#i hope he was just saying that he would disappear to try to get an inno for mikoto

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

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The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[eunimaybe]

contemplating : love, friendships and theories of time

୨୧ ; fate is a strange concept, isn’t it? because park sunghoon was the last person you had expected to see in your philosophy lecture in uni

pairing! philosophymajor!sunghoon x philosophymajor!reader | wc. 0.8k | warnings: wrong philosophy info, prob cringe EN-

🖇️ : philosophy major sunghoon SKDKDKSK. also, to the girly who asked for a uni fic for the science and maths girls, i hope you’re looking forward to my sunoo uni fic ~

you and sunghoon go WAYYYY back

he was your neighbour in that little picturesque town you both lived in, your mum's friend's annoying son who always seemed to be loitering around at your house

you thought your mum adopted him or smth bc why was he at your house more than his own?? — more under cut!!

you used to tease him about being homeless back in the days

but yk you two were best friends

but you and sunghoon kind of just drifted apart in high school after he moved during his freshman year at high school

you see his instagram posts sometimes, pictures of him out with his friends, jawline still jawlining

you sometimes even scroll down to his older posts where you are present in his photos, smiling next to him with a wide braces smile

but you never thought you would cross paths with park sunghoon again

that is, until university.

you walk into your first philosophy lecture and oh look there he is

park sunghoon sitting in one of the corners with his notebook looking like the exact definition of brooding intellectual

what is that guy doing here WHY IS HE HERE?

you two recognise each other instantly but there's this moment of awkwardness

like "oh, do you remember when we used to steal each other's snacks in 5th grade?"

except now he's all grown up, wearing wireframe glasses and quoting descartes during class discussions

you just try to focus on your lecture but you can't really forget about sunghoon being in your philosophy lecture

oh yeah, and he looks x100 hotter than you remember WHAT'S GOING ON

puberty hit him hard

after the lecture, you're about to pack your stuff and leave as soon as you can but he just strides up to you with his obnoxiously long legs

you always hated his stupid long legs you always had to run to catch up

you're certain he walked faster on purpose to leave you behind

ANYWAYS sunghoon just says long time no see in that smooth voice of his.

he's polite, maybe a bit shy, but there's a hint of a smile on his face and it's almost like the years of not seeing each other disappears

you two start hanging out more- grabbing coffee together before 8AM morning lectures designed to kill university students, studying together in the library

your mum is also really happy to hear that you've met sunghoon

you always knew she liked him better than you.

but you guys only get closer on a fateful thursday morning as you’re making your way to your morning lecture

because sunghoon is standing in the courtyard with a baby kitten in his arms whilst panicking

“y/n this cat keeps following me and she doesn’t have a mum.”

ofc you need to take it in SHE’S SO CUTE

you end up skipping lectures and spending the entire day with sunghoon to bring the cat to the vet and buy food

sunghoon wants to name the cat descartes but you veto that immediately

by the day is over, you have a kitten named mochi with sunghoon as a co-parent

now you’re seeing him all the time bc guess who has joint custody over mochi??

ok but spending time with sunghoon isn't as hard as you thought it would be

like yes he moved without a word and practically ghosted you in highschool

but it all feels really natural WHO CHEERED??

but between kitten playdates and philosophy study sessions stuff start feeling kinda different HMMM

which you didn’t think was possible btw sunghoon’s hobby is literally talking about existentialism and calligraphy

yeah and you knew him since he was five

ok but he looks really hot whilst talking about sartre NDJDKDKSKS

who knew you would start feeling all warm inside from sunghoon

not the 14 years old you in the past

but now everytime you touch in any way, you feel yourself flush pink

and you can’t ignore how sunghoon tries to act all nonchalant about it but his ears are turning red

how cute.

“you ever heard about hegel’s theory of love?”

“if you’re about to lecture me, i’m leaving.”

“no- listen, it’s about how love is this push and pull that makes you grow and stuff, and i don’t think i’m just studying it anymore. i think i’m feeling it, with you.”

ok that sounded a lot better in my head please don’t come for me

but yeah

aristotle believed everyone has a purpose they’re meant to fulfill. perhaps you didn’t know it back than, but losing touch with sunghoon and finding him again… it feels like you two were meant to meet in the future. perhaps it’s fate

heeseung jay jake sunoo jungwon ni-ki

✉️ : @icyy-hoon

[kkayyerr]

Not me checking everyday to see if you posted, im obsessed with your stories!

can i request Reader throwing a tantrum, and lke, i think in the regular being Rafe's girl it's a pretty toxic dynamic, and he is often rough with her, yanks her and stuff, just being not too soft and gentle with his touches when he's in a bad mood, a slight bad mood even.

And you know, childs usually pick up habits from adults, so when she regresses and she throws the tantrum she is like agressive with rafe like trying to push him or hit him and let's say its the first and only time that happens!:3 thats my scenario you can mold it however you want

Tough Love.

Summary: Rafe had always been tough with little!reader, but he got very surprised when he found out that his little girl is just as feisty as he is.

Warnings: Age regression, Dark!Rafe, non-sexual spanking, slight angst, unhealthy relationship. All SFW!!!

Author’s note: Thank you so much for your sweet words, I hope you’ll like this one!🫶🏻🥹

Rafe was very unpredictable the last couple of weeks. One day he could’ve spoil you, and the next day the only emotion that he would show towards you was anger. His touches became rough, somehow violent, even though he didn’t actually hit you or abuse you in any way. It was just who he was. He had never been very gentle. You knew him for a long time now, and you knew what you were getting yourself into by starting the relationship with him. What you didn’t know is that you would feel so small and overpowered by him all the time. Most of the time you felt weak. You knew that being with him was stressful for you because of his establishment. Rafe also seemed very tensed and anxious almost every day.

You started regressing more often, trying to hide from those thoughts and feelings, but they had only grown bigger. 

It was a peaceful evening for you and Rafe, until you felt the urge to throw a tantrum out of nowhere. Of course it wasn’t out of nowhere; you were just tired of everything and severely overwhelmed. You needed to let those feelings out by crying and screaming, but Rafe didn’t know that. Your tantrum was just another irritating thing for him that he needed to stop before it would make him freak out. 

 

„Baby, calm down.”

 

He said, approaching you, when you suddenly did what he wasn’t expecting you to do. 

You hit him. 

You slapped his face with the full force. 

He just wanted to lean closer to you, so you would feel more grounded and comfortable, but you might’ve feel comfortable enough if you decided that you had a right to lay your little hand on him. He was surprised by your audacity. After everything he had put up with, he got a fucking handprint on his face?

Rafe’s eyes immediately darkened, and the loving look disappeared completely. He was pissed. However, he didn’t hit you back. He didn’t shove or push you. He just went straight to the couch and set down, patting his lap and looking at you. 

 

„Over my knee.”

 

Your skin immediately covered in shivers. He had never used psychical punishments before, especially not spanking. The room was silent; you could only hear how fast your own heart beats. You were terrified of Rafe right now. Somehow that empty look on his face was much scarier than the anger that you got used to. You didn’t want him to hurt you, but he would either way, so you just made your way to the couch, carefully laying down on his lap.

You were scared, and the fact that you were regressed right now was only making the whole situation worse. Much worse.

Rafe’s hands landed on your back, and he caressed you a little bit in the soothing manner before giving you the first slap with his other hand.

 

„I hope you understand that Daddy don’t like punishing you, little one.”

