#he was such a hypocrite that whole season

[cactiaintracist]

just thinking of how the 10th doctor literally recruited Martha Jones for asking questions and then spent the rest of the season being annoyed at her for questioning him

[evocatiio]

if chibnall was the one writing this season you lot would be talking VERY differently

[vypridae]

it genuinely baffles me that people still think vox is some precious baby that needs to be protected and kept from val at all costs. are we like... are we watching the same show?

[nancywheeeler]

very frustrating when you have something you really want to say but you're missing half the words you need to say it

[indi-glo-archive]

the young royals fandom is so fucking weird about sara and i hate them for it

[stargazerdaisy]

"I've never hurt anyone for selfish reasons." Fuck you, Philip J. Yes, you freaking have. You're the freaking worst.

[okurrroye]

Sooo instead of having Jonah be with who he actually belongs and should be in love with and clearly backed up by Chava’s speech of what it means to truly love someone (and it’s exactly what he did) they really forced this random and pointless ass relationship with Clara instead..?? Yeah ok

[kingdomoftyto]

...Okay well damn, season 2 is way better than 1 was. I'm actually getting kind of invested now

[astro-b-o-y-d]

One of those ‘non-x fans; pick something that happens in the show’ but it’s about Color Show and the options are 'pick which of these writing choices pissed you off the most’

[retrosabers]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: when you wake up sick on your favorite day of the year, logan tries his hand at a romantic gesture

OR the time logan howlett gave you the best at home halloween you could ask for

contains: so!! much!! fluff!! soft logan, friends to lovers, some angst, mentions of past trauma, reader has telekinetic powers, kissing, swearing

!! there’s a scene in here inspired by “room for rent” by @hauntedhowlett-writes ! go check out their amazing work !!

word count: 5.5k (i got insanely carried away)

a/n: sorry for this little period of inactivity!! i’ve been feeling under the weather and lacking some inspiration and motivation, but luckily i think i’ve got my groove back! i hope you all have a happy halloween & enjoy this sweet story of everyone’s favorite wolvie <3

mutant feelings on halloween were fairly divided.

it was a love or hate kind of thing. many viewed the holiday as a hypocritical mockery; how could humans be so outward in their distaste for mutants while dedicating an entire day to parading around as the very creatures they despised? others, like yourself, saw it as a joyful occasion. a day where everyone could be as authentically themselves as they wanted to be, and not get judged for it.

safe to say, it was your favorite holiday. something you looked forward to every year, especially since you never really got the opportunity to properly celebrate it growing up.

you had the whole day planned out for weeks. your costume decided far before that. much like how a child felt on christmas eve, you felt a similar excitement and anticipation building within you on the night of october 30th.

but it would appear the powers at large weren’t feeling too generous. because at a little bit past 8, your throat started feeling scratchy.

it was easy to blame it on the changing weather, maybe some seasonal allergies if you were feeling particularly delusional. you knew exactly how your body behaved when you were feeling sick, and it always started with a sore throat. still, you snuggled under the blanket in hopes that it would pass by morning.

by the time the sun rose, your nose was blocked and it felt like you were swallowing glass.

so much for a happy halloween.

you stumble out of your room in sweatpants and a cardigan, significantly less presentable than your normal attire. all you wanted was to stay in bed, but there was a group of young students that weren’t going to teach themselves. so you dragged yourself from the comfort of your cocoon, splashed some cold water on your face, and hoped you looked presentable enough.

the glimpse you catch of yourself in the mirror on the way out didn’t appear very promising. it seems your suspicions are confirmed when a familiar face spots you.

“you look like hell,” logan calls from the other end of the hallway. he makes his way over to you in long swift strides, the heavy sound of his boots echoing in the rather quiet space.

“sure feel like it too,” you utter back weakly, your voice hoarse and tired. unexpectedly, the back of his palm presses gently against your forehead, a crease forming between his brows when he feels how warm you are.

“jesus, you’re burning up.”

“funny, because i’m absolutely freezing,” you croak, wrapping your sweater tightly around your body to prove your point. when you suddenly sneeze, everything in the hallway shakes. from the paintings on the walls, to the vases on tables scattered about. you flush in embarrassment and logan frowns.

he places his hand on the small of your back, nudging you in the direction of your bedroom door.

“logan, i have a class to teach,” you argue weakly, followed by a nasty sounding cough.

“you can’t teach them anything if you’re like this the whole time bub.”

silence on your end, because you know he’s right. you just hate caving when you’re feeling under the weather, always trying your hardest to persevere. especially, on today of all days.

“but it’s halloween,” you counter with a whine, on the verge of pouting because you were so annoyed and fed up. “i had a fun lesson about edgar allan poe planned.”

“had the whole damn day planned,” you huff to yourself, though you should’ve known logan’s enhanced hearing would catch it.

he shoots you a sympathetic glance, unlocking the door and motioning you inside.

“i know,” he soothes you with the rubbing of his thumb against the base of your spine. “maybe if you get some rest now, you’ll feel better later, yeah?”

you sigh, flopping onto your mattress dramatically.

“i suppose you’re right.”

logan chuckles at your grumbling against the bedsheets. he makes his way over to you again, brushing away the hair that was stuck to your forehead. crouching down, he presses the sweetest kiss against your temple, and his heart swells at the tired little smile you give him.

“i’ll come back to check on you in a bit,” he promises. “in the meantime, you try and get some shut eye.”

you nod from your position against the pillows, eyes already fluttering shut in hopes that maybe logan was right. you’d feel better in a few hours, and today could be saved after all. in your mind, you were optimistic.

your body, however, had other plans.

before it was even noon, you went through a whole box of tissues, and sneezed so hard and violently that it damn near shook the whole entire floor. any glimmer of hope for getting better was snuffed out quickly, meaning you’d be a prisoner to this bed until you got better in a few days.

when logan came back to check on you, he was surprised to see the state of your bedroom. the usually clean, tidy space was ridden with tissues, your comforter was on the floor, and everything hanging on the wall had been turned every which way. and to top it all off, you were curled on the side of your bed, sniffling with washed out cheeks and a bright red nose.

“do not, say i look like shit,” you warn him, though you lack any sort of intimidation. logan shoots his hands up in defense from his place in the doorway.

“wasn’t planning on it.”

you open one eye and raise an eyebrow.

the corner of his lip turns up in a smirk. “i was going to say your room looks like shit.”

one of your throw pillows feebly comes into contact with his head. not nearly as hard as you intended, but your powers were always a little out of wack whenever your immune system was.

“s’ not funny logan,” you squeak, fully peaking your head out from it’s place in your blanket burrito.

logan picks the pillow up from the floor, mindlessly tossing it between his hands as he walks towards your bed.

“you know i can’t help teasing you when you’re grumpy,” he jokes, coming to sit on the corner of your mattress.

“i’m grumpy because this is my favorite day of the year and i’m stuck in a purgatory of snot and mucus,” you groan. the pout on your face is unmistakable, and logan would think it was the cutest thing he’s ever seen if there wasn’t genuine sadness in your tone.

“why do you even like this stupid holiday so much anyways?” logan questions. it comes out a bit meaner than he wants it to, like he’s making fun of you. it only adds to your upset state, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“because it’s fun,” you bite. “especially when you’re a kid that never got to experience it until you became an adult. i do the same thing every year because it brings me comfort. people like us don't get a lot of that.”

logan knows how true that is better than anyone.

“plus it’s a day mutants don’t have to worry as much,” you continue. “we can be ourselves and it looks like we’re just blending in with everyone else.”

you mumble this last part with a glumness he’s never heard from you before.

“it’s like we’re normal.”

logan doesn’t say anything in rebuttal. he just nods his head in agreeance, letting your words sink in. he never thought about it that way, and a wave of guilt suddenly washes over him for not considering that your feelings about today ran deeper than he initially thought.

the sound of a pill bottle shaking snaps you from your wallowing. your eyes flick back to logan, who’s holding medicine in his free hand.

“stole these from the infirmary,” he gets up to place the bottle on your bedside table, picking up a few stray tissues and tossing them into the small trash can next to your bed. “figured you could use something to help you feel a little better.”

you croak out a “thanks” before that dreaded tickling in your nose starts again.

“oh no,” you whisper, bracing for impact. logan looks at you with a puzzled expression at the exact moment when you sneeze. the entire room shakes, sending the wolverine stumbling back a few paces. there’s a couple seconds of vibration afterwards before everything returns to normal.

after regaining his footing, logan makes a beeline for the bathroom. you hear the faucet running and he returns to you with a glass of water.

he nods at you wordlessly, head motioning back and forth between you and the cup. you sniffle as you shuffle yourself upright. you take the medicine without a word, letting the cold water soothe your irritated throat. logan’s eyes don’t leave your face the entire time. he stares at you with something unfamiliar, to both you, and to him. it makes a new kind of warmth coat your body, one that has little to do with your current state.

your relationship with logan was hard to explain. you weren’t quite lovers, and labeling what transpired between you as friendship didn’t feel adequate. friends surely didn’t kiss each other on the cheek, or occasionally doze on each other’s shoulder during long sleepless nights. it was so painfully obvious to everyone else that there was something between you two.

but knowing logan and his track record of emotional unavailability, you always doubted whether or not he really shared those feelings.

clearing his throat, he dissolves any buzz you were feeling. logan offers you a tight lipped smile before slowly backing away. there’s a part of you that misses the closeness already, but you shove it down.

