going, do you promise to shut up?”

“Nop, there’s no way I’m doing that,” you replied cheerfully, taking his arm the moment he was beside you and dragging him out of the teachers’ lounge with no real destination in mind.

The German was beyond exhausted. He felt his head throbbing more than usual, which he knew was a sign of an oncoming migraine. He felt drained, frustrated, and more plagued by imposter syndrome than ever. It wasn’t the first time he’d had bad results on an exam, but it was the first time they had been this awful.

He decided not to dwell on it and did his best to push his intrusive thoughts aside, focusing instead on the woman beside him.

You couldn’t stop talking. First, you told him about how your kids, as you called your second-grade students, had made Christmas cards for you and even brought you a gift after the holidays. Then, you talked about how, today, your favorite student (because, according to you, yes, teachers had favorites) had dropped a piece of her sandwich on the floor, and you had to give her your own breakfast but it was worth it since she was more than happy to be having Ms. Y/L/N handmade cheesecake.

Now, you had launched into an explanation of the biodiversity project you were preparing for your students, focusing specifically on the importance of bees in the ecosystem. You even showed him some pictures of what you had been working on at home because you wanted it to turn out so well that you couldn’t just work on it during school hours.

“So…” you said after finishing your explanation. “What do you think about my project so far?”

Sebastian kept walking, trying to process the flood of information you had just given him in such a short time. While some of the pictures looked like pure chaos, something completely opposite to him, the embodiment of perfection, he had to admit that it was good. Really good, actually.

“Well… it looked fun,” he admitted.

“Are you serious!?” you squealed, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

He gave you a shy smile.

“Yes, of course, I mean it.”

“Oh, look at him! Grumpy Seb handing out compliments so easily!” you shouted again, now bouncing on your feet, earning a few disapproving looks from the teachers passing by. “This calls for me to get you a coffee!”

“Y/N, I don’t feel like having coffee. I already had one this morning, and I don’t think it’s the best idea, considering how nervous I—”

“That’s nonsense!” you interrupted, marching toward the Primary school section. “You’re going to have coffee with me, no matter what, and you’re going to thank me because I’m convinced my coffee is way better than that vending machine garbage you drink daily.”

“I’ll thank you the day not a single one of my students fails one of my exams,” he told you.

The Primary school teachers' lounge was empty when you both walked in. You didn’t say much, just offered Seb a seat and told him to make himself at home while you headed to your locker. The German pulled out the stack of exams once again, ready to continue grading them, if you didn’t annoy him again. As he kept marking the papers, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Not only were you making him a cup of coffee, but you also seemed to be decorating it. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, you were writing something on a piece of paper.

When you returned, you placed the mug in front of him. It had “Bee positive” written on it, and it was decorated, of course, with a little bee making a heart with its tiny hands. As if that wasn’t enough, you had somehow managed to create an impressive amount of cream, topped with a smiley face that looked like it had been made with cinnamon.

Then, as you took a seat beside him, you slid a note his way, the one he assumed you had been writing earlier.

“Even if you’re having a gray day, remember that you can always make the sun shine! Sincerely, your very own little Miss Sunshine,” followed by a heart and, unsurprisingly, a bunch of smiley faces.

He didn’t know what to say. His eyes, however, when they met yours, seemed to say everything.

“You know, maybe all you need is just a new approach.”

Your sudden change of topic, spoken as you took another bite of your chocolate cupcake, threw him off a little. But he preferred it over the uncomfortable silence you both knew was bound to settle in.

“I’ve already tried, Y/N.”

“Have you tried bribing them?”

Seb narrowed his eyes, impressed and clearly not convinced by what you had just suggested.

“I’m not going to bribe my students, Y/N.”

“Not even by making them work in teams and offering extra credit?” You widened your eyes in surprise. “Have you considered bringing cookies and handing them out? That works incredibly great as a positive reinforcement, trust me”

“I’m not giving my students cookies or anything else,” Seb stated firmly. “I don’t know what to do with them, and that’s what worries me the most. What if I start acting like, no offense, a Primary school teacher, when they’re only two years away from university?”

You shook your head. It annoyed you that Sebastian was so… rigid, so unwilling to change. But what annoyed you even more was that you couldn’t seem to find the right way to help him.

“If you help me with the biodiversity project and actively participate in it, I promise I’ll find a way to make sure all your kids pass the remaining exams this year,” you proposed.

“And what exactly does a primary school teacher know about teenagers and History?”

“First of all, stop being so grumpy with me… I’m just trying to help you!” You huffed, crossing your arms. He wasn’t expecting that answer, and honestly, neither were you. Sebastian straightened in his seat, a bit uncomfortable. “Second, I happen to have a few tricks up my sleeve, but I’m not sharing them until you agree with helping me with the project.”

“Y/N…”

“What is it? What you don’t like: bees, seven-year-olds, or me?"

“I don’t like bees that much, I love being around little kids, and I’m completely captivated by you.”

That was what Sebastian wanted to say. Instead, he stayed silent, absentmindedly playing with the coffee spoon while staring at the note you had written for him.

“You do realize how many exams I still have to grade, right?” was all he managed to reply.

“Seb, you need to relax. I’ve told you before, but I’ll keep saying it as many times as necessary until you actually listen to me.”

“I can’t relax,” Vettel muttered, furrowing his brows. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to read that…?”

You didn’t let him time to finish speaking. You approached him faster than you’d planned, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. At first, Seb was completely caught off guard, but then he placed his right hand on your neck, pulling you closer and making sure the contact between you didn’t break.

Sebastian wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner, while you were more than happy to finally have the courage to take the initiative, especially since it seemed like your work crush was responding with a lot of enthusiasm.

The lack of air forced you to pull away. You readjusted yourself in your seat and couldn’t help but laugh when you saw your lipstick smeared all over Seb’s mouth.

“Did you just…?” Seb tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again,” you kissed him once again, but this time it was shorter. “Sebastian Vettel, I need you to stop worrying about those fucking exams and take a break.”

Now, Sebastian couldn’t stop smiling, and that’s exactly when you knew you had won that battle.

“You’re so lucky you’re too cute and beautiful and you’re keeping me at my feet somehow, because I swear I wouldn’t stop talking and be annoying just for you to shut me up by kissing me.”

Your eyes lit up at his tease, and your mouth opened in surprise at what Seb had just confessed.

“Sorry, did you just call me cute and beautiful, and also say you want me to shut you up by kissing you?” you pressed him.

Seb didn’t know what to say. His cheeks started to turn red out of embarrassment.

“If I’d known this was going to happen between us, I should’ve asked you to work together waaaay sooner!” you shouted, jumping up in excitement and sitting on his lap. If he hadn’t grabbed you tightly around the waist and balanced the chair, you would’ve ended up on the floor. “Say it again, come on!”

“No way I’m repeating that, Y/N.”

“Please, Seb,” you pouted, then kissed him all over his face. “Just one more time, please…”

“No.”

“Please…”

“Y/N…”

“Seeeeeeebastian.”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Seb started, “but, somehow, you’re also my very own Little Miss Sunshine.”

You smiled brightly at his words, but you knew this wouldn’t be the end of things between you.

“I’m not your Little Miss Sunshine yet. At least, not officially,” you teased.

“Oh, really?”

You shook your head.

“I’ll be when you finally have the courage to ask me on a date,” you replied cheerfully, wrapping your hands around his neck and kissing him once more. “I’ve taken the first step and kissed you not once, but twice, so now it’s your turn. We’ve got to work as a team, Seb. Haven’t you learned that all these years working as a teacher?”

[reds-skull]

The Dollhouse

[AO3]

(note: TW for hallucinations, general dissuasion of past domestic abuse and mental illnesses, and mild gore. Happy/bittersweet ending as always. If I miss any warnings, you're welcome to let me know!)

Made myself cry with this one twice so I'm sure it's gonna hurt lol

Since people seemed to like it last time, I'll be writing my thoughts in the comments on AO3 right after I post everything, which you're welcome to read!

Joseph has a dollhouse. The thing was bloody expensive, or so Tommy told him, but Beth practically begged him to buy it, along with her son. She said she always wanted one as a kid, and Tommy couldn’t say no.

Simon played with him a little bit, always taking the role of the mom. He refused to be the dad. It hasn’t been long enough for him to hear that title without bile filling his mouth.

He was cleaning up after another playing session, his nephew running off to greet his parents at the door. Simon avoids looking too hard at his scarred, gnarly hands, instead focusing on the dolls.

The set has 4; a mom, a dad, and two siblings. He shoves each of them into the little rooms, along with the tiny furniture, when something gives him a pause.

There are dolls in the house that he doesn’t recognize. He didn’t know Tommy bought more.

Simon leans in closer, brows furrowing. There are four of them, one laying face-down on a red carpet, the others surrounding it.

The dolls are… odd. They’re wearing tactical gear, the one on the carpet completely covered in black. One of them has a bucket hat, the other a baseball cap, and the third what looks like a tiny warhawk.

Simon stares at the fourth one. Something about the red carpet it is laying on reminds him of blood more than anything, and a sharp feeling echos through his chest. An odd beating, a knife tearing through his organs, a cruel hook at his side.

He reaches to turn the little doll, when Beth yells, “Simon! Lunch is ready, where are you?!”

Simon turns away to call back, “cleaning up, be there in a minute!” he sighs, returning to the dollhouse.

… The dolls are gone.

Things have been… weird since coming back. Maybe it was foolish to think he could leave everything that happened in Mexico behind him.

As if his mind couldn’t function without an enemy, it turned against Simon. Hallucinations weren’t uncommon for him, things appearing and disappearing, minutes lost staring at a wall. Voices, echos of pain.

Some days he locks himself in his room, laughter bubbling up along with tears, both unstoppable. Tommy broke down the door the first time, chest heaving like he was expecting a fight. It surprised him, in hindsight. That his brother cares.

It got better, and it didn’t. Simon sighs, smoke billowing from his mouth. The scars crossing his lips tingle uncomfortably, still sensitive to changes in temperature.

He can feel mum staring at him, as he sits on the back porch, smoking. She has a hard time hiding her worry, they all do, really. It makes him feel all the more pathetic.

Simon huffs. He can almost hear his therapist chiding him for those thoughts.

He takes one more breath of smoke before stamping out the cigarette. Sitting around feeling bad about himself never solved anything, wallowing in emotions bigger than his shriveled heart can process did nothing to change them. Simon gets up, wiping the dirt off his jeans, and means to step back inside, when he gets knocked down to his knees.

The chair next to him falls, flimsy wood splintering, the hanging plants above him swaying violently.

The ground is shaking.

His brain takes precious seconds to remember that you’re not supposed to be inside in an earthquake, and his body wastes several more trying to get enough balance to rush back inside.

“TOMMY! BETH! GET JOSEPH AND MUM OUTSIDE, THERE’S A BLOODY-” Simon shouts, slipping around a corner where he slides to a stop.

His brother is staring at him, confused, hand frozen midair as he was about to remove his coat. Beth and mum look equally bewildered, and Joseph’s expression is just enough scared that he is shocked back to reality.

“I’m…” Simon swallows thickly, “I’m sorry.”

Tommy sighs and opens his mouth to speak, but…

… But the voice that comes out isn’t his, “don’t you fuckin’ apologize to me, you bastard!”

“You don’t get to say that, not now!” Joseph says, in a voice of a fully-grown man.

Simon takes a step back. It’s not back to normal yet- his mind is still fucking with him. He needs- he needs to-

His legs take him to his room, running up the stairs, ignoring the calls of his name behind him. They’re wrong, their voices are not theirs, he’s still not back.

The door threatens to splinter as he slams it shut, his breaths wheezing up his chest, sounding almost like a laugh if he wasn’t on the verge of tears.

Simon slides down to his knees, forehead pressed to the cool door. Eyes shut, ears covered. He can’t trust them anyway.

Desperate, he begins doing the exercise his therapist taught him.

“Roba is not here.” he says in his mind, “Roba is not here.” he repeats until he truly believes it.

“I am safe,” is repeated after that.

“I am home.”

“None of it was real.”

The room is dark by the time Simon finds the courage to open his eyes. He uncurls from the floor, muscles creaking in protest.

Mum is waiting on the other side of the door when he finally exits his room. Her eyes scan him, and a relieved breath visibly escapes her when she finds no injuries.

“How are you feeling, luv?” she asks, carefully, but Simon can’t detect any fear in her voice.

He ducks his head to avoid her eyes all the same, “fine. Sorry about- sorry.”

“No need to apologize. It’s… it’s been a while since it happened, right? At least there’s progress.” she tries to cheer him up, like always.

She used to do the same, after dad blew up on them for acting their age, for having the gal to be a child. It made him simmer with barely-concealed anger. How could she try to be positive all the time, when everything was clearly fuckin’ not fine.

Simon recognized it for what it was when he left home for bootcamp. Recognized she was doing her best. That maybe if she could find the good in everything, the bad will be easier.

Bitterly, he thinks that’s why she chose to marry a man like Simon’s father in the first place.

“... Yeah.” he says, because he doesn’t want to scare her any more than he already did. She gives him a gentle smile, and a softer caress to the shoulder.

“Oh, what are we doing chatting around here, you must be starving! Come, we are about to eat dinner, I made pie!”

Simon lets his mum lead him downstairs, where the table is already set. Joseph visibly lights up when their eyes meet, and it makes something in his heart melt.

“Uncle Si!” he says with a full mouth, “Nana made your favorite pie!” Joseph lifts the pie dish to show him, or attempts to, as Beth has to help him.

Simon smiles, “how’s the taste, Joey?”

“The best!” his nephew grins back.

He takes a sit beside him, the plate in front of him already laden with food. Tommy gives him a look, silently asking if he’s alright.

Simon nods. They both know he isn’t, but as long as he can hold it together for now, he’s alright.

They’re used to sweeping things under the rug, after all.

Simon called it a day early, the “attack” draining him. It’s fucking annoying, that things that aren’t even real make him so tired.

He wonders for how long will Roba’s hands and knives and tools will haunt him. If his mind will ever stop playing tricks on him. 

As tired as he is, he can’t find enough peace within himself to fall asleep. He turns for the millionth time, before sighing and getting up.

Ever since he returned, Simon can’t sleep in complete darkness. Childish as it sounds, the moment the lights go out he can feel scorpions crawling up his limbs, phantom stings keeping him tense under plush bedding.

The street lights are often enough to illuminate the room, the curtains never drawn shut. Simon walks over to the window, opening it to inhale the crisp, cold night air.

His fingers itch for a cigarette, but mum would kill him if he stunk up the house with them. He knows what the smell reminds her off, and he tried quitting, but…

The view outside his window is blurry, almost fogged over, likely from his lack of sleep. He inhales again, deeply, if only to feel the slight bite of chill in his lungs, if only to replace the dirt and rot that hasn’t left his veins since he came back.

Wind blows over the silent neighborhood, the curtains fluttering around him. Simon shivers, his scars tingling. He huffs as he thinks of how his mum would probably tell him to close the windows, lest he get a cold, if she was here.

As if he didn’t spend months in a cold basement, wearing rags.

It’s… odd. To be cared for. Not that she didn’t care for them before, it just never really felt like this when it was undone the moment his father returned home from his job.

