#he just finds himself in a dress and goes

[capquinn]

eek dad quinn when his wife is pregnant at the lake house or with a baby at the lake house during the summer 🥹

dad!quinn at the lake house during the summer? an absolute dreamboat

There’s just something about Quinn in this setting — like he’s been waiting all year to step into this version of himself. The way the air feels softer here, the mornings slower, the evenings stretching long past sunset without a single deadline in sight. It suits him, this pace, like it was made for him. He’s completely at ease, the weight of the season, of the baby on the way, resting gently on his shoulders instead of pressing down.

For you and Quinn, it’s the perfect place to just be — to sink into the rhythm of each other and let the anticipation of what’s coming linger in the background, soft and unspoken.

You’re stretched out on a lounge chair on the dock, a book open in your lap, though your focus on the words comes and goes. Your bump catches the light, glistening from the sunscreen Quinn insisted on slathering over you before you even stepped outside.

“You’ll fry out here,” he’d said earlier, his voice soft but firm, his hands careful and thorough as he worked the lotion over your skin.

From the water, you hear the splash and laughter of Jack and Luke, their banter carrying across the stillness. Quinn’s voice threads through, low and easy, teasing one of them for losing balance on the paddleboard. You peek up over the top of your sunglasses just in time to see him dive off the dock, his form cutting cleanly into the water before surfacing, shaking his hair out with a grin that makes your chest ache. He belongs here, you think — not just to this place but to this version of himself. Easy, happy, home.

You lose yourself in your book again, the rhythm of the day lulling you into a haze. The sunlight feels heavier on your skin, the warmth almost coaxing you into sleep. You barely register the sound of footsteps on the dock, the creak of the boards under his weight and then —

“Comfy?” His voice is low, teasing, and impossibly close.

You blink, startled, only to find Quinn leaning over you, dripping water all over your legs and the edge of your chair. His hair is soaked, beads of water clinging to his shoulders and dripping down his chest, his shorts clinging to his hips. He’s grinning, his cheeks pink from the sun, his eyes bright.

“Quinn,” you say, your tone caught somewhere between amused and exasperated as you push your sunglasses up your nose. “You’re dripping.”

“Yeah,” he says, unbothered, leaning closer so the shadow of him blocks the sun. “You didn’t hear me call you.”

“I was reading,” you counter, though the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

He hums, one hand bracing against the back of your chair, the other finding the armrest beside you. His gaze dips briefly to your belly, his smile softening before flicking back to your face.

“You’re gonna burn,” he murmurs, brushing a finger lightly against your shoulder, where the strap of your dress has slipped just slightly.

“Am not,” you argue, though you don’t stop him as he adjusts the strap, his knuckles skimming your skin.

His gaze lingers for a moment, his finger tracing a path along your shoulder with a tenderness that feels like second nature. And then his hand shifts, settling gently on the curve of your belly.

“How’s she doing?” he asks softly, his voice barely louder than the sound of the waves lapping against the dock.

“She’s good,” you say with a small smile, covering his hand with yours. “Kicking a lot earlier. I think she likes it here.”

His thumb brushes against your belly in slow, absent circles, a habit he’s picked up in the past few months — like he’s already memorising the feeling of her. His lips tug into a quiet, lovesick smile, and for a second, he’s lost in the thought of her, of you, of everything waiting just around the corner.

“She’s gonna love it here,” he says, almost to himself, his eyes faraway. “Next summer, we’ll bring her down to the water. Show her the sand, maybe dip her toes in the lake.”

“And what if she hates it?” you tease, your voice light, though your heart races at the image he’s painting.

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head like the very idea is impossible. 

“She won’t. She’s ours. She’ll love it because we do.”

His grin widens, soft and lopsided, and before you can think of a reply, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s warm and lingering, carrying the faint taste of the lake.

“Love you,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing lightly against yours for a moment before he pulls back, the sun catching the drops of water sliding down his shoulders.

You laugh softly, shaking your head as he straightens, dripping wet and unapologetic, the soles of his feet leaving faint prints on the dock. He’s already turning back toward the edge, Luke’s shout drawing his attention. But just before he dives back in, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you.

His smile, soft and sure, holds something unspoken — like he’s anchoring the moment, holding it in his heart for safekeeping. It’s the kind of look that makes your chest tighten, the kind that makes you feel seen, loved, completely his.

As he disappears back into the water, you stay there, fingers brushing absently over your bump. The sun warms your skin, the sound of his laughter mixing with the waves lapping against the dock. For a moment, it feels like everything — the lake house, your baby, the way he looked at you just now — is part of some beautiful, endless dream you never want to wake up from.

[delulupunk]

How the batboys would react to anniversaries!

Dick Grayson

He really tries his best to spend the day with you or carve out some time, but if you’re a civilian then it’s hard. He’s got to lead the titans, stop Mr Freeze, make sure Bruce doesn’t adopt anyone else, stop Mr Freeze again!

When he finally gets to you he makes it well worth your time. He’ll confidently give you your favourite flowers because he knows exactly which ones they are.

Dick is a diehard romantic so he’ll bring you back to where you had your first date, or wherever you first met depending on how memorable the moment was.

“Sooooo, I’m assuming you remember this place…” He’ll say with a cheeky smile- nervously he’ll add, “You do like it right?”

Expect a lot of nostalgia to the early days of your relationship, which will lead to you two falling in love with each other again.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the entire World.”

Jason Todd

“Well… do you want to celebrate our anniversary?”

Jason doesn’t believe it should be any different from any other days in your relationship. Sure he wants to commentate and appreciate your time together, but you two shouldn’t be doing anything drastically different right? After all you both put a 110% into your relationship naturally.

He’ll definitely buy you a very thoughtful gift, most likely a book that reminds him of you. However Jason doesn’t have the confidence to give it to you in person, because he’s scared you’ll reject the idea or throw his affections back in his face.

Instead he’ll leave the gift for you on the beside table with a note. Which is short and to the point, but again he’s worried that he may be overestimating how much you truly care for him, so he acts aloof.

“For you, happy anniversary.”

Tim drake

He’ll probably be a few minutes late to the date looking totally disorientated. Shoving your favourite flowers into your hand he’ll breathlessly give you an apology.

“Sorry-“ pant, “riddler,” pant, “is crazy,” wheeze.

Tim is looking for more of a casual day rather than a massive extravagant event. He just wants to spend time with his lover and feel free to be himself.

The pair of you will go on a date doing something that you both find equally enjoyable so the day isn’t solely spent on one of you.

Tim’s definitely bought you something expensive to give you after the date is over. It’s something that reminded him of you when he walked past a store in the diamond district a few weeks ago and he couldn’t resist. Secretly he hopes you like it, one because his bank account took a bit of a dent, two the store doesn’t do returns and three he’ll be scared he doesn’t understand you properly.

“It suits you perfectly.”

Damian Wayne

You and Damian have dinner at Wayne Manor, which sounds very simplistic, but the little details are what makes the anniversary special.

Either you or Alfred will make the dinner, while Damian goes patrolling. This means he has the entire night to give to you and not Gotham.

You both dress up as if you’re going to a fancy gala and insist on no interruptions.

It’s just you and Damian with the fireplace silently rustling behind you and the opulence of Wayne Manor to embrace you.

The affair is quiet and romantic, not overstated and tiring. It’s just the right pace for you and Damian.

No words need to be said at the end of the meal as you both stare into the fireplace, save for a previous statement.

“Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”

Duke Thomas

“No it’s next week right?”

Duke is so sweet and loves you to the moon and back. Unfortunately he’s a bit forgetful. Duke however makes things up for you in an impressive fashion. If there’s one thing Duke knows it’s kindness.

You’d think he hadn’t even forgotten considering how he takes you to all the right places and says all the right things. The day goes by so quickly but it’s completely jam packed with activities.