 

The second slap was louder than the first one and felt just as painful. But this time pain mixed with the feeling of guilt. It was your fault; you shouldn’t have slapped him and shouldn’t have given him a reason to punish you. You wanted to be his good little girl after all. 

 

„Why did you hit Daddy, hm?”

 

You felt tears falling from your eyes when he hit you once again. You covered your mouth with your little hand to muffle sniffling and crying sounds. Rafe had hold his laughter back, so he won’t be called a „meanie” later. It was cute how hard you were trying to keep on the strong girl act, even though he knew that it was all just a facade. You were way too vulnerable to be called strong. 

 

„C’mon, answer me.”

 

Rafe said, giving you a last slap. He then immediately helped you sit, pulling you closer while you were on his lap, even though he knew that sitting might’ve been a little difficult for you right now. He gently took your hand away from your mouth, and you let out a couple of loud sobs, before finally answering.

 

„Wanted to feel stwong and big like you!”

 

Those words sounded funny because of your high-pitched childish voice, that was also still trembling from the crying. You didn’t sound like someone who is strong and big, especially not after you just got spanked. Rafe smiled softly; he almost felt sorry for you. How could someone be so stupid and so cute at the same time? 

 

„But strong girls don’t need daddies. Do you want me to leave?”

 

Of course you didn’t want him too. You knew that you simply wouldn’t survive without him. You needed your Daddy, no matter how difficult it was to stick around him lately. You remember him also being there when it was hard to stick around you. 

You shook your head, quickly hugging his neck, so that way he wouldn’t leave you or disappear. His calm breathing relaxed you. He was there, close to you, and he wasn’t mad. 

It was strange to admit, but it was the first time in the last couple of weeks when both of you were calm and happy.

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @rafecameronsloverrrrr @aew-regression-cove

[emo-trash101]

HELLO HELLO HELLO ONYX‼️‼️‼️

I SAW THAT YOU'RE BACK

I MISSED YOU SO MUCH OMG.

(and your writing but you're more important <3)

ALSO WITH ARCANE??? YOU FEED ME.

So yeah,you guessed it,Arcane asking time‼️

May I have Salo (He's my baby girl I love him he's my favorite LOOK AT MY WIFE HE'S SO PRETTY.),Silco,Singed,Vander,Ambessa,Mel,Jayce and Viktor (feel free to remove or change some of them,I just love giving people a wide range of characters to choose from!! I just want Salo the most ajgehhw) with a CHILD!reader (haha platonic asker is back >:3) that they basically adopted from Zaun with a weird condition that makes them need to breathe through a filtering mask? Because they can't breathe normal air and has to get a certain gas in their lungs otherwise they aren't okay? Imagine it breaking after they get in a fight with someone or fall and they all just panic...

So basically gas mask baby. Just a little silly guy.

So yeah!! I really hope you enjoy writing this prompt,my dear friend!!!

Don't forget to eat,drink and take breaks as always!!

Always stay proud!!

Your mutual and friend,

-Nina <33

OMG IK IM SO EXCITED TO BE BACK! ALSO HAPPY THANKSGIVING IF ITS THIS TIME OF YEAR FOR YOU :))

Salo, Vander, Jayce and Victor x Asthmatic! Child

Platonic

Pronouns: Second person

Tw: illness, potential child endangerment (It's arcane so ERM, what else do you expect) Also potential spoilers

Salo -

- I think he was like most people from piltover and was like "UHM, what is this dirty little dirt baby doing near me why are they coughing are they diseased?"

- I think the beginning of him taking you in would be like, he decides you probably shouldn't be in the road coughing and essentially on the verge of perishment.

- So he takes you to the nearest doctors office and is like fully prepared to just, disappear.

- That was until the doctor looks at him and says "Oh, councilor Salo, I didn't know you had a child?"

- After that he just, accepted his fate as a father.

- At first I don't think he would be that warm and comforting, but it's just generally an adjustment period.

- He learns to take care of you through long amounts of trial and error, and eventually you both form a decent connection.

- It wasn't exactly father and child, but more so friendly roommates

- That was until you finally got your diagnosis.

- Before now he was kinda just your dad in theory, sure he fed you and helped you when you cried and comforted you through long nights when you couldn't breathe but that was completely and totally just because he had to.

- But something inside of him just feels so sad for you when the doctor first straps your mask onto your face.

-After that your relationship changes for the better.

-You both seem to bond and become more close in a way that he wasn't exactly expecting.

-He becomes more vigilant about what you eat and what you're doing and making sure that you don't break your mask.

- Eventually, he feels more like your dad in a real sense, not just on metaphorical paper.

Vander (Pre ep3) -

- At first he wasn't exactly going to become fatherly figure to you.

- I mean after all he has 4 other children he has to look after and you surely have parents somewhere.

- It took one week for the powder and the others to get used to you being there, and 2 weeks for Vander to realize no one was coming for you.

- After that Vander decided that it was better to just take you under his wing and care for you.

- First thing he did after deciding that was getting into contact with the best doctor in Zaun to try and figure out why you were coughing so much.

- The next thing he did was try not to cry when they forced the mask onto you so that you could breathe.

- After that though, things went significantly well.

- You bonded more closely with Powder than anyone, mainly because of the feeling of being both the youngest and the least helpful.

- Even when they did take you on missions, you'd get out of breath, or get your mask broken.

- Vander learned very fast that he should learn how to fix it.

- But after that, everything was good, and you had a family for as long as that could last.

Jayce -

- Of most of the people in Piltover, I think he would be the one of the most inclined to help you.

- I feel like he would pretty consistently take walks out, and that's where he would find you.

- He would find you sitting against a wall coughing so hard it was sure to have been heard at least a mile away.

- He would definitely panic and try to talk to you and figure out what happened, and then realize that verbal communication is the least effective communication for him to have picked.

-So instead he picks you up and rushes you to the nearest doctors office.

- With the way that he's so panicked and treating you so kindly, the doctors just assume that he's your father.

- After the doctors explain to him what your illness is he immediately thinks of Victor.

- At first, his reason behind taking care of you was that he was just making sure you were okay before he looks for your real parents.

- But eventually, he just gets so used to you being around that he kinda just forgets that he should be looking for them, and instead just leans into the fatherly role.

- It took a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of conversations with Mel to figure out how to take care of a child and how to progress with your illness.

- And after all of it, he officially files for adoption of you.

- And he's the best dad you could ever ask for

Victor -

- Objectively, I think he would be the best out of all of them.

- He likely found you before he went to Piltover, and he took care of you almost immediately.

- He knows how it feels to be different from other kids your age, what it's like to be made just, wrong.

-He cares for you, and eventually he moves you both to Piltover.

-It was an extremely risky decision for him to have made, but it was for you to get a good doctor, and for him to get a good job.

- After you receive your mask and your diagnosis, he becomes more protective.

- He cleans your mask once a day to make sure it doesn't build up gunk and becomes more dangerous to your lungs.

- He also becomes more vigilant on what you're doing and if that can cause your mask to break.

- After he eventually receives his diagnosis, he decides that after his time is up that he's going to give you to Jayce.

- But before that time comes, he's gonna love you like you're his own.

UHM I feel like these got aggressively more depressing but it's probably fine, I hope you enjoyed this one Nina!