Violent gusts knock over something behind him, but Simon is lost in thought, memories of his dad and mum and Roba mixing, whirling. The wind picks up, beating against the trees outside, against the open window, thudding, thumping, hammering against his chest-

A knock on his door makes him refocus on reality. “Simon?” Tommy asks through the thin plywood, “you alright?”

Simon frowns. Why is Tommy still awake in the middle of the night? He steps away from the window to open the door, “m’fine. Something happen?”

Tommy looks over his shoulder, “the wind…”

“What about it?”

“I thought-” Tommy cuts himself off, “never mind. Goodnight.”

“... Goodnight?” Simon responds, his brother already halfway back to his and Beth’s bedroom.

The confusion is enough to distract him from the fact the wind stopped the moment Tommy showed up.

Simon doesn’t go out much. Or at all. His day consists of helping his mum around the house, working out in the backyard, and trying not to lose his fucking mind every time something reminds him of Mexico.

Mum is having her afternoon nap now, leaving him alone in the living room. His hands beg for something to do, and his first thought jumps to the hours and hours he spent cleaning guns and knives back on base. It used to relax him like nothing else did, the monotony quieting his mind.

He didn’t hold a rifle for months now. Doesn’t even know if he’ll ever return to the service.

Simon decides to get up and scrub the kitchen sink, hoping it would be similar enough, when the landline phone rings. He rushes to answer before the shrill noise can bother his mum, and says, “Riley’s.”

He hears only static for a few seconds, “‘ello?”

“... Please…” a single word comes through, “Don’t leave…”

“Who is this?” Simon asks more firmly, chills running down his spine as he hears sobbing.

“C’mon, Simon… stay with me…” the voice begs.

“Who are you? What the fuck are you talking abou-”

The call disconnects. Simon slams the phone down, exhaling roughly. He’d chuck it to a prank call, if whoever it was didn’t say his name. They sounded… desperate. In a way that a soldier is, surrounded by the bodies of his brothers-in-arms.

It could’ve been another trick of his mind. He heard plenty of soldiers beg like that right before getting shot in the head. His memories don’t lack in suffering and desperation, that’s for fucking certain.

Simon walks to the kitchen, picks up a sponge, and begins scrubbing at the counter. Movements robotic, he ignores the voice in his mind that says he’s missing something important.

A figment of his imagination. That is all it was.

“What’s this one called, Joey?”

“A tri- trisera-” Joseph struggles to say the name.

Beth snorts from the couch, “triceratops?”

“Yes!” his nephew smiles, putting the little toy dinosaur in Simon’s hand, “it eats grass!”

“That so?” Simon turns the toy in his hands, small horns digging into his palms.

Joseph continues, “yeah! I tried to eat it as well, but mum said I can’t.” he leans closer to Simon, whispering, “I did eat some later, but it was really gross.”

Simon and Beth’s eyes meet, her exasperated expression telling him she heard everything, “let’s leave the grass to the triceratops, hm?” he tells him.

“Okay!” Joseph agrees immediately, much to Beth’s relief. His nephew goes back to his imaginary battlefield, where the triceratops is a commander of a troop of velociraptors. Simon gives up on trying to understand who is winning, and sits down beside Beth.

“He really admires you, you know?” Beth speaks after a few moments of silence. Simon turns to her with furrowed brows. She smiles, “would always ask what were you doing when you were away. When we got the news that-” 

“That I died.” he continues for her, hating the pity in her tone. He doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t want them to be so careful around him.

She sighs, “that you died. I couldn’t tell him. I told him you were… lost. A day later I find him trying to sneak out of the house, to search for you.” tears gather at Beth’s lash line, and she turns to wipe them away. Simon notices, even if she tries to hide it.

“I’m here now. Won’t let him run off to search for any lost soldiers again,” he assures her, and she smirks.

“Always one to take things with the utmost seriousness, Simon. Sometimes I wonder if it was the military, or you were just born like that. Your mum and Tommy sure aren’t like that.”

She doesn’t mention his father, but he supposes it was obvious it didn’t come from him either. Simon was always serious, emotions locked deep in his chest. When your old man slaps you for every overly loud noise, whether it be a laugh or a cry, you learn to suppress.

Maybe, in a way, it did come from his rotten dad.

“Tommy cries too easily. Fuckin’ sobbed like a baby on Joey’s first birthday.”

“Language!” Beth slaps his arm lightly, “of course he would, it’s his first son! You’d understand if you had kids.”

Fucking unlikely. No way he becomes a father, the world doesn’t need any more of him. Any of those kids wouldn’t be as good as Joseph is, anyway.

“When’s he coming back? Joey must be hungry by now.” Simon looks to the front door, once again glad their house has an open floor plan.

Beth checks the clock on the wall, “he’ll be here any minute now. Joseph love, are you hungry?”

Joseph looks up from his triceratops, who has just run over an enemy T. rex, “a little. Can I have a treat?”

“Not before lunch, you know the rules.” Beth reprimands him lightly. She turns back to Simon, “let me see if your mum needs any help…” she leaves for the kitchen.

“How’s the battle going?” Simon asks as Joseph lets a chunky, colorful helicopter land in front of a fallen velociraptor.

His nephew shoves the dinosaur into the helo, “we’re taking him to the hospital! The T. rex took a bite out of his leg, so he needs a new one.” he explains, making a whooshing sound as the helo takes off.

Simon leans closer, his lips tugging upwards, “and where’s the hospital?”

“Uh…” Joey stops the helo midair, “on the dining table!” he runs off to it, the poor velociraptor rattling inside the helo.

Simon gets up to follow, when the front door opens. Tommy locks eyes with him, “sorry I was late, some idiot tried to move the photocopier up the stairs… unsuccessfully.”

“How horrible… I’d rather go back to Mexico than deal with that.” Simon mutters, and his brother barks a surprised laugh.

“Bloody ‘ell, don’t let mum hear you.” he takes off his coat, hanging it on the hooks next to the door, “or the psychiatrist, for that matter.”

“They would tell me, ‘humor is a perfectly fine coping mechanism’, or some shite.” Simon grumbles.

They both join Joseph at the table, as mum and Beth set plates down. The makeshift hospital (nothing more than a few napkins folded to look like beds) has to be moved, much to Joseph dismay, but Tommy promises him the velociraptor will understand.

As everyone settles in, Simon can’t help but think of a similar scene, 20 or so years ago. Back then, there wasn’t laughter, smiles, a warm aroma in the room. No, there was only the cold stare of a man playing a false God with his own family, bitter eyes striking fear in his heart whenever they met his.

It’s moments like these, where Simon thinks things will be alright after all.

“-And then, Sam dropped the photocopier down three flights of stairs, his face pale as a sheet.” Tommy says between child-like giggles, his wife and mum laughing along. Joseph looks intrigued but confused, opting to focus on his meal, humming a little tune between bites.

“I told him, ‘mate, if I were you I’d run before the big boss comes around,’ as a joke! But the bloke bucks it outta the building like someone set fire under his ars- butt.”

Mum laughs quietly, “oh, love, the poor intern probably had his life flashing before his eyes-”

Everything falls silent. The hum of electricity, the clock in the living room, the birds outside. Joseph’s tune, his mum’s laughter, Tommy’s cheery voice, Beth’s fond sighs.

They all click their mouths shut. Simon lowers his fork slowly, his heartbeat picking up.

“...what-”

They turn to stare at him, their gazes lowering to his chest, unnervingly synchronized. Simon looks down, and his fork clangs loudly as he drops it to the floor.

Red blooms across his chest, liquid turning his dark shirt shiny. He clutches at his front, panic rising within him, when he realizes it can’t be real - he feels no pain.

But- “you’re… you’re seeing it too?” Simon’s hand twists into the sodden fabric, “but it’s- it’s not-” dark tendrils creep from the edges of his vision, lightheaded as if he’s really loosing blood, chest shaking with loud beats-

“See what, uncle Si?” Joseph asks innocently. Simon’s eyes focus back on his family.

They all look normal. A bit confused and worried, but none of them are looking at the supposed wound blooming across his chest.

Simon raises his palm from his shirt, hand shaking as he scans it.

His pale, scarred skin is completely devoid of blood.

Mirrors became another enemy of his, after he came back. Ignoring the effects of what happened would’ve been easier if there wasn’t tangible proof Simon was irrevocably changed by Roba. It’s not usually a problem to avoid them, as the one in the bathroom on the first floor was removed (after several… incidents).

But the ground floor still had one. And Simon is staring at it right now.

He ran off after what happened at the dining table, heart beating so hard he worried it’ll stop. He tries to keep his eyes below his neck, checking his shirt again and again, searching for blood that never existed.

It didn’t, but something did. His family saw it, Simon is sure of it. They never reacted to his hallucinations like that before, even when he saw fire burning the house down, earthquake shaking the ground, he was always met with confused looks that ignore the surrounding chaos.

His fingers ache with how tightly he’s grasping at the sink, at his chest. Uncertainty twists his gut, the intrusive thought that none of this is real burrowing into his mind.

What if he never escaped Roba? What if this is nothing but a drugged-induced nightmare? Maybe he’s in that fucking grave right now, maggots eating at his barely-alive flash, the bones of his traitorous commander cradling his broken body?

Simon can’t do this again. He can’t, he can’t, he-

Someone knocks on the door, “Uncle Si?” Joseph asks, voice wobbly. It startles something in him.

The lock clicks loudly as he unlocks the bathroom door, and Simon instantly crouches down to face the teary eyes of his nephew, “what’s wrong, Joey?”

Joseph’s lip trembles, and he wraps his small arms around him, “I don’t want you to leave again, Uncle Si.”

Simon hugs him gently, careful as to not hurt him. “I’m… I’m not going anywhere?” he answers, unsure of what Joseph could be talking about.

“Nana said it will be time soon.”

“Time for what? Joseph, what’s going on-”

His nephew shrieks as a loud crashing sound echos in the bathroom. Simon grips him tighter, shielding him as something hits his back. He turns around, adrenaline pumping in his veins, ready to protect his nephew when he sees what caused it.

The mirror broke. Cracks spreading from a single point as if a phantom hand punched it, blood seeping into the crevices left behind.

Simon looks down at Joseph, “you saw that too, right? And the- before, when we were eating.”

Tears run down his nephew’s cheeks, Simon wiping them slowly. “Joey. I need you to answer me.”

Joseph breaks down, whispering, “don’t tell mum and dad, Si.” he shoves a few small objects into Simon’s hand, his little fingers twisting into his.

Simon opens his mouth to ask him for more details, anything, when Tommy and Beth rush towards them, “we heard a scream- Joey, love, why are you crying?” Beth scoops up her son. Joseph’s gift, four little dolls by the feel of it, stays hidden in the pocket of his sweatpants. 

Tommy crouches down beside him, ignoring the crunch of glass under his slippers, “you alright?”

Simon’s eyes flicker from the broken mirror to his brother’s eyes, “fine. Sorry for upsetting Joey, think he’s… worried.” he rises to his feet, “I… I’m going to be at the back. Tell mum I’m sorry for lunch.”

He doesn’t wait to hear Tommy’s answer, hurrying to the back door. Once it’s closed behind him, Simon takes a deep breath, and pulls out the dolls Joseph gave him.

It’s the little soldiers he saw before. The ones that… disappeared…

Simon turns each of them in his hands, trying to figure out why Joey thought this would help him understand what’s going on.

They all have the Union Jack on their gear, which looks similar to what he wore when he was still in service. It’s the fourth one that interests him most, the one that was face-down in the dollhouse.

What he wasn’t able to see before, is the skull mask covering its face. With shaky fingers, Simon checks if the balaclava the mask is stitched to is removable. The tiny piece of fabric shifts under his fingertips, and he pulls it up.

His breath catches in his lungs. The doll is an almost exact replica of Simon.

Where did Joseph find these? And more importantly, if this one looks like him, does it mean the other three are also of real people?

Simon stares at their faces, trying to think back to before Mexico. Those memories have been muddied by months of torture, faces redacted in his mind long ago, but no matter how much he tries to think, he can’t remember meeting anyone that looks like them.

He shoves the dolls back into his pocket, scrubbing a hand over his weary eyes. Simon gazes upwards, the English grey sky looking whiter and whiter the more he stares. He’s unsettled, bones misplaced inside his body. It all feels deeply wrong.

One thing is certain, now. Joseph saw his ‘hallucinations’, which means the rest of his family is lying to him about them.

The house was quiet when Simon eventually returned inside. He finds his family still at the dining table, though they’re not quite as happy as they were before. In the few moments before any of them noticed his reappearance, Simon watches how Tommy and Beth seem on the edge of tears, their hands clutched tightly between their plates.

A mask seems to slip back on their faces when they see him standing in the doorway, “Simon.” Tommy says, alerting Joseph and mum. Simon doesn’t reply.

He takes his previous seat next to Joseph, the young boy staring at him, “alright, Joey?” he asks.

Joseph blinks, biting his lip as if he mulls it over. The longer he doesn’t respond, the deeper a knife twists in Simon’s gut.

“I’m not going anywhere, understand? Not anymore.” he tried to cheer him. From the outside, it may seem they’re talking about him leaving the table, but he’s sure Joseph understands he doesn’t mean that.

His nephew nods, picking up his spoon again, scooping a bit of his food and eating. He doesn’t seem convinced.

“You should eat, love.” his mum says quietly, almost meekly, as if she’s… afraid of his reaction.

They know he knows, or at least suspects, that they’re lying. That they’ve been hiding something from him, something big, making him think he’s losing his bloody mind again.

Simon stares at her. His mum always had a way to tell what he’s thinking, whispering to him that his eyes talk to her.

Her eyes talk to him now, and they beg. ‘Please don’t say it.’

Simon picks up the newly cleaned fork beside his plate, and begins eating. “Ta for the food, mum.” he tells her, and a small smile spreads on her lips.

Whatever she knows, scares her. Enough that, at the threat of voicing it, she’s desperate. Simon isn’t a good man, but he would never do something that brings his mum distress. He’s better than his rotting father. He has to be.

So, they eat in silence, his heartbeat the only sound. Bite by bite, he finishes his lunch.

It tastes like nothing in his mouth.

Simon helps Tommy with the dishes after they all finish, passing wet plates for him to dry. He waits until the rest of the family leaves before speaking.

“The mirror in the ground floor bathroom.” Simon gives him a set of forks.

Tommy gives him a confused look, towel wrapped around the utensils, “what about it?”

“It broke. That’s what made Joseph scream.”

Tommy sets down the towel, “the mirror is fine, he was probably just frightened by your reaction-”

“Tommy.” the water in the sink continues pouring over Simon’s now still hands, “don’t lie. We both know you’re shite at it. I know he saw.” his eyes drag over his brother’s paling face, “and I know you saw too.”

Tommy is silent for a long minute, Simon’s stare not wavering.

“What are you hiding from me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

Simon growls, patience thinning, “bullshit. You think I’m bloody stupid-”

The tap gurgles loudly, making both brothers stop in their tracks. Simon pulls his hands away to shut it, when it begins spitting out something that is very much not water.

Blood drips onto the dishes, clogging the drain and quickly filling the sink. Simon and Tommy take a step back as it spills on the floor.

He scans his brother’s horrified expression, “...you see it, don’t you?”

Tommy’s disturbed eyes are enough confirmation for him. “You’re running out of time.” his brother mumbles, voice unusually thin. He takes Simon’s hand in his, dragging him away before he can ask any of the thousands of questions bubbling up in his mind.