“I know you always wanted to, so why not today!”

Since he forgot the anniversary he doesn’t buy you a specific gift, but to you the day in itself is a gift. He completely forgoes patrol all together for you.

“Please forgive me, I love you too much to let you go.”

[missredherring]

I've Got You Babe

Moodboard made by @iamasaddie.

Joel Miller x Fat F!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Rating: T

Summary: There's no beer in the fridge.

Contents: Fluff. Silly goose behavior.

A/N: This is for @iamasaddie 24hr writing challenge. The flow of time is an illusion, Jen. Can you tell I wrote this after work?

There's no beer in the fridge.

He's been standing in front of the open door, but no matter how many times he blinks the contents don't change: the lunches you'd made for them on Sunday and a case of sparkling water.

So there's no dinner or beer.

He could go to the bar and kill two birds with one stone: dinner and a drink without any effort on his part beside getting his wallet out. The fridge starts to hum and his eyes land on the neatly stacked food containers again.

It's not just him anymore. Maybe he'd gotten too used to taking the easy way out in the time he'd been by himself between Sarah moving out and you moving in.

Joel sighs, closes the door, and shuffles off to find you.

You're washing your face in the bathroom and whatever he opened his mouth to say follows the water right down the drain. The way you're bent over the sink makes your ass that much bigger and his tired eyes can't look away until you turn to grab a towel hanging from the bar.

You raise your eyebrows at him when you see him leaning against the doorjamb.

"There's nothing for dinner-" he starts to say and regrets it when you freeze. The wheels are almost visible as they turn your brain around and around.

"Shit. I'm sorry- I was focused on lunch and didn't-" you start to say but he quickly straightens up and holds his hands out towards you to hijack that train of thought.

"It ain't a problem, sweetheart, you did good on that- trust me. D'you wanna go out to dinner tonight and then we can swing by the grocery store on the way home?"

"Yea. Let's do that," you look down at yourself and pluck at the wrinkled t-shirt. "I just need to change into something else and then we can go."

He thinks you look just as good in yoga pants and a t-shirt as you do in everything else, but Joel knows when to pick his battles and follows you into the bedroom to change himself. His collection of un-stained clothing has been growing since he started dating you, and now is as good a time as any to wear them.

Dressed in a green polo shirt and a newer pair of jeans, he waits for you to finish slipping on shoes before ushering you to the truck. With the way you smooth the fabric down he wonders if you can feel the weight of his gaze as he watches the hem of your dress brush along the back of your dimpled thighs.

The keys are in the ignition and he grips them to turn and start the ignition when a thought occurs to him. He'd had to buy building materials earlier for his current job so he was lower on funds than he'd expected. Joel sits back and rubs at spot of dirt on the steering wheel. He turns his head towards you, looking at the soft curve of your jaw, unable to meet your eyes when he asks if you can cover dinner and groceries tonight.

You pause, doing some mental math of your own, and give him a smile. "I've got it, baby. Did Greg not bring everything you needed for the job again? I don't know why you still work with him if he keeps messing up like this."

Joel scoffs and starts the truck, choosing not to linger on how the relief spreads through him at your easy acceptance. "This is the last time. I've given him enough chances."

The sunlight is concentrated into the golden hue just before it starts to set and it bathes the cab of the truck. At a stoplight he glances over to see the way you squint against the light and when you finally turn your head the few grey strands of hair he can make out at this distance shimmer with the movement.

"Does that make me your Sugar Mommy? Since I'm paying for everything so you don't have to worry your pretty little head?"

"I wouldn't know what to do with myself," he says honestly and then goes on, curious now, "'That something you want? To be my Mommy?"

The laugh lines around your mouth deepen and twist as you cringe. "No- wait, say it again?"

"Mommy?"

"Yea, no, not for me. Nope."

"You sure? Maybe you just need to get used to it, Mommy. Mama?"

He's got you laughing and he sways easily when you push at his arm to stop him.

"What about you, Daddy?" You tease him in a sultry tone, but all he can hear is every time Sarah called him that before she grew up and started calling him "Dad" instead.

"No. That ain't bedroom talk for me."

"See?"

"I was a daddy; you don't have kids."

"Yes, and that has been a deliberate choice."

He grunts when you shove him again and then turns his attention back to the road when the light changes.

"Thank you," you say as the mirth settles in the cab.

"For suggesting dinner and then making you pay?" He jokes and is happy to find he doesn't feel bad about it.

When you reach over to take his hand Joel just switches his grip on the wheel to his left hand and locks your fingers together, resting them in your warm lap.

"More and more I understand why my mom acted as if doing anything after work was a huge issue. Most days all I'm focusing on is getting home and out of my bra." Yea, me too is on the tip of his tongue, but the tone of your voice stops him. He squeezes your hand in encouragement. "So thank you for reminding me that it's fun to go out and do things after work."

"You're welcome, honey," he says, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth for a kiss. "And if you ever want help getting out of your bra, I'm always happy to help with that too."

[lyricalt]

red spy x red sniper, ostentatious

rescue scenario. :o)

----

Sniper has never had such mixed feelings when he hears gunfire from the outside the room. It goes on for two agonizing minutes before the locked door rattles and Spy kicks it open. Sniper stays very still and very quiet.

Spy scans the room, eyes stopping for moment at the ominous dark pool in the middle, before he glances upwards. When he spots Sniper, all tied up and dangling from a very creative set up involving a crane and some rope, his ensuing grin is one of the most heinous expressions Sniper has ever seen. 

“Allo, my dear. It is I, your knight in shining armor,” Spy announces, full of unchecked malicious glee. He takes a mocking bow, the straps of Sniper’s rifle and kukri holster slipping from his shoulder, unused to the weight. “Here to rescue you, for a very reasonable fee.”

“I’m shocked you didn’t try to up your payment,” Sniper says dryly, looking down at him. At least Spy had found his weapons. They won’t have to go back looking for them.

“You appealed to my chivalric nature. What can I say, I see a pathetic, teary-eyed damsel in distress, and I must help.”

Against his will, Sniper flushes. He ought to be used to this by now. “I ain’t teary-eyed.”

“Oh, not at this exact moment. I was referring to the other times when I’ve had your ankles in the air.” Spy’s eyes flick up, no doubt getting a good look at Sniper’s tied up ankles. “Though this is a little too high for my liking.”

Sniper stays resolutely silent, fuming. It should have never come to this, and it’s not often he takes up a job where he finds himself outmatched, let alone captured. It’ll be the last time he’ll try to assassinate a casino owner with a secret underground lair filled with several predatory aquatic animals as pets.

Spy continues to be a bloody bastard about it. He meanders along the catwalk towards the crane’s controls. To Sniper’s complete dismay, Spy seems to be dressed fancier than usual. He’s swapped out the RED uniform suit for something sleeker and darker. It reeks of James Bond bullshit. Being cuffed and tied up above a stupid cliched bottomless pool doesn’t help matters. Spy must be tickled pink, which makes this situation all the worse.

Spy taps a few buttons and Sniper goes swinging towards the side, no longer above the pool. He inspects Sniper, now dangling directly over him, and pats his jacket for something that is probably no good. “My my my, ran into some trouble, have we?”

Sniper groans. A camera shutter goes off. He attempts to turn away, which only causes the rope to swing and spin him in a humiliating circle. It takes him two full rotations to say, “Don’t you got—enough blackmail on me?”

“No, this is for my own diary, for when I need a laugh,” Spy says, putting away the camera. “I’ve already composed the entry; ‘Dear diary, today mon paramore bête completely fucked up his own mission and begged me to come save him-’”

“Put me back over the pool,” Sniper says impassively. “I’ll take my chances with the sharks.”

“Don’t be silly. Shall I shoot you down? I have been working on my accuracy,” Spy says. 