“if you need anything else, you know where to find me,” he says quietly, his body halfway out the door.

you nod with tired eyes. “thanks again logan.”

he simply nods his head once more before shutting the door completely.

you slink back under the comfort of your blanket, allowing the weight of your own words to take their effect. today wasn’t just special because it was a way to heal your inner child. today was important to you because you could feel safe in a world that normally didn’t accept people like your family. people like you. as cliche as it sounded, it was the truth.

as you try to fall back to sleep, you can’t help but dramatically wonder if being sick today was the universe’s way of punishing you for your optimism. for believing there could ever come a time where people accepted mutants.

it was a silly notion that would have to be pried from your cold dead hands. because though you didn’t have much comfort, you always had hope.

when you succumb to the drowsiness, you dream of being a child that didn’t have to be locked away in a lab on all hallows eve.

the smell of cookie dough rouses you from slumber.

slowly, you come to, stretching out your tired limbs as you shrug off the blanket that was wrapped around your figure since this morning. you’re still tired, but the fatigue that burdened your body was much less than it was a few hours ago. the medicine that logan brought you had worked. you smile to yourself, remembering to thank him the next time you saw him.

orange light bathes your room in a sunkissed glow, signaling that the day is coming to an end. the disappointment from before creeps its way back in, a reminder that all your plans for today were a wash. you squint your eyes in the direction of your alarm clock, trying to make out the time.

6:37 pm.

it was still early enough that you could try and put on a movie at least. scott, jean, and ororo, were set to take all of the kids trick or treating around 6. you were supposed to be joining them, but from the stark silence that seeped in from under the door, it was clear they were already well on their way without you.

you know it's because you weren’t feeling well, but that didn’t make it sting any less. you stare at the costume hung over your desk chair, and suddenly it feels like you’re a little girl again, sad and disappointed because you couldn’t go out with all the other kids.

maybe next year, you tell yourself.

after a moment of self pity, it hits you just how gross you’re feeling. staying in bed all day always sounded good in theory, but in practice, it just made you feel like a slob. in a flash, you kick all the covers to the foot of the bed, making your way to the bathroom and stripping off your clothes as you went. you were in desperate need of a hot shower, a leg shave, the whole nine yards.

steam cakes the mirror with condensation, the soft sound of water trickling down the drain relaxing you almost immediately. you take your time washing the day away, letting the scalding hot droplets soothe your tired muscles. you stand beneath the stream until the water goes cold, shutting the shower off and reaching for a plush towel.

the cold air of your room erupts goosebumps on your skin. whether it was from the change in temperature, or the fact that your room was now completely back to normal, you’re not sure.

strange. you don’t recall hearing anyone enter. surely this much reorganizing would’ve created some noise, something audible over the sound of running water, but you can’t remember hearing the slightest peep.

you cling to the towel around your body like a lifeline, afraid someone was going to jump out from a corner and startle you. after a quick once over of the room, you accept the fact that it’s empty. your eyes settle on a set of clothes folded neatly on the corner of your bed.

your comfiest pajamas. an old baggy t-shirt with yellow and orange plaid pants.

too tired to question it, you slip them on without a second thought, relishing in the feeling of the soft fabric against your skin. you felt more like yourself than you have all day.

the sweet aroma from before catches your attention again. no one was supposed to be here still, not anyone you’d expect to be baking anyways. curiosity gets the best of you, and you make your way out of your bedroom and down the main staircase to the kitchen.

the last thing you expect to see is logan howlett fussing over a tray of cookies.

he grumbles something incoherent under his breath. probably a swear word or two, given he looked frustrated and out of his element.

“what are you doing?” your voice manages to startle him, a first you have yet to see since logan arrived at the mansion.

the man scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, gesturing to the tray before him on the counter.

“i was uh,” he stumbles over his words. another logan first. “just pulling these out of the oven.”

you eye him mischievously. “since when do you bake?”

there’s a beat of awkward silence that passes while logan struggles to conjure up a logical answer. because no, he didn’t bake, not now, not ever in his life. but what’s the alternative? the much scarier conversation about his feelings?

from the knowing glint in your eye, it might just have to be the latter.

logan sighs. a sound of defeat, coupled with a flash of teeth. he leans back against the edge of the counter, thick arms folded across a broad chest.

“marie helped me put ‘em in,” he admits a bit sheepishly. “was afraid i’d burn the place down if i tried to do it myself.”

you laugh at the memory of scott storming into the kitchen with a fire extinguisher last month after logan tried to cook eggs. it sparks a fondness in your chest, connecting the dots as to why logan would go through all this trouble.

“i’m glad she stepped in before you could manage to start a fire,” you joke, stepping further into the kitchen. it grants you a better look at just how messy it was, from the flour sprinkled across countertops, to bowls thrown askew. your brows pull together in confusion, a question on the tip of your tongue before you turn in the direction of the common area.

your eyes nearly water at the sight.

the living room had been turned into a heaven of pillows and blankets, little tealights placed around the edge of the table in the center. there was a stack of movies nearly as tall as you sitting in the middle, and when you squint, you could make out a few of the titles.

a nightmare on elm street, hocus pocus, friday the 13th.

they were all your favorite halloween movies.

logan comes into your peripheral vision, carefully gauging your reaction with nervous eyes.

“what’s all this?” you breathe out, a surprised smile forming on your face. it brightens even more when you see how shy logan looks from his place against the wall.

“i know you were bummed that things didn’t go how you wanted today,” he speaks lowly, somewhat unsure of himself. it was almost heartwarming to see such a rugged, brooding man be so timid. clearly this was something way outside of his comfort zone.

and yet, he did all this for you.

he looks around the room, stalling on meeting your gaze out of nerves. when he finally does, there’s so much adoration, so much tenderness in your eyes that he’s overwhelmed by it.

it’s something so foreign to logan, but it feels so right. something that he’s unknowingly longed for, and now that he has it, he’s determined not to let it slip from his grasp.

he’s got a little bit of his regular confidence back now. it's evident in the way he straightens himself out, his natural smirk returning.

“figured this might cheer you up a bit.”

the warmth in your cheeks is inevitable. it always was whenever logan was around, but this felt different than your normal exchanges. you thought maybe you had been imagining the lingering touches and stolen glances, that you were a fool for thinking logan could reciprocate the feelings you harbored for him.

but as he stands before you, with a small bashful smile and hazel eyes filled with warmth, you know that it’s not one sided. never was, and never could be.

logan nearly falls over when you jump into his arms, his hands coming to wrap around your waist on instinct. the embrace is unexpected, but not unwelcome. once logan takes a second to get his bearings, his body relaxes and molds into yours, lifting you an inch or two off the ground as he envelops you fully. your own arms wrap around his neck, face buried in his shoulder as you take in the feeling that you’ve wondered about for so long.

“thank you,” you whisper against the fabric of his shirt, smiling into the worn material.

with his enhanced senses, logan can feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat against his own. months and months of dancing around each other finally coming to a head. he gives you one final, tight squeeze before pulling away, though he makes no move to let go of your body.

when he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and caresses your cheekbone with his thumb, your knees feel like they might buckle.

“s’nothing much,” which was essentially logan speak for “i’d do everything in my power to keep you happy.”

you’re well aware that he’s not the best with expressing how he felt. but this simple, sweet gesture was worth more than any lengthy monologue in your book.

you catch him eyeing your mouth briefly, and you do the same, letting your mind travel to that familiar place of wondering. thinking about how his lips would feel against your own. how they would feel in other places. just as you find yourself leaning in, a kitchen timer buzzes, startling you both.

logan can’t hide his annoyance at the interruption, reluctantly removing himself from you to stop the incessant chiming.

“this damn thing,” he grumbles, shaking his head.

you stifle a laugh when he throws the timer back onto the counter a bit too harshly, sending it bouncing into a stray bowl.

deciding to take the reigns, you walk over and reach for his hand. logan’s eyes widen a bit at your outstretched palm, even more so at the confident grin you wear. he doesn’t hesitate to lock his hand in yours, trying his damndest to ignore the electricity he feels from such a small thing.

“come on,” you nod your head in the direction of the couch, playful sarcasm in your tone.

“we’ve only got all night.”

“i don’t see it.”

you whip your head in logan’s direction, shrieking out a “what?” as you look back at the tv screen.

“you look just like him,” you argue, leaning forward to grab a cookie from the plate he brought into the room. “it’s uncanny.”

logan laughs to himself, shaking his head at your antics. “you keep telling yourself that bub.”

as the credits of van helsing start to roll, you decide to try your hand at a bit of flirting.

“y’know, you should take that as a huge compliment,” you state, sinking further into the couch cushions.

logan raises a brow, taking a sip of his beer and experimentally scooting closer to you.

“and why’s that?”

you try to maintain your confidence, but logan doesn’t make it very easy. not when he’s a human furnace that’s inching into your space. not when he already makes you warm in the face in nearly every situation.

clearing your throat, you shrug a shoulder, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“i had a huge crush on him growing up. thought he was super hot.”

oh. if this is the game you’re playing, logan knows for sure he’ll win.

“really?” he exaggerates, placing his arm on the back of the couch. the tips of his fingers brush against your shoulder, and he relishes in the goosebumps they create.

“mhm,” you hum, eyes not wavering from the screen. “you should be super flattered right now.”

logan chuckles again, reaching for a cookie of his own. he decides he’ll space out his teasing, be a bit generous. you were in a poor position right now, still being a little sick and all.

he’d much prefer to see you really keep up with him anyways. still, he can’t help himself.

“whatever you say darlin’,” he murmurs.

your breath hitches ever so slightly.

jesus christ it feels like this couch is on fire.

you can see his smirk out of the corner of your eye, and you feel like a schoolgirl over the way that one simple word was making you feel so giddy. tucking your legs underneath your body, you shift more to your side so you were now fully facing logan.

as you take in your surroundings, from the coziness of the living room, to the beauty of the man beside you, the inquiry that’s been floating around your head for the past couple hours falls from your lips.

“how did you even know all of this?” you question him while biting the head off of one of the bat cookies.

“know all of what?” he repeats, half of his mouth filled with cookie dough.

“that this is what i do,” you gesture to the television screen and the plate that was sitting on the table. “movies and cookies, specifically these, every single year?”

logan feigns realization, despite knowing what you meant the first time you asked. he was just too self conscious to explain the reason why. his coyness from earlier returns, the apples of his cheeks showing a tinge of pink.