“Tommy, what-” they stop in the living room, where mum, Beth and Joseph are. They’re startled by Tommy’s hurried steps, but his mum seems to understand what’s going on.

“Is he…?” Beth asks, rising from the couch. Tommy nods, and she covers her mouth with her hand, on the verge of tears.

Simon shakes his brother’s grip, “can any of you tell me what’s going on?! I’ve been losing my goddamn mind, thinking I’ve been hallucinating shit, but clearly you all can see it, and unless mirrors can spontaneously break, and sinks are supposed to pour blood, this is all- you’re all-”

Tears horrifyingly begin pouring from his eyes, his voice breaking.

“This isn’t real.”

A rumbling shakes the house. Deep, like the moans of dead men. Simon watches, frozen, helpless, as slashes are cut through the walls, the floor, through furniture, butchered like the flesh of an animal ready for slaughter.

“Uncle Si!” Joseph screams, running towards him and Tommy. His mum steps back, shaking, until a slash goes through her.

Simon yells as blood spreads on her chest, and her eyes dim. Despite the mortal wounds blossoming on her skin, she smiles at him through tears.

Beth leaves them next, the cuts leaving dark red lines on her face, and her hand stills before she can reach her son.

“Tommy…” Simon looks away, unable to watch his family die again.

… Again?

His brother clutches at his shoulders, grip desperate, “you can’t give up, Simon, you hear me? Whatever you do, stay alive-”

Gashes tear through Tommy’s temples, one after the other. He brings a hand to wipe away the blood, only for more to replace it.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer.” his brother grunts, “but we will see you again. I promise.”

“Tommy- don’t leave” Simon grabs his hand as it slips, “not again… please, I can’t do it again, I can’t be alone again-”

“You’re not alone.” Tommy mumbles, words almost lost under the screaming house, “they saved you before. They’ll save you… again…”

The grip on his shoulders loosens, and his brother falls, never to rise once more.

Simon stares at his bloody hand, before a whimper catches his attention.

Joseph. Oh, Joseph.

“Joey…” he wraps his arms around the boy, sinking to his knees, as if he could shield him from events that are already set in gravestone.

Joseph trembles, sobbing. Crying for his mother, crying for his father, crying for his nana.

Crying for him.

“I don’t want you to die, Uncle Si.” Joey weeps. “Promise me you won’t die.”

Tears blur Simon’s vision, as their house falls apart, as the screaming becomes louder and louder.

“I promise, Joey.”

Joseph takes his face in his little hands, fingers squeezing his tear-streaked cheeks. His eyes have a tragic acceptance to them, and he gives his uncle one last bright smile.

“Then wake up.”

Ghost blinks his eyes open. Something about the world feels sharper. Maybe it’s the pain in his chest.

Bright lights burn strange shapes into his vision, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He looks to his side, finding wires connecting him to medical equipment, a constant beeping exposing just how fast his heart is beating.

It comes back to him in waves. His family’s death, Roba’s, re-enlistment. Years and years of bloodshed and war.

His fingers skim over his chest, and he winces as they hit a mass of bandages. Whatever got him, got him good.

Fingers digging into his wounds, his eyes fall shut.

It was all a bloody dream-

Ghost’s thoughts come to a halt when familiar voices fill the hall outside his room. He watches as the door opens, three men walking inside, talking like they didn’t notice him yet.

“The temporary LT is fuckin’ shite and ye know it, Captain. Bastard wouldn’t know good leadership if it hit him over his heid.” a Scot with a messy warhawk grouses. In his arms are a bundle of slightly crushed flowers.

Ghost’s eyes drift to the drying flowers on his bedside table, warmth spreading through his heart.

A man with a baseball cap joins him, “Soap, you’d complain about any LT that is not Ghost.” he ignores Soap’s indignant noises, settling into a chair beside the window, “but you’re right, he’s bloody hopeless, Price.”

Doesn’t sound like he’s been replaced just yet, he huffs silently.

Price sighs, lifting his bucket hat to scrub a hand through his short hair, “for the hundredth time, Gaz, Soap, the Lieutenant is temporary. We just need to wait for Ghost to wake up.”

“Well,” Ghost clears his throat, “you’re welcome to put the Sergeants out of their misery now.”

His team freezes, before three pairs of eyes land on him.

“LT!” Soap jumps into action first, practically running to his side, “ye’re- you’re awake! Fuck, you’re really…” he grasps the railing tightly, bright blue eyes not leaving his, “we thought you’d never-”

“Think that little of me, Johnny?” he asks teasingly, “it takes more than this to take me out-”

Gaz talks over him, looking like he’s about to slap him, “it nearly bloody did, sir.”

What? “What happened.” Ghost demands from Price.

The Captain sighs as he sits in the chair nearest to the bed, “we found you after you missed several check-ins. Seven stab wounds to the chest, you’ve been bleeding out for at least half an hour.” Price shakes his head, “coded once on the helo on the way here. Surgery was successful, but you didn’t wake up.”

“How long was I-”

“Two weeks.” Johnny answers, his face grim. “Ye’ve been out for two weeks.”

Fuck. Ghost swallows, “well, I’m awake now.” he gazes at Johnny, who gives him a weak smile.

His eyes drift away from his Sergeant, to the bright window. There, on the windowsill, he sees something that makes his breathing stop.

Gaz picks up on what caught his attention first, “you had them in your hands when we found you. We weren’t sure if they were important to you, you didn’t let us take them until your heart literally gave out.”

On the windowsill, lit by warm sunlight, are four little dolls. A taller, blond one, his wife, a fiery redhead, their son, with the most radiant smile in the world, and his nana, with her meek hand in his. Their house gone, but not forgotten. 

“Simon…?” Johnny asks, and he hums. “Why are ye crying?”

Simon looks over his team, smiling, even as tears roll down his face.

“They saved you before. They’ll save you again.”

“Just glad to be back home.”

[emmyspov]

I just sorted everything away from this semester and also obviously stumbled across my notes and ideas for my journal article and like- it's such a bittersweet thing.

I would have loved to do this, would have loved to do more research on EDs and advocate on the topic from an academic pov and maybe make the world a tiny tiny bit better, but I am so glad that i do not have to - I don't have to worry about all this extra work and stress on top of my studies and my job.

But it also makes me so sad because I remember my very first semester at university and how excited I was. God I would have given everything to be successful and make a career here - and I did give everything. And now, 3.5 years later, I see what that did to me and I just wish that no one ever puts their job or their studies or anything really above themselves. Which is so hard in our societies nowadays, I know that, too.

And sometimes I think I should have just pushed through. What's one and a half more years? Maybe I could have done it, just to make a difference. But then I remember Gandalf's quote in the hobbit

I have found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love.

So maybe, just maybe, I don't have to work until utter exhaustion to be good and helpful. Maybe, just being kind is enough. And that thought is a lot more comforting than me thinking I have to achieve something great in order to be worth it.

[thinkinonsense]

FANTASIZE❦

old!logan howlett x fem!reader

*mdni

cw: cursing, nsfw, age gap (reader is twenty-five)

wc: 1k+

a/n: i have no idea where this came from. i was supposed to be working on something completely different but apparently, this needed to be written first instead. yes it is inspired by the unreleased ariana grande song.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Logan couldn't read minds. He never longed for the ability or power; he was better off not knowing what others had going on in their heads. He only wanted to peek into someone's mind when he caught your twinkling eyes lingering in his direction. Luckily, he could still read your mind even without the mutation because your fantasies were written all over your face.

It was obvious to anyone caught in the same room as you and Logan, that there was tension. You burned holes all over his body with your intense gaze. If Logan was in the mood to entertain your little crush, he could compliment you in a way that was sure to make you blush.

"Good form today, kid."

"Lookin' pretty today, sweetheart."

"Lemme fix that lipstick, dollface." That one left you with an ache in between your thighs as his thumb brushed your lower lip. "Can't have you walkin' around here a mess, now can we?"

Logan wasn't sure if he would ever make it to heaven but seeing your lip tremble with need was close enough for him.

If he saw you in a dress with a pair of mary-jane's, he would try to catch a glimpse of your underwear in the reflection of your shoes. It didn't always work but it made him feel young again.

No one was brave enough to address it due to him being twice your age. Despite being twenty-five years old and already having graduated from the school, it was still considered taboo to some. If anyone asked Logan about it, he would brush it off as a schoolgirl crush that you would eventually grow out of.

It was truly harmless he thought. You got the attention you craved and Logan got to see a pretty young woman squirm in her seat because of him. It never went further than flirtatious comments and lingering stares.

❦

Today might be the worst day of your life. You and Logan were being sent out together on a mission to find a mutant that lived two hours away. It wasn't the mission that worried you; it was being stuck in a tiny car with only Logan for one hundred and twenty minutes.

"Why aren't 'cha talkin', dollface?" Logan asked, almost teasingly.

For almost twenty minutes, he was aware of your eyes watching his hand hold the wheel. Logan was also incredibly aware of the effect it had on you. A little broken sigh escapes you when his hand clenches tighter around the leather, making his veins pop even more.

"Too busy fantasizing 'bout me?"

No matter how much you tried to find someone your age to be with, your heart always went back to Logan. He treated you differently than anyone you've ever met. Sure, sometimes he made you feel like a kid but he also knew you could handle your own. Logan wouldn't let anyone underestimate you; that kept you crawling back to him.

"Maybe I am." You shrug, fed up with his games.

"Oh, yeah?" He says, taking a deep inhale of your sent. "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours, hm?"

You were used to Logan's overly confident personality that he tried to use to intimidate you; and make you stumble over your words. It wasn't gonna work this time. Logan wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but you needed him to admit it first.

"Us in the backseat of the car." You admit, biting the inside of your cheek nervous for his response.

"Really? And what are we doing back there?" He asked, cocking his head curiously as his eyes remained glued to the road.

"You're on top of me, makin' me feel good." Your words were coy but that was the point. Logan liked being the tease; having all the power.

"Keep talkin', dollface."

There it was. You had him right where you wanted him.

You pretended to think about it for a moment before shaking your head and telling him, "No, I shouldn't"

"Why not?"

"Because an old man like yourself can't keep up with me, right? At least that's what I heard you tell the Professor."

Logan couldn't believe you had heard their conversation earlier this week. The Professor was the only person who knew the truth of how Logan felt towards you. When Charles asked him what was stopping him from pursuing you, all Logan had to say was, "I'm too old for her; can't keep up with such a young thing like her".

Which was far from the truth.

"So obsessed with me that you're listenin' to my conversations now?" He growled, pulling the car over.

"Stop acting like you aren't obsessed with me too." You smile at him. "I know a few pairs of my underwear 'mysteriously' disappear from my hamper. I know that you can hear me through the walls late at night, panting your name."

With each sentence, you inch closer to him. Logan could only compare you to the snake in Eve's garden; encouraging him to give into his temptations.

"I also know that you want me." Your eyes were dark with desire, making his pants tighter. "So, if you can't get it up or claim that you don't want me then that's fine with-"

Logan fumed with irritation and lust. Not thinking twice before slamming your lips into yours. He tasted exactly like you imagine; tobacco and mint. You were addicted; no one could ever compare to him.

In a rush, his rough hands pulled you into his inviting lap before one cupped your jaw and his other made its way up your skirt, toying with your lacy underwear. He wasn't going to give it to you that easily.

"L-Logan, please," You moan against his mouth, trying to create some friction on his lap. "Need it."

God, he's waited a long time to hear that; to see you so desperate in his arms. When he pulled back to look at you, Logan couldn't be more pleased with the image in front of him. Your eyes shut tightly, face scrunched, trying to concentrate, and lips pouty with annoyance. Logan removes his hand under your skirt; causing the prettiest whine to escape you. He thought you might be what finally kills him.

"We aren't done, sweetheart." He groaned in your ear. "Get in the backseat because you are gonna tell me every single one of your fuckin' fantasies."

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore��it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[ultimate-shipper-blog]

I'll Send an SOS to Your Heart

-------

"Ok, I'm imagining things."

Steve is laying on his bed watching his lights flicker.

He plugged in one of those space projectors that's supposed to make your ceiling look like the night sky.

It's not weird that they're flickering, the light was a dollar at Melvads he wasn't expecting it to work long.

The weird part is that the stars keep making a heart shape.

He sees the heart flash a couple of times before he flips over and hides deeper into his pillow.

"No." He groans. "No more upside down shit."

If some upside-down monster was flirting with him he quits.

All the lights in his room surge to maximum brightness.

"Fuck off."

The lights draw a middle finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" He jumps out of bed and points at the orbs.

It draws a winky face. (;P)

"Who are you?"

His blood runs cold. An upside down monster can't flirt with him. They don't know English. He has an idea but it can't be true.

They left him there. He's dead.

...isn't he?

'SOS' the lights read.

"Fuck." Tears spring to his eyes. "Eddie?"

'Hiya'

-----

He spends a while talking to Eddie.

It's tough.

It takes a while to write everything out and Steve is still trying not to hyperventilate or cry or pass out so it's taking a lot of energy to keep up the conversation.

'Sleep?'

"No."

'?'

"Nothing I'm just...not tired."

'Liar'

"WHAT! I'm not I just-"

'-_-'

"Fine."

':)'

"I'm scared."

'Me?'

"No, I'm scared this is a dream. That I fell asleep hours ago and I made you out of my guilty conscious. I just don't want to lose you...again."

'Back'

"Back?"

'Bring back'

"Bring...you back?"

'YES'

"You think we can bring you back?"

'Plan'

"Yes! I'll call everyone we can figure it out. Oh! We have El to help us this time! You're gonna love her Eds she's just like the kids you look out for and she's magic! I'll call them right-"

'NO'

"No?"

'tom- sleep now'

"I think this is a little more important than-"

'Sleep <3'

Steve looks over at the clock, 4 am.

Shit.

"Ok. I'm going to sleep. Will you...will you be here in the morning?"

'W STEVIE'

"Ok. Goodnight Eddie."

'GN <3'

----

The plan goes off without a hitch.

It takes them about two weeks to formulate and execute the plan.

Steve spends his days and nights talking to Eddie, keeping him updated. Keeping him in his life.

He speed runs a crisis or two when he realizes he wants to spend the remainder of his days speaking to Eddie.

He can't wait until he's here with him.

Alive.

-----

So it's more complicated than he thought.

Maybe there's a hoard or bats blocking them from Eddie.

Maybe Steve throws himself in front of the kids and fights off the creatures long enough for them to find Eddie and get him back home.

Maybe Steve bleeds a little too much and collapsed as soon as they reach the other side.

----

He wakes in the hospital to nine pairs of eyes staring at him.

They're all arguing with each other. Their voices low as if they're trying not to wake them.

He wants to talk he wants to reach out.

Eddie is standing by the door in a baseball cap and sunglasses as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

As if Eddie could ever hide from Steve. Steve would find him anywhere he is.

God, he's here! He's in the room! All this time apart and he's so close!

"Mphahhpsh" he can't form words but it doesn't matter.

Everyone stops and Eddie's eyes meet his. His eyes look wet and he looks skinny and exhausted.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Eddie's eyes turn down into a determined glare. He pushes past everyone until he's inches away from Steve.

He takes a deep breath and then leans down and kisses him.

Flat on the mouth. In front of everyone.

The shocked noises are what pulls them apart.