To Sniper’s horror, Spy unslings the rifle and points it at him, one-handed with no steadying arm, and no scope attachment of any kind. There are bullet trajectories to keep in mind, and air blowing from the industrial vents in the ceiling so that means there’s negative windspeed, at a spin angle due to Spy using his left hand.

“Oh, no. Just pull that red lever right there, thanks,” Sniper says, his voice going a smidge higher when he catches Spy closing one eye to line his sights. The wrong eye. It has to be a joke, he knows, but the professional sharpshooter in him is screaming in revulsion. “The lever, Spy. Please. Red one. Right there. That should let me down nice ‘n easy.” He screws his eyes shut. “Oh, for Chrissakes Spy, at least use the scope-”

“When have I ever let you down easy?” Spy asks, smirking, and fires.

Sniper presses his lips together when the bullet whizzes by his ear. Spy adjusts his aim using the correct eye. To his credit, Sniper doesn’t yelp as the second bullet rips through the bit of rope above him and drops him down. He doesn’t even want to know how close it’d been to hitting his head, though landing on the ground seems to knock all thoughts from his brain anyway, along with all the air in his lungs.

“Didn’t even bloody catch me,” he wheezes the second he stops laying there stunned on the floor. It’d been a good six meter drop. “What kinda hackjob rescue is this?”

He attempts to sit up, whirly birds and stars still spinning in the air, but Spy kneels down by his side, one steadying arm circling around his back.

“My apologies, that comes with the luxury rescue package,” Spy says, patting Sniper’s body to check for any broken bones. “Where I ride in on a horse with champagne and sweep you off your feet. Confetti fires from my gun and a live band plays a song of your choice.”

Sniper is so indignant he almost doesn’t notice Spy pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. He blinks and spends the rest of the time staring at Spy’s hands while they try to undo the binds and cuffs around his ankles.

“I should carry you out,” Spy says after a while, reaching into his pockets for his lockpicking tools.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Sniper growls. 

[pomefioredove]

Hello! I hope you feel better soon :) remember to drink lots of water!!

Could I request a one-shot with Idia, where reader brings him a meal they cooked themselves since he hasn't had much to eat in the past few days? (Sorry if this is too vague I've just been having thoughts of taking care of Idia)

no this is perfect! <3 actually just what I needed to write rn

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ you have that effect on him

type of post: fic characters: idia additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, food, mentions of eating and not eating, depression👍, actually cute, reader is not there much sorry,,,

One breath in. One breath out.

Idia has been counting the snicks and scorches on the ceiling all weekend.

They're mostly his. Haywire robots and Ortho mishaps, which he always takes the blame for. One dark smudge is from his shoe, when there was a bug on the ceiling and his brother was out of the room.

Each like a star in his own sky, memories of the days he could get out of bed.

This is not one of them.

Nor was yesterday. Or the day before that.

Just one of those weeks.

One breath in, one breath out. Idia feels painfully aware of the rise and fall of his chest.

He'd sent Ortho on some pointless sidequest for the day. He needed to be alone- well, not really. He just didn't want his brother to worry about him.

He gives up sleep, and lies on his side instead, opening his phone to doomscroll again. The harsh blue light makes his eyes water in the dark of his room.

It feels like he's been locked in an unskippable cutscene all week.

What would you think of him if you could see him now?

He doesn't want to picture it. Idia feels pathetic enough as a cringey, awkward, social reject, even if you like him that way.

There's no going up. When he hits rock bottom, he starts digging.

Knock.

Idia cringes at the sound. He was hoping to be asleep before Ortho came back.

Knock, knock.

"Come in,"

But he doesn't. Idia finally looks up, at the door. Ortho will give the compulsory three knocks, then wait for a verbal command, and then come in. He was programmed that way. He usually talks, too.

But, nothing.

Not Ortho, then.

Idia cozies himself back up in bed, dressing himself in blankets as if they were... well, a shroud.

Another hour goes by. At nine PM sharp, Ortho's melodious knocks, his happy chiming, and the light from the hall follow.

"Find that thing?" Idia asks. He can't even remember what he asked Ortho to get.

"Yep! And guess what! You have a present!"

Psh. Wut? Idia looks up from his phone.

Ortho hovers to the edge of the bed and hands Idia something lukewarm, in a covered glass dish.

"Whatsit?"

His brother giggles. "Can't you guess? You don't even need a scanner for it!"

Idia can't help but crack a smile at that, and he slowly sits up. He peels off the lid of the dish. It's soup.

"Did you make this?" he asks, inspecting the lukewarm dish.

Ortho gives a negative chime. "It was by your door when I returned. Would you like me to heat it up for you?"

"Uh..." Idia hums. "...Yeah. That'd be good."

Within a few minutes, it's back in his lap, hot again. Idia cautiously takes a bite. It's rich, filling, and good, clearly homemade. Not some cheap junk out of a can. One spoonful is more filling than any of the garbage he'd eaten in the past week.

"Your hormonal levels and body language indicate that it's satisfactory. Do you know who left it?" Ortho asks.

Idia shrugs. "Someone came by earlier, but I didn't get the door. Who'd leave me a home cooked meal, anyway?"

He eats some more. It's hard not to enjoy himself, if only a little.

"Well..." Ortho says. "...I may have mentioned to the Prefect that you've been unwell."

Idia almost does a spit-take. "WHAT?! WHA- WH?! This is- th-"

"Calm, Idy! I just said you weren't feeling well! They must have thought you were sick!"

He almost collapses on his bed. His hands are shaking. How humiliating. And he already looked lame enough as it was.

One breath in, one breath out.

"They came all the way out here..." he mutters, stirring the soup around the dish.

"They must really care about you, Idy!"

Idia's face goes bright red. "Don't say it like that..." he mumbles.

But he'd be lying if he wasn't secretly hoping that was true. The thought of you having made something like this just because he felt bad... well... it's a nice one.

You care.

Idia makes a mental note to send you a DM later. As thanks. And to ask if you have any soup left. It's pretty good...

Maybe the promise of you coming over will motivate him to get out of bed.

You have that effect on him.

[noproofread]

Closer (NSFW)

HAPPY THANKSGIVING to those who celebrate lol

this took me forever APOLOGIES, writing is hard and my mental health is in rough waters. BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME

Song inspired by this saucy song lol

Eustass "Captain" Kidd x fem!reader

public (kinda), fingering, dom!kidd, unprotected sex, penetration, dirty talk, strawhat reader. Reader provokes Kidd and he falls into the trap, yet he still has the upper hand.

masterlist here

word count: 1,577

He was always crude, obnoxious, aggressive. All qualities that you hated in men. And yet you couldn’t help yourself when it came to him. You were thankful to your captain for forming an alliance with the Kidd pirates. He didn’t know about your crush on their captain, and he didn’t need to know. Not that he would care. Emperor Straw Hat Luffy didn’t care as long as his crew was happy. And boy were you happy that you got to be close to Eustass “Captain” Kidd. You just wanted him to get closer to you. You hated making the first move and you were determined to get him to move first.

Luffy had found out that the Kidd Pirates were on the same island and he wanted to go “hang out” with his “friend.” And you were tasked to accompany him alongside Zoro to make sure he didn’t get in any trouble. You put on the most flattering red dress. You loved the way the fabric hugged and clinged to your body. It made you look good enough to eat. And that’s exactly what you wanted. Zoro glanced at you as the two of you followed your loud and excited captain.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for this?” He asked, turning his gaze back to the straw hat captain. “Well if all goes well, hopefully I’ll end up underdressed.” You joked. You were good friends with Zoro, him and Robin were the only ones in the crew that knew about your thing for Captain Kidd. He chuckled under his breath at your comment. “Just don’t do anything too stupid. We promised Nami we wouldn’t get into trouble.”

"We promised Nami we wouldn’t let Luffy get into trouble. I never promised anything.” You stuck out your tongue, teasing.