Make sure to drink water and eat food :)

[bigball-thefrog]

Hello, just wanted to say that i enjoyed your last two fics, they’re pretty cool! Could you maybe do another Law fic? Perhaps maybe the reader was also taken in by the donxitoute (I fs spelt that wrong)family at a young age just like Law was when he was younger. And like obviously Law and the reader grew up together with the donxitoute family, like they became close and eventually developed crushes on one another. But Corazón wasn’t able to take the reader on time because Doflamanigo never kept his eyes away from her because she had this really strong devil fruit. Then when years go by obviously Law and the Reader are older but she’s still in the family and became an executive. Obviously she doesn’t stand what Doffy does and wants to betray him just like Viola but she doesn’t have an opening due to how valuable she is to him. And Doflamingo always has her by his side. Maybe when Law teams up with the strawhats, he mentions her and how he needs to help her and get out of there. This would probably take place a bit in the end of Punk Hazard and through Dressrosa. (Also it would be cool if the reader and Viola were close friends). You can turn this into a series because i think that would be cool.

Hello hello hello!!! Thank you for the request sorry it took me so long to reply to you. As I said in a different post, I had started my exams, and I am finished now so I'm catching up on my requests. Sorry for being late and I hope it is to your liking

Warnings/Tags:

Law X Fem!Reader

Dressrosa and end of Punk Hazzard spoilers

______________________________

Narrator POV

Like the other kids, you were orphaned and left to die. You came across the Donquixote family, and despite being thrown away (literally) by Corazon, you were stubborn and kept coming back. Then one day Doflamingo discovered your Devilfruit ability (you decide what it is) and thought of how useful it would be, and soon you were a valued member of the family.

Eventually Law came along and when he was eventually accepted into the family, you were curious. He was always cold or angry and tried to keep to himself all the time, but you made sure that never happened. You'd always stick together, almost hunt him down at times, always speaking, always trying to get him to play when you weren't busy. He hated it, he hated you'd never leave him alone or shut up, no matter what you did he'd never lighten up or let you get close... But of course, you eventually did get close, really close actually, as tike went by on the Doflamingo pirates you both became close, inseparable even, you won were a team that fought side by side. But as of recently Law's disease was getting worse and he was slowly dying. You begged and begged Doflamingo to take him to a doctor but there was nothing he could do. You knew Law's time was getting short, that's why you became extra clingy. Wanting to spend as much time as you could together, but one day he just disappeared, with Corazon.. You were heartbroken that they suddenly disappeared, your best friend, and your first crush, gone.

Time went by and you did your best to forget about him. Then one night you stopped at a snowy island, for some reason Doflamingo never let you leave the ship. You wanted to complain but you knew better than question him, so you stayed put. Once you saw Doflamingo trapped the island with his strings you knew something was really wrong. When everyone came back, you ran up to Doflamingo to ask what had happened but something seemed wrong with him, like he was on the verge of snapping at anyone that got too close. So you decided to wait for him to calm down before asking. When he eventually did lighten up, which took much longer than you thought, he told you everything about what Law and Corazon did, and everything changed for you. You started to hate Doflamingo and grew colder towards him, and when he took over Dressrosa those feelings doubled down, but you knew that no matter how much you hated him now, there was no way to leave without dying...

One good that came from the takeover of Dressrosa was meeting Viola, you both quickly became close on your shared hatred for Doflamingo, so at least you had a close friend again.

--------------------------------------------------

~Now~

You were called to speak with Doflamingo, he stood by an open window, seeming tense, "Doflamingo? You wanted to speak?" He turned to you, a small scowl on his face, "You've been under my direct command and my command only since you've joined, right?" He asked, you nodded. "And you'd never betray me... Right?" He asked, the threat clear in his tone, you froze for a second but nodded. "Good... Congratulations, you've now been promoted to one of my executives, you're taking Vergo's place" you looked at him shocked confused, "But what happened? Why am I replacing Vergo??" Doflamingo only scowled, it was a similar to the scowl he had when he killed Corazon. "Did something happen at Punk Hazzard?" "Yes" "Monette too?" He stayed silent this time which told you everything you needed to know, "Was it?..." "Law..." He said. Your heart raced at hearing that name again after all these years, you'd seem him in the newspapers once or twice, but you didn't know what he was like now, a part of you still missed him, but it wasn't time for that now. "Alright, I'll accept Vergo's place," You said. Doflamingo stood on the open windowsill, "Good. I'm going to he gone for a bit, you make sure nothing goes to shit while I'm out..." And he left. You knew that if Law was in Punk Hazzard that he'd probably come to Dressrosa soon, you weren't sure if you were mentally ready for that, but you knew that it didn't matter because you'd have to confront him soon, and you knew when he was here, you had an important choice to make...

--------------------------------------------------

Law POV

I was currently in the kitchen of the All Sunny with the rest of Strawhats, telling them my plans for what was going to happen in Dressrosa. As I talked about the plan, but an idea popped in my head and I mumbled out the name of someone I hadn't thought about in years. "Who's that?" Luffy asked, "An... An old Friend." I muttered out, "They were someone I was close to when I was still in Doflamingos crew. They had a powerful Devilfruit ability that could help us save Dressrosa. But they're constantly under the watch of Doflamingo or one of the other executives.. But, I left her alone all those years ago, and it would kill me to leave her again... I need to save her..." I gripped the table as I thought about how I had to leave and couldn't take her with me, I left her, alone and in the clutches of that bastard Doflamingo. Luffy just flashed his signature smile, "Well if she's a friend of yours, she's a friend of mine. Well save her Tra-guy!" I scowled at the nickname, but a sense of relief washed over me and I looked towards the direction Dressrosa was, "Don't worry, I'll save you this time, and I'll never leave you again, my dear friend."

______________________________

Alright, this is the first of a few that I will be posting today so I'll be back real soon after I finish writing the next request, see you in probably a hour

Kelly🐸

[schrijverr]