“overheard you talking with ororo a couple days ago,” he begins, sliding his palms over the expanse of his denim clad thighs. “about the movie thing and stuff.”

you think back to that conversation with vague memory. you recall discussing your halloween plans, but never diving into such specifics.

logan answers your next question before you can utter it.

“i asked her this morning what all your favorite things were.” he clears his throat a bit awkwardly. “i wanted to do something once i realized you were sick.”

he trails off, not sure if he should venture into this territory again after his remark from earlier. he moves around so his position mirrors yours, making you both unable to avoid each other’s faces.

“i didn’t mean to be a dick before,” he starts to apologize. you know it’s taking a lot for him to admit his faults, and it makes all the effort he put into this even more meaningful.

“this,” he motions around the room, “was my way of trying to say i’m sorry.”

you tilt your head to the side, eyeing him empathetically.

“you don’t need to apologize for that,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. “though i’m enjoying it. these cookies are really good.”

he smiles a little at your joke, soft crinkles forming in the corner of his eyes.

“i can’t take credit for that,” he admits, cocking his head in the direction of the staircase. “it was all marie.”

the thought of logan recruiting the teenager for assistance was sickly sweet. knowing marie, it was probably her idea to help. you can picture the pair of them in the kitchen, her seeming more like the adult and him like the child.

“still,” you assert. “just the fact that you thought of all this means a lot.”

his thumb rubs featherlight circle on your exposed skin. “it’s nothing, really.”

there he goes again with the undermining.

sighing, you drag your fingers up and down the expanse of his arm, eyes drawn to the motion rather than the man. you feel like your heart might burst if you go a second longer without being a bit more direct. but god was it nerve wracking. especially when logan looked at you like you were the only thing in the whole entire universe.

“this is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you admit lowly, toying with the hem of his sleeve, too nervous and overwhelmed to meet the wolverine’s intense gaze.

your hand moves towards his again, lightly tracing the outlines of his veins. you muster up the courage to look back up at logan, who somehow moved even closer to you in the 15 seconds you’ve spent fixated on his flannel. the soft glow of the tea lights illuminated the amber flecks of his irises, highlighted the structure of his nose, the curve of his muscles. made him look like something out of a dream. it sure felt like you were in one.

when his hand clasps around yours, you realize that this isn’t a dream. it’s your reality, and you better take advantage of it.

you let ten words convey everything.

“i’m really glad the person who did it was you.”

that’s all logan needs to hear before he decides he can’t hold back any longer. his lips find yours with a tender urgency, like he wanted to savor the moment and devour you whole all at once. the hand that was once on the couch moved to cradle your jaw, just about entirely encompassing the side of your head.

that place of wondering was correct in its predictions. despite all of his rough edges and gruffness, logan’s lips were softer than you ever could’ve imagined. your hands find purchase in the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, your bodies smushed together on the couch. logan wants nothing more than to pull you onto his lap, but he knows that’s more than likely to lead to some rather ungentlemanly activities. no, he wants to do this properly, take things nice and slow. so he settles for keeping his hands above the collar, and from the soft sighs he can hear you let out, it seems to be doing the trick.

it feels like you’re on cloud 9 as your lips move together, your disappointment of today’s plans long forgotten. all you could focus on was how perfect this moment was, how perfect logan felt. his thumb teases the corner of your mouth, a silent command that he wants to explore you further and you open yourself up with ease. his tongue prods between your lips gently, a contrast to the feeling of his calloused palm against your skin.

you move slow and syrupy, not wanting time to pass. if your mutation was time manipulation, you surely would’ve halted it, letting yourself stay in this little bubble of bliss for as long as you wanted.

but of course, all good things must come to an end. because as much as your brain had turned to jelly for the time being, the tiny functioning part that was left blossomed a new worry.

logan fears he’s done something wrong when you pull back quick and unexpectedly, your eyes wide with something he can’t quite place.

“everything okay?” he asks cautiously, frozen in position. the answer you provide is far from what he had in mind.

“i don’t want you to get sick,” you mutter, clasping a hand over your mouth. the fact that that’s what you’re worried about right now, makes logan’s heart flutter a little, as silly as it was.

all of his anxieties fade in an instant, amusement taking its place instead. logan barks out a laugh, probably one of the most sincere sounding ones you’ve ever heard from him.

“what’s so funny?” you ask, confused as to why he’d be laughing when you were dead serious. the saliva swap that just transpired was sure to pass along whatever germs your body was still harboring. the last thing you wanted was for logan to feel as shitty as you felt this morning.

“honey,” he cuts through his laughter, clutching at his sides. “i don’t get sick.”

“what do you mean, ‘you don’t get sick’?”

“regeneration,” he states matter of factly, calming down a bit. “anything that could harm my body, my mutation takes care of.”

right.

for what feels like the millionth time today, you blush. not in flattery, but in embarrassment. you hide your face behind your hands, cursing yourself for halting a damn good makeout.

“i’m such an idiot,” you mumble into your palms. “i cannot believe i just ruined the moment like that.”

“hey, hey,” logan coos, gingerly pulling your hands away from your face. your eyes are still screwed shut, not wanting to face any more ridicule than necessary, even if it was only playful. the feeling of logan’s thumb and forefinger lightly grasping at your chin causes your eyelids to flutter.

“look at me.”

slowly, you open your eyes. logan’s grip on your chin is firm but gentle. it’s to keep you from running from him, forcing you to be on the same level.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he tells you in the most caring tone of of voice.

“promise?”

logan leans in and gives you a long, lingering kiss. it’s somehow even more maddening than the first one, and your stomach feels like it’s on a rollercoaster you’re not sure you ever want to get off of.

when he pulls away, he shoots you a wink, and you fight the urge to melt on the spot.

“promise.”

he presses airy little kisses to both of your cheeks before settling back against the couch.

“now, where were we?”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, watching closely as logan’s eyes lingered on your mouth again. in a flirty move, you tease him by moving in impossibly close, your lips barely a centimeter apart. just as he’s about to close the gap, your press your pointer finger to his mouth, catching him by surprise.

“i think it’s time for another movie,” you sing song, prancing off the couch and in the direction of the dvd player.

you tease.

logan simply shakes his head, beaming at you as you scan over your movie selection. he’s come to know and notice a lot of things about you. the way your nose wrinkles when you get excited. how you take your coffee. the thing you do with your hands when you get nervous. your pet peeves. he finds something new to admire about you every day. right now he’s soaking in the joy that radiates off you in bright yellow waves, unavoidable to those in your orbit.

in that moment, logan decides he always wants to be in the path of their warmth.

when you pad back over to the couch as the opening credits start, you tuck yourself into his side. logan’s arm pulls you close, anchoring you to him in more ways than one. you fit together like puzzle pieces, soon to be inseparable now that you knew just how well you connected.

in the glow of the television and the tea lights, snug by his side, he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

maybe halloween wasn’t so bad after all.

thanks for reading! <3

bat divider by @saradika-graphics

[swkbiggestdefender]

I can go into details on why these bitches were the most toxic friend group to ever exist and I will

Not specifically someone's fault they were just really bad for each other.

-First of all we have azure who put unrealistic standards on wukong and put him on a high pedestal feeding into wukong already unhealthy ego and when wukong stopped meting those standards all hell went lose

-second we have the hypocrite bird acting all high and mighty and mocking macaque for being a "coward" when they're the biggest coward themselves running away when things get hard abounded both yellowtusk and azure in the end of season 4

-third we have the not so wise yellowtusk for someone so wise he sure supported azure delusionals from day one sure believe in your friends but it gotten out of hand and never realised it until it was too late to stop azure from going to far and becoming consumed by pain and anger

-fourth we have macaque the only one with a brain in the whole group that know actions have consequences the problem is that he doesn't like anyone there except wukong and he doesn't make his own decision and let people walk all over him and even after his fell out with wukong he still let the brotherhood make his own decision about wukong being with the pilgrims

-fifth dbk I don't know what to say about him he wasn't even there when heaven took wukong he just fell in love with pif and left kinda fucked up but good for him they were doomed anyway

-and last but not least the most unhealthy self-destructive mf in the whole world sun wukong what can I say about him from his unhealthy ego that covering up his insecurities and fears to him being impulsive and not listening to reason and being the biggest people pleaser known to god he wanted to be loved and accepted so badly and live without fear of death and lost himself doing it

[floral-cavern]

So.. Sarcastic Chorus has retired from doing Helluvaverse content. This is a huge blow to the series. If you somehow don’t know, Sarcastic Chorus is the Helluvaverse YouTuber. He’s done so many analysis videos, it’s kind of part of his brand in the same way FNAF is associated with MatPat. The fact that Chorus left the shows is crazy, but, honestly, it’s just a testament to how bad this show has been getting.

This is the view count for the first three episodes for seasons 1 and 2

And if you think that’s bad, look at the difference between the season finales for each season

(I know technically Ozzie’s isn’t the season finale, but Queen Bee doesn’t count because of how long it took to come out)

People are tired of the show focusing on the wrong things. I seriously recommend Chorus’s video, it has so many good points. And one point I really want to talk about is Stolas.

I talk a lot about the bad writing in the show in general and how I don’t like Stolas, but I just want to say, I don’t like him anymore. I used to really like his character.. but season 2 completely ruined him for me because they refuse to acknowledge that he has any flaws. Rather than tell “we know Stolitz has flaws on both sides of the relationship, both will work on that,” instead, it’s all just Blitzo. They’ve spent 3 whole episodes just shitting on Blitzo, when… where’s that same treatment for Stolas? Stolas is a classist, racist, rapist. But the show seems to just… forget this. They’re backpedaling so hard, I'm surprised they haven’t fallen off the bike.