“OI! JAGGY!” Luffy yelled out as he approached Kidd’s ship, prompting the fiery-red haired pirate to walk out. “What d-ya want?!” He yelled back. Luffy stretched out his arms and launched himself onto the ship. In the midst of the chaos, Kidd glanced in your direction. His eyes almost immediately shooting away. He was taken aback by how good you looked and he didn’t want it to show. You watched him as he and Luffy argued. You climbed aboard the ship, making sure you were behind Zoro. You were close but you weren’t “Look at my ass in this dress” close.

Once on the ship, you sauntered over to greet Eustass Kidd. He refused to look at you, not wanting you to see how visibly flustered he was at the sight of you in that dress. “Hello Captain Kidd. Been a while” You smiled. “Yeah.” Kidd was short with you. Zoro scoffed, walking away muttering about finding alcohol. You turned to Luffy, who was about to scurry away after the smell of food coming from the kitchen. “We were uh- about to have dinner. Do ya want to-” Kidd was cut off by Luffy sprinting away, all he needed was the notion of a green light.

Kidd continued to avoid eye contact with you, wouldn’t even look in your direction. “You’re quiet… And nice. What the fuck is your deal?” You asked him. “No I’m not. What are you talking about?” He was defensive, yet still wouldn’t look at you. “You totally are. Have you gone soft on me Captain Kidd? That’s no fun.” You wanted to provoke him. You wanted him angry. “I’m not soft, shut it.”

It was working.

“Really?” You stepped closer to him. “Because it looks like you’re being a welcoming host.” You laughed. “Shut your whore mouth” Kidd said under his breath, loud enough for you to hear. “What was that?” You placed a hand on his shoulder, he tensed beneath your touch for a moment. “I couldn’t hear your soft voice.” You chuckled. He grabbed onto your wrist, turning his body to face you. “Shut the fuck up.” His stature was intimidating on its own, he towered over you. And yet you weren’t scared of him. You were excited. His hand had a firm grip on your wrist, keeping you in place. You wanted to keep poking the bear to see how far he would go. “And what if I don’t shut up? What are you gonna do about it?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

He smiled at you. He pulled you closer to him, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Do what I say and we can have a nice peaceful dinner between both our crews. Shut it.” His voice had dropped down, almost a growl. You stood up on your toes to get slightly closer to his face.

“Make me.”

His smile turned into a devilish grin. He pulled you to the back of the ship. Once you were far enough away from the rowdy crew in the midst of dinner, he put one hand up your dress. You gasped at the sudden contact of his fingers against your bare skin. “Gotta be quiet unless you wan’ em to find us like this.” He smiled. “And no panties? You had a plan didn’t ya?” He chuckled, grazing his fingers softly over your clit. A small moan escaped your lips and he placed a hand over your mouth.

“Shhh. If you want it that bad you have to listen to me and shut the fuck up.”

You looked up at him and nodded. Your confident persona dropping as soon as you felt his warm hands on your skin. His body pressed up against yours while he teased you. He coated his fingers in your slick before pushing two up inside you. You bit your lip as you moaned into his hand softly. He was moving them in an agonizingly slow pace, torturing you as you were desperate for more. “You look so good like this. Fuck, ya wore this red dress to get me worked up huh?” Kidd’s voice was low and gravely, his eyes had dilated with lust. You felt foggy, intoxicated with the feeling of his fingers inside you. It took everything in you to look directly into his eyes, remove his hand from your mouth, and speak. “It worked though. You’re so easy.”

He chuckled. Slipping his fingers out and licking them clean before he picked you up with his metal arm, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. You yelped as he did so. “I’m easy? You’re the one dripping wet in anticipation bitch.” He whispered in your ear as he used his free hand to undo his pants. His dick was bigger than you had anticipated, you felt it as Kidd pushed the tip in a little. You gasped, bracing yourself.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re not going to be able to walk.” He spoke in a soft growl. He kissed your neck roughly, leaving traces of his lip paint behind. He moaned against your skin as he pushed more of himself inside you slowly. “You’re so fucking tight” His breath tickled you. You felt him stretch you. It was deliciously painful, you found yourself gripping his hair tightly, earning a hiss of pleasure from him. Kidd pushed himself in more and more, allowing for little moments of adjustments. He was waiting for you to get used to him before fucking you as violently as he had promised.

Once he was entirely inside, he gave no warning before pulling his dick out and ramming it back inside. A loud moan escaped from your lips, forcing you to bite his shoulder to muffle the sound. You felt his dick twitch inside you as you bit down. Kidd’s pace was aggressive and fast. You could barely see as you bounced with every thrust. Your vision had gone blurry. The air filled with the sound of crashing waves, your muffled moans, Kidd’s grunts, and his skin slapping against yours. He nipped at your skin, running his tongue over the sensitive skin. You felt electricity course all over your body as the knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter, the two of you desperately chasing that high.

Your walls were getting tighter around him. Kidd was putting all his attention on making sure you came before him. He wrapped a hand in your hair, pulling you off his shoulder. He looked into your eyes hungrily for a brief moment before kissing you. His kiss was passionate and wet. His tongue entered your mouth with no permission, it felt soft against yours. You closed your eyes, feeling every part of your body catch fire as you reached your orgasm. You tightened around him as you threw your head back and rode out your climax. Quickly he pulled himself out and painted your dress with his cum.

He sets you down on the floor, your knees betraying you as they are too weak to keep you up. He sits next to you and sees what he did to your dress. “Oh shit, sorry.” He chuckles, ripping off the fabric on the bottom of his shirt and using that to clean your dress up as best as he could. You giggle at the somewhat sweet gesture. “Just give me some of your clothes and we’ll call it even” “What if straw hat says somethin?” He asked genuinely before realizing who he was talking about. “Nah, he’s too stupid to notice.” He laughed and helped you up, guiding you to his room to pick out clean clothes.

[vicsy]

since u wanna talk about fic… I’m still so crazy about ur strollonso lingerie fic, and I’m wondering if u have any more thoughts on Lance In Panties… maybe more info about the first time lance dressed up like that for Fernando. like whose idea was it… what was he wearing… did Fernando buy it for him? Did Fernando’s brain explode into a billion pieces?… idk I just need all your insane lance panties thoughts, if you’re interested in sharing 🙂‍↕️🙏

hi Connor! <3

thank you so much for sending me this ask! I am a bit late with the reply (although I was buzzing to answer it) but alas...

I hold strollonso lingerie fic very dear to me because it was the first time of me even venturing into the themes and motives of this particular dynamic. my friends had to hold my hand firmly as I paced around the way to convey the reasons behind why Lance (it was his idea in the in-fic universe!) also kinda stepped out of his comfort zone.