"I'm so happy to see you, I really like you," Steve says.

"That's my line." Eddie smiles and kisses him again.

"Don't ever try to save me again I can't ever see you in a hospital again," Eddie presses their noses together.

"That's my line."

Eddie chuckles and pushes his nose into Steve's cheek. "Dork."

"Yes, yes, you're both terrible. Now what the fuck is happening."

They break apart to see the crews shocked faces. Mike's face is pale and Dustin is an interesting shade of red.

Robin is staring at him a little proud.

He sends a wink her way and pulls Eddie in closer.

They'll figure it all out later. They have time.

----

This started with once sentence in my brain and grew into three different plot points I put together in a rush. :P

Please comment I love to read em!

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [iii]

"your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you can't help but feel like maybe you and tara are more than frenemies, and it culminates in a night where you finally share some truths with each other.

warnings: a somewhat traumatic dream sequence lmao, mentions of sex, kissing (almost), curse words, blood

word count: 5.8k

A/N: hope y'all like this one because i definitely liked writing it. definitely a whole lot more kissing than fisting.... wait a minute....

it's 5 am, my ass is grass. anyways, part 4 relatively soon because woo wee theres still so much to explore in this story i legitimately cant believe my idiot self said it'd be done in 2 parts originally

===+++===

===+++===

"(Y/n)," a voice calls to you, sing-song and sweet as your eyes fade to darkness. It's a gentle woman's whisper, but it manages to hit you like a truck, pulling you down from wherever you came from, and plopping you wherever you've arrived. Or, rather, wherever you've always been. "(Y/n), look, darlin'."

A gust of wind gently strokes over the plane of your cheek, and when you open your eyes, all you can see is rye. On one end, it reaches out towards a sharp cliff, overlooking a lake, with nothing but rocks and the water below. On the other, it runs far up the plains of land in front of you, stopping in front of the white house you know all too well, with its rickety porch and broken tire swing.

You take a few steps forward, as if ready to run right inside, and then before you know it, you're running. Like the world is about to end, like the house is burning down, like you'll never see the place ever again. Foot after foot, you dash towards it, hearing Alisha's piano flit through the front window for the first time in years, and the smell of a pie right along with it. "(Y/n)!" the voice calls again. "Dinner time, kid!"—

But your foot catches on a root, just like it did in your memory, and in an instant, you've fallen down into the rye, with a painful thud, right on your face. You let out a grunt, feeling the dirt on your new, white shirt. The one your mother never let you wear when you were playing outside.

And when you right yourself again, sitting up out of the field, the house isn't any closer than it was before. It sits, perfectly far away, only all that stuff is gone now, and the house looks about as dark as it did the day of Mitchie's funeral.

"(Y/n)!" an excited voice calls from behind you. "Wanna play tag?"

"(Y/n)'s too old for that, Mitchie," another voice chides, and you whip around like Calvin would actually be there to chide him like that. Like he used to. But he isn't. All you can see is the rye. It stands in thick stalks, reaching up to your knees in lush groupings, tall and abundant, strong and growing.

Another voice. "Read me a story?" It's soft and it's a little girl's and it's far away, and you get to your feet and spin in a circle, waiting for her to appear. It seemed to reverberate through your ears, washing through the pathways of your brain before seeping into your heart. It fills it up, and before you know it, you can feel yourself hastily searching for her.

"'Randa?" you called into the open field. "Miranda? You there?" but she continues on like she didn't hear you.

"Would you read me a story? Please?"

"I will Miranda, but where are you?" you called back, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the barrel of the hot sun.

"I'm gone, (Y/n). You're supposed to be gone too," she says back, with a sweet giggle. "Why aren't you gone with us?"

"I—" you stammer, whipping your head around the field in search of your siblings. "I don't—"

"Do you really think that's fair, (Y/n)?" Calvin asks.

"Why aren't you here, (Y/n)?" Miranda asks again, this time her voice wavering like she was about to cry. "Why aren't you in the rye with us?" Your hands came up to your head, trying to squeeze your eyes shut and block out the noises, but they seemed to reverberate into your skull.

"Mitchie was your fault, you know," Peter chides. "We would've never let that—"

"—Why did you get to stay, (Y/n)?" Came Tomas' voice. "We're supposed to be cursed, and you're supposed to be cursed too." He was always the quiet one, but now his voice had a sharp edge to it. One of jealousy. One of anger.

"Why didn't you catch me?" Mitchie asked. "If you just would've caught me..."

"Come play piano with me, I'll teach you," said Alisha, in her light, airy laugh.

"Why did it get to be you?" snarled Calvin. "And why are you getting closer to Tara? You want to curse her, too?"

"Stop—" you stammered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

"Wanna play hopscotch?" said Mitchie.

"Do you miss us, (Y/n)?" Alisha said, in between tears.

"Yes, of course— I—" you tried, but now the voices were filling up your head, threatening to spill over and knocking you to the ground. You curled up into a ball as your brain filled up. Words piling up on top of words, piling up on top of words, about to split you open. "STOP!" you yelled.

And everything went silent. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself still in the field, but your siblings' voices had gone entirely. Now it was just you, in the field, alone with the rustling of the wind and the rye, as it grazed gently against your legs. You hadn't remembered standing up, but you were now.

In a flash, you could see a shape, running through the rye in a line that was very visible from where you were. You recognised the dark hair, and the yellow jacket he always wore. With the realisation came the looming dread, and you realised with very little time left what this exactly was a memory of.

You took off running, faster than you had to the house, faster than you had ever run, and faster than you had run then, chasing after him as he took off towards the cliff-end of your rye field. "Mitchie!" you yelled, trying to be louder than the buzzing cicadas, but it seemed the moment you yelled, the cicadas got even louder. He was too short to see over the stalks, but you could see him go, running in odd shapes as he got nearer and nearer to the cliffs edge.

"Catch me if you can, (Y/n)!" he called back with a gleeful laugh.

"(Y/n), grab your brother," called your mother. She didn't seem too worried, and she hadn't been, then. No one had been, until it was too late.

"Mitchie! Stop!" you cried out, feeling tears already beginning to fall down your cheeks. "Mitchie!" you tried again.

"Come on, you've gotta be faster than that if you're gonna be it!” Mitchie called back. "Catch me! Get me! C'mon! I'm gonna make it hard for you to win, Duck."

"MITCHIE! PLEASE!" you screamed, but all he did was giggle. “STOP! DON’T GO!” But the moment you reached the end of the rye, he was gone over the edge, just he had been when you were 13, and there was an arm shaking you awake.

===+++===

"Oh my god, you're about the least peaceful sleeper I've literally ever seen," Tara laughed, grinning at you from over her textbook. She had it pulled into her lap from her side of the table and titled against the table edge, and spread out in front of you were her papers galore, with notes scribbled all over them in preparation for her upcoming exam.

Mindy sat next to her, playing a stupid game on her phone, while Ethan was also studying in his own textbook. He had stopped trying to avoid you as much, as had Chad. You and Tara "dating" seemed to offend them less and less the longer it went on.

"Uh," you mumbled, still feeling a little bit disoriented from the dream. It was like a dose of adrenaline had been shot directly into your heart, and you struggled to adjust to the calm, peaceful library that actually was around you. "Shut up," you grumbled, but not like you were actually upset by her teasing.

Tara watched you with her eyebrows raised. "You look tired."

You sat up in your chair, running a hand through your hair. There was a small layer of sweat on your forehead. "Aren't you never supposed to say that to someone? Pretty sure that's how you get someone at the bar to throw their drink in your face."

"It is," Ethan nodded. "I made that mistake once. I was trying to be sweet."

"Good thing I'm not seducing you, then," Tara shrugged. "You've seen me puke everywhere. Pretty sure that ruined my chances right-out, and yet you love me anyways."

You grinned, leaning back to stretch out your arms. It was meant to be a gentle teasing from Tara, but you had only gotten better and better at deflecting the longer you were around her. "You'd be surprised, actually. That was super pretty. That was the prettiest you've ever been." Mindy snorted next to Tara.

Tara glared at you, unappreciatively. "And you're pretty when you do not speak."

"I'm pretty all the time, Tara," you mockingly shook your head. "And you think I'm joking. Find yourself a girl who looks nice covered in sweat, with her hair going everywhere, and puking in the toilet. That's my girlfriend."

"You're such a dick," Tara scoffed, but you could tell part of her was stifling a laugh. It was funny to her too, and you both had laughed at it together for days, afterwards.

If anything, it had gotten easier and easier, to act like the both of you were actually dating. You weren't too sure why, maybe Tara had become less annoying, or you had become less annoyed by her, but you had definitely at least become a better actor. That's what it was, after all. "Oh, also," she continued.

"Yeah?"

"Someone tried to call your phone, while you were sleeping. I think it was your dad."

You frowned. "You didn't pick up, right?"

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. Then she paused. She dropped her voice to speak just to you, guarding the conversation from Mindy and Ethan. "Do you and him not get along?"

You shrugged. "Eh. He was probably just checking in. We have a fine relationship." It wasn't true but it was an easy lie, that rolled off the tongue like nothing. He had already called twice, that day, and you knew why.

"Seriously, though," she said with a frown, looking up from her book. "You look fucking horrifying—"

"—Thanks," you said, flatly.

"—I mean, even more than normal, it's crazy—"

"—Thanks," you repeated.

"—Have you not been sleeping, or something?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I'm an architecture major, and it's midterms... so not really."

"Hm."

"What?" you asked, propping your head up on your arm. "What's the 'hm' for?"

She shrugged, trying to turn back to her textbook. "Hm, nothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows down at her. "Well, obviously the 'hm' was something, Tara." Mindy shot you a look again.

"Or it was just a hm."

“Would you two shush,” she said to you, rolling her eyes. “You bicker like an old married couple.” But you both ignored her.

"It's never just a 'hm.'"

"I say hm all the time. It's literally just a hm."

"No, it means you've got something to say but don't want to say it."

She frowned at the accusation but was obviously even more displeased that you were correct. "I was gonna suggest we go to the OBK party tonight, but maybe you should just go home and sleep. I was trying to be nice.”

You shrugged. "I won't be doing either, actually." Tonight was not the night for parties. You were somewhat grateful, that you had a legitimate excuse to busy your time, or else you would've spent even longer thinking about the dream. "I have to do homework. My final is due tomorrow."

Tara furrowed her eyebrows at you. "Wait, but I thought classes ended today."

You shook your head. "Nope. I've still got some stuff do."

"Oh," Tara frowned.

"Not all of us can have easy majors," you teased, trying to lighten the mood away from what was clearly concern.

"Hey! You chose the stupid thing," Tara shot back. "Not my fault I chose something fun." She stood up, gathering her things into a neat stack. The time was nearing for her midterm exam, and you stood up with her, grabbing her textbook to be helpful.

"Thanks," she said, then she wandered over and held out her hand. You grabbed it in yours, lacing your fingers together, just like you had practiced together.

The library was a tall building on the far side of campus from where you lived. It was a trek and a half to get there, which is partially why you had been a little annoyed, when Tara said she needed to go there. It ended up being the perfect place to fall asleep in, with the quiet signs and only a few murmurs now and again, and though it had been a less than peaceful dream, it was more than you had been getting for the past few days.

"I don't see why you can't just go without me," you shrugged, adjusting her book in your hands. "Just tell Sam I'll meet you there. Besides, Chad and Mindy are going to the same party, right?"

"Yeah, but I what if they realise you're not actually there and mention it to Sam, or something? And, I'd have to go there alone, since Chad and Mindy are going early."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Helping with set up. Mindy literally just mentioned that. Shows how much you listen to her.” She shook her head in a mocking disappointment in you.

“I was asleep, jerk.”

“I know,” she said, grinning.

You looked down to her, where she walked next to you, gently swinging your joint hands back and forth. "It's not a far walk to OBK. You could probably make it there in five minutes. It's well-lit, and—"

Tara frowned, shaking her head adamantly. "Not alone. Not without you, no way. Sam would want to see you at the door to pick me up. She'd probably hate the idea of it."

"Fair enough," you shrugged. "Find a movie at home tonight, then. Relax, or something. I'd kill to be done with this stupid project."

"What are you even making?" Tara groaned, breaking your hands to shove hers into her pockets. Actually, it was your jacket, and therefore technically your pockets too, but she had taken a liking to it, after your date. You had been less than pleased, when she asked to borrow it, considering how much the jacket meant to you, but she insisted it was assisting her to keep up the act. You figured you could part with it, at least for a little while.

"Architecture," you said with a thick layer of sarcasm. Tara rolled her eyes at you. She nudged you, and you couldn't help but laugh as her elbow pointed into your side.

"Oh, you think you're funny, huh?"

"I'm hilarious."

"You wish..." she scoffed, shaking her head.

It was a beautiful day in autumn, and the weather was soon to leave the sigh of brown leaves and rainy days and move into whispery winds and icy pavement. You didn't mind winter, but you didn't like the chills, even though it was undoubtedly what gave summer's warmth a certain sweetness. Still, nothing burned like the cold.

You walked her all the way to the door of the exam hall, stopping out front to hand her the textbook you had been carrying. You went to speak, but the moment you tried to open your mouth, your phone started ringing. You grabbed it from your pocket, sighing and declining the call, while Tara stared at you.

"Is that your dad, again?"

"No," you said. "Telemarketer."

"Right..." she said, frowning. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I?" you challenged. You were, it was true.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

“I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m asking why, (Y/n).”

"Why don't you leave it alone?" you shot, in frustration. You could see Tara's eyes narrow at your tone, and you felt a bit bad. There was the occasional reflex still, to bite each other's heads off. You weren't sure what it was about her, but something about Tara Carpenter always seemed to rile you up inside, and do the same for her with you.

"Sorry," you said, looking down at your shoes. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean you have to be an asshole," Tara glared.

"Right... I'm... sorry."

Tara sighed. "I guess I'll see you next week?" She asked.

You nodded. "There'll be plenty of time after this, I just need to get this thing done."

"Okay," she nodded, failing to hide her excitement. Tara seemed to really love parties, the more and more she went to, and you were somewhat glad you could help her find something she enjoyed. It was nice to see, not that you'd ever say that to her. Doing that would absolutely result in her teasing you again, or something even more annoying.

"Good luck on your test," you said.

"Good luck on your project, babe," she said, drawing the name out.

“Now who’s hilarious,” you said with an eye roll. Tara winked at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Me.”

===+++===

It seemed you were having no good luck on it whatsoever, actually. Laid out in front of you was all of your materials, in a messy pile of cut-out pieces and foam boards that were there, sure, but not likely to just jump together and put itself together on its own.

The clock had already ticked away to 12:33 in the morning, and your design was barely finalised to where you could get to work and finish quickly. All of the other students had left at a much more reasonable hour, and it left you standing at your table alone, quietly working to classical music in the empty modelling lab.

At this rate, you could be here for another two or three hours, and the project was due at eight. You were sluggish, slowly working through the plans you had set out days ago and working through the kinks.

Every few minutes, when you stopped for even a second, the dream seemed to rush back to the forefront of your brain. Your mother had been the one to call, that evening while you were eating a poor excuse of a dinner, and you had declined that call just like you had declined all the rest.

You were hunched over your work, probably unhealthily so, with your face buried in your iPad, hastily throwing out sketches of the various shapes. You were settling on a design that would have to do, heading for the woodcutter, when you heard a noise.