I used to find Stolas an interesting character and I was so excited to see where they would take his flaws and mistakes. Like, think about it. Stolas is completely naive, having been sheltered his whole life. The only concept for genuine intimacy he has comes from erotica. Of course he’s going to have a skewed idea of what sex is like when the only sex he’s ever had is with Stella, who, and I quote, “just lays there staring at the wall” where Stella has to do all the work. Ya… that is fucked and a form of sexual abuse, just like what Stolas does to Blitzo. So, I was interested to see where they would take this cycle of abuse that Stolas is so accustomed to and how they were going to have him break it. How was Stolas going to learn his idea of intimacy is wrong?

Well… he doesn’t. Not really. He does realize this transaction is wrong, but, when he tells this all to Blitzo and when Blitzo doesn’t have the reaction he wants, Stolas throws a fucking tantrum. He walks away and refuses to let Blitzo speak, he denies having ever done anything wrong, says that Blitzo was the one who always makes things about sex when that is NOT TRUE. And the worst part? The show treats Stolas like he’s right. They never do anything to show us that Stolas is a hypocrite, instead, like I said earlier, only punishing Blitzo. And don’t even pull the “he was banished” card! Stolas was not being punished for being a neglectful father, or for being an abusive partner. He was being punished… for a heroic sacrifice. He was being banished because Andre doesn’t like him and everyone is mean to Stolas so we have to feel so bad for him, guys!

I just… I started to have my doubts for the show around Full Moon, but I wanted to stick with the show. I liked Apology Tour, but did find it a bit weird that Stolas was being woobied, but I just assumed it was because the next episode, Stolas would be the one receiving the punishing. But the next episode.. WAS ANOTHER HATE ON BLITZO EPISODE. So I told myself, boy I told myself, that the next episode will be focusing on Stolas’s flaws, on Stolas’s part on why this relationship didn’t work. AND THEY DIDN’T FUCKING DO THAT STILL. In fact, Mastermind was just full of Stolas unnecessarily insulting Blitzo, calling him an idiot and whatnot. Like.. GIVE THIS GUY A BREAK, HOLY FUCK. WE GET IT.

This show has gotten so fucking infuriating. Good on Chorus for leaving. Me, personally? I’m going to keep watching, out of curiosity and because I hate myself, but if the show gets anymore infuriating, I may just leave. Because this show is so non-self aware with its black and white writing while it tries so damn hard to have a moral high horse.

So, actually, no. Not ‘fuck Stolas’. Fuck the writers for being so blind to the kinds of behaviors they are endorsing and encouraging with him.

[betweenthescarletmoon]

Random Thoughts on the Arcane Fandom about Jayce

this is gonna be a mess but I have nowhere else to talk about this.

I've recently noticed how Jayce Talis has been subjected to all kinds of sexualization since the drop of Act 2 of the second season. People have mentioned many times how trauma has made him "hot". A good and well-known example of this is Danny Motta's reaction to episode 5, where he said, "Holy shit, they made Jayce hot! [...] My dude went from looking like a Muppet to the king of Rohan, and all it took was a little bit of trauma."

This isn't entirely new for him? If people didn't hate Jayce back in S1, they ogled him in the scene where he works on the Forge shirtless, which IS kinda the point because the animators are making him very obviously attractive. But most importantly, he as a character has been reduced to his sexual or romantic relationships since the beginning of time.

It seems that S2 is a response to this in a way. His arc from the ending of S1, where he took responsibility of his actions out of guilt for the child he killed, was slightly set aside for Viktor. Well, ALL of his life, dreams, decisions, everything about him was eclipsed by Viktor's shadow because of the whole "all times, all possibilities" twist. He wasn't expected to show up as a Councilor in any of the meetings, and we must assume he quits at some point, but he surely hasn't resigned from his position by the time Viktor wakes up. Apart from that much needed scene between him and Cait, and the one where he attends the memorial (and is attacked by a vengeful mother), we don't see many of his decisions or what leads him to make them, other than Viktor. This is beautiful in a way because we can SEE how it is a trauma response to losing him. He is obsessive by nature, and he clings to what keeps him and his loved ones safe excessively, but I still had to do a bit of mental gymnastics as to why he went back on the second promise: to not build Hextech weapons again. (Hint: it has to do with the fact that VI saved him with HIS weapon, but it went so fast it's hard to process in the first watch.)

Now back to the sexualization problem. Every time I look up his name and trauma, or PTSD, 95% of the results are thirst edits on Tiktok about how hot he is. No joke. One of the more serious results is my own edit. Of course, a lot of people connect with his suffering without naming it as trauma, and that is great. My concern is that there has been so much focus on Jinx's trauma, Viktor's trauma, even Silco's trauma (which are all valid and fascinating to explore), but there's less attention for other characters who clearly show how their own traumatic experiences has shaped them. Vi, Caitlyn, and Jayce are some of the clearest examples of this, and they've experienced some truly heinous things in the show. Trauma cannot be compared, ever. But why is it that Jayce, who lived through an apocalypse that HE knows HE caused, and lives in complete isolation except the "company" of metal watchers, to the point that he loses touch with reality, and is changed so irrevocably that he loses the naivety and starry-eyed optimism that has always defined him...is seen as hot? And more importantly, why is it that there is very little attention to his experiences on that cave? Every scene between him and Viktor is uploaded in 1080 HD quality, but the scenes of him alone? Fighting to survive? Showing remarkable resilience in the face of his suffering? No, that's not as fun. Not a single one of those scenes is uploaded fully, and I have checked many times. (Some people have actually skipped those scenes to focus on Timebomb. I'm...)

I went online and looked up "why do people sexualize traumatized characters" because let's face it, it's real, it's interesting, and I cannot judge or else I am a hypocrite. Bucky Barnes, Loki, Ellie Williams, Dean Winchester, Vi herself, the list goes on much longer but I can't think of others off the top of my head. We connect with their suffering, and we are pulled by their experiences.

However, Jayce is such a complicated case because he is usually thought of as the greedy himbo that fumbled two baddies, or the confused bisexual, or the guy who lost it because of a situationship (much like Vi, who DID NOT lose it because of a failed romantic endeavor bfr). And then the plot goes and tells us, "Actually, yeah, his life outside of Viktor doesn't matter, he's not even supposed to be alive, because Viktor saved him. All of time is completely inextricable from Viktor." People hate meljay because she manipulated him and "trapped" him in a relationship or something, only to celebrate it when something suspiciously similar happens with the male romantic interest? I initially thought it was beautiful too, bc Soulmates, but man. Mage!Viktor really left the man he loved to rot in complete isolation, eating raw reptiles until throwing up, losing his mind. Say what you want about the allegory for Viktor's life, at least Viktor's isolation was metaphorical up until the Glorious Evolution.

Despite us being shown this, people make thirst edits of him in his black fit, and fighting with sexual tension with Viktor. I fear...that I am the only one who finds this tragic. The man forced to create a larger than life persona to sell his work and be seen as an attractive pawn of the system, has become the attractive pawn of the narrative. Viktor's narrative.

Perhaps Viktor was forgotten by the world. But Jayce's kind heart, and brave soul, were forgotten by us.

Just some thoughts to chew about my favorite character and my wish that more people focused on his arc with me

[abitcaughtinthemiddle]

The Hypocrisy of Vex'ahlia

Before you all come for me, I am a Vex stan and I will defend her until I die - she is my favorite Critical Role character and I'm so glad we're getting a deeper dive into her psyche.

The complexities of her character cannot be overstated. She has a lot going on under the surface, and the breadcrumbs of her deep-seated insecurities have been there the whole time.

I'm really excited we get to explore those in season 3 through her relationship with Percy, in a way different than what we've seen in the actual play streams. I want to commend the writers for being able to convey so much in so little time.

We are introduced to Vex as a sexy, confident woman who uses her looks and charisma to her advantage. She takes charge most of the time, being the unofficial "leader" of Vox Machina. She presents herself as someone who doesn't really need anyone else and does not care about anyone outside of her brother. Keyleth even comments on this in the first episode, "Vex and Vax only care about themselves".

This, of course, is a complete fabrication, a mask she wears to hide her insecurities. A mask, she wants no one to see through. The irony here is that she can so easily see behind Percy's mask - "Darling, take off the mask". It takes one to know one, after all.

She so badly wants to get underneath Percy's mask, for him to show himself to her fully. There's something inside of her that sees the guilt and shame inside of him and that resonates with her belief that she is deeply broken. Vex truly believes that something must truly be wrong with her. And why wouldn't she? Saundor, who said he knew everything about her, saw this, too, after all.

Saundor says plainly, "you will never be enough."

So it must be true, right?

Why wouldn't something be so wrong with her? It would make sense. Her father carries no love for her, her mother died, and Vax had to sacrifice his life for hers. She knows Vax loves her, and she believes he is the only one who does. Even Kamaljiori, an ancient and all-knowing Sphinx, fed into this during their test when Vax fell: "you have no family left who cares for you".

Her hypocrisy lies in the facade she built as a woman who does not need anyone or anything. She presents herself as someone who does not need the love of others, when in reality, she desperately wants to be loved.

Saundor saw this as well.

Vex longs to love and be loved. And yet, she cannot allow herself to give up her facade and let Percy love her and admit her love for him.

The last person to see through her walls was Saundor, and we know how that went.

What he said really cut her deep, as we see after the Kevdak fight when she brushes off Pike's inquiries about her experience in the fey realm.

As we see her relationship with Percy move from harmless flirting to physical intimacy at the beginning of season 3, we see her embrace the physical closeness to Percy but starts to block him out the moment he wants to cement their relationship. But she can't let herself tell him how she feels because that would mean admitting her heart is his - and that would be doomed to end in tragedy, as Vex admits later in the cave.

Putting up this emotional wall between her and Percy will not give Vex what she wants: love.

Love is that emotional intimacy. Vex loves to point out the importance of love between other people- in season 2, pushing Keyleth to tell Vax how she feels ("it always matters"), assuring Allura that Kima's love for her will help her endure after Vorugal's attack, and putting faith in the rest of Vox Machina.