I had a great conversation with my friend Logan while drafting this fic and, I think, besides Fernando's eyes comically popping out when Lance first unveiled himself like a present, this whole idea of presenting himself to Fernando in a this certain way came from a place of vulnerability. Perhaps even self-doubt because Lance was very aware of Fernando's dating history lmao and he though "hey how can I make this weird gremlin of a man stick around". so Lance kinda thought about the models Fernando dated (even though he didn't think he could compare :((( ) and voila. bough a set that did not fit well and it wasn't as good but THE REACTION. Lance was weirded the hell out at the way HE liked it, too. Fernando did not leave a single patch of his skin unmarked, unkissed or unbitten. suffice to say he has also destroyed almost every lingerie set Lance had bough (because he just HAD to ravage Lance).

now the whole feminization aspect of it... Lance likes to be Fernando's lil princess. you know that. I know that. he grew up surrounded by so much love and adoration he constantly seeks a match for it and, with Fernando, it comes with a lil bonus of feeling good while wearing lingerie (even if it's uncomfy and scratchy at times). Lance likes to be taken care of, pampered, and Fernando provides that, with or without the lingerie, but man... he goes insaaane for it, like bed-breaking chugging viagra all night all day etc. Lance got his world ROCKED....

so, to sum it up a bit – Lance got the idea, bough the first set, wrong size, first time he though a thong was a good idea LMAO that traumatized him a bit, the color was reddish (alluding to ferrari days and their first meeting...), Fernando almost had a coronary event from all of his blood rushing into his dick and they fucked so nasty the hotel had to be evacuated. but like who would blame Nando, if I saw Lance's ass wearing cute lacy panties I would check myself off this planet for real...... all that peach in soft, see-though lace... call 911.

now, tho, they totally check out stuff Lance can wear together. Fernando makes a suggestion here and there. he likes it when Lance wears white.... sometimes he outright asks Lance to wear something lacy under his clothes, even when they're out and at the end of the day Fernando, all wind up (Lance, too, admittedly) gets to unwrap a present for himself. and Lance just drown in the nicknames and dirty talk (finds it hot) the pampering... he's just out there on the bed seeing colors that don't exist, wearing the tatters of inexplicably expensive lingerie set while Fernando is drooling over him...

[curetapwater]

Red. Hot. Rage. A blast of Chaos magic so massive that it hurt to leave Shadow’s body. It crushed the ice around him and sent Eggman flying so far back that Shadow was certain he’d flee to his castle and wouldn’t be returning if he knew what was good for him. A foreign, yet sickly familiar magic licked up his limbs in red sparks. His boots stood firm in the melting snow beneath them.

Sending Eggman away wasn't enough. All Shadow could see was red, and all he could think of was the furious declaration that had just torn through his throat. Death to all who opposed him, indeed. His fingers twitched. His teeth grit. He set a foot behind him, ready to pounce.

Senses blunted by rage, he did not register the rumble of the snow tumbling down on him until he was buried beneath harsh, frozen white.

Shadow’s eyes opened to empty void. The chill of that wretched frozen white was gone, but so was the heat that had just radiated from his flesh. What… was that? Had one of the Chaos Gems done that to him? A final curse before signing his death warrant?

…Would he be reunited with Maria soon?

His face fell into his hands. What had he done?

"Fuck," his voice rang out. "What have I done?"

Wracked with guilt, it took Shadow a moment to realize the cry had not come from his own throat. He looked up from his hands, but saw no one. Was this strange space tormenting him with his own voice?

"Who's there?" he called. He turned around to find a figure lying on the ground, a ways away from him.

The sobs stopped short. The stranger lifted their head.

"What the hell are... get out!" They swung their arms in the air wildly. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

Shadow stumbled back at the roar that sounded all-too-familiar to the one he had just unleashed before bringing this mess down on himself.

They turned, and scrambled up upon seeing Shadow, backing away.

Shadow stood up, too, prepared to defend himself, when he realized that the other's quills raised into a distinctive star pattern. A pattern he had only seen in his own reflection.

He stepped forward, on edge. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Who... Who am I..." A dark chuckle rumbled out of them as they echoed back the question. Heavy boots echoed throughout the void as they stomped towards him. "Who am I?" They planted their feet in place, and stood up tall. "I am Shadow the Hedgehog!"

"Tch," Shadow scoffed. "Impossible." He marched closer to this... imposter. "I am Prince Shadow the Hedgehog, the Ultimate Lifeform. You will cease this disrespect of my name at-"

He cut himself off with his own gasp, stopped short.

The sight before him was impossible, indeed. Perhaps a cruel vision meant to torment him in the eternity that surely followed that deadly spill in the mountains. A twisted version of himself, glowering at him in the wicked red that Shadow had glowed when he'd sealed his own fate. Clad not in lavender loaned from the Moon King, but in black leather.

This… other Shadow’s red eyes flew wide just as his had. But then his tension fell. In fact, he began to laugh. "What are you, some sort of lame joke?"

Shadow's quills raised in offense. "Excuse me? Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time, but I am the Ultimate Lifeform." He shoved down the thoughts of his failure swirling through his mind at the declaration, screaming at him at just how inaccurate a title it was. "You dare mock me?"

"I'm the mockery?" the other scoffed, "You look like a prissy little princess dressed you.  There's nothing ultimate about being fragile and stuffy." He chuckled again, and clapped slowly.  "And the crowd goes wild for the most underwhelming parody of myself." His head craned up above them, a mirthless smile marring the otherwise familiar face. "Pure fuckin' comedy gold here."

The smile fell, and suddenly those red eyes pierced Shadow with malice. "So, why are you really here? Did you think you could taunt me or some shit? 'Cuz you're the sorriest excuse of a fake I've ever seen."

The ember of anger that Shadow's outburst had left burning in his heart ignited anew. His hands curled into fists. He refused this vision the satisfaction of hearing him admit what happened out loud. That his presence here ��� wherever "here" was – was his own fault.

"Clearly, you're either a punishment of the next world or my mind playing tricks on me," Shadow said. He couldn't hold back his growl as he spat, "And what do you know of princesses?"

"Let me think," his mirror said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He counted on his fingers, and Shadow blanched at the sight of gleaming claws. "That they're sensitive and gullible and run away at the littlest of problems." That wicked grin spread once more. "And they're so easy to take advantage of. Like taking candy from a baby."

Each word cut a new wound in Shadow, as if they both still stood there in the snow, as if that monster was kicking Shadow's limp, ice-cold sister on every insult.

He knew what this exact rage had wrought last time. But oh. To hear such vile words in his own voice. He had grabbed that faker by the collar before he could possibly reason with himself.

"You monster," he hissed.

He seized up when those calloused hands flew to his shoulders, and curved claws dug into him. But he didn't dare let his expression do anything but darken further, as that hunter’s gaze bore into him. He swallowed back a shudder.

The claws sank deeper. He leaned in until Shadow’s nose wrinkled from hot breath hissed out between bared fangs.

"That's what it takes to be ultimate."

Enlarged canines he'd always kept tucked behind pursed lips, shone as the fangs they truly were on his wicked copy. He choked on fumes of smoke and leather. He cursed his sudden habit of starting fights he couldn't finish, but he couldn't back down from this creature even if he'd wanted to.

He didn't want to.

No curse Shadow could ever learn with his faulty, untrained Chaos abilities could compare to the satisfaction of kneeing that faker in the stomach.

The blow knocked his copy back. He grunted as he hit the ground.

 "Not that you'd know, pretty boy," he growled, then stood up. He rolled up his sleeves, and Shadow realized he had dived to deep to back out of what he’d just started.

Still, he couldn’t back down. "You're one to talk!" Shadow cried. He raised his fists before him in mimicry. "All that talk of taking advantage of others... that is true weakness! What good is a supposed Ultimate Lifeform who only brings ruin?"

He was deeply unprepared for when the other punched up into his stomach. Shoved his chest. Caught him by the small of his back.

Shadow felt ill at the uncanny sight of his own face looking down at him, twisting into a nasty scowl.

"All this talk about weakness when you don't even know power," he growled before dropping Shadow to the floor. A heavy, black boot pressed down into his stomach, holding him to the ground hands-free.

All air left Shadow's stomach in one sharp oof-

Shuddering, wheezing, he lifted his arms to claw uselessly at his copy's leather boot and pant leg. He'd never felt so crushed, and he'd just had tons of snow land on his head. No, this was precise. Localized. Intentional. Unable to speak, all he could muster was a rhythmic, hopeless wheeze. The disgusting things he'd just heard in his own voice played over and over in his head.

"Awwwh," that monster mocked in a high-pitched baby voice, "look at the poor little prince, can't even handle getting stomped on."

He pressed down harder, right beneath the ribs. Shadow’s wheeze became a shocked squeak-!

"You wouldn't know power it ripped out your guts and-"

Shadow banged his fist against his assailant's shin in a last-ditch effort to get him off.