It resembled a door shutting, and you froze right where you were. "Greg?" you called out. There was no one else in the building except for you and Greg, at his usual security post, and you waited with bated breath for him to return your call.

But there was no response, and all you could hear was the sounds of classical music gently floating in the background. Usually, it set you at ease while you worked through whatever you were doing in the lab, but now all it did was raise your heart rate to match the increasing tempo. It was completely dark, except for the overhead light above you, which illuminated the table you were working at and a few of the stainless steel cabinets that held tools and supplies.

Then, off to the side, you heard a rolling. An odd, wooden rolling, slowly drifting towards you. On the ground was a pencil, gently pushed towards you, playfully rolling as if perfectly in front of your toes. You hopped to your feet. "Hello?" you called, squinting in the dim light, in case anyone else was there. "Is anyone there?" you called out again. "Greg?"

Now you could really feel the thumping of your heart. The modelling lab had always been creepy late at night, but this was a new level of unease. It was as if someone was watching you, playing with their food, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "Is someone there?" you said to the rest of the room.

"Hey!" said a voice, and you jumped what felt like five feet into the air.

"Fuck!" you shouted, spinning around and seeing Tara behind you. She jumped at your reaction, raising her hands up. In one of them was a tray with two coffees on it. “You scared me!”

"Woah, woah, are you okay?" she asked, face etched with concern. She walked towards you slowly, and you put your hands on the edge of the table, trying to calm yourself.

"Don't just sneak up on me like that, dude," you glared at her.

"I literally didn't, I fucking announced myself, loud as can be," Tara said, rolling her eyes at you. Then, it melded into concern. "How long have you been here?" she asked, looking around the place and its emptiness.

"Since I left you at your test," you shrugged. "How'd it go by the way?" Tara's eyebrows furrowed, ignoring your question instead for one of her own.

"Did you at least eat dinner, or something?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Good."

“Yeah…,” you trailed off, turning back to your work. “How did you know where I was?"

“I asked Chad. He’s still a little snippy with me about, well, thinking we're together. Tried to tell me that if anyone would know, it would be me, and I said, yeah, that’s true, but it’s only been three months, now.”

“Well,” you said, gesturing around to the lab. “This is the modelling lab.” You were a bit of a nerd about the whole place, showing it off like it was your cool superhero lair.

“I know,” Tara mocked. “I saw it on the giant sign above the front door.”

“Ha ha. Does Sam know that you’re here?” You asked, grabbing your pen and resuming your work while you continued to talk to Tara. She plopped herself down on the edge of the table, letting her feet swing.

She looked a bit sheepish at the question. “Uh… no.”

“You know she’ll kill me like she did that one time, if you’re not home when she wakes up,” you frowned, wandering over to the supplies and grabbing out a box cutter to help trim the pieces you needed.

Tara nodded. “I know. But I snuck out, so I’ll sneak back in.”

You turned back around to reply, maybe say something stupid, but you had to stop yourself from laughing, when you saw her legs hanging off the counter and not reaching the ground.

“What?” Tara asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and returning to the table. “…Dwarf.”

“Hey!” she said, smacking you on the arm. “I brought you coffee, don’t make me take it back.”

“That’s true,” you frowned, weighing your options. “Guess I can’t make fun of you; you brought me caffeine.”

“That’s more like it."

You worked in silence for a few minutes, feeling Tara watch your every movement. It was harder to work, under her scrutiny, but you were grateful that she was there. It wasn’t lonely in there, any more. A few months ago, you would’ve hated her guts for sitting around while you attempted to work. But not with Tara anymore. Not on that day.

“This might be an all-nighter,” you warned, sending her a small smile as you sliced a piece of foam in half and went to work to attach it to your board.

“Fine with me,” Tara shrugged. She just continued to watch you, in a calm silence. “Actually, I have beef with you,” she hummed.

You laughed, looking up while you secured the base with glue. “Why’s that, Tara?”

“You got that song, stuck in my head.”

“Which one?” You asked.

“The one you sang for me. I found it online.”

“Which one?” you teased, smiling again. Your face was tired and the smile certainly didn’t help, but you couldn’t help the newfound peace washing over you again. You had completely forgotten the weird happening from earlier.

“You know, don’t play dumb.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t know.”

“You literally do,” Tara scoffed.

“Sing a little bit. Refresh my memory.”

“Nuh uh,” she said, crossing her arms. “This is a trap.”

“It isn’t,” you insisted, sticking your pinky out to her. “Swear.”

She wrapped it in her own, rolling her eyes. She definitely knew it was, but she obliged anyway. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a strangerrr. You know in the end,” her voice broke on the low note like yours did, and you laughed while heat rose to her cheeks. “I’ll always be thereeee.”

“And when you’re in doubt,” you sang back to her, in between laughs. “And when you’re in dangerrr.” You both were tone deaf and the rendition was awful, but the mood in the lab was getting lighter and lighter the longer you were together.

“Take a look all around,” Tara sang, coming back in. “And I’ll be there.”

It was impossible not to laugh at how bad it was on both sides, and you grinned at her toothily, before turning back to your work. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome, idiot,” she teased, nudging you in the side again.

===+++===

You went back to working on your model, finishing the first floor in about an hour. You and Tara occasionally talked now and again, but mostly she just watched you while you worked. “Why are you doing this all tonight?” she asked.

“Uh…” you stuttered. “I didn’t have time the past couple weeks…cause of… well, you.”

She shot up to her feet, mouth dropping open. “Why the hell didn’t you say no to me?! I didn’t know you had all this to do.”

You shrugged. “I never mentioned it. Plus, you were having fun. I’m glad someone was enjoying themselves.”

“Oh…” she said, and it sounded small.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“…Nothing."

“It’s fine, Tar. Seriously.” She blinked at you.

“Tar?” she asked, looking amused.

You looked up from your work, feeling the change in the atmosphere. “What?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just never used the nickname for me, before.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Is it weird?”

“Well… no. I kind of like it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding a little. “My mom was the one who gave me the nickname Tar. Haven’t spoken to her in a little while, though.”

“Do you still miss her?” you asked, glueing your second story onto the base successfully.

“Sometimes…” she trailed off, staring out at the pitch black night through the window that hung over your workspace. "She calls me once in a while."

"Do you answer?" you asked.

"No," she admitted. "It's usually about Woodsboro. I gave up on her a few months ago, but she still calls sometimes about the town."

"You never talk about it..." you comment, trailing off with a hand on the back of your neck. "You don't have to, if you don't want to." You leaned back against the table with a curiosity, watching her face move as she struggled to answer.

"Well... it's cause I don't want to that I don't talk about it. You know how people say that shit about manifesting happiness?" you nodded, knowing what she was talking about. "Well, I keep saying I'm fine, and I'm moving on, but it just keeps following me everywhere. It's like this chronic cough I can't shake. This constant thing. No matter how much I run, it's always there. People don't see me as anything but one of the survivors."

You swallowed, feeling her words hit you. "I know what you mean." Tara's eyes snapped down to yours, but when you didn't volunteer more information, she sighed.

You frowned, turning yourself back to your work and hunching over, so she wouldn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “I, uh… I listened to that song you said you liked, too.”

“You did?” she asked, lighting up at the mention of it.

“Yeah… added it to my playlist… so…”

“So…” Tara laughed, amused by your awkwardness. It was somehow less awkward when you hated each other. The fact you could tolerate each other now was unusual but not unpleasant, and you still found yourself grappling with how pretty Tara’s eyes looked in lamplight. "If I get a nickname, you absolutely have to have one too."

You scoffed. "That's not at all what that means."

"You had to have had one at some point."

"No, I haven't had one," you said.

"Liar!" Tara said with a giggle, pointing at you with her finger. "You're so bad at lying it's remarkable. Now spill. What is it?"

"I'm not lying!" you insisted, but now you were laughing and it was even less convincing.

"C'mon, promise I won't say it in public— unless it's really bad."

You stared at her for a moment, when she clasped her hands together in a begging plea.

"Please?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Pleaseeee?"

"Fine," you sighed. "My family, they used to call me Duck."

"Duck?" She asked, leaning back to look at you as if the nickname would re-contextualise your entire appearance. "Where'd that come from?"

"It's dumb. I used to wear this yellow raincoat when it was storming outside and these orange booties, so my little brother Mitchie saw me, when he was like five or six, and said I was a Duck. And so I was Duck."

She smiled at you, genuinely pleased with the explanation. "That's adorable. Where is Mitchie, tonight?"

You opened your mouth but shut it. Then, you opened it again. "Probably watching cartoons, or something. Back in Nebraska." (A/N: my ass genuinely did not know that was a U.S. state until right now)

You couldn't tell her that today was the day he had died, several years ago. That a year or two before that had happened, Calvin had gone, and a few months before that, Tomas and Alisha had passed too. That Peter had gotten sick, or that Miranda had gone missing before any of that mess had happened. That you were the only one left.

It was a bad lie, and probably one you would regret later, but it was one you ushered past, and Tara didn't seem to pick up on. From one cursed person to another, you figured it was probably best that you keep your own curse to yourself. It's part of what had made you hate Tara so much at first. She walked around knowing her days were likely numbered, so carefree and careless. And then there was you, you who was so careful in order to keep living.

But you couldn't resent her for that. It had melted away with seeing the Tara underneath. The real, beautiful Tara underneath.

"Duck is good, though. I'll bring it out when I want to embarrass you," Tara smiled, inching closer on the table.

"Yeah?" you grinned back at her, standing up to gently tap against the glue. It was set, and your model was finally finished at 4:42 in the morning. Tara leaned close, watching the glue with her own eyes, cheek almost up against yours in curiosity.

You finished the thing, looking over at her and her large, warm brown eyes, staring at the model you had made with so much curiosity and genuine interest. Tara hadn't lifted a finger to help, but you couldn't help but feel like it was partially hers.

You went to pull back but found your face turning towards hers, looking at each other for a long moment. Your eyes lingered on the slope of her nose, down to the curvature of her soft lips, turned up in the corners like Tara always did when she smiled. They looked so soft, and before you knew what was happening, you could feel Tara's hands coming up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently stroking against the skin there.

You couldn't breathe, feeling the warmth of the pads of her fingers on your face and the faint brush of her breath upon your nose. "Tara," you whispered. The pull was magnetic, and just as you were about to say to hell with it all, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, and you both leapt apart from each other.

You wandered a few feet away, trying to seem busy while she answered it. You could feel Tara watching you while she spoke on the phone, so you did your best to hide the blush that was certainly spread wide across your cheeks.

This was the very girl you had spent the past several months hating. You suddenly felt dizzy, like the world would slip out from under your feet. Tara, the very same annoying girl who had pestered with you and bickered with you. The one who had so much more to her that what you had ever thought possible. The one who drew you in. The one in search of a hook up, for which you were only the decoy. You cleared your throat, whipping around when you heard Tara say "What?!"

"What's wrong?" you asked. "What's going on?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at you like she was about to cry. "They're questioning Sam again. They think Ghostface is back."

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN anyways my ass is going to bed now. also i do not recommend anyone lie to someone they're interested in about who they are, ESPECIALLY an attempted murder victim

[moonstruckme]

heya!! i was wondering if you could write a poly!marauders x reader where r stopped smoking..? i’m 6 months clean from smoking nicotine and i haven’t told anyone (you’re the first!! lmao) just incase i break from a stressful day and so i don’t disappoint!! could you maybe write that into the drabble or whatever you do..? tysm if you do, and if you don’t then no worries!!

i love you mae and make sure to take care of yourself and keep being you!!!!

thanks for requesting gorgeous, i really hope you're doing well!! proud of you <3

cw: smoking, reader deals with addiction

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 936 words

Remus smells like cigarettes. He’s stopped smoking anywhere near you, but you’re sure if you look out the front door you’ll see the telltale smear of ash smashed into the sidewalk from where he’d stamped one out on the way in. The aroma brings longing and self-loathing, the former more potent than the latter, and you find yourself breathing in the fibers of his sweater for a whiff of it. 

Remus doesn’t catch onto the true motivation for your proximity. He takes it for cuddling, adjusting his hold on his book so he can read with one hand while the other wraps around your shoulders, encouraging you closer to his side. Underneath the heady smell of lingering smoke he smells like himself, like cinnamon and oranges, and you try to focus on that as your better sense fogs over and your fingers start itching for a cig. 

“Aha!” Sirius slaps his last card down on the table. 

James blows out a flabbergasted breath, leaning back on his hands on the floor. They’re playing some kids’ card game Remus learned in primary school and unwisely taught them. At first you’d all gotten into it, but after Sirius nearly took your head off for forgetting the rules and playing with two hands (“Sorry, gorgeous, you know I don’t mean anything I say when I’m trying to win…and I could have won, couldn’t I? No, I’m just saying, it’s about the principle—”) you and Remus had bowed out. James and Sirius have retained their obsession for days, each keeping a scoreboard in their own heads that seems to hold them in favor. 

“Angel?” 

You look up, meeting James’ knowing gaze. “Hm?” 

“He asked if you’re getting hungry for dinner,” Remus clues you in, toying with the ends of your hair. 

“Oh, sorry. Um…” You think hard. One of the more irritating things about quitting smoking is that now your appetite never seems to fully die down. You’re ready for your next meal all day long, and so you actually have to think about whether it makes sense for you to have it. “I had some carrots just after I got home, so I could eat whenever you want to.” 

“Alright…” 

You take another deep inhale, telling yourself it’s because Remus smells nice and losing your grasp on self-control all the while. 

“Are you tired?” Remus asks, and you don’t know how you didn’t notice it before, that extra bit of roughness that his voice takes on after he’s been smoking. You’re so envious you could die. “You seem distracted.” 

“I’m good,” you murmur. Though perhaps it’d be better if you did take a nap or something. You’re beginning to feel twitchy. You take in a breath through your nose like you’ve been practicing, letting it out through your mouth. 

“Ah.” Sirius scoots closer to you, laying his cheek on the couch cushion. “You want to have a piece of your gum, sweet thing?” 

You look at him guiltily. Remus makes a soft sound of realization. 

“You’re picking your nails,” Sirius explains, and you look down to see that you are. “I imagine that means you’re craving one.” 

It’s simultaneously sweet and irksome that none of your boyfriends will even say the word cigarette around you anymore. They’re trying to be considerate, you know, but it feels like they think your self-control is so tenuous that just one word could shatter it. You don’t have the heart to tell them. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, getting the pack of gum out of your pocket. Just the act of unwrapping a stick makes you feel instantly better. “I guess I was thinking I wouldn’t need it anymore.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” James says lightly. “I don’t imagine it’s easy, sweetheart, you shouldn’t feel bad about using something to cope. It’s not like having gum hurts anything.” 

You hum, then turn to Remus sheepishly. “I’m really sorry, do you think you might be able to change?” He looks confused. “Your sweater smells like cigarettes,” you explain. 

James gasps as though scandalized and Remus swears, grabbing the neckline of his sweater and tugging it off. He tosses it into the hall. 

“M’sorry, dove.” He takes your head between his hands, mushing a kiss into your hair. He’s now bare-chested, and you laugh at the dramatics, totally unexpected from him. “I didn’t realize. Is it better now?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

He drops another kiss on your head, remorseful. “Alright, I’ll go grab something else to wear,” he says, starting to stand. Both Sirius and James protest loudly. 