Go Ask Daddy, Bud, I’m Napping for a Bit

Divergence from chapter 23, where when Buck is tired in the lead up towards Christmas, he accidentally refers to Eddie as daddy to Chimney. It’s just automatic due to Chris, but it gets some weird looks and attempting to explain doesn’t make it sound better. In trying to defend himself more comes to light.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warnings: discussions of sex

~~~

Christmas is drawing near and Eddie and Buck have been alternating on taking extra shifts, as to not throw off their schedule too much while still saving up.

You never realize how expensive holidays are until you’re an adult. And those expenses increase exponentially when you have a kid. They still don’t know Chris’s Christmas wish, so they’re making sure they have enough for whatever it will be. The kid deserves not to be disappointed.

Right now, however, Buck is exhausted and slightly grouchy about it. His extra shift is a 48 hours that is a 24 hours for both A and B shift. So, his first 24 hours with B shift have rolled into the next with the A shift and he is so, so tired.

He thinks someone on B shift must have said the q-word, because they’ve been running all over town all day. He’s hoping that the curse won’t last into this new one, because that will suck ass. Of course, he’d do anything for Chris, but by god does he want this shift to be over.

The others ribbed him a little about it when they came in, but five calls later, they’ve slowly eased off of him.

They’ve just come back from their latest call and Buck has collapsed onto the couch, fully prepared to take a nap and too lazy to walk all the way back down after climbing the stairs to get a snack. He likes napping on the couch and listening to the hum of the station anyway.

Buck is already halfway asleep, vaguely listening to Eddie and Hen chatting at the kitchen table, when he is interrupted by Chimney asking: “Have you seen my sweater anywhere?”

And later, Buck will totally blame the curse for the way he gestures in Eddie’s general direction as he grumbles: “Go ask daddy, bud, I’m napping for a bit.”

He would have dropped off in the immediate shocked silence that came after that, were it not for Chimney loudly exclaiming: “Daddy?”

It startles him and he blearily tries to open his eyes as he sits up, going: “Wha?”

“You just referred to Eddie as daddy,” Chimney informs him, a mix of gleeful, confused and a little weirded out. “Unless you have opinions about Hen that you didn’t share with the class.”

The words break through the exhausted fog and embarrassment floods through him at the realization of what just happened. The sweater thing was just such a Chris question and he’d been on his mind, due to the Christmas present conundrum, so it had just slipped out as natural in the sleepiness.

A bright blush paints his features and he’s sure everyone can see. Still, he tries to deflect: “Are you sure, man? Pretty certain I said Eddie, you must’ve misheard or something.”

“No, you said daddy,” Hen speaks up and Buck looks over to her. She is raising her brow at him, then at Eddie, who is across from her, also blushing. She continues: “And Eddie here looked over at it without missing a beat.”

“So, it’s normal for you to call Eddie daddy, is it? Hm, curious,” Chimney accuses.

“You’re making it weird,” Buck protests.

“And it’s not?” Hen counters unconvinced.

“No, it’s not. It’s not a thing,” Buck says as confidently as he can anyway.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Edmundo. You’ve been awfully quiet,” Chimney directs himself towards Eddie, who’s been quietly trying to disappear into the background. Buck feels guilty about that, Eddie didn’t ask to be caught up in Buck’s stupid brain fart.

“Uh, I thought he said Eddie,” Eddie defends himself after a beat that last too long to be believed.

“Hm, you thought he said Eddie, did you?” Chimney hums in a knowing tone, which irks Buck to no end. It’s not like he’s wrong, but he doesn’t have to be smug about it, or make it a sex thing – ironic coming from him, he’s aware.

“Oh shut up, it was just a slip of the tongue. I’m tired,” Buck says.

“Freudian slip,” Hen coughs and Buck glares at her.

“I’ve been hanging out with Chris and Eddie a lot,” Buck tells them stubbornly. “He calls Eddie daddy, so you start doing it when talking to him and my brain got it mixed up. You two are making it something it’s not.”

Chimney squints at him, clearly trying to discern whether he’s lying or not. In a way, he isn’t. He has been hanging out with Chris and Eddie a lot and he does refer to Eddie as daddy when talking to Chris because of it and his tired brain did get mixed up.

However, Hen doesn’t buy it, asking: “Really? You say to Chris things like ‘go ask daddy’ and not ‘go ask your dad?’ You don’t do that with Denny. Or Harry.”

Fuck, busted.

“Uh…” Buck starts dumbly, unsure where to go from there.

Before he can say something more incriminating, Eddie comes to save him. He says: “It’s not that big a deal, you guys are really taking this and running with it for no reason.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees immediately. “Like, what do you even want me to say? Want me to confess me and Eddie are having steamy, kinky sex? We’re not. And despite my daddy issues, I don’t actually have a daddy kink. That’s not necessarily how that works.”

His need to please has translated more into being a service switch and having a massive praise kink, but he decides to keep that to himself for now. He doesn’t want to turn the him and Eddie conversation into a sex conversation more than it already is. Buck is pretty sure he will explode if it does.

Chimney and Hen pause at that, likely trying to think of why they’re pushing this the way they are. A part of Buck doesn’t want them to think about it and doesn’t want to think about it himself either. What if they picked up on the way he’s in love with Eddie and that’s why they thought they were onto something?

“You’re sure?” is what Chimney finally says, suspicious eyes going between Buck and Eddie.

Scandalized and annoyed, Buck exclaims: “Chimney!”

“What?” Chimney says defensively.

At that point, Bobby comes up the stairs from where he’d been filling out his reports. He has heard some of the ruckus and when he comes upstairs to find Buck glaring at a defensive Chimney, while Hen and Eddie are spectating – though Eddie with less amusement and more embarrassment than Hen – he asks: “What’s going on here?”

Before anyone else can speak, Chimney answers: “We’re trying to figure out if Buck and Eddie are fucking after Buck accidentally called Eddie daddy.”

“I told you, it’s because I’ve been hanging out with Chris and it’s not like that,” Buck exclaims. “You’re making it something it’s not. We’re not fucking!”

“And we said that it’s a little weird that you went ‘go ask daddy’ and not ‘go ask your dad,’” Hen reminds him.

“Yeah, and you two are being very defensive about it,” Chimney adds.

“Of course we’re defensive, you’re making a brain slip surrounding my kid weird,” Eddie grouches. “And throwing around accusations.”

Bobby hums thoughtfully as he tries to decide how to proceed. All of them hold their breath while they wait to see whose side Bobby will pick, and if he’ll even pick a side or will just walk away and distance himself from it.

Finally, he says: “No one in this house would judge you two, you know that right? If you want to keep things private, that is fine, but you will need to fill in the proper paperwork.”

Outraged as a result of the embarrassment and feeling exposed, Buck cries out: “You too? Why do all of you think we’re fucking?”

“Maybe because you two are making heart eyes at each other every day?” Hen snorts.

“What?” Buck squeaks, because, yeah, he is making heart eyes at Eddie and he kind of gathered he probably wasn’t hiding all that well, but what does she mean ‘you two’?

“Huh, what are you talking about? I’m straight,” Eddie frowns in confusion.

Hen looks taken aback by that. “You’re straight?” she asks disbelievingly, clapping her hand over her mouth the second it slips out.

“Yes!” Eddie says defensively, before his voice gets a slightly vulnerable edge as he adds: “Did you- did you not… think that?”

“Uh, no, I thought you were just low key about being gay,” Hen admits a little sheepishly, looking like she feels bad about bringing it up.

“Wait, but if Eddie’s straight, then why are him and Buck always eye fucking? What have we been witnessing these past few months?” Chimney interrupts loudly.

“Us being friends?” Buck suggests tentatively, unsure if he wants to risk it, but not wanting to make anyone think it’s something other than that.

“And there’s nothing else going on between you two?” Chimney asks suspiciously.

“No, no. No, definitely not,” Buck quickly assures him.

“You’re lying,” Chimney accuses, finger jabbing in Buck’s direction. “We all know you can’t lie for shit, Buckaroo, and that, was a lie! You two are fucking.”