Vex understands what makes love so special, and how important truth and intimacy are to real, lasting love.

And while she comforts others and pushes them to be vulnerable and embrace love, her own fears prevent her from fully doing the same. It's ironic and sad, how one of the only people who can see through her mask is the one she's pushing away.

Trauma makes hypocrites of us all.

Image credits @blorbologist @aq2003

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap 10

masterpost

The guy did turn out to be Jason, but he wasn’t in a very good mood with Tim. He basically didn’t talk at all. That was fair. Tim had hit him. He hung back and tried to not be annoying as Jason contacted the police, found the hostage, and talked to her in a low voice. When they heard sirens Jason grabbed Tim and took him out the door and onto his motorcycle. They went like, really fast.

The motorcycle was cool, but where it stopped was even better. Tim lifted his arms up obligingly so that Jason could pick him up by his armpits and set him down. Tim took a single step away before Jason shot his hand out lightning-fast and grabbed at Tim’s hand. He took his helmet off with one hand and dropped it onto a handle.

“Let’s stay together, Baby Bird.” Jason sounded exhausted. Tim was a little distracted from that, even though he really should have been more considerate of the adults in the area.

This was even cooler than his hideout. It was kinda gothic and damp and smelled a little funny. An apartment building couldn’t really compete with that.

“Wow,” Tim enthused. He tried to walk away to explore but Jason tugged him back by his hand. “I love it here. Can I live here?” He pointed up at the craggy ceiling, which really just looked like a natural cave with stalactites and all. “Maybe with the bats.” His tone tilted up into an optimistic question. The bats were neat. Were they local brown bats? That was fine, but he thought black bats would really fit Batman’s aesthetic more.

Jason let out a big sigh. “It’s not up to me,” he dodged the question. “Wanna press a button on the Bat computer?”

“Absolutely yes I do.” Tim chirped. Jason started towing him along again, uncaring or maybe even not noticing that Tim was craning in every direction to see the amazing sights. “Why’s it called a Bat Computer? Is it shaped like a bat? Hey, is Big Bird real?” he asked. “I’ve been concerned about that. I want to believe that he’s not real. But if he is, is he a predator? You have to tell me.”

“Big Bird is real and he is an omnivore,” Jason muttered. “Come on, why are you so wiggly?”

“An omnivore?” Tim echoed. He held Jason’s hand a little tighter. “What- does he eat kids? Because I think it’s highly suspicious that he spends all his time with little kids. Also, the kids change every season, and no one ever explains where they went.”

Jason stopped walking and stared at him directly as Tim outlined his troubling theory.

Tim waited.

“Yes,” Jason said. “That’s it exactly. Big Bird eats little boys. So stay close to me, okay?”

Tim clung to Jason’s whole arm in response. “Okay,” he said, as casually as he could manage. Internally he was screaming. Why would Batman hang out with Big Bird?

He felt… a little betrayed about it, actually. Batman didn’t kill people. He punched a lot of people like Dr. Ivy and Dr. Crane, but that wasn’t like eating kids!

‘How can they cooperate with Big Bird when Jason is investigating the sausage guy for doing the same thing?’ Tim thought, indignant. It was hypocritical. It was intolerable. It was a total abdication of his moral responsibility.

He was going to confront Batman about it. 

He started internally preparing his arguments. He went quiet enough that Jason got suspicious about it. Tim was sorry that he couldn’t spend more time comforting Jason, but he was busy.

“Hey, you wanted to use the computer, right?” Jason shook him lightly.

Tim shrugged and hunched over a little. 

“...It’s not that serious, kiddo,” Jason said, sounding kinda unsure. He was an awkward guy.

“I’m fine,” Tim said shortly. He just wanted Jason to let him think in peace. 

The older boy sighed and started hitting buttons. He picked up something. “Hey, Bats,” he drawled.

The sound of a horn honking suddenly rang out. 

“Little Wing?” said one of the people who had tried to break into Tim’s hideout. He buried his face in Jason’s side. Jason absently put a hand on his ribs and sort of patted. “Why are you in- you’re hailing from the Batcave?”

‘That was one of Batman’s associates? Why was Batman allowing a break in of my house?’ Tim felt his heart rate start to go up. Was he in trouble? The lady had said he was in trouble, but- but Oracle made him feel safe. He pressed himself a little closer into Jason and clung to his weird jacket.

“Red Hood.” 

Batman’s voice didn’t make Tim feel as safe as it usually did. This future or universe was weird and he didn’t like it. 

“Report,” Batman said, when no one responded to what he said. 

Jason’s torso moved. Tim extracted his face just enough to see that Jason had flipped off the computer. “You are so bad at bird keeping,” Jason drawled. “All of you. Absolutely horrendous. There’s a situation, and there’s been a situation for days.” He sounded extremely cranky about it. He sounded like customs had taken his bags from him and cancelled his connecting flight and left him stranded in a Peruvian airport overnight with only his wits, a neck pillow, and a few thousand dollars.

“I suspected,” said a… A child’s voice. Tim felt his brow crinkle. He looked up. That was a young voice. Like, irresponsibly young. What was Batman doing? “As I told you, Red Robin has been eaten by the lion that escaped from the Denver zoo. If I had only been allowed to find and rehabilitate it, we could have avoided-”

“Right bird, wrong problem,” Jason cut him off. That was a shame. Tim wanted to know more about the lion situation. “Get your big ass back here and parent, motherfucker.”

Tim giggled.

“What-” - “”Did you just-” - “Is that a-”

Jason turned off the computer and then unplugged it. “Assholes,” he said to no one, very smugly. “That’ll put a bee in their…” His voice trailed off. He was looking down at Tim.

“Where will it put a bee?” Tim asked, eyes as large as he could make them. He was just messing with Jason now. He knew that expression. It was ‘bonnet’. Like, an old lady hat. What he didn’t know was why Jason wanted to censor that.

“...In Big Bird’s beak,” Jason said weakly.

Tim considered this outright weird deflection. “A suspicious amount of things seem to connect to Big Bird.” He said it cautiously, trying to feel out Jason’s position on this.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it,” Jason said vaguely. Tim gave him a disgusted expression and Jason had the audacity to laugh.

Of course he was worried about it. 

Something beeped.

“Hey Barbie,” Jason said to absolutely no one. He moved his legs further apart and sort of…posed.

Tim looked around. He didn’t see anyone.

‘Barbie as in Barbara Gordon??’ He looked a little harder for the person Jason had greeted. That was Batgirl. Batgirl was a known quantity.

“I think I know,” said Oracle. “Because I am the all-knowing eye and all of that.”

Jason made a rude sound. “If you knew, you would have locked the baby in a genius-proof jail so that he didn’t go try and feed himself to the Sausage Man.”

“He- what?” Oracle’s voice went flat. “I knew that he was de-aged, he didn’t want Dick to bother him and baby him while he looks like this. He did not go try to do field work while he looks 6 years old.” Her tone was extremely unimpressed.

“No, no,” Jason said. He made a theatrical hand gesture. It occurred to Tim that he was enjoying himself. “That’s definitely not what he did. He took his legitimately 9 year old body with accompanying 9 year old brain off to investigate a cannibal.”

“Tim.” Oracle sounded like she was in pain. “Do you know who I am?”

“From context, I think that you’re Batgirl,” Tim admitted shyly. He wished that Jason hadn’t stepped away. He had felt weirdly secure with his hands in Jason’s pockets. He did the same thing to his Dad and it always made him feel-

‘Oh no, that doesn’t bode well for my marriage,’ Tim realized. ‘I- I can’t be comparing him to my Dad.’ He put his hands in his own pockets, like the mature little man he was.

There was a very long silence that Tim kind of noticed while he was busy fretting. He realized it was probably his fault and he should fix it.

“Big fan,” Tim added meekly. It was true.

Oracle said a bad word.

“Comm is on speaker,” Jason said cheerfully. “Little guy is hearing you loud and clear, with his 9 year old ears..”

She repeated the bad word, louder this time. “I already messaged Zatanna, but I’m going to go set off the fire alarm in her hotel right now so she sees it.”

“You do that,” Jason agreed. He had a nice smile, even though he was clearly enjoying other people feeling flustered. Tim suddenly remembered that he kind of genuinely wanted to date Jason and felt his face turn red.

After they finished talking to Batgirl Oracle, Jason and Tim spent some time looking at Batman’s crime scene photography. 

“What do you think happened here?” Jason said, shifting in the chair. 

“I think this is the aftermath of human trafficking,” Tim decided.

Jason clicked to the next photo. “What’s this?”

Tim squinted at it. In the distance, an engine came into earshot and approached rapidly. Tim hummed and kicked his heels. “I think that this is a much better photo,” he said. He distantly recognized that there were two separate engines. “That’s my first impression. Look at the composition.” Tim frowned. “Hey, stop laughing! The lighting is-”

A door opened and then slammed shut.

“Big Bird’s home,” Jason said gleefully. He stood up and grabbed Tim under the armpits. He turned Tim around and then hoisted him in the air. He dangled. It was an undignified experience that he didn’t have the ability to process it immediately.

For a single disorienting moment, Tim tracked the glint of light off the Batmobile and off a motorcycle. A guy was on the motorcycle. The door was opening on the passenger side of the Batmobile. That had to be Big Bird. Tim was dangling in the air helpless, presented for Big Bird’s approval.

‘He’s feeding me to Big Bird,’ Tim realized. 

He screamed. He kicked wildly midair and his heels connected with Jason’s chest.

“What the f-”

“He’s little!” said the man who tried to break into Tim’s hideout. He seemed delighted by this turn of events. What, was Tim smaller than the usual bird chow?

He screamed again, high and sharp. Tim contorted to kick Jason in the face. Jason let him go by accident and then Tim was falling to the ground shoulder-first, he wasn’t going to be able to run away-

The scary apartment intruder caught him. “Tim?” He was baffled. “What’s wrong-”

Tim screamed again and tried to squirm away. He couldn’t escape. 