The other hissed and jerked his leg up.

Sweet, merciful air filled Shadow's lungs anew. He scooted back before that monster could right himself. He kicked out his legs, and his stomach twisted with sick satisfaction when his soles collided with that monster's shins.

The fake hit the ground on his hands and knees. He looked up, and they mad eye contact with near-identical expressions of loathing.

Shadow’s veins still stung from that burst of magic that had exploded from him before this encounter began. His muscles fought against the sparks that ignited anew in his anger. He despised the sensation. He couldn't resist it.

"You don't know my power," Shadow seethed.

A chilling sobriety washed over those red eyes. Then they sparked anew, as another sick smile curled across that faker’s face. He pushed himself back onto his feet and loomed above Shadow.

“Yeah?” he challenged. "Show me, then, Ultimate Lifeform."

The growl sitting in Shadow’s chest rumbled, threatening to escape. He shuddered on his hands and knees, nails he hadn't clipped in three days of failure poking at his gloves, clawing at the ground beneath him. He could demolish this imposter with the same power that had finally blown Eggman away from him.

...The same power that had brought that mess down on him.

The same power that had done nothing to save his sister, who surely still lay cold beside his own icy grave.

Teeth gnashing, he looked up at the monster who towered over him.  His own face, contorted in a snarl he should never have matched. That's not what he was made for.

He swallowed hard, and stood up. Princely posture restored, fists clenched with power he knew sat there, regardless of whether this broken mirror saw it. "I'll prove my power as soon as the kingdom is saved. And I'll remove all who stand in my way. Including such a weak-minded vision of myself."

That dashed the smile from this imposter’s face. He scrunched up his nose and said, "You really are a joke, huh. You're not even fucking funny. You really expect victory to be handed to you on a platter?" He threw up his hands. "You think you can just up and take the prize when you never ran the fuckin' race?"

Shadow grit his teeth once more, his fists tightening. That hunger with which this copy spoke... all teeth and sneers. He swallowed back his disgust and prayed the other couldn’t see how he shook. "You dare lecture me? A mere imitation? You speak of greatness, yet you can't have done anything worthy of my title."

That calculating gaze returned to blood red eyes. Shadow didn’t much appreciate being appraised like prey for a hunter. Nor did he appreciate the smug smirk the copy made.

“Have you?”

Shadow scoffed, and hoped it sounded more annoyed than terrified. Snow rushed in his ears, dark magic stung his veins. But you're right was the last thing that could leave his mouth.

"At least I am devoted to something," he settled on, and cursed the way his voice faltered, the way Maria's snow-covered body flashed in his mind's eye. "What are you but an ambitionless brute?"

Red eyes dulled of all amusement, but the smile didn’t fade with it. It widened, split open. An ear-splitting cackle burst forth. Such a monstrous sound, in Shadow’s own voice yet like no one he had ever heard.

It snapped to a sneer as quickly as it began. "I will put everything I have into tearing this Chaos forsaken kingdom down. Brick by brick."

Horror struck Shadow's core. The shock carried onto his face before he could try to hide it.

"Starting with you!"

The copy lunged for him.

Eyes wide, Shadow stumbled back and just barely managed to catch this monster by the wrists (were those claws at the ends??). His stance was poor, his leverage weak. But he pushed back against the raging assault. Grit his teeth right in that nightmarish snarl...

Nightmare.

This copy was his worst nightmare.

Nightmares could be woken from.

His knees crumpled under his struggle, but he grit his teeth and tried his damndest not to give in. He'd never destroy his kingdom. He'd never be this villain.

"I see now..." he growled in his effort. "You are exactly what Eggman wants me to be." With a final heave, he shoved the monster off of him. "Weak-willed and complacent," he spat.

The copy’s eyes widened. He – no, it wasn’t real – it stood there, dumbfounded.

Any satisfaction the sight brought was dashed when the vision started barreling towards him.

Adrenaline shot through Shadow's veins anew. He was paralyzed between stand your ground and RUN.

"YOU BITCH!"

He chose RUN.

The screams rang out into the empty space around them, as Shadow ran, ran, RAN and seemed to get nowhere in the expanse of nothing.

Then the copy started swinging fists at his head. "YOU'LL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING! YOU'LL NEVER DO WHAT IS REQUIRED! YOU'LL NEVER BE STRONG ENOUGH TO GET YOUR WAY!!"

Nightmare... it's only a nightmare, Shadow repeated in his head like a desperate mantra. He's lying. It's not true, it's not true it's only a nightmare it's not true.

One of those claws whizzed right past his ear.

RUN.

The void was endless. Bare. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to stop. RUN. RUN. RUN.

Shadow's scalp stung at a sudden yank at his quills. His head snapped back.

As one claw released from his quills, another shoved into his back, knocking him forward. His chin hit the ground with a sickening clack of his teeth.

Please wake up.

That wasn't his voice.

Pressure between his back spines. Right on his spine. Down, down, down, until the air was squeezed from his lungs anew. That damn boot again.

"YOU'LL NEVER MAKE IT! YOU'LL NEVER FIND SUCCESS! YOU'LL NEVER HAVE YOUR FEAST!"

Harder. Harder.

"WHY?"

Shadow clawed at the ground. His vision blurred. He couldn't breathe.

Harder. Harder. Harder. Until a leather-clad knee sat beside his head, and suddenly chapped lips were close enough to make his ears flick back with a harsh whisper.

"Because you don't get the one thing I do: Everyone else is just a stepping stone to your victory. "No person...”

Harder.

“No enemy…”

Harder.

“No authority…”

Harder.

“No so-called friend is worth anything more than what you use them for. "And anyone who believes otherwise will be shriveled under my heel."

"N-n..." Shadow tried, but the pressure was unbearable.

Please. Still not his voice.

"I am Shadow the Hedgehog.  And I cannot, never will be weak like you."

Shadow spread out his palms, tried to push up even just an inch, only to slam back down. He couldn’t tell whether he could no longer see, or if there was simply nothing to see in the void. Any protests left this mouth as pathetic squeaks.

Shadow, come on!

"Sonic?" Shadow gasped. He squirmed beneath the boot. "Sonic-" he wheezed again.

“What was that?” the nightmare teased.

He was dreaming! He was dreaming! He needed to get out! He had a kingdom to save! Teeth gnashing, he sucked the air through his teeth. Forced air into his lungs.

"SONIC!"

The pressure didn’t leave. But it became a touch lighter. For but a moment.

Then it came down so hard that Shadow saw stars.

"I DON'T NEED ANYONE!!!" the nightmare screamed. "ANYONE!!! I DON'T NEED A SINGLE FUCKING PERSON IN MY LIFE!!! NONE!!!!"

Its voice was growing hoarse from the tantrum it was throwing, Shadow thought distantly.

"I DON'T NEED FRIENDS," a claw pinned down Shadow’s wrist, "I DON'T NEED FAMILY," then the other, "I DON'T NEED LOVE," they dug into fabric and fur and flesh, "I DON'T NEED ANY OF IT!!!!"

It wasn’t real. The pain shooting through his spine, his ribs, his lungs. The screams of something he refused to become. This… thing that only spat lies.

"I AM THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM!!! I AM EVIL, VICIOUS!  I'M SELFISH AND CRUEL!" One of those claws released its vice grip. "I DON'T NEED HIM!!"

Phantom fingers enclosed around his hand. Hardened, calloused. But not claws.

Shadow grit his teeth, and sucked new life into his chest. He needed to wake up. He would wake up.

Something thrummed from deep in his chest. It didn’t feel like the warm energy of Angel Mountain, nor the cold magic from Eggman’s scepter. It burned hot, like a flame held just behind him. Above him…

"I'LL KILL HIM AND I'LL KILL YOU TOO!!!!!!!!"