“We’re not fucking!” Buck yells, face as red as a tomato. He’s still embarrassed by the daddy comment, then embarrassed by everyone seeing through him and pointing out how much he wants to fuck Eddie, and on top of that uncomfortably reminded that Eddie will never want him like Buck wants him.

“Then what is going on?” Bobby asks in that kind concerned fatherly manner that Buck usually loves, but right now makes him feel like he’s being cornered.

“Why do none of you believe that there’s nothing going on?”

“Because you’re a shit liar,” Chimney says.

“I can lie,” Buck says defensively, crossing his arms.

“Sure, you can,” Hen agrees patronizingly.

“I can!” Buck protests, before he lets it go, it’s not the point right now anyway. “And even if I can’t, I’m not lying now. There is nothing between me and Eddie.”

“Nothing, huh?” Chimney still doesn’t believe him, but lets him be for now, instead turning to Eddie again and asking: “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

“That you guys are being ridiculous,” Eddie offers. “Me and Buck are friends. Good friends. He’s been a huge help with Chris and he was just tired. It happens. You’re all just seeing things.”

“Hmm,” Hen hums as she studies Eddie closely with squinted eyes. “I can’t tell if he’s lying.”

Eddie sends her deadpan look. “I’m not lying.”

“You see, I want to believe you, but something makes me feel like there is something you’re hiding from us,” Hen tells him as she leans over to look intently at his face, scrutinizing him.

Unimpressed, Eddie also leans over the table so he can look right back at her. “Okay, do tell. What do you think I could be lying about? What are we hiding? Because we’re not fucking, I can tell you that much.”

Buck doesn’t know what Eddie is doing, challenging Hen like this. Eddie is the better liar between them, but inviting them to dig deeper when they’re already uncomfortably close, doesn’t seem like a smart idea. However, Buck isn’t going to get the attention on himself. If anyone is giving it away, it’ll be him. Best to keep to the background.

“You’re either really good at lying, or incredibly codependent with Buck to the point of you two acting married,” Hen finally says. Buck doesn’t see what Eddie’s face does at that, but everyone can hear Hen exclaim: “Oh my god, why did your face go pink when I suggested you two were married?”

Chimney whips his head towards Buck and immediately asks: “You two are married?”

“Noooo?” Buck says, cringing the second he does, because that sounds like a lie even to himself.

“You totally are!” Chimney has wide eyes and his mouth gapes slightly at it.

“That is something that you should have definitely disclosed way before it got to that point,” Bobby frowns.

“Come on, when would we have the time to get married?” Buck deflects, hoping for the best. “Don’t you think you would have noticed us getting married?”

“Right now, I don’t trust anything anymore,” Chimney says.

“Yeah, it could have happened at any time. Bar for that first shift you two have always acted like this,” Hen agrees, then her eyes grow wide and she points between the two of them. “Wait a minute, you’ve always acted like this.”

“What are you saying, Hen?” Bobby asks.

“That they’ve been married this whole time?” Hen suggests, sounding as if she can barely believe what she is saying herself.

“Are you sure? We saw them meet,” Chimney says skeptically.

“Yeah, Hen, that’s ridiculous,” Buck says.

“Then why was Eddie blushing?” Hen counters.

“Because you called our friendship incredibly codependent?” Buck offers.

“Which I only did, because he asked me what you two were hiding after you guys started being weird about us pointing out you two were close,” Hen says. “And the only reason I’m even entertaining this absurdity right now, is because you don’t sound convincing at all when you deny it.”

“Hey, come on now,” Buck protests weakly.

Bobby’s hand appears on his shoulder and he looks up at him. There is a mix of hurt and confusion in Bobby’s eyes as he genuinely asks: “Just be honest with me here, Buck, are you and Eddie married?”

And Buck hates this, because it’s Bobby, who is asking and Buck is already bad at lying, but he’s even worse at lying to Bobby. This whole scheme depended on them not being suspicious enough for anyone to ask directly and now he’s being asked directly. All because he accidentally called Eddie daddy. He’s never going to live this down.

“Okay, fine. Yes, we’re married,” he admits after a beat.

“Buck!” Eddie calls out, as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

“You know I can’t lie!” Buck defends himself. “He’s just looking at me and I- I just couldn’t.”

“Wait you guys are actually married?” Chimney asks.

“Yes,” Eddie sighs, “we are.”

“But you’re straight?” Hen asks in a tone that implies isn’t sure she’s buying it.

“I am,” Eddie glares at her, heckles raised. “It’s a marriage of convenience.”

“So the Buck calling you daddy is…”

“Just like you calling Karen mommy when talking to Denny?” Eddie fills in. “Yeah.”

“That makes you a father,” Bobby suddenly realizes as he looks to Buck.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Buck says, unable to help the prideful smile on his face. “Chris is a great kid. Love him to death. I mean, you met him, you know how amazing he is.”

Bobby’s face does a weird thing at that and Buck can’t place it. It makes something twist inside him, what if Bobby disapproves of him as a father? What if he thinks Buck can’t do it?

However, before he can ask Bobby what he’s thinking, Chimney butts in: “Okay, but how long have you been Chris’s dad – which, kind of weird, not going to lie – because I’m still confused about when you guys met.”

“Yeah, and when did you get married?” Hen also asks.

Buck looks over at Eddie, trying to communicate if they’re going to come clean about the whole thing now that the cat’s out of the bag. Eddie seems resigned and embarrassed by the whole situation. Buck can relate, but he feels bad about Eddie also feeling like that. However, Eddie sends him a reassuring smile, which makes him feel slightly better about the whole thing.

“Well, we got married in 2016,” Buck answers Hen’s question, since it kind of automatically answers Chimney’s question too as being not during their first shift together.

The room explodes into noise at that, which is fair enough considering what they just shared. However, Buck still kind of leans away from the yelling. It’s mostly variations of “2016?!?!?” and “What the fuck!” and “Why would you lie about that?”

When the yelling dies down, because it’s not getting results, since there is no space for them to speak, Buck clears his throat and says: “Yeah, uh, 2016. We did lie about that.”

“Why?”

“What part exactly?” Buck asks, just to be sure.

“Why you lied,” Bobby says at the same time Hen says: “Why you got married.”

“So we can work together,” Buck answers, while Eddie says: “For Chris.”

“Okay, we need order,” Chimney says. “I ask the questions, if anyone has another question, they raise their hand and I will give you your turn.”

“Are you a school teacher?” Hen smirks in amusement.

“No, I’m showing leadership,” Chimney corrects her. “Now, Buckley, tell us why you two lied about being married. Hell, about even knowing each other?”

“Uh, well, we wanted to work together,” Buck explains. “Eddie had gotten the offer from Bobby and we figured that offer would be retracted, if he knew we were married, even though it’s not like that, so we decided not to say, but then we thought it would be weird for me to just randomly know him and not have mentioned him before and then you all would ask questions and I can’t lie, so we thought it would be best to just start from scratch.”

Everyone blinks at him for a second, so he adds: “We realized it was a dumb idea, but by then it was kind of already too late and we’d gotten in too deep.”

“That… is actually very in character for you,” Chimney finally says.

“But not for you,” Hen says, directing herself at Eddie. “Why did you agree with that?”

“Hey, I was doing the questions!”

“Oh shut up, Chim,” Hen rolls her eyes. “So, Eddie. Why go along with it?”

“Uh,” Eddie looks away, cheeks getting redder, as he admits with a mumble: “I came up with it.”

“What?!” both Hen and Chimney choke and even Bobby makes a weird noise. They’re so shocked at the idea that Eddie can be dumb too, which Buck gets, but it’s also so funny and he can’t help but burst out into laughter.

“Don’t laugh!” Eddie exclaims, but Buck can hear he’s starting to crack up too. That makes him happy, he didn’t like embarrassed, walls up Eddie from before.

“It’s funny,” he manages to get out between peels of laughter.

“It’s not,” Eddie says, but he lets out a huff of laughter of his own.

“You came up with it?” Chimney finally finds his words.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie nods, biting away his grin. “It was a strategic sharing of information where relevant.”

“God, you’re just both stupid,” Hen mutters under her breath. Both Eddie and Buck choose to ignore her, because she’s not wrong, but they don’t have to acknowledge that.