“Fuck,” Jason said, voice muffled through his elbow. “Fuck!” There was blood coming from his nose.

“This is typical,” said the child from earlier. Tim tried to see the speaker.

A Robin was standing there, arms crossed and unimpressed. 

Oh.

That was who got out of the passenger door. Tim calmed down and squirmed so that he could see Robin better. “What were you saying about a lion?” he asked. “Do you have a good place to keep one? Where would you put it? Have you had a lion before?”

“I have had tigers,” said Robin. “So you agree that it would be better-”

“Robin, no,” interrupted Batman. He was- Okay, Tim already knew that he was big. But he was truly huge up close.

The bad guy relaxed his grip. “Are you gonna break my nose if I let you go?” he asked Tim. He kind of laughed as he said it. 

Tim paused. He felt a little bad. “As long as there’s not really Big Bird here,” he reluctantly promised.

“...What?” said the bad man.

Jason started laughing hysterically. “That’s why-” He made a horrible groan and kind of lilted forward. “Fuck…”

The bad man let Tim go. Tim scrambled away and gave him a cautious head nod. Maybe he wasn’t that bad, even though he was an intruder.

“Why did you try to break into my hideout?” he asked. He did his level best to look intimidating. They didn’t know he was that scared. He’d managed to hurt Jason, after all, and Jason was even bigger than this guy.

Robin let out an irritated fricative. “Everyone here is a fool.” His announcement was so confident that Tim looked to him for elaboration. “Todd was bullying you by referring to Richard as ‘Big Bird.’ It is an asinine nickname. As I have said before, it only introduces unnecessary confusion and distress.” He was… kind of unpleasantly smug, Tim decided. But he wasn’t wrong.

“You’re not wrong,” Tim said. It was good manners to repeat your nice thoughts out loud. “So…” his voice trailed off and got small as he realized just how silly he looked. He’d had a total false alarm. “There’s no… the yellow Big Bird that eats children isn’t here?” His voice got really small by the end.

There was a moment of perfect silence.

“You told him that I eat children?” Richard- oh!!! Robin!!! That was the real Robin!!!!- kind of shouted at Jason. He was really mad. Wow! Tim beamed at him, fear forgotten. Holy cow, Robin!! Well, big Robin- oh, the nickname made more sense now!

Jason flipped Richard off.  He sort of snarled. “Serves you right, you walking sphincter-”

“Boys, please.” Batman took off his cowl. It was Bruceman Waynebat alright, but–

“You’re really old,” Tim said, too surprised to keep that inside thought where it belonged.

Batman looked exhausted.

“That is correct,” Robin agreed. “Father, I will escort Timothy-”

“No!” said all three of the adults at the same time.

That… That made Tim feel a little suspicious of Robin. He edged away the slightest bit.

Robin crossed his arms again. “Egregious,” he muttered to himself, and then turned on his heel with a flutter of his cape. He left the room without further comment.

Tim felt a little bad. “Bye!” he called. Robin did not slow down or respond at all. Tim wilted a little bit. It kind of felt like nobody liked him here. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Everyone looked at him. “Why are you sorry?” asked Richard.

Oh. Tim shrunk back. He didn’t know what the right answer was. What did they want? “Because I hit Jason with Mrs. Henderson’s mace?” he guessed meekly.

“He sprayed you with mace?” Richard seemed delighted.

Tim shook his head wildly, sending hair flying. “No!” He was distressed. “That would be mean!”

“Stop helping,” Jason muttered, but it was too late to stop saying,

“She has a Gothic mace,” Tim reported. “It weighs about 2 kilograms and I think it was from Western Europe. I don’t know if she legally owns it. It may be a replica but now that I think about it, it could be real and that would be neat.”

Richard made a sound like air escaping a balloon.

“Shut up!” Jason said. Then he looked at Tim. “Mrs. Henderson- why did you know that?” His voice was higher. “Was that your first time at Orange’s house?”

“He was WHERE,” Richard said, at the same time that Batman demanded, “Report!”

Everyone ignored Batman.

“No.” Tim shrunk back a bit. “I went there yesterday, too. Mrs. Henderson gave me hot chocolate and told me about child labor.”

Jason put his face in his hands again. His nose blood was trailing down his neck now. 

“I didn’t go into Mr. Orange’s house yesterday,” Tim admitted in the interest of fairness. “His windows were all closed. But I did talk to him a little.”

Richard made another teapot sound and picked Tim up. 

The big computer turned itself on. A pretty woman was-

“Batgirl!” Tim said, and waved enthusiastically at her. 

She lifted a hand back and stared at him. She had dark undereye circles, but she was still really pretty. “Zatanna should be there in a couple of minutes, so no one shoot her.”

Jason flipped Batgirl off as well and sort of sulked.

“Tim, I’m sorry that I missed your condition,” Batgirl said. “I would have offered you more support.”

“It’s okay,” Tim reassured her. “I had a good time. Tam gave me lots of fun stuff to do. And Jason was really nice to me.”

Everyone looked at Jason.

“Oh?” Batgirl said.

“I was not,” Jason said, sounding harassed. 

“Of course he was,” Tim said, kind of confused by the way they were acting. “Doesn’t he have to be?” He waited a moment. “He’s my boyfriend, right?”

Jason choked. Richard let out a loud “HA!” Batman made a sound that Tim had never heard before from a human and didn’t know how to classify. Kind of a ‘yack!” with lots of phlegm involved.

Oh, no. Tim laid out his evidence hastily. “He called me Baby,” Tim listed. 

“Baby Bird,” Jason corrected desperately.

“That’s not any better,” Richard said. He had a horrible weird grin that stretched too wide across his face. “It's certainly a pet name.”

“Die-”

Tim continued over their commentary, counting on his fingers. “He brought me soup!” He stressed it. “With dumplings in it- real dumplings!” That was important evidence. No one had made him real dumplings before that!

“I said that meant nothing!” Jason snapped.

“And my email signature says Tim Drake-Wayne,” Tim continued. “Bruce and Richard are really really old, so I couldn’t have married either one of them,” he said, practically. It was unthinkable.

Batgirl made a snort-laugh. “Good theory,” she said, catlike grin firmly in place. Richard was silent at that part.

“I’m gathering from context that I was wrong,” Tim admitted. He crossed his arms. “But I had good reason for the theory.” He felt a bit sullen about it. He didn’t deserve to get laughed at. 

“Tim.” Batman knelt in front of him and used his soft ‘I love you voice.’

Oh.

“I adopted you,” he said. He made serious eye contact.

Tim stared back. “Did you marry my mom?” he asked, heartbroken. “Wait- my Dad? Did you marry my Dad?!” He hit Batman in the chest, suddenly hysterical. “I hate you! You broke up my parents’ marriage?! Why would you seduce them?” He felt betrayed.

Batman caught his hands and hefted him up. “No, no, sweetheart,” he soothed. Everyone else was very quiet.

That was worse than Batman breaking up his parents’ marriage.

It had been a long week. That was Tim’s justification for bursting into tears if anyone asked him. He had been desperately avoiding thinking about the years-old postcard on the fridge and the fact that Mom hadn't video called him even once in the week he had been stranded here.

Batman bounced him and made shushing noises, his big warm hand moving up and down Tim’s back. 

“I wanna go hoooome,” Tim howled. He pressed his full body into Batman and clung with all his might. “I wanna go home, I want my mom!” He wailed.

“Oh, buddy,” Bruce said sadly. His breath hitched. “I know. I know, sweetheart.”

“Is it a bad time?”

Tim lifted his face. Through blurry tears he saw a new lady was there. “Where are your pants?” he sniffled.

“Yeah, Zatanna,” Jason said sweetly. “Where are your pants?”

She gave him a withering look. “This is Red Robin as a chick, then?” She pursed her lips at him. “Cute kid. You wanna go home?” She made a gesture for Batman to put him down.

Bruce hesitated. Tim smacked at his chest. “Yes,” he said. Bruce sort of sighed and let Tim down to the ground again.

“Let me get a good look at you.” She knelt to his level and muttered something with an offhand sort of gesture that she didn’t seem to do on purpose. Tim kept his back straight. “Alright, this is a quick fix. Wanna say goodbye?”

“Goodbye, little Timmy,” Richard said quickly. He sort of sniffled. Batgirl quickly echoed him. Batman sort of squeezed his shoulder and forced out a gruff goodbye.

Tim looked at Jason. Everyone else did, too. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything to your boyfriend?” Richard stage-whispered. Zatanna made a weird face.

Jason looked like he’d tasted something terrible. Tim shrunk back. “It’s okay,” he said in a small voice. “He doesn’t have to-”

“There goes my reputation,” Jason muttered, and came over to give Tim a hug. “Goodbye, baby bird. You did a really good job and we are all proud of you. Go home and give your Mom a hug for me, okay?”

“Softie,” Richard hissed. Tim didn’t care.

“I love you too,” Tim said, because that was the kind of thing adults meant when they said they were proud of you. “Okay, Miss Katana. I’m ready to go.”

“Zatanna,” she said. “Sa uoy erew eforeb!”

He sort of blacked out for a second.

Then Tim was 19 years old, 5 foot 6 inches tall, and standing in the Batcave surrounded by people who would make fun of him mercilessly for thinking Jason was his husband if he did not immediately deflect and make him the target of mockery instead. He was very lucky that he’d been dressed in his own clothes when he’d transformed. At least he looked normal. 

Bruce opened his mouth to ask a question. 

Tim cut him off. “You’re a big softie,” he immediately accused Jason. “Those dumplings were homemade. You checked in on me so many times. Can’t believe you accuse Dick of mothering us.” He made a shitty grin.

Jason reared back, affronted. Dick made a vindicated sound, apparently recovered from the psychic damage of being put in the same category of ‘too old’ as Bruce. Tim mentally lowered the risk level of Dick starting a teasing campaign against him in retaliation.