One hand free, Shadow shoved himself up just far enough to look up at that wicked sneer. Toxic green sparked in that faker's clenched palm. Shadow's eyes widened as green flames snapped into the shape of a spear.

Shadow wrinkled his nose one final time. Called out to who he knew was guiding him out of this nightmare.

"SONIC!"

He had no time to flinch back as it plunged down. All he heard was an otherworldly scream in what hardly sounded like his own voice. All he saw was green.

Then black.

His eyes blinked open to Sonic’s face melting from concern to relief.

—

Who was that...

—

takes place between Chapter 17 and Chapter 18 of Shadow and the Magic of Pegasus

art by @solitarydoomsday

Vote for Descendants AU here!

SONIC AU COLLISION: ROUND 1

click to see full image

Shadow Barbie AU belongs to @curetapwater [link to fic series]

Content Warnings: kidnapping, unethical experimentation, and mind control/loss of bodily autonomy

Descendants AU belongs to @a-dream-journalist

Creator Note: CW along all three acts include child abuse, fantasy racism, drugging [sorta], attempted murder, and suicidal ideation.

Explore each world below the cut!

Shadow Barbie AU:

Shadow the Hedgehog is the prince of a kingdom filled with magic, wonder, and danger. Born from the cauldron of genius sorcerer King Gerald to heal Princess Maria, he is dedicated to defending his kingdom from the many challenges it faces. He discovers hope, love, and the power that dwells within him.

An in-progress, four-part saga told via increasingly loose adaptations of 2000s Barbie movies. The first installment is Shadow and the Magic of Pegasus, and upcoming is the sequel, Shadow and the Diamond Castle.

Descendants AU:

Mobius has lived peacefully for nearly 20 years, but soon-to-be king Sonic is ready to shake the culture. His first proclamation: invite the children of the Isle of the Lost, erected 20 years prior to punish scoundrels and almost-innocents alike, to the mainland for a better life. Even the progeny of the most malignant Black Doom is invited, and the chance simply cannot be passed up. With thirst for vengeance and a spellbook in hand, Team Dark sets their sights on the Emerald Scepter that formed their island prison and whispers of release for the villains.

Yet this world whispers something else as they adjust to their new life. Omega isn't as quick to bare their cannons, Rouge quite enjoys her work being appreciated, and Shadow is taking way too nicely to this pestering blue hedgehog in the way of his plans. Perhaps the poison apple falls further from the tree than they thought.

Magical hijinks, familial trauma, fae politics, prissy pink princesses, and love spell cookies are a must.

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

For all… of the none of my followers who like dr stone—head canon that Senku tolerates being dressed up like a doll EXCEPTIONALLY well because Yuzuriha would do exactly that when they were younger with like. No warning. No hesitation.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gearing up for the stat boosts

MDZS Disco Elysium AU Part 3 (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4)

[dairyfreenugget]

The second hand gender euphoria from talking about my blobro's gender and self-expression is so real

[slugandthorn]

Annoyed in a very normal way that his portrait from school is the same length as his hair during the game. Don't worry about what's in the tags I'm sure it's a normal amount of text.

[rokkzalm]

Wicked Demon Jade

AF7583 / 3F2A60 / 0E0916 / 590920 / BA0131

[classyrbf]

HE'S SUCH A (HOT) LOSER! — CHOSO KAMO

SYNOPSIS...nsfw and sfw headcanons about loser!choso bc I can’t get him out of my head after righting that drabble about him

INFO...loser!choso x fem!reader, socially awkward, virgin!choso, jerking off, virginity loss, sexual acts, creampie,

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

loser!choso who literally has no friends, is the epitome of socially awkward and always ends making the conversation weird when he opens his mouth

loser!choso who has never seen a woman naked in real life, he just goes on porn sites and jerks his dick until it feels like it’s about to fall off, cum painted on his toned stomach

loser!choso who has sex toys in his closet, fleshlights, pocket pussies, whatever you call them—he has at least two, one of them even vibrates

loser!choso who is (you guessed it) a total virgin, he’s never even gotten close enough to lose it, yet alone have his first kiss

loser!choso who is forced by yuji to go on a dating app and try to find a girlfriend, and he ends up matching with you

loser!choso who stays in his room, playing video games, or goes to the gym, otherwise the poor boy has no social life (like I said, he has no friends)

loser!choso who finally goes on his first date with you and he’s sweating, stumbling over his words because you’re smiling at him, grabbing his hand and making jokes all while looking like some sort of goddess. He was starting to wonder if he’s dreaming

loser!choso who is absolutely stunned when you express how cute you think he is, how nice his hair looks, and he doesn’t know how to react so he just stands there and smiles at you like a complete idiot

loser!choso who drives home after the date and he genuinely can’t wait to get home to jerk off to the thought of you, so he pulls into an empty parking and pulls his pants down right there, tip already leaking precum when he remembers the way your tits were popping out of you dress

loser!choso who thinks the date went horribly wrong until you’re texting him the next day, already planning the next time you meet up, weirdly inviting him over to your place

loser!choso who is obsessed with titties (clearly) no matter what size. He imagines himself getting a hold of pair and just grabbing them, sucking them, it turns him on so bad

loser!choso who thinks nothing of going over your house until he gets his one wish, getting a hold of your tits in his hands, and he’s star struck, just groping, squeezing and without thinking he’s sucking on them

loser!choso who ends up losing his virginity a few minutes later with you bouncing up and down on his cock, pussy gushing around him. He’s in literal heaven and can barely think, brain turned to mush

loser!choso who realizes real sex is better than porn fairly quickly, and lets just say he becomes more obsessed with you than ever cause it’s so much more intimate when you’re holding him, praising him, calling him a good boy

loser!choso who cums in your pussy so many times that night, and the aftermath leaves him stuck in the same spot on your bed while you cuddle up to him and tell him how much you like him even if you’ve only known him for two days

loser!choso who now has his first ever girlfriend, his first everything with you and he can’t wait to brag to yuji about it because you’re absolutely gorgeous

loser!choso who shows you off on his social media despite the twenty followers that he has, he just want to show off his girlfriend to whoever he can

loser!choso who gets weird stares in public from other men when he’s out with you because he knows you’re way out of his league, but just to make them jealous he grabs you and kisses you in front of them

loser!choso who doesn’t develop a sense of fashion until he meets you, going to countless stores as you pick out outfits that’ll look good on him, and he won’t lie, you’ve done a very good job because he’s gained much more confidence in himself

loser!choso who goes on and on about his special interests and you sit there smiling at him, listening intently. He’s lowkey a nerd but you love it

loser!choso who hangs with no one but you, missing you constantly and randomly showing up at your house when he feels like you’ve spent too much time apart

loser!choso who wants to learn how to pleasure you more so he looks up videos on how to eat pussy and watches all the porn he can to study their movements, but when he tells you, you just laugh and say how silly he is, showing him a hands on tutorial, instructing him on what to do and what you like

loser!choso who constantly asks if he made you cum, poor baby doesn’t want you to go around unsatisfied so he doesn’t everything in his power to make you feel good no matter what

loser!choso who is (obviously) the quiet type, so he studies what you like and what you do by watching you and when he grabs your exact fast food order without you saying anything, you’re standing there confused and he’s looking down at you like “what?”

loser!choso who has a glow up because of you, and girls that have rejected him come crawling back into his life not knowing about you, so he just hits them with the “my beautiful girl who I love very much does not like you talking to me bye” and blocks them

loser!choso who is actually very sweet despite his awkwardness, he might look stand offish in person and act weird around others, but when he’s comfortable with you hes a different person

loser!choso who gets you anything you ask for, spending countless amounts of money on you even if you don’t ask for it, he just loves you so much he wants to show his appreciation in every way whether that’s spoiling you or making you cum

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances at his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “Especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged-looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled by the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There are voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There are some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on a scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night as a fighter, a crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[logansbaby]

Worst Logan is probably so touch starved

oh absolutely!!!!! thank you wonderful anon for sharing bc you’ve inspired this tiny drabble <3 extremely short but completely spurred on by my need to hug worst logan ty!

no warnings! just one use of slut by wade (ofc)

word count - around 1k

also, the song hear you me by jimmy eat world kept coming to me during this so! vibes maybe?