“I think what you’re wearing now looks great,” says James. 

“Yeah,” Sirius seconds, “stay in that.” 

Remus looks down at his shirtless torso, raising an eyebrow at the other boys. You can see the amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“Really?” he asks. 

“Come on, it’s not like the fucking Pope’s coming over,” Sirius says, looking well below your boyfriend’s eyes with unabashed enthusiasm. “Tell him, gorgeous.” 

Remus turns his gaze on you. You curl in on yourself slightly, shrugging your shoulders. “This is the best distraction I’ve had all day,” you say quietly, and James’ laughter booms off the walls. 

“Fair enough.” Remus rolls his eyes, grinning as he sits back down on the couch beside you. You get comfy like you were against his side, now smelling only him. He drapes his arm across your back, settling a hand on your hip. “The lows I stoop to for you, hm?” 

“If you’re not up to the task,” Sirius says, “just say the word. I’d be happy to take her off your hands.” 

“Fuck off,” Remus says, and tugs you closer.

[chrissturnsfav]

Hiiiiii, your work is like insanely good. I am obsessed with singer!reader and rapper!chris!!Can I request one where they’re just like oh and someone asked for a picture with reader and Chris takes it?? It’s just really cute and fluffy!!!

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris loves to watch singer!reader interact with her fans

the night air hums with energy as you step out of the sleek black escalade, chris closely at your side.

the flash of cameras hits immediately, paparazzi shouting questions you’ve learned to ignore. your bodyguards keep the growing crowd at bay, creating a bubble of calm amid the chaos.

chris keeps a hand at the small of your back as you walk toward the restaurant. his presence is grounding, his confident grin a constant reminder not to take any of this too seriously.

that’s when you hear it—a small, timid voice breaking through the noise.

“excuse me… um, can i get a picture?”

you turn to see a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, clutching a phone in her hands along with a vinyl of your newest album. her eyes are wide with hope, her cheeks flushed with nervous excitement. it’s clear she’s talking to you.

your heart melts instantly. you crouch a little to her level, offering her your warmest smile. “of course, pretty girl. what’s your name?”

the crowd of fans and paparazzi begin gushing at the adorable moment, some fans trying to push through the crowd in hopes to get a picture with you as well.

“ava,” she says shyly, glancing between you and chris as if she can’t believe this is happening.

chris steps in before you can even think about how to set this up. “here, i got it,” he says, holding his hand out for ava’s phone.

ava hesitates, starstruck. “oh my gosh, you’re chris!” she exclaims through an excited grin, her eyes twinkling with awe.

he chuckles, taking the phone with ease. “yeah, that's me kid.”

you laugh softly at him, stepping closer to ava as chris angles the phone. “aight, big smiles,” he says, crouching slightly for the perfect shot.

you wrap an arm around ava, who looks like she might float away from happiness. chris adjusts the phone, tapping to focus, his tongue poking out in focus to get the perfect picture as he watches you interact with the little fan.

“got it,” he announces after a few clicks. he kneels to show ava the pictures, and her face lights up.

“thank you so much!” she says, looking from him to you with pure gratitude.

“of course, ava,” you reply, ruffling her hair gently. “have the best day ever, okay?”

as the girl rushes back to her parents, you turn to find chris staring at you. not at the cameras, not at the crowd—but at you. he looks lost in thought, a smirk on his face, but it's not cocky as usual. he looks in awe of you.

“what?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, a snicker slipping past your lips.

he shakes his head, that lopsided grin of his spreading wider. “nah, nothin',” he says softly with a shake of his head. “you’re just so sweet.”

you roll your eyes, though you’re smiling. “chris, stop.”

“m'serious ma,” he says, slipping his arm back around your waist as you both continue toward the restaurant. “i love watchin' ya interact wit' your fans, 'specially the little ones, she was all smiles.”

the flashes of the paparazzi pop again, but they’re nothing compared to the warmth in his voice. you lean into him slightly, an appreciative smile on your lips as he grins down at you, his arm snaking around your waist as you enter the restaurant away from the chaos.

it always baffles chris how you're so patient and sweet with your fans, not that he's not appreciative and kind with his fans, but you...

the way your face lights up when you meet them, the kindness in your soft voice, the gestures you make to them.

it just makes him love you even more.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: the end is a lil cringe in my opinion, but i didn't know how else to end this so i hope it was okay lmao

thank you for reading! <3

@chrissturnsfav ™

[splatashahowlett]

Birthday Blues

logan howlett x reader

logan hated cake.

well, he hated this cake. the one rogue had spent her entire afternoon baking for your birthday. of course you would have wanted a cake portraying henry cavill out of anyone. even if it was horrifying to admit, logan came to the conclusion -after staring at the cake for twenty minutes- that what he felt may be, somewhat, probably, eventually, potentially close to what you call jealousy.

not because it wasn't his face on the cake, solely thinking about it sent him into a spiral of absurdity. but more because you weren't interested in him in the slightest, and that somehow upset him a little bit. he would live through it though. logan doesn't need anyone and the more people stay away from him the better. so no, he wasn't about to make a move or confess his feelings to you cause you couldn't even call those feelings... logan had never felt this foolish in a long time.

you were turning 28. you almost couldn't believe it. life hasn't been kind to you (read cruel and atrocious) and you were in peace with the fact that you weren't going to make it past 25. so celebrating your birthday, one more time, felt exhilarating. you weren't supposed to be alive still, so it felt like bonus time. and you wanted to make the most of it. "making the most of it" currently meant dancing on a table with your best friend, ororo. not caring if it could break under your sophisticated dance moves, if people love you or if you really did turn off the stove earlier.

in this moment, you couldn't care less. you felt truly happy.

and hot. you felt hot.

not in a "I feel cute" way -well, also in a "I feel cute" way- but burning hot.

you tried to scream over the music, telling ororo you were going outside. she clearly didn't hear you but you needed fresh air so you quickly gave up.

once you were outside you seated yourself on the stairs of the school. you ears were ringing and body sweating. you tried to enjoy the delicate breeze grazing over your cheeks but for some reason you couldn't relax. after a quick glance behind you, you figured your life long crush watching you might be the reason why.

"you startled me" you yelped, a hand flying to your chest.

"sorry kid" he answered, walking over to you. he sat down next to you, careful to leave lot of space between you two. you hated when he called you that. you didn't take it personally because he called everyone that but each time it felt like a sting in your heart reminding you that nothing will ever happen between the two of you, that it was impossible. you both stayed silent, not knowing what to say and how to say it.

"you looked like you were having fun back there" he said, lighting a cigar. you smiled and turned your head to look at him. you were leaving the school soon and this "ahead of time nostalgia" pushed you to do something stupid; you suddenly wanted to find out if there could be something between you. alcohol could also be a factor. so you kept your gaze on him, heart beating at an expeditious and maybe even unhealthy rate.

"I was" you nodded, "were you having fun?" you added.

"s'not really my thing" he sighed, not annoyed but more disappointed.

"having fun?" you joked, still looking at him, he glanced at you with a smile on his face. you were effortlessly soothing to him. you were his own personification of serenity.

"no, dancing and all..." he replied, still smiling.

you looked down, your smile slowly fading. "I'm gonna miss this. our nighttime conversations" you complained. logan's stare was still on you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"you're leaving?" he asked, urgently. you only nodded, saying it out loud would be heart-wrenching. you both fell silent again. you didn't know what to do, should you tell him you've been in love with him since you first saw him? should you tell him you hate him so leaving would be easier? should you stay? a thousands thoughts were rushing through your mind for what felt like an hour but really was only a long minute. this shattering turmoil was interrupted by logan standing up.

"teach me." he said, while holding out a hand. you looked up, confused.

"teach you what?" you said, though still taking his hand and following him on the grass.

"to dance, I want to learn to have fun. I want to have something left from you once you're gone" he said, straight into your eyes and you felt your breath stuck in your throat. so you took a step and captured his other hand in your free one.

"I'm no professional logan" you bantered.

"but you're more than passionate about it, it's all that matters" he answered, in all sincerity while you started guiding his steps into a slow dance. his hand was on your waist, keeping you close to his body.

"were you watching me?" you asked, feeling bold enough to flirt.

"how could I not? you seem to catch my attention in every room you walk in" he admitted, not showing how scared he was at the moment.

"why didn't you say anything sooner? why didn't you say anything when we had time?" you whimpered, on the edge of tears.

logan stopped dancing and pulled you to him. silently apologizing.

"my heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own" you muttered, in a desperate attempt to fix whatever was to be fixed. logan closed his eyes, jubilating at your confession which also broke his heart considering you both acknowledged your feelings for each other once it was too late. "kiss me" he heard.

so he did, he did kiss you. he kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever do, because it was in a way. he knew he couldn't keep you from leaving, so he let you have a part of him with you: his heart, along with a promise of seeing each other again.

[impactedfates]

Detective Oblivious - Various Genshin Characters x GN! Reader

★ Summary: Your best friend lately has been acting strange. Could they have a crush on someone?! You have to get to the bottom of it…though perhaps you can start by noticing how they look at you

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Alhaitham, Ayato, Kazuha, Xiao, Yelan, Ningguang

★ Genre/Trope: Romantic + Fluff + Maybe a bit of Crack

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: HSR Ver Here // Semi-Proof Read

Honestly I don't blame you for not noticing Alhaitham likes you. He's very hard to read. But at the same time, it doesn't take a detective to notice how he's more careful with his words when talking to you. He doesn't necessarily care what you think of him, even if he likes you, however he does wish for you to see him in a more positive light.

So even though you've been friends for so long, his sudden change in how he talks to you is so you can hopefully see how he feels about you as he believes you'd be able to notice but well...much to his dismay and annoyance, you don't.

You got the part that he likes someone, but not that those feelings are directed towards you. Have you not seen the longing stares he gives you when you're doing anything? How he's more lenient in what you're doing?? How when he was The Acting Grand Sage, how he always looked over anything you wrote to him first???

Clearly not as, as when he enters his home he can see you talking to Kaveh to see if he knows anything about who he likes. Kaveh, noticing him behind you, simply smiled. Although Alhaitham wants to confess to you, he'd rather him telling you directly or you finding out yourself without the need of help from others. And Kaveh knew this...

"Oh, he likes yo-"

A book was suddenly thrown at Kaveh as the Scribe quickly took you away.

"Wh- hey! He was going to tell me something"

"Didn't want him to say something I should be saying...I should be the one telling you I like you"

Many people caught on to the way Ayato treated you differently towards others, in fact. Both Ayaka and Thoma knew he liked you before he himself knew. Yet, why was it that everyone but you knew how much he held you dear to his heart?

Ayato never had much free time to be frank, however unlike his other friends and even family. He would never send anyone as many gifts as he did to you. Anytime you liked something you'd have it delivered to your house right away. You always thanked him for it, beaming as you looked at it. Although you did slightly feel bad as some of the things you off handily mention wanting are quite expensive. But the Commissioner doesn't care. Seeing that smile is enough for him.

What he does care about however, is how dense you are towards his acts of affection. As stated, he gives you more gifts than anyone else he knows. But another thing he does that he's surprised doesn't get you to catch on, is him "jokingly" calling your Mx Kamisato (he's half joking, he does want to marry you)

What surprises him more is that you somehow think it's directed to someone else?? You question him on who he's referring to even though he was looking directly at you.

Eventually he gently backs you into a corner and makes you face him, turning your chin towards him.

"My dear...I've tried everything but you don't get the hint. So I'll say it here...I love you~"

You found some poems that Kazuha had written, and it's about someone. In fact, it's about someone romantically. This caused you to quickly search for who said love poem is about.

One of the kids witnessed you ranting to yourself about who could've taken the samurai's heart and told Beidou, who then found it amusing enough to tell Kazuha who at first laughs it off before realising you've likely read the poems he wrote. He is thankful you haven't found out it's about you, but at the same time. He doesn't think you've met anyone that's like you, and the love poem does describe you near perfectly. Still...at least you haven't found out?

He watches from a small distance as you glance at him before looking away. This happens a lot, especially when he's talking to a friend who questions your behaviour. In fact, you've done this so much that people assume you're Kazuha's partner and want his attention. They even comment about it to which you both politely explain that you're just friends.

Eventually though, he makes no comment when someone assumes the two of you are dating, which makes you question him which leads to you finally figuring out who the love poem is about.

"Wait so...the love poems..."

"Is about you yes, I like you"

I can see him being quite confused himself when he realises he likes someone and might even tell you about how he's feeling. He won't directly say who it is but he tells enough to let you know he's fallen DEEP in love with someone.

Now the two of you are trying to figure out just who's the one making his heart beat faster and clouding his mind. In truth, Xiao quickly realizes it's you that's causing it. But he can't tell you, he's a bit too flustered to tell you, especially with how cute you look trying to figure it out yourself.

So he lets the search go on, he allows you to drag him to meet various people and see if he feels his heart beating faster. And while it does, that's only because you're beside him. Nothing else. He was happy enough to let you guess till you gave up, he didn't think you'd like him back anyways.

However Hu Tao would beg to differ, she's been listening to you rant about how you loved Xiao and all that stuff. In fact, she's even heard from Zhongli that Xiao likes you. So when you come along with the Adeptus in tow and ask him if he feels any different towards her. She has a feeling she knows what's going on. And why not play matchmaker?

"You don't feel anything at all?"

"No..."

The funeral directly quickly piped up, gently pushing you into Xiao's arms and watching his face burst into shades of crimson.

"What about now? Having the love of your life in your arms is bound to make you feel something right?"

She...out right flirts with you. And not in a way to get info from you, just...actual flirting. Yelan knows what she wants and tends to get what she wants. More so in terms of information, but she also wants you and will try anything to make you realize her feelings for you.

She probably knows you like her as well, so this should be easy right? Just flirt with you and you'll get the picture right?...Yeah...

"I would love to spend the future with you y'know darling~ Especially in the same house"

"Oh that would be great"

"Exa-"

"Rent would be so much cheaper if we were roommates"

She...finds your obliviousness cute...in a weird way though. She finds it even more cute that you do in fact recognize her flirting eventually...but think she's using you as practice. Now she spots you trying to figure out who it is so you can help her more. And "act" like her crush. She does need to eventually tell you so you can stop searching, I mean. The answer is clear if you look in a mirror.

"C'mon Lanlan, you need to tell who you actually like"

"Hm? Oh but I am sweetie~"

Ningguang is obviously highly respected and of course has her own set of admirers. You used to see her reading each letter with care and consideration before laughing. Not in a hateful way, truly she's grateful people like her that much. But recently she seems to read them a bit faster, seemingly searching for one name in particular.

It's clear to you she wants a certain person to be in her pile of confession letters. And you'll figure out who. I mean, what better way to help your friend then finding out who she likes and seeing if they like her back right :D

Well...word got to her that you've been searching through some of her things, nothing personal but just around her office. Not to mention observing her more closely lately which she plays off as you being interested in what she has to say. But when she hears that you've apparently scared a poor soul with some of your questioning she goes to confront you.

To which you weakly explain you want to help her find out if her crush likes her back or not. She simply laughs a bit, surprised. She's been giving you special treatment ever since she found out her feelings for you. You've been given bigger discounts because she just cannot let her "darling" pay so much. Alongside other things she thought were obvious hints in the hopes you'll write her a confession letter.