Bobby clears his throat and says: “Well, informing me of this, would have been relevant. And I will be informing HR about it and figuring out the paperwork, any disciplinary action, and if you two can continue working together at this house.”

That settles a stone in Buck’s stomach. After the embarrassment of calling Eddie daddy in front of everyone and then the lighter atmosphere of the questions, the real reasons they never told and tried to lie had moved to the background. Until now.

He sees Eddie tensing up and he is off the couch before he knows it. He implores: “Bobby… I- I know, you have to do that. I do. But can you- can you wait until after Christmas? We’re trying to save up for gifts and the holidays are expensive.”

Immediately Bobby’s eyes soften, a melancholic note playing in them, as Buck waits with bated breath to see what Bobby will say. After a moment, Bobby says: “Of course. I can wait.”

“Thank you so much,” Buck says gratefully.

“Yes, Cap, thank you,” Eddie also says.

The atmosphere has changed now and they’re all just awkwardly standing there, until Chimney says in a hushed tone: “I think we just witnessed dad Buck for the first time.”

“I think we did,” Hen agrees, a smile breaking out on her face.

Buck blushes a little, unable to help the flush of warmth that goes through him at being acknowledged as Chris’s father. He distracts from it by playing at offense and swagger as he says: “Hey, I’ve pulled out the dad Buck before.”

“Really? When? You’ve never been mature a day in your life before this, Buck-o,” Chimney grins. It’s playful but gentle, as if he knows he’s handling something fragile here and just acting his role as the comedic relief that he likes to cast himself in.

“I once told you to eat your greens,” Buck reminds him – a mortification from his probie days that, at the time, he thought he would never recover from.

“Oh yeah, you did do that.”

“And have none of you guys ever paid attention to Buck when on calls with kids?” Eddie asks. He’s gotten up and is now near Buck, bumping his shoulder lightly as he grins: “Definitely the papi I know from home.”

“Papi?” Bobby asks, only slightly butchering the word.

“Yeah, Chris calls me that,” Buck says, the blush returning slightly. “Eddie was already daddy, so growing up in a Mexican household meant that labeling me as papi was only logical to his five year old brain.” He shrugs. “It’s become so normal, I don’t even register it as odd anymore.”

“Five years old?” Hen does the math, “That must be right after you gotten married, right?”

“It was. He told a teacher about it and that’s what prompted it,” Eddie says. “Before that it was Evan, though I’m half convinced he’s forgotten that was ever your name.”

Buck nods in agreement.

“So how long were you Evan?” Hen asks curiously.

“Two years,” Buck says. “I met Chris when he was three. I worked on a chicken farm in El Paso and they bought eggs there. I babysat first, then met Eddie a year later when he was back from tour. We started co-parenting because Shannon was out of the picture and I offered to help.”

“And you two got married for Chris, you said. Why? I mean, it might provide a more stable home, but if you’d been co-parenting without it for a year already, why do it? It’s quite a big step,” Hen asks.

They all look at them curiously and Buck looks over at Eddie again, silently asking how much to share about the whole situation. Wordlessly, Eddie tells him to go ahead and just tell everyone. Eddie himself has never been the talker between them, so Buck happily takes the lead in explaining.

“Chris had to have surgery and that’s expensive, so the bills got too high. Eddie re-enlisting was the only way to keep our heads above water, but I didn’t have any legal basis to keep Chris. We were scared he’d get taken and placed with his grandparents,” Buck explains, not trying to go into too much detail about why they would not want that. “So, we looked into me adopting Chris and stepparent adoption was the quickest. We planned to get divorced, but just didn’t get around to it. We have a mortgage, you know. And private school is expensive.”

Everyone is sharing looks that Buck can’t full decipher, he looks over to Eddie, but he seems equally confused.

However, none of them say what those looks are about. Hen just nods as she gets it, saying: “Hence the marriage of convenience.”

“Uh-huh.” “Yup.”

“Daddy and papi,” Chinney shakes his head after he looks between them. “That’s gonna take a bit to get used to.”

“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Bobby says, putting a hand on both their shoulders. “You are two fine young men and I am proud of you both, even if I’m disappointed in you for lying. I know you can be professional, so just continue the way you’re doing and we’ll sort everything out come January. That sound good?”

“Yes, Cap.” “Thank you, Cap.”

“Alright,” Bobby gives them a satisfied nod.

Then the bell starts ringing and Buck groans. He’s still exhausted and he never did end up getting his nap. However, as he rushes to the rig with everyone, he does feel a little lighter than he did before. It feels good to not be lying and continuously live with the feeling of getting found out at any moment.

Still, he could have done without it being revealed the way it did. If he thought he wouldn’t live down the ‘eat your greens’ comment, he’s definitely never going to be able to live down the ‘go ask daddy’ moment.

At least inviting Maddie over for Christmas will be easier now…

~~

A/N:

This is so fucking stupid, but it came to me and I just couldn’t help myself. It’s so funny to me and I just had to. Like, I love them <3

[gibsongirled]

HOME !!

description: you decided to visit schlatt in new york.

a/n: still kinda on hiatus, but i didn't want to leave yall hanging 😔 another fic's coming some time in december, trust 🙏

You hated rain in New York.

But you couldn’t complain too much when you were only visiting for a week. The rain had started when you landed. Intense splashes against the airport windows made you frown as the sky above darkened and thunder crackled in the distance, causing you to let out a sigh as you hailed for a taxi. You concluded after multiple visits to the city that the weather in New York was bipolar to say the least. Time Square was cool and the pizza was cool too. You had hoped to say the weather was cool like the rest of the things you listed off, but it was not.

Your shoes and jacket were wet by the time you clobbered up the stairs in his apartment building, your hair had managed to survive, but it was still damp in some places. One hand pulled your suitcase up on the stairs as you shook your umbrella, rain droplets coating the steps. Once in a while, you’d stick by the wall like a fly, letting people pass you by. Apartments in New York were the size of a shoebox and you shuddered to think about the rent - no way someone could afford to live here. People in the Big Apple either had family money or they sold crack on the streets, that’s what you remembered someone talking about it on some social media platform. You couldn’t keep up with the amount of sites that had popped up in the recent years. You only ever managed to circle through four apps and even then they were too much. (You logged out of Twitter each time you tweeted because what the fuck was that damn app on?)

You knocked on the door, letting your hand fall back down to your side as you waited a few seconds. Usually, your spur of the moment, impulsive ideas tend to backfire on you - like when you decided to surprise your family for Thanksgiving, only to find out that everyone was out of town and your key didn’t work - you had forgotten that the front door was replaced after your brother accidentally kicked it in. Your mother still tells that story to anyone who was willing to listen, and you just kept sliding down in your seat in a fit of embarrassment, hoping that God would make you disappear. You could hear some cursing and loud clattering on the other side of the door, causing you to a face as you questioned what was going on in there.

The doorknob rattled and the door swung open, making Schlatt blink in confusion as he looked at you like you’ve grown multiple heads in the span of a five hour flight from LA to New York. He said your name and you nodded, he blinked and said it again - to which you nodded again. His confusion was justified as you were supposed to be in LA and not in New York. And definitely not in front of his apartment looking like a soaked cat.

“So, you gonna let me in?” You started, running a hand through your damp hair. “The rain outside is terrible, I don’t even know how you-” Your almost rant was cut off by Schlatt closing the door in your face. Uhm okay then, wow. You were going to be offended, but he opened the door once again, having the realization that you standing in front of his apartment wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He should probably get more sleep.

“Sorry,” Schlatt sheepishly mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, looking tired. Jambo and Soup meowed loudly behind him, making you laugh while he grumbled. “You’re supposed to be in LA,” he said once he ushered you into the apartment, dragging your suitcase along the floor, making the cats jump around as they sniffed and pawed at the suitcase, trying to figure out what it was.