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

Logan Howlett hates physical touch.

He hates the way people often go about trying to touch him, whether it be a brief tangle of fingers or a simple hug, he hates it.

He’s not entirely sure where it’s stemmed from, especially considering that as a younger man, he didn’t mind it. Maybe it’s because of the fact that people he cared for were always too far out of reach, leaving him a swirling mess filled with the aches that follow with unrequited feelings. Or, maybe its the fact that once he’d begun to open up to the people he considered family, he’d failed to protect them, only left to ruin their legacy with his destructive, lethal grief.

The reason doesn’t matter, not really, because he’s okay with being alone, nursing copious amounts of whisky shots to numb his loud thoughts.

His plan of rotting away in a bar alone goes to shit the minute Wade shows up and drags him into the shit show he’d landed himself in.

And somehow, after everything settles down, he finds himself stuck in a new universe, living with far too many bodies in Wade's apartment. He wonders why he stayed to begin with, especially with the way Wade pisses him off like no other, but he knows. In the back of his mind, he knows that the group of people he’s come to know have weaseled their way inside his guarded heart. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept, though.

The red masked man often tells him he needs to get laid, get up and find someone to fix his grumpy, brooding act he has going on if he’s not going to let Wade do it himself (his words, not Logan’s).

And whenever he presses too much, Logan’s claws will unsheathe with that unmistakable snikt! before they dig into whatever limb of Wade’s is closest.

People had caught on very early that Logan dislikes physical contact, so it’s an unspoken rule by everyone to not push the man. Well, everyone except Wade— the man has been impaled by adamantium far too many times and never learns. That, or he just likes the pain a little too much.

So, it comes to a surprise to everyone when Logan doesn’t yell at you, sink his claws into a nearby surface in warning, or growl when you wrap the man in a hug the first time you meet him.

It’s at some party thrown by Wade— purely an excuse for the man to see Vanessa under the guise of a celebration for his newest hair system— or whatever the fuck he’d rambled on about, Logan wasn’t listening.

He’d been on his way out, the ghost taste of whisky tingling his tongue as he plans to waste away at the closest bar, when he catches a glimpse of something akin to an angel.

That something is you.

You— in all your pretty glory, a beacon of light that glows through the entirety of the dull apartment with just a single smile. Hair frames your face with wisps that kiss rosy-painted cheeks as you laugh at something someone says. A floral dress sits atop of curves that will absolutely haunt his nights. The scent of you tickles his heightened senses— a swirl of vanilla and honey so sweet that he suppresses a groan.

Logan believes then and there you’re a princess, an angel, something ethereal and enchanting. He wonders then why you’re friends with Wade.

He’s already speechless at the sight of you, wrapped up in thoughts, that he doesn’t realize you’re suddenly in front of him until an obnoxious voice startles him from the depths of his mind.

“Peanut! How could you leave without saying hi to sweetness here? Horribly rude if you ask me.”

Under any normal circumstance, Logan would’ve growled at the man before him, followed by a string of curses. However, he’s too occupied with his body thrumming at the sudden proximity and closeness to you.

“Hi!”

Of course, it makes sense that your voice matches your looks; sweet and syrupy with an addictive lilt.

Before he can utter a poorly spoken sentence, his body goes rigid, every muscle within him immediately tense as an unfamiliar weight is on him.

“Oh, peaches, you don’t want to do that, Wolvie isn’t much of a hugger—“ Wade’s warning comes too late, given the fact that you’re already wrapped around the man frozen in place.

And in an instant, the entire room is silent, because everyone here has witnessed Logan’s distaste when being touched, usually at the hands of Wade.

Logan’s body tingles with how still he is— waiting for that awful feeling to consume every bit of him at the touch of another.

Except, the feeling never comes.

Oblivious, your arms squeeze Logan’s waist as you hug him tightly, head resting against his chest, where his heart hammers maddeningly.

Why is he resisting the urge to bury his nose in your hair?

“I just want to say thank you. I don’t know how you did it, Wade won’t tell me. But I know you saved this universe and I couldn’t be more grateful!”

And, what?

He's confused. You’re speaking to him like you’ve known him your whole life, and he’s not used to this. He’s familiar with people regarding him with disgust or poorly conceived opinions, not this.

“I love my life, truly! My sweet little dog, my friends, my bakery, I couldn’t imagine it being taken away quicker than a breath, so thank you, Logan. Thank you so much!”

Genuine gratefulness coats your rambled words; it’s s then Logan realizes that you’ve pulled back, though your hands still rest causally on his hips, a kind smile gracing your face.

It also dawns on him that the dreaded feeling that often follows people touching him never came Instead, a pleasant tingle kisses the skin that your hands and body touched. Logan has never been more perplexed in his life.

The feel of you is taken away promptly, Wade yanking your body away from his and pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry sweetness, but Logan isn’t known for his love for hugs. He doesn’t like people touching him, it doesn’t end well. And, considering you’re you, I prefer you alive and healthy, not being turned into a human kabob.”

And at that, you feel horror fill you up, your heart sinking, face flushing.

Because oh my gosh, you never would have done that if you had known! but why did you anyway?! you always acted without thought and clearly it had caught up with you!

“I’m so, so unbelievably sorry! I— I didn’t mean to cross boundaries or make you uncomfortable! I’m so—“ before you can ramble yourself into further embarrassment, a deep voice cuts you off.

“S’okay.”

The words are simple, quick. Yet, the delivery of them shakes every person in the room to their core. The implication isn’t to be missed— Logan has never reacted that way to being touched before.

It’s quiet— the room watching with curiosity pooling their eyes and you’re filled to the brim with mortification. And then, the silence is gone when Wade gasps dramatically.

“Peanut, I’m hurt! I thought we had something special, I’ve been playing the long game. And now that’s ruined because some slut stole you away? With a hug? No offense, angel face, but I’m feeling catty.”

His nonsense snaps you out of your head and you roll your eyes, muttering a ‘shut up!’ before focusing on Logan’s face, the man currently glaring at Wade’s face.

“Logan, I’m so sorry. I really am—“

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, but what he really wants to say is please don’t be, your hug felt like home and didn’t make me feel sick for the first time in a long, long time.

You smile, weariness still present. The way your pretty lips stretch into a tiny grin, at him no less, he knows he’s got to get out of there, or he’ll spiral.

You’re about to speak again, but he can’t stop himself from following his instincts. He doesn’t say anything else before practically running out the door, his breath only releasing once he's out of your presence.

And while the man is gulping down numbing alcohol, mind a whirlwind of confusion at himself and youyouyou, the apartment is loud due to Wade having a breakdown.

“—Seriously! I get a claw to the stomach anytime I get to close but you waltz in and suddenly Logan is all for touch? I feel cheated on.”

“Wade, you’re completely overreacting. Maybe you should’ve warned me! I made a complete idiot of myself!” You huff, pacing the tiny living room to expel the anxiety coiling in your abdomen.

“No, baby. The only idiot is me for thinking he’d want me back!” Wade whines, dramatic as usual, and throws himself onto the couch, a move that lands himself in Vanessa’s lap. The woman pats his head in fake sympathy.

“Wade! Shut up, oh my god! He’s never gonna talk to me again!”

And unknowingly, both Logan and you are worrying yourselves sick about that damn hug and the spark that spread from your heart to his.

And maybe, just maybe, Logan doesn’t hate touch after all.