"Well...if you want to help me find out if they like me back, answer me this"

"Yeah?"

"Do you like me?"

Anyone else find it hard to know when someone likes them? Cuz I do, hence this idea sprang forth. Not all the characters included are ones I simp for but I thought it would be interesting to add them (I literally only simp for Alhaitham and Ayato out of the characters included tbh nsoaorgr)

[polarisjisung]

ꨄ A FLAME BLOOMS, LIKE A FEVER

02z WHEN YOURE SICK

pairings: enha (02z) × reader genre: fluff wc: 0.55k warnings: use of petnames notes: I accidentally bought kids panadol when I was sick and it was so fire I think it was called calpol but it was so good yo | LIBRARY

JAY — acts of service!!

Don't expect to move a finger, you're hungry? He'll cook. You need something from another room? He'll get it. You need to go downstairs? He'll carry you.

“Jay you can't do everything for me, honey.” You'd croak out, coughing. And Jay would already be standing with a glass of warm honey water for you to soothe the ache in your throat.

He takes your words as a challenge. He absolutely can do everything for you. Just you wait and see.

You're pulling your jumper over your arms, feeling too hot, and Jay runs, practically sprints to your side.

“Arms up love,” you don't have the energy to argue with him, and if you did, you're sure you'd lose anyways, letting him pull the material over your head in one swift motion.

You can expect that jumper to be freshly washed and neatly folded in your closet the next time you get up. Maybe even with a couple of sprays of his cologne to make it smell just like him.

JAKE — bribes you with kisses

Is a mother. He knows you're going to be sick even before you are. It's like an instinct. He'll warn you, telling you not to go out with wet hair or to take a jacket when you go out. You don't listen, of course, and Jake nags you endlessly.

Still, he takes care of you meticulously, spoon feeding you home cooked meals he's spent hours making.

“Jakey, I'm really not hungry.” You'd say, but he was having absolutely none of it.

“I know, baby, but you have to eat.” he'd coo before the idea comes to him, “One bite and i'l give you a kiss, hmm?”

Ever greedy for kisses, you'd agree, not realising Jake would probably end up the same as you a week later. He doesn't mind, though, just wanting you to get better.

Despite your hair being absolutely soaked with sweat, Jake still traces his fingertips across your head, massaging it. Only feeling relieved when you finally fall asleep.

SUNGHOON — medicines galore

At first, he tries to fix everything with wet paper towels and some panadol, but when that doesn't work, Sunghoon goes above and beyond.

“I got some headache medicines from the pharmacy, a few flavours of cough drops in case you don't like them all, I got these cute tissues, some herbal medicine and apparently chewing on ginger helps too.” He'd only have been gone for half an hour, not wanting to leave you alone for too long, and he'd come back with enough medicine to last you both a lifetime.

One you take the medicine, he watches you like a hawk, monitoring your condition, checking for any side effects. And if the medicine doesn't seem effective within a few hours, you practically have to beg Sunghoon not to buy more.

“Hoon, it's not going to work that quickly.” You have to tug him from walking away with all your strength.

“But you're sick.” He looks at you, frowning, with pouted lips and puppy eyes. You know just how much he hates seeing you in pain, with those low energy levels, and the missing spark in your eyes. It makes your heart swell.

“Hmm, they say the best medicine is—”

Sunghoon leaps out of your hold, ecstatic, “What, what is it?”

“Cuddles.”

taglist : @nanawrlds @flaminghotyourmom @mystverse @chenlezip @lotties-readings @jenobubbles

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

//sorry guys i know i already posted this but i'm reposting it so the masses can see okay awesome so sorry about this it's rather filthy

oh this is an old man logan fic inspired by colors by halsey you know the one

18+

"everything is gray/ his hair, his smoke, his dreams/and now he's so devoid of color/he don't know what it means."

-colors by halsey

i'm really specifically thinking about a relationship with him that starts out sort of casual-- you're young, spending busy days running around in some office, being some rich asshole's favorite thing to boss around.

but at night, you're his. and perhaps even more valuable, he's yours. sure, he drives people around, but on his nights off, he spends long nights that are too short in the shitty studio apartment you rent. he fucks you into the sheets that used to live in your college dorm room, and you are mesmerized by the gray of his beard (and maybe a little bit by the fact that he has such a beard).

one time, he wears pulls out these reading glasses and--

well--

he's sitting on the end of your bed, fumbling with an old book you wanted him to read. he's never been much of a reader, but he thinks to himself, he's not getting any younger, besides, he keeps you in a part of his heart that he wouldn't ever let anyone in to.

it's a scifi novel, you tell him, all about immigration, and the concept of a world without strict borders. it's a love story, you mention, and yet, it's a war story.

so he pulls out his reading glasses to read the back, and immediately, you're turned on. you can tell he's actually invested in it, the way his eyebrows furrow as his eyes adjust to the new look of the text.

what does take him by surprise is when he realizes you're kneeling between his legs, fumbling for the waistline of his pants, like your god damn life depends on it. his lips twitch into a smile.

"i just filled you up, what, ten minutes ago, and you're already begging for more?" he uses 'begging' because you remind him of a puppy, quietly asking for a treat.

"can't help it," you answer quickly, and before you can ask for anymore, he grips your hair in his free hand.

"what got you so worked up, kid?" you whine at the nickname, trying to pull away now, but his grip on your hair is stronger than your desire to get away is. "tell me." he says it like it's an ultimatum. tell him the truth or you won't be sucking anything.

"your glasses." you confess, and he scoffs, this sadistic sort of half chuckle.

"turned on by an old man's poor sight?" he ponders.

"are you complaining that your age turns me on and makes me want your cock in my mouth?"

he grips your hair tighter, a mean name dancing on his tongue.

"what did your daddy do to you to turn you into such a slut?" and your face burns, maybe with embarrassment, maybe with lust.

"fuck off."

his hand slaps your cheek, in a sort of half slap, half tap, and goes, "language." as if he won't have the filthiest mouth as soon as your tongue reaches his cock. then, he notices the way your thighs squeeze together when he says it with such authority, the way your eyes soften just a bit.

then, his hand grips your chin, pulling it up, as he bends down, your faces just inches apart-- as he leans, you hear his back creak just a bit.

he has that shit eating smirk on his face, as he gently kisses you, such a sharp contrast to his actions, to his words, to the way he fucks you.

you try to chase his lips as he pulls away just a bit, but his grip keeps you right where he wants you. then, he whispers,

"you're all mine, kid."

you can't find the words to deny it.

[fuctacles]

wereshifter au pt 3, but things get dumber

<<2 | 3 | 4>>

Eddie avoids the park on the next day, doesn't leave the house much at all, really, but he runs into the dog on his way out of a supermarket. He smiles involuntarily, reaching out to pet him.

"Hi, bud," he greets it, and they start the walk back to his van. But before he opens the passenger door to put the groceries there and let the dog hop in, he freezes. He looks down at his furry friend, staring at him so eagerly and with so much trust, and his heart breaks. But nevertheless, he drops his hand away from the door handle, and takes a step back. 

"Listen, man," he says, then sighs before dropping to his knees to address the dog properly and look a little bit less insane while doing it. "This is stupid," he murmurs to himself, before continuing. "I can't take you with me, okay? No more house visits. I'd love to play with you at the park, or something, but you can't come with me anymore." The dog's ears drop, like he can understand everything. Eddie continues. "Turns out, one of my friends is allergic to dog fur, so I can't have you over." He reaches out, hoping the ear scratches will be enough consolation. "I know you have a family somewhere, you should go to them."

The dog huffs almost angrily at that, but seems too happy with Eddie's petting to leave. So he indulges them both with some more scratches before he stands up, hoisting the grocery bag along with him.

"See you around?" he asks, rounding the car towards the driver seat. His dog friend follows, but sits on the sidewalk to watch him enter the van. Eddie can almost sense the betrayal behind his stare. "I know, buddy, I'm sad too," he says, closing the door. They stare at each other for another second before Eddie turns on the engine and peels off. 

After a week, he starts missing his little trips to the park, so he substitutes with reading a book on the porch. His free hand itches to scratch behind furry ears, so he gets some peanuts to keep it occupied instead. 

He hangs out with the boys like he always does, and he spots the kids on his way there, playing with his dog friend. When he hops over to say hi, it stops in it tracks, eyeing him warily. Eddie is lowkey afraid of losing a finger but approaches the dog anyway to give him a friendly (but not overly so) scratch.

"Hi, bud. Having fun?" he asks, and the dog presses more into his hand. "Okay, okay," he chuckles, giving into the silent ask for pets. When he looks up, everyone's looking at them weirdly.

Yes, Eddie Munson likes dogs, fuck off. 

He rolls his eyes and straightens up. 

"Everyone good for Hellfire on Friday?"

Looks like he's found new friends already, and Eddie doesn't have to worry. 

"Hello?" 

"Steve! Hi!" Eddie perks up to the voice in his receiver. It feels like years since the last time he's heard Steve. "I've scrubbed the place, and myself, clean, and washed all my clothes twice."

He hears his friend snort on the other line.

"Congrats?" Steve offers, and Eddie can feel a dry smile pulling on his lips. 

"Har, har, Harrington, I'm talking about your allergy. It should be safe to come over if you're still interested. Or, I could just..." He leans heavily on the wall, picking at his cuticles while he offers the less favorable option. "Home deliver you a few joints."

Sure, it would be nice to have a guy friend his age who went through the same horrors as him. But if said guy didn't feel the same, keeping a casual connection would be enough for Eddie. Maybe Steve had enough apocalypse-fighting friends of his own and didn't need one more, a loser super-super-senior trailer trash, too. 

"No, dude, it's alright. I've just been busy, and kinda not feeling like myself, you know?"

Eddie wants to scream. He does know. Who else would know better, who else had his flesh eaten by demonic bats from a hell dimension?

"Uh-huh," is all he offers, though. He feels weirdly similar to that time in middle school when Cindy McGee said she didn't want to dance with him. 

"I guess I just need some space?" Steve said uncertainly. "You're still invited to the end of summer pool party, of course."

Well, good to know that he could come to the party they've all promised each other as soon as both the Vecna thing and school year were over. 

"Yeah, cool, quick question though." Eddie licks his lips, his anger rising. He bumps away from the wall, ready to strike and throw the phone down. "And be honest with me, because I hate liars. Are you avoiding me?"

There's silence on the other side.

"Eddie..."

"Steve," Eddie interrupts him. "I don't want bullshit. I want to know if I should fuck off. It will suck but I will take it. Just say you don't want to hang out with me. That's fine. Not the first or the last time it happened."

Steve sighs on the other end of the line.

"I do want to hang out," he says. "But I have a lot to think about and I need some space. Is that okay?"

Eddie is close to folding down, but not close enough not to add: 

"Do you need space from everyone or just me?"

"Honestly? Everyone. But especially you."

That was such a stupid fucking answer Eddie had to bite his knuckle not to growl in frustration. 

"Okay," he spat out, proud of himself for not yeling. "Don't tell me. Reach out whenever you feel ready." He's less proud of how he slams the phone on the cradles. He feels like shit as he looks at the machine for any damage he might have caused. 

He has his answers, Steve confirmed he doesn't want to see him, and he told his dog off too. So aside from the younger members of the Party, he had only Nancy and Jonathan to talk to. Argyle too, if he was still in town. Robin was out of the question, because she would babble everything back to Steve immediately. And he wasn't ready to talk to parental figures like Joyce or Hopper yet.

Eddie takes a few calming breaths and dials another number from his list. 

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Eddie."

"Eddie!" Dustin's voice cheers up immediately and helps him brighten up as well. "What's up, how are you doing?"

"Eh, I'm managing." He shrugs. "Hey, do you think Steve is avoiding me?" he asks straight to the point. 

Dustin groans. 

"Yes!" he answers and Eddie's stomach sinks. "But he's been avoiding the rest of us too. And he's been weird for weeks now. But I promised I wouldn't tell anything." There's a frustrated groan on the other end followed by thuds, like someone was punching or kicking something close to the phone. "You have to ask him yourself. But I will grill him, and try coaxing it out of him. Give me a moment."

"No, Dustin-!" Eddie didn't want to make the situation ever more tense than it already was, but Dustin was already off with his own plan. He realizes far too late that he might not have been the best person to call. 

He has half a mind to call Steve again with a warning but he doesn't want to worsen his position even further. It will be bad enough when he finds out Eddie sent Dustin after him. Maybe the best course of action is to let it play out with minimal input and whatever happens, happens. In the worst-case scenario, he still has his Corroded Coffin guys.

Eventually, he holes himself up in his room, waiting for the storm to pass. 

see, and i forgot to tag, just like I said I would. Anyway: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie

[eustasskidagenda]

hello!! ^^ this is my first time requesting, so hopefully i'm doing this correctly :;

can I request a trafalgar law/reader hurt to comfort oneshot, where the two of them get into a really big argument or fight and reader decides to leave him alone for a long time, so THAT eventually leads to some problems between the two and Law has to make things right??

(basically reader gives law the silent treatment, and law is too prideful to admit his wrongs)

thank you in advance!!! I've really enjoyed reading your kid works, so i'd be happy to see more of your writing :)

☆Trafalgar Law x Reader giving him the silent treatment after an argument 

Hello dear anon, don't worry, you did it perfectly and thank you so much for your request. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope it will match your expectation. Enjoy our dear emo boy!

CW : g/n reader, hurt&comfort, Law is bad at express how he feels, let me know if I forgot something

WC : around 2,000 words, whoops, I love Law way too much, I got carried away

Law is not a man of many words. That's the less you can tell. Always quiet about his plans, sometimes, you still struggle to understand what's going on in this beautiful mind. Usually, you just deal with it, supporting him as much as you can. But today, it's too much to handle. He is perpetually busy all day and night, and sometimes the bed is cold, and you know he didn't sleep with you. It hurts. You just have the feeling to carry on with this relationship alone. 

"We need to talk, Law." Busy with probably another shenanigan you don't know about, he totally ignores you and continues to read his newspaper. Again. Heavy-hearted, you close your eyes and clench your firsts. You can't step back and always try to round the corners. "Law", you insist. He finally drops the newspaper. "What, y/n-ya?" He asks, annoyed by the interruption. 

"Honestly, lately… I feel totally sidelined. You're always focused on your plans I don't nothing about, or busy with your patients. And it hurts" Law looks surprised by your words. Usually, you're more the one trying to smooth the things and trying to be super-comprehensive, because you do love Law, and you know he had been through a lot. Supporting him is the least you can do. But what about you? Your emotions? 

"I've not neglected you, y/n-ya. I'm just busy." Yes. That's the whole point. "You're always busy. If you don't need me anymore, just say it," you snarls, anger slowly heating your chest and burning your cheeks. Communication is maybe the key, but it's a struggle to communicate with someone as reserved as Law. The worst? You know he loves you. He's just… an aloof. Always distrustful. "Answer me," your voice is shaky from both anger and distress. " I have things to do, y/n-ya. Don't act like a child. I still feel the same way about you, and you know. " 

Maybe it's true, but you don't believe him anymore. You don't even remember the last time you kissed that sweet lips on him. And the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, when you redraw the lines of his tattoos, cuddling with him in bed. How can you feel the absence of someone you see every day? "I miss you," you confess. "But I'm right here. With you. I need to get those things done, so please be patient." Why can't he understand? With that unreadable face, he's still sitting on his chair. What's going on his mind? "What things, then?" He sighs. "I can't tell." 