“I finished the thing early,” you closed the door with a small click, “thought I’d surprise you.”

Schlatt let out a laugh, “Yeah, you definitely surprised me. Coulda sworn I was hallucinatin’ for a sec there.”

“I missed you,” you told him as the two of you stood together in the living room, the city outside now dark with lights turning on.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, mumbling. “I missed you too.”

[melobin]

so it’s been a while ! i really missed you all and i really missed being here but the last month hasn’t been great for me. i was really open about what happened and getting assaulted last month and i really appreciate how understanding you all were with me taking my time to recover from it and honestly it’s still really fresh, everything just feels a bit too real for me to properly cope with LMFAO.

everything took a real toll on my mental health and i’ve been in the depths as of late, i’ve barely been eating or sleeping, everything’s just a bit harder than it should be but i’m alive and pushing through and trying my hardest so i guess that’s what matters most.

i’m not abandoning melobin. i didn’t plan to take such a long time away i just couldn’t be around certain things and i had no motivation at all. i guess i felt a little guilty just disappearing so i did try and come back every so often but not as much as i’d have liked to. going forward though, i would like to talk about the future of melobin and what i have planned to do with the blog. there’s a few things i’d like to address.

kinktober will be continuing. i know it’s not october anymore, lmfao, but i will be finishing her !! i have all the days planned out and i will finish that, i will also post the anton porn plot fic i promise lmfao.

with the news of seunghan’s unfortunate departure from riize and the news of his solo debut, he will still be featured on melobin. however, i will not be adding him to future fic series and full group posts. i understand this will upset people but i thought hard about it and i guess i just feel like it’ll be easier on me to have less people to focus on when it comes to doing bigger projects on melobin. i will still be writing for him, just not with riize.

the past few weeks i’ve been surrounded by all sorts of drama and such with my name being mentioned and brought up in spaces it doesn’t need to be as well as having received countless negative asks about me. i understand how difficult this whole this has been, but please do not project your anger onto me. i frankly have a whole lot more to deal with than the ongoings of kpop and i know some people find that bothersome or upsetting, believe me i know, but i have no say and no power on what has happened so please stop treating me as if i made the decision that sm made. i still stand with everything i’ve said and i don’t take back any of it, i am however understanding of other peoples positions here and i respect that, i hope you can all respect me too when i say i just want the best for all seven of them and ill support them no matter what that includes.

i’ve always loved writing and it’s not something i just want to give up on so i won’t, i’m hoping next week i can slowly ease myself back into writing and slowly begin to be back here, especially for christmas! it’s also my birthday next week so i’m trying to be a little more upbeat and positive.

i appreciate you all reading this and if you have anything negative or hateful to say, please just don’t 🩷 if you want to unfollow me you can but sending hate gets you no where

[kybercrystals94]

Six Weeks (Part 3)

Read here on Ao3!

<<Previous Part | Next Part>>

Rated: T | Words: 917

A/N: Ugh! This chapter has been giving me the run around; however, I wanted to assure you that I haven't given up on this fic...it's just taking longer than I'd like...so I decided to post what I've written so far with the promise that I will get this story wrangled eventually 🥲

In the Rebellion, Omega is a captain. She has rebel fighters under her command and direction. She gives orders and they are followed. She plans missions and carries them out successfully. She is trusted, respected, and capable of any feat given to her. 

On Pabu…

“You better not try to get up while I’m gone,” Crosshair says, arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowed. 

Omega sighs, picking at a loose thread on the hem of Wrecker’s old shirt. “Yeah, so you’ve said. Twice.” 

“Because it’s important that you listen.” 

“AZI said I could walk around on my leg as long as I’m careful,” Omega protests, and she hates that her tone comes out almost whiny. “So did the medics at the base. You guys are making a bigger deal out of this than it is.”

“Humor us then.” Crosshair doesn’t wait for her to snark something back before he walks away. The front door opens and shuts, and she is left in the quiet house by herself. 

Wrecker is down at the docks to buy fresh fish for dinner, and Hunter still hasn’t returned from wherever he disappeared to. Crosshair didn’t say where he was going; however, Omega hopes that it’s to find Hunter. She’d go herself if it weren’t for the overbearing nanny droid that looks suspiciously like an ex-Republic sniper. 

Omega pulls out her data pad and sends Hera a message. You’ll be happy to know that my brothers are being as insufferable as you hoped.

The reply comes a moment later. Good. I better not see you for six weeks.

Yes, sir, Omega types back, hoping Hera reads it with its intended sarcasm. 

That taken care of, Omega tosses her data pad to the other end of the couch and sinks back into cushions. She looks around the main room, searching for things that might have changed while she’s been away; however, it is exactly as she remembers. Her brothers’ valiant attempts at home decor are still scattered throughout the room. Endearing eyesores, Echo had called them once when Omega complained about Wrecker putting up a piece of rusted metal he’d fished out of the sea.  

“He said it’s his favorite shape,” Omega had groaned, laughing. “I don’t even know what that shape is!” 

Hunter had bought a painting from the market that he claimed was abstract art; however, everyone knew that it was just a horribly, awfully painted tooka. Its eyes seemed to follow you around the room, becoming an inside joke: the tooka sees everything. However, Hunter will defend the “art’s” honor to his dying breath. 

Then there was Crosshair’s contribution, which Omega swears he did just because he knew it would annoy her. He collects rocks. Not pretty or unique rocks. Plain, nondescript, ugly rocks. He keeps hanging up shelves to display them on, and he makes them placards to note where they were found and the date.

“Rock.” Found: South Beach, Main Island, Pabu. Date: 15 BBY. 

“Rock.” Found: Left Boot, Main Island, Pabu. Date: 12 BBY. 

Omega does notice that a shelf has been added and a new row of rocks begins to line the plank of wood. She rolls her eyes. Omega decides that she will not give her brother the satisfaction of knowing whether or not she’s noticed. The perfect payback, because she knows he’ll never ask. 

**

“We’ve had worse injuries,” Crosshair says behind him. 

Hunter scoffs, seizing another weed by its base and yanking it out of the ground. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“No,” Crosshair says, moving to lean against the wall, “just stating a fact.” 

“Appreciate it,” Hunter growls, rummaging through the foliage of the garden for another imposter. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t storm further away from the house.”

“I didn’t storm.” 

Crosshair huffs. “You had us fooled.” 

Hunter sits back on his heels and glares up at his youngest brother. “If you’re out here just to offer commentary, I really don’t need it right now.” 

“Oh, really,” Crosshair drawls. “And what do you need?” 

“I need to not think about it right now,” Hunter bites out, dusting the dirt from his hands. “I don’t want to think about Omega almost dying. I don’t want to think about her putting herself at risk every single day. I don’t want to think about the fact that we aren’t there to protect her because…” 

“We’re old?” Crosshair supplies.

Hunter makes a face. “That’s not why.” 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Whatever our reasons are for not fighting, it doesn’t matter…Omega’s made her choice. So don’t think about all that entails right now…because you have no control over any of it anyways. Instead, think about the fact that Omega’s stuck with us for the next six weeks and what we’re going to do with her while she’s in captivity.”

Hunter scoffs, moving to stand up and accepting Crosshair’s outstretched hand when it’s offered. “I forgot how poetic you are.” 

“One of my many talents,” Crosshair says loftily, but he moves his hand to Hunter’s shoulder, gripping it tight. “But I mean it, Hunter. We’re going to put our opinions aside, enjoy the time we have with her. Yeah?” 

Hunter swallows and nods. 

“Good.” 