“Haha, you love me,” Tim taunted Jason, dangerously close to be playing this kind of game and too reckless to care. He wasn’t going down for this mess. “L!” He put his thumb and forefinger up to make an L on his forehead. “Loser!”

“Listen, you little shit,” Jason started. He balled up a fist and took a step forward.

Bruce cut him off. “Jason, it’s not embarrassing to love your little brother. Thank you for being so mindful of his health and checking in on his welfare. I’m very proud of you.”

Jason made a sound like a cat throwing up.

“Yeah, I’m going to go,” Zatanna said flatly. She nodded to Tim. “If anything seems wrong, just text me. Oracle, don’t contact me.”

“Love you too,” Barbara said cheerfully. 

Zatanna gave her a withering look and portalled away.

Tim ducked away and ran upstairs before Jason could lunge at him. Behind him he heard a scuffle start up. “Little Wing, you need to get checked out,” Dick said sweetly. Glass broke. “Alfred! Jason needs caretaking!”

“No, I need to kick Tim’s ass!” Jason howled. Tim made it to the stairs and started taking them two at a time.

He passed Alfred going the other way. “Master Tim,” Alfred said, forcing him to stop fleeing. Jason wouldn’t get him with Alfred right there anyway. Alfred was home base for these games. “Are you staying for the night?”

Tim opened his mouth to say ‘No’ because really, he didn’t need to be here when he was an adult who had his own place. Then he thought about how he’d felt alone in his apartment for the last week, longing for human connections and so hungry for approval that he’d gratefully accepted whatever task a friendly stranger suggested to him. 

“Yeah, I’ll stay for the weekend,” Tim said, and ambushed Alfred with a hug. Alfred went stiff, but wrapped an arm around his back a moment later. “Love you.” He broke away and started running up the stairs again. He barely heard the answering sentiment.

It was good to be home.

…He kind of wanted soup.

[fiapartridge]

you don't go to parties | j. hughes 🎆🪩✨

“i don’t know who im looking for ‘cause you don’t go to parties anymore…” you don’t go to parties, 5 seconds of summer

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: after ending your relationship with jack, he finally plucks up the courage to attend a party—and all he can think about is you.

warning(s): cursing, smut (like they have sex but it’s more heated & slow than trying to be super smutty), angst + fluff?? (in some aspects LOL), also noticing now that there was no protection so beware lol

author’s note: i don’t write smut so this is probably the closest ill ever get to writing it LOL but it’s much more for the plot rather than it trying to be super 18+, r-rated type smut yk

wc: 4.01k

not proofread

Glitter hung in the air, every room bathed in a purple glow as Jack hung by the wall, nursing a beer he had managed to snag from the cooler outside. The air was thick with the scent of perfumes and sweat, and the music thumped in his chest, yet he felt—detached, almost alone in the scheme of things. 

The party was a blur of lights and sounds, of hookups and dancing. None of it held any interest for him, but his friends had practically begged him to come. They nagged him the entire summer to leave the lakehouse, to have a drink at the bar downtown, or even to just go on a drive with them, but Jack always came up with an excuse. “Can’t. Training for next season,” or “Gotta raincheck. Something came up.”

They knew what it was. It was obvious. He was missing you. You plagued his mind every second of every minute of every day. Jack knew he had messed up. The moments leading up to the collapse of your relationship replayed in his mind like a broken record—the arguments, the tears, the things he said that he couldn’t take back. The memories of you haunted him. He could feel you throughout the whole house.

You met Jack when you were 17. He hosted a draft party at the lake house the second he got back home to Michigan. Jack, being the cocky teenager he was at the time, made it an open-invite party. Sure, it wasn’t smart on his part but he was a clueless teen. He didn’t know better, but he thanks himself everyday knowing that that one decision led him to meeting you.

Your brother—one of Jack’s school friends—had been invited and asked if you wanted to come. You were hesitant at first. You had seen Jack around school, laughing loudly with his friends or pressing a girl up against the lockers, locking themselves together with heated kisses. You had always found him obnoxious, masking his stupidity with insensitive jokes and being portrayed as a “dumb jock.” But ever the hypocrite you were, because there you were, at that obnoxious, insensitive guy’s draft party. Go you.

Entering the house, you noticed the high ceilings and swarm of strangers that knew Jack better than you; who were probably wondering why you were even there, or who you even were. To your left, a group of friends talked animatedly on a set of plush couches, their drinks spilling out of their cups with every swing of their arms, and their makeup perfectly done on their face like they had hired professionals for this specific event. You felt out of place and, to your luck, your brother had abandoned you the second you stepped through that door.

Who knew you could be surrounded by hundreds of people, yet still feel so alone?

Weaving through the crowded house, you made your way to the backyard, which was just as packed as inside the house, except there was a slight breeze and it didn’t smell as terrible. String lights criss-crossed above the partygoers, creating a canopy of twinkling stars. A fire pit crackled in one corner, Adirondack chairs lining the perimeter as guests chatted all around you. The pool was lit within, its water glowing an intoxicatingly vivid blue. You stood there, watching the stillness of the water as everyone filled around you. The music thumped in your chest, in your ears, in your bloodstream, but you watched the water, and for a moment, you felt okay.

“I always wanna jump in at parties,” a deep voice said beside you. 

You hesitated before speaking. “Why don’t you? It’s your party, isn’t it?” you asked, face-to-face with the man of the hour. His chestnut hair was cut short, truly showing how young he is. You wondered how he could do this: have eyes on him at all times, have so many expectations weighing on his conscience, being judged constantly. It felt—suffocating, to say the least.

“Do you know how many hockey legends are here?” he laughed, as if the building was swarmed with secret spies. 

“And yet you’re standing here. Why’s that?” you asked, looking up at the boy.

And for the first time in your life, Jack Hughes looked at you. And it wasn’t in the gross, disgusted way he looked at clumsy kids in the hallway, or the way he looked at pretty girls like they were his next meal. He looked at you in earnest, an emotion you didn’t even know he was capable of possessing.

“Do you think I don’t know you?” he eyed you, his brow raising as you broke his—hate to admit it—intimidating gaze. You watched the water before you, crossing your arms over your chest as you began to feel that unwelcome, fish-out-of-water feeling again. Moving closer to you, his voice fell almost to a whisper as you felt chills run down your spine due to the proximity. “I know you’re the obnoxious girl that thinks she knows every answer to every question, who already judged every single person at this party without ever learning their names, who doesn’t like me, yet still came. Why’s that?” he asked, repeating the same question you had asked just moments before.

You felt bare in front of him, confused as to how he knew any of that stuff about you. Surely he was too busy making out with girls and slinging a stick around to pay attention to you. So why had he just read you like a book without you having to say a single word?

You shrugged. “I wanted to see what you were about, I guess.”

“Yeah?” he smirked, his tongue poking his cheek as you dared yourself not to look up at him. “How’d I do?”

“Not sure yet.”

He bumped his shoulder with yours, butterflies bumbling around your stomach. “Not just a dumb jock, you know. That’s all Luke.”

You scoffed quietly, a small smile playing on your lips as you lessened up the need to try to fight it. You were smiling because of Jack Hughes, and to be honest, you didn’t really mind it. “He asked me the difference between a square and a rectangle once,” you joked. You had some classes with Luke, and while you two weren’t best friends, you still talked to each other once in a while.

Jack laughed, watching Luke in the corner of his eye try to talk to a girl that was way too old for him. “You’re laughing,” he smiled, noticing you cover your face and still your giggles. “See, I’m not that bad.”

You rolled your eyes before looking up at him. He watched the partygoers on the other side of the pool mingling, his jawline sharpened and his moles scattering much of the surface area of his face. You hadn’t noticed much about his appearance until then, until you finally got a good look at him, at his personality.

You two sat poolside for a while, your legs dipped in the water as you talked about anything and everything. Occasionally people would pull him away to chat, but he would always come back to you, telling you all about the boring conversations, how much he hated networking at a party that’s supposed to be fun, how he hated being treated and expected to be like an adult when he was far from it.

He didn’t notice he was talking to you for so long until the party thinned and it was just you and him in the backyard. Cups littered all around you, his mom picking them up as she not-so-subtly eavesdropped on your conversation. His brothers were inside the house, watching you two from the kitchen window, and Trevor and Cole speculated who you even were while trying not to pass out on the couch in the living room.

For the first time in a while, Jack felt, I don’t know, good about himself? Like he wasn’t praised for doing such little things, or told he’s some amazing person just because he’s good at passing a puck around. Like he was able to talk, and someone was there to listen. And for some reason, he actually kind of liked being criticized by you. It showed that you paid attention; that you were real. He hadn’t met someone real in a while.

He remembered the time you had dragged him to a New Year’s Eve party at your friend Avery's apartment a couple years later.

He was wearing “2024”-shaped sunglasses that matched yours, and a shiny, gold, plastic fedora that made you laugh every time you looked at him. His arms were wrapped around you from behind as you entered the house, his lips planting a kiss on the crown of your head as you two separated to hug the group of people that stood near the door.

You talked to your friends, catching up on everything you guys missed in each other’s lives while in college. Jack snuck up behind you, kissing your cheek before slipping off your coat and placing it on the couch by the entrance. 

The party was chill, much more relaxed than any of the parties Jack was invited to that night. You had urged him to go to them, knowing he would have much more fun with his friends, singing karaoke, getting wasted, and blasting music until they can’t hear anymore, but he shook his head, saying, “Parties are only fun if you’re there,” he shrugged. “Besides, how am I supposed to get my New Year’s kiss without you?”

The two of you mingled for a while, sharing nostalgic stories about high school and the time Jack had confused “pads with wings” with pads and chicken wings. The living room was filled with soft music and the hum of conversations. Jack kept close, his hand finding yours every now and then as if to ask if you were okay, if you needed food or a refill on your drink, if you were tired and wanted to go home—you were always his first priority. 