No. It's enough. Now, you're mad. "Stop pushing me away! I miss you. Do you realize the absurdity of missing someone I can see every day? It's been four days since we last slept together! This morning, you didn't kiss me! You're always taking me for granted and I feel like I'm transparent!" At last, you manage to get a response from him. He removes his hat, runs his hand through his hair, and his eyes darken as your anger is about to explode. "Can you not be patient? I need to… finish what I'm working on. "

No.

Not this time.

He has already stated that too many times before. Before Dressrosa. Before Wano. You already waited way too long. Even for someone as patient as you, it's too much. " I'm tired," you confess, the voice which with emotions. "It can't keep going like this. Why am I always the second choice for you?"

Maybe it's because you always give everything you have to him. Supporting him, regardless of what. You had to break his armor several times to get closer to him, despite his distant and detached personality. The moment he finally confessed about his past was beautiful. The nights you spend together, simply talking about your lives, goals, and dreams, are rooted in your heart. A warm memory of two souls bonding and finding comfort through words and confession. Now, everything is just fading away. And you hate how angry and confused you sound, when Law is just as calm as always. Does he even notice what you just said? You can't tell.

"You don't even answer me. Such a shame to be named heart pirates when you don't even have one." you explodes, shouting the words.

"I don’t think it's the right time to talk about this because you're too emotional y/n-ya. "

"And you're too logical!"

The saying goes that opposites attract, but you're not so certain anymore. 

"I'm just so fucking done!" Now, you're screaming and Law growls, "Shh, don't yell, everyone will hear us," he says, caring way too much about his privacy. "I don't care! Just say something! " He looks so tired, with his usual dark rings under his eyes. "Leave me or not, but do something because I'm so done with this shit. I'm the only one trying to communicate and make things right!"

You slam the door of his small office with anger and tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. He doesn't follow you. He remains confined, choking on his own pride. He probably thinks you will be back soon, as always after an argument. But not this time. You're really done. It's his time to make some efforts, to prove that he actually cares about you and your relationship. 

At the diner, he doesn't show up. During the night either. It's not easy to distance yourself from him. But you will not change your mind. After three days, he finally starts to realize that you will not come after him. 

Why aren't you bringing him his morning coffee, massaging his tensed shoulders, and spreading your stupid concealer under his eyes? All those small actions you always do to lighten his burden as a captain… damn, he never felt that lonely. But what can he do now? How can he fix the mess he made?

The Polar Tang's ambiance is as cold as a winter island after a week. Everybody noticed the huge tensions between you and the Law. The captain is irritable, barking orders at everyone and looking for you everywhere, but you're just hiding from him. He's exhausted by this situation. He's starting to understand what you said: he misses you, even if you're here. 

It's becoming too much for his tortured soul after 10 straight days. The pain in his heart is unbearable. In reality, he feels like a child he never had the chance to be: terrified, lost and alone. Are you going to leave him too? Why is everyone around him always dying or disappearing? Is it always his fault? Now, he feels miserable, almost crying alone in his office. He can't even focus when Bepo asks him to bandage a small wound he just made. His hair is messy because he runs his hands through it too much. Law sighs heavily. His nerves completely fading away as he struggles to bandage Bepo. Why the hell is he crying over a poor bandage? 

He's exhausted. Physically and mentally. An he misses you. Deeply. He understands everything you said that day. He understands how you have felt lately and it's a horrible sensation. You didn't deserve the way he pushed you away from everything. He misses the warmth of your body, the passion in your sweet kisses, and your hands redrawing his chest tattoo. 

He needs to make things right. 

In this situation, what Corazon would have done? 

Probably running after you after slamming the door, falling miserably on the ground, and crying pathetically with an ugly nose running. Law frowns. But at this point, he's so desperate that he wouldn't mind crawling and begging for your forgiveness. He stumbles out of his office, tired, and looks for you. How can you hide on such a small ship? "Have you seen y/n?" He asks to everyone and they all they say no. Are they lying? Where have you gone? Did something happen to you? Poor Law is so stressed right now, more than usual. He spent the entire day looking for you and failed. Is it too late? Have you just left? Without a goodbye? No. It can't be. He needs to see, kiss, and hug you. Just one more time, just one last time. Even if feels that he doesn't deserve you. 

He slams the door of the bedroom you used to share with brutal force. As he takes off his hat before laying on the mattress, he sighs and an idea crosses his mind. But he's afraid. Because if his plan is not working, it will mean you have already left the Polar Tang. For good. Hands shaking, he finally moves his fingers and mutters, 'room, shambles'. Your plushie disappears as you suddenly pop on the bed. 

Oh, thank god, you didn't leave. "Y/n-ya" he whispers, his voice thick with emotions. 

Your heart is pounding as you remain silent. Ten days. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin helped you hide from Law for ten days straight. Giving him the silent treatment was a difficult choice and all you can hope for is that it actually worked. "I'm not a man of many words," he confesses. "But I do love you. I'm sorry for always pushing you away, please forgive me. It's just that... I need to keep you out of trouble. If you don't know my current plan for now, it's safer. " For someone as quiet as him, he's talking a lot. But still not enough."I think I've taken you for granted, but I want to be there for you. Please, let me stay by your side. Don't leave me, please." He almost begs, his voice thick with emotions. 

His gentle touch on your cheek almost melts you.  You missed those beautiful, smooth hands on your face. You get closer, enjoying the warm heat heating up your chest. "You're so beautiful", he whispers. He looks so genuinely innocent, discovering again all the small details of your face. What has he done to be so fortunate in love? Does he only deserve you? You can tell that he's not even sure as he waits for your answer, trying to hide the slight shaking in his movements. 

"I love you, Law." You gently assure him by kissing the tattoos on his fingers. As the solace embraces his heart, Law is melting inside.

He didn't lose you. It's not too late. "I know you're not good at words, so I won't ask for much. What you just said is already perfect. Thank you for confessing to me. I know it's hard for you to open up." you reassure him. "What should I do, y/n-ya? How can I show you that I care about you? I won't repeat this situation twice." His eyes are now shining with pure determination. "Just the small things you used to do before. Sleeping with me, giving me a hello and a goodnight kiss... you remember that? Our routines." Law nods, probably taking mental note. "I have to kiss you twenty times." You raise an eyebrow confusedly. "Why?" 

He shrugs. "It's been ten days since I last saw you. And I'm supposed to kiss you all mornings and evenings." He's so serious right now, you can't help but burst out laughing. He's not joking at all. God, you love this nerd so much. The confusion on his face is even more hilarious. " I love you," you sigh between two laughs. "Why are you laughing? Am I wrong?" That man is so smart, cold and logical, but with love… he's just a mess. A beautiful mess. The one you will always love and cherish. "You're so adorable."

And now, he's blushing. How dare you call him adorable? "Just come here," he sighs, grabs your hips, and sits you on his laps. His lips are sealed to yours, and he kisses you. Twenty times. And he's counting. Every kiss is filled with passion, love, unspoken emotions, and sweet promises. 

And, as always when you're together in the same bed, you end up redrawing the tattoos on his chest. As you gently caress his skin, he falls asleep, the tension finally leaving his face. You cradle your head against his chest. His heart is slowly beating, and he looks so calm right now. 

You are here with him, and his tortured mind can finally get some sleep.

[miniimight]

Gotta admit the way you write midoriya is just so... Literally can't find the words to describe it. I had this scenario I wished to request of you it's okay if you don't want to do it. Midoriya with an significant other that hears people taking about them, not deserving of him and how they are using him for his fame and all, then he teaches them a lesson?

DEFENDING YOU the gossip around the office gets on his nerves a lil bit

with izukuuuuu :heart: + gn!reader

notes absolutely in love with this request ! thanks for reading my stuffs <3

a while after you were revealed as his girlfriend, izuku was faced with many backhanded comments about his relationship. sure, they were few and far between, but when they did happen he felt his self-control diminishing way faster than usual. especially if that person had the balls to say it to his face.

to be completely honest, he thought that everyone else should mind their own fucking business. he doesn't kid around when it comes to the people he cares about. the fact that he wants and needs you is enough.

but, nonetheless. people will still run their mouths.

it was another casual day in the office. you had the day off work and he was stuck at the agency headquarters, flipping through paperwork.

you were excited to see him. izuku had been holed up in work for what seemed like forever, and you were so happy to get the chance to spend time with each other during the coming weekend.

as you walked through the halls, you noticed the eyes following you. they were hard to miss, but they were part of the routine at this point. you soon found yourself in the elevator, head ducked as you pulled out your phone.

izu: you coming up soon baby?

you: yeah, i'm like 5 mins away

you: okay im in the lobby, heading up rn

izu: yayyy can't wait to see you, love :3

you smiled softly to yourself. when you looked up, the elevator was packed; all you could see were the backs of the seven or so individuals in front of you, pushing you into the corner. your stomach felt a little uneasy, thinking about how you'd have to tell these people to move to let you through, but you remembered izuku was on the top floor. there was no way they were all heading there.

the hushed voices of a few employees made your heart pound.

"you're talking about deku's s/o?"

"yeah! aren't they... i dunno. a little out of his league?"

"i'm saying! like i'd get it if they were maybe a model or something. but they're literally just a civilian. how disappointing is that? like uravity is right there."

"i'm sure they're just using him for his fame. he's in the field so much with other badass heroes, they probably barely get to see him. if deku wasn't deku, they'd dip in a heartbeat."

they all laughed.

you wanted to stop listening. flood your mind with meaningless thoughts to distract you. but you couldn't resist tuning in, feeding your insecurities and doubt.

the ding of the elevator saved you. they filed out of the elevator, leaving you with the cheerful jingle of the lift.

you were quiet as you walked down the long halls of the top floor, their words echoing in your mind. you knew they weren't true—and god, would izuku reassure the fuck out of you—but negativity was negativity. and negativity had a way of finding cracks and slipping through.

the giant glass doors slid over the tiled floor soundlessly, yet izuku's head popped up from behind all the papers and files at your arrival.

a huge grin bloomed on his face as he sped over to you, paperwork forgotten. "hello, honey. did you get up here okay?"

"yeah," you smiled and held up a takeout bag. "i got some snacks for us."

izuku's calculating gaze bore into you as he gingerly accepted the bag. "you alright?"

"hmm?" you tilted your head in confusion. of course he noticed. "yeah, i'm good." the last thing you wanted to do was stress him out even more.

his brows furrowed. he stepped closer to you, his hands resting on your waist. "don't lie to me, sweetheart." his tone was scolding but his eyes were gentle. "what's bothering you?"

you pursed your lips, sighing. "just a couple people talking about us, 'n how i don't deserve you—"

you felt him stiffen, his expression going cold.

"how i'm using you for the fame, blah, blah, blah." you forced a smile, trying to play it off in an amusing light. "you know, the usual."

izuku was tightlipped, responding only with a "hmm."

he was staring at the wall behind you, eyes narrowed as if he'd seen a villain or something. you knew that expression well.

you cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. "hey. it's okay, izu, i'm used to it. don't mind them, alright?"

izuku's gaze softened and he leaned into one of your palms, the other lifted off his face by his own hand. he pressed a little kiss to your wrist, rubbing his hand up and down your arm soothingly as you both walked out his office.

he decided to drop it, and just love the shit out of you as an apology for experiencing such disrespect. even if he did everything in his power to make sure everyone knew he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him, he still felt guilty when people attacked you.

he still had many questions: who were they, what floor did they get off, and how can i discipline them? he usually felt sympathy for when employees messed up, but suddenly... he wasn't against firing them all.

the ride down to the lobby was filled with many adoring employees who giggled at the sight of the pro-hero, a phenomenon you were also very familiar with.

soon, you were gliding through the lobby, so close to freedom when he picks up on the idle chatter he hates so much.

"i think that's them!"

"it is. woah, his s/o is way more dull when you see 'em next to each other."

izuku grit his teeth. his eyes glanced down to you, seeing the way you blinked and pursed your lips. he suddenly paused. you walked forward a couple steps before you were tugged back by his stationary hand.

you looked at him curiously. "izu..?" your eyes darted around, lingering on the three that said those things about you.

he smiled, bending over you as he kissed your lips gently, pecking your forehead as well. "why don't you go to the car, love? i'll catch up in a second."

you gave him a warning look, noticing how he was drifting to where the three sat. "izu... really, let's just go."

he kissed you again and your head was swimming. "i'll only be a minute, angel. go on." he pat your back and watched as you left the lobby. when he turned around his expression was completely different.

he walked over to the three people, who instantly straightened at his approach. they shared glances with each other, both a little scared and confused.

"hello." izuku smiled, but there was no indication that he was happy. "i'm deku, and you all are..?"

they meekly listed their names, to which izuku took mental notes and nodded.

"great. uhm, i overheard you talking about my s/o?" he cocked his head to the side. "please, i'd love to hear your thoughts." he chuckles. "i'm kinda obsessed with them, or whatever."

"o-oh..." they stutter and avoid his gaze, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "no, it was nothing, really."

"hmm? nothing?" izuku and his months of public appearance training only made him more intimidating when angry; the joyless smile he wore as annoyance bubbled through him was ten times worse then any outright show of anger. "are you sure?"

"yes! promise." one nods eagerly.

he laughs mirthlessly and the three weakly chuckled along, thinking they were out of trouble. leaning close to them, his voice dropped into a low hum. "i'd like to keep it that way, yeah? let's not make them sad just so you could feel like you have an opinion about something that does not concern you whatsoever."

the three held onto each other, eyes rounded with shock as they listened to the pro-hero before them.

izuku's head tilted ever-so-slightly. "well?"

they began to trip over each other with their agreement, yes, of course! we wouldn't dream of it. consider it done! whatever you say!

izuku flashed his famous smile. "glad we got that sorted out. and just so that we're crystal clear, if i—or anyone for that matter—catch you talking down on my s/o again..." he pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing in thought. "i'd hate to have to terminate your contracts... it's a lot of paperwork, you know?"

they shook their heads, bowing deeply to the pro-hero. "never again, sir!"

"great!" izuku chirped. "bye!"

[]

your leg bobbed nervously in the car, wondering what izuku was doing and if you should go in there and see for yourself. just as you were about to act, you saw his green hair bob over the cars beside you, eventually coming into view.

you exhaled in relief as he slipped into the driver's seat, sighing happily. he turned to stare at you, leaning dreamily over the steering wheel. you smiled, though your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"you're so pretty." he sighed.

"i—" you blinked, laughing. "thank you, baby."

"i'm so lucky to have you..." he continued, leaning over the compartment separating your seats.

you giggled, matching his energy. "mhmm."

he gave you a lopsided smile. "you deserve everything i have and more."

your face felt warm as you shy away from him, knowing why he was spouting all these affirmations. his fingers hooked under your chin, tilting your face. his hair brushed against your forehead as he captured your lips. he grinned at you when he pulled away, staring at you with such adoration.

"so..." you ignore your racing heart and try to regulate your breathing. "are you gonna tell me what happened?"

he squished your cheeks before turning back in his seat, starting the car. "nope!"

you smiled and rolled your eyes, uncertainties gone and doubt erased. in the end, you weren't ever bothered. and strangely, you never saw those three faces again.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3