As the night progressed, the countdown to midnight drew closer. People began to gather in the living room, excitement buzzing in the air. Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve played on the television as Jack pulled you to a spot where you could both see the screen. His arm wrapped around your waist, and you leaned into him, sniffing his cologne and laughing when he caught you.

Before you knew it, the countdown began and everyone started chanting along.

“Ten, nine, eight…”

You turned to Jack, his eyes locked on yours, a charismatic smile playing on his lips. Even after dating for five years, he still managed to make you nervous. You had hoped that that feeling would never go away. You want to be nervous because of Jack Hughes every single night—forever.

“Seven, six, five…”

The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there.

“Four, three, two…”

Jack’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his palm warm and tender against your skin as you leaned into it. 

“One! Happy New Year!”

Cheers erupted around you, but all you could focus on was Jack as he leaned in—not too slow, not too fast—capturing your lips in an impossibly better-than-the-last, sweet, honey kiss. Your hands were in his hair, his were glued to your hips, and it was perfect. And for a moment, it was just you and him, sharing the first kiss of the new year.

When you finally pulled away, grins were etched to your faces. You still couldn’t believe he was yours.

“Happy New Year,” Jack whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

“Happy New Year,” you echoed.

Jack’s head rested against the wall behind him, his eyes closed, the music muffling around him as he thought back to the first time he said “I love you.”

It was your 18th birthday and you were celebrating it at the lake house. Knowing Alex, Trevor, and Cole, they planned this huge rager for you, inviting nearly half the neighborhood—and then some. 

After you said your hellos and knowing that the party could continue without you, you wandered upstairs, finding yourself in Jack’s room as you sat on his bed; his gray cover soft under your fingertips as you brushed over the fabric. You just needed a minute. 

Before you knew Jack—like, really knew Jack—you hadn’t had a birthday party in years. It wasn’t like your family didn’t care about you, or your friends didn’t want to celebrate you. Everyone in your life meant something to you, and you meant something to them too. You just couldn’t go to parties to save your life. You would walk in, see all the girls that are prettier than you, all the guys that act like you don’t exist, you’d get in your head, get overwhelmed, and leave quickly after. This just wasn’t for you.

And because Jack knew you, he knew you would be upstairs.

The door slowly creaked open, causing your head to rise, and a sigh to fall from your lips—just Jack. He smiled at you, shutting the door softly behind him as he sat beside you on the bed. You two sat surrounded by the soft glow of dim lamps, and the distant thumping of music that had seeped through the floorboards beneath your feet. 

His heart pounded in his chest. He knew you were beautiful, but sometimes he’s just so amazed by you, like you’re a new person every single day. Like there were new discoveries to be made, like he could never get bored with you. To Jack, you were everything. And who needs anything else in the world if he had everything sitting right beside him?

His hand rested on your thigh, his thumb running up and down the exposed skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You furrowed your brows. “For what?”

He shrugged. “For the party. I know you didn’t want it.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want it,” you murmured, sighing. “It’s just—I’m not Trevor, or Cole, or the number one overall draftee, Jack Hughes,” you smirked, bumping your shoulder with his. 

He shook his head. “No one’s telling you to be. We could’ve watched a movie,” he suggested, grinning. “Or gone on a shopping spree, or went on a drive. You don’t have to do anything for anyone else, especially on your birthday.”

“I like parties when you’re there—and no one else is,” you laughed as Jack scoffed, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I like those parties, too.” He went silent for a minute, just the hum of music playing from the outside filling the room as you focused on his thumb on your thigh. “I know I’ve been busy with hockey and everything lately, but I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not important to me, or that I’m not thinking about you, because I am—all the time. You’re the most important person in my life.”

Your heart swelled at his words as you squeezed his hand. “I know, J,” you nodded. “I knew what I was getting into when you asked me out,” you smiled, meeting his gaze. 

He had been busy with his rookie season for the past year: being called a bust, getting injured over and over again, fans questioning if the Devils made the correct choice with him. He grew quiet during those months, more frustrated—with himself, with his game, with the people around him. You were worried for him, begging him to just talk to you about it. He shielded himself from everything and everyone. He almost lost you because of it, and he vowed to never do that shit ever again; to never get so close to losing himself that he ends up losing you.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re really fuckin’ cool, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, that smile planted on your lips never fading away. “I know.”

Laughing, he smiled, a small, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace. “I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You buried your face in Jack’s chest, breathing in the familiar scent of seasalt and ocean breeze. “Luckily for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

He kissed the top of your head, his chin resting on your hair as your cheek laid against his chest. “I love you,” he whispered, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

He felt you tense beneath him, pulling back slightly. His heart sped up. “What?”

He gulped before breathing in. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice steadier this time. “I think I’ve always been in love with you—you make it hard not to be.”

Your breath caught, a small smile encapsulating your blushy face. “I love you, too.”

Before you could say anything else, Jack closed the distance between the two of you, his lips capturing yours in a tender kiss. The music was gone, the thumping of your heartbeat was put to the back of your mind, every doubt and every worry you had for this relationship was dissipated immediately—nothing existed at this moment. It was jack, jack, jack, plus a hundred times more.

Jack’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You responded naturally, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him close as if afraid he might disappear, like this moment was just a figment of your imagination. 

Gently, Jack guided you higher up the bed, his movements careful and deliberate. He laid you down, hovering over you, his eyes filled with adoration. “I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips before capturing them in another kiss.

Your hands roamed his back as you tugged at his shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours. Jack immediately understood, pulling away just long enough to discard his striped tee before returning to you, his kisses growing more urgent. 

As you pulled him closer, your own shirt joined his on the floor, your lacy red bra standing out against your skin. Jack’s breath hitched at the sight, his hands trembling as they traced the contours of your body, committing every inch and every curve to memory. He wanted to explore every dimple and every mole, every birthmark, and every faint touch that made you squirm. He wanted to know you, as thoroughly as possible.

“Holy shit,” he murmured breathlessly, praising you to the highest level. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Jack’s lips left a trail of kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He paused, his gaze meeting yours, a silent question in his eyes. He wouldn’t do anything unless you wanted to. You answered with a nod, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw before pulling him back to you. 

“I love you, Jack,” you whispered against his lips. “I want this.”

Jack’s hands moved with increasing urgency, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Roaming lower, they explored the curve of your waist before slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. His fingers found their way to your core, gently exploring, teasing.

A soft moan escaped your lips, your body arching against his touch. “Jack,” you breathed.

He kissed you deeply, his fingers moving with deliberate, tender motions, drawing soft gasps and breathless moans. “I love you…so much,” he murmured against your lips.

Your breaths became ragged, his name becoming the only thing left in your vocabulary. The room grew warmer, more intoxicating. Jack felt you getting closer to your high, quickly removing his fingers before you could reach it as you whined out, breathless.

He paused, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and heavy. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked again.

You nodded, your eyes locked with his. “I’m sure, Jack. I want you.”

With a shuddering breath, he captured your lips again, the kiss deep and all-consuming. His hands found the clasp of your bra, unhooking it, and letting it fall away. He stared at you for a moment, taking in your bare body before his lips began to trail downwards, worshiping every inch of you.

Your hands found the waistband of his pants, your hands working sloppily as you fumbled with the button. Paying no mind, he helped you, discarding his pants and boxers in one swift motion. Jack’s body pressed against yours, the heat of his skin against yours almost too much to bear. His kisses were everywhere, trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, and finally to your breasts, where he lingered, drawing soft moans from your lips.

You arched against him, your body pleading for more, for everything. "Jack, please," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

He met your eyes, his gaze soft and safe. "I love you," he said again, his voice full of emotion. "Let me show you how much."

With that, he kissed you deeply, his body aligning with yours. The moment he entered you, it was like everything else fell away, leaving only the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible. The rhythm of your movements, the gasps and moans, all blended perfectly, like this was right where you were supposed to be—with Jack, here, and in love.

His thrusts were slow at first, measured, each one driving you closer to the edge. The feeling of him inside you, filling you completely, was overwhelming. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated against your lips, over and over again. 

Jack’s thrust became more urgent, his breathing ragged, matching your own. His heavy grunts, as your fingers dug into his back pulling him closer, closer, impossibly closer, filled the warm room. 

As your climax built, your hands weaved through his hair, needing to feel him, needing to be as close as humanly possible. Each thrust hit harder and faster than the last, bringing you closer to the edge. 

“Jack,” you cried out, your body tensing as that unfamiliar feeling approached, the high almost too much to handle.

His face was buried in your neck, holding you tightly. “Y/N,” he groaned, pushing you through your high, his own release nearly there.

With a final thrust, the string you held onto so tightly, slipped from your fingers, a balloon inside you erupting at the feeling. You cried out his name once more, your body trembling with the force of your release. Jack followed, his own climax crashing over him. 

You clung to each other, your bodies trembling with aftershocks. Jack held you against his chest, his breath ragged, and his heart pounding against yours.

As you laid entwined, the world slowly came back into focus. The sounds of the party were distant now, a faint reminder of where you were. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. You didn’t care about what was going on downstairs, who was missing you, or who was asking for Jack. All that mattered right now was the two of you, and it felt perfect.

“Don’t know if I said it enough, but I love you,” Jack chuckled, his arm wrapped around your small frame.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. “I love you, too, J. Always.”

Always.

  Always.

    Always.

      Always.

         Always.

Opening his eyes, Jack watched the crowd around him, his gaze instinctively searching for you. He didn’t know why he was doing it. There was no point—not anymore, not when he fucked everything up. Not when he let you slip from his fingers and leave his life entirely.

His eyes settled on a girl in the corner of the room, a red solo cup in hand, her cheeks a flushed mess, and he wondered why he was even at that party. None of these girls could hold a candle to you, not even if they tried. 

Yet Jack watched the door, and willed for you to come, despite knowing you don’t go to parties anymore.