As they start for the back door, Crosshair asks, “Do you think Omega’s noticed my new shelf of rocks.” 

Hunter grins. “She won’t say if she has.” 

“Brat,” Crosshair grumbles. 

“Says the one who keeps a rock collection just to annoy her,” Hunter says, bumping against Crosshair. 

Crosshair smirks. “A foundless accusation.”

TBC

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[noblehouseofgay]

I Hope You're Happy

Part 1 of Noble's Wicked Series

Based on Defying Gravity

Black Brothers

Hurt/little comfort

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Sirius!" Regulus says, shutting the door behind them. "Why couldn't you stay calm for once?! Instead of flying off the handle?!" He marched towards Sirius, who was packing a bag. "I hope you're happy! I hope you're happy that you've hurt your cause forever! I hope you think you're clever-"

Sirius slams the bag closed, turning to Regulus. "I hope you're happy too! I hope you're proud how you would grovel in submission! To feed your own ambition!" Sirius scoffed. "Though I can't imagine how..."

Regulus glared, until he noticed the bag. "Siri..." Regulus said, softer. "Just say you're sorry. We can fix this- we can still live together. What we've worked, and waited for. We can have all we've ever wanted."

Sirius looked to the floor, eyes glassy. "I know...but I...I don't want it...no," he paused, "I want more than that now." He continued to pack his bag.

"Too much has changed, Reggie. I'm through with playing by the rules of their sick game." He grabbed items from shelves, clothes from his closet. Sirius packed all he could into the small bag. "It's too late for second guessing...I need to follow my instincts, Reg." A smile graced his face. "I'm going to try being free."

Regulus looked a little scared, watching his brother. "Can't I make you understand? You're having delusions of grandeur-"

"I'm through accepting limits, because they say they're so. Some things I can't change, but until I try- I'll never know, Reggie."

Sirius had a daring smile on his face, taking his bag downstairs to the foyer. "I've spent my whole life afraid of losing love I never had. And if that's love? It's much too high a cost."

He ran out the front door, smiling. He turned around to face his younger brother. "Reggie...come with me." He reached out his hand. "Think of what we could do...together."

Regulus slipped his hand into his brother's.

"Together we're unlimited, Reggie. We'll be the greatest team there's ever been. Reggie! Dreams the way we planned them!"

Regulus' eyes softened, stepping closer to Sirius. A small smile appeared on his face. "If we work in tandem...there's no fight we can't win."

Sirius smiled brightly. "They'll never bring us down! Well? Are you coming?"

Regulus' smile turned sad as he slowly let his brother's hand go. "I hope you're happy...now that you're choosing this..."

Sirius watched his brother for a moment, realizing he'd made up his mind. "You too..."

"I hope it brings you bliss...I really hope you get it, Siri...and I hope you don't live to regret it."

Sirius pulled Regulus into a hug. "I hope you're happy in the end, brother."

Regulus savored the last hug from his brother before letting go. Sirius gave him a kiss on the head, and began running.

He ran. And ran.

"So if you care to find me, look to the southern skies! To those who grounded me, take a message from me!" He turned, flipping off Grimmauld, laughing. He was free. "And nobody in all of London, no wizard that there is or was, is ever gonna bring me down!"

Regulus stood in the streetlights, watching his brother choose to live. A tear slipping free down his face.

His parents stepped outside, watching as well. "He's wicked. Disgusting. Someone will get him someday. Regulus. Come inside."

Regulus watched Sirius' figure disappear into the night. "I hope you're happy..."

[doublejango]

Blitz watched him, his heart in his throat, but he couldn't help smiling in relief when Stolas spoke to him. Eyes seeming to brighten, tail curling happily at just the sound of Stolas's voice, Blitz shrugged. Dressed in loose old boxers and a tattered t-shirt that had been made for someone six times his size, Blitz looked a little ridiculous maybe, and he certainly looked tired, but he also looked happy.

"A little. More than I thought I would, but I was up for a while. And Stolas, it's... it's really good. To hear your voice." The room had that slightly damp warmth to it from the two of them, from the bath and the shower, from more people sleeping here than there usually were, but it was comforting. The sleep-smell of the air, their hushed voices, the fact that they were able to speak despite the pain, all of it was comforting. Moving up to his knees, Blitz scooted over closer and reached up to brush his claws feather-lightly through the fluff at the side of Stolas's facial disk. "You kind of came through for me in the biggest way last night. And it was... terrifying. Thinking you were going to be--that they were going to... that you and I would never get to... to say goodbye.

"There's a lot we probably need to say. And we can. When you're ready. But." He moved up and kissed his forehead, then pressed his own against those soft feathers. "I need you to listen to me right now, okay? Please.

"Everything's going to... I can't even imagine how it's going to feel. Except... kind of, a little. I was kicked out of my home. Everyone hated me. They didn't want me back. It had been a shitty place. Abusive. Horrible. But it was all I ever knew. So I... I get it. At least a little bit. How bad this is all going to be. And I know how hard it's gonna be to keep breathing. To want to keep breathing. But Stolas... I promise," Blitz met his eyes, if Stolas let him, "I promise, you won't be doing it alone. I'm not going to give up on you. Whatever we, whatever we are to each other, whatever happens next, it doesn't matter. Because you are my family. Okay? Already. You're my family. You don't have to, you don't have to earn that. Or do anything. You've already done everything. You're my family, and what happened to you, because of me, it's bullshit. And I'm not going to let that bullshit destroy you, okay?

"You're going to be okay. Not today, and not tomorrow. But... eventually. You're gonna be okay. But until then? If you gotta scream, or cry, or just curl up and not think or move for hours on end? I got you. I'm not gonna judge you, or reject you, or get tired of you, okay? Shit might be hard, but I need you to know this: you will always have a place here. Even if you don't feel like you deserve it. Even if you feel like you're in the way or something. You belong. And you're not getting abandoned. And I know there's--there's probably gonna be a lot of shit that'll seem new. Or like you don't... like you don't know how, or can't do it, or... but I'll teach you, okay? Whatever you need to learn, if it's shit I can teach you, I will.

"That's what I am gonna do. And what I need from you? Is your promise to keep breathing. That you'll stay alive. That you'll eat food and drink water. That you won't disappear on me, cause," Blitz's voice broke, "I can't, I can't handle it if you disappear on me again. Okay? Please. Just tell me you'll stay alive, and that you'll keep trying. And that's gonna be enough for me, okay? Cause you don't--you don't gotta have all the answers and solutions on your own. I'm gonna be at your side the whole fuckin' way, from here on out. And we can do this. Together. I promise. We can do this."

Eyes shining, voice shaking, heart feeling like it would shatter apart from the force of the love and hope blazing within it, Blitz looked into his lovers eyes, praying they would understand, praying Stolas would at least be willing to consider agreeing, that they weren't too far gone. Not yet.

Dreamscapes were an odd and fickle thing for Stolas, they always had been. There were times where they were peppered with sweetness; brimming with fond memories, bubbling like a fountain with sweet fantasies, or rumbling storms of desire. Sometimes the dreams were nightmares — and tonight his mind was a foreign land with demons of its own.

Stolas slept and though he barely moved, only making a few small rotations upon the couch, his rest was fitful. There was NOTHING. A dream that had no end and no beginning; no light, and only darkness. He could not see where he began, could not feel the air passing through is lungs, he was nowhere. He was nothing. There was no sound. The silence was deafening and suffocating, like a velvet curtain too heavy to lift. It weighed him down, down, down. Funny, how he dedicated himself to the stars and now he could not see a single light. There was only onyx shadows and the knowledge of his existence. An absence of all else; the exclusion and separation of self.

It was funny how the mind could do so much, and yet, still, it was a fragile thing. So was hope, he was finding.

But he would do it all again. And again. And again.

There was not a version of his story in which he did not protect Blitz from judgement. Although, there are a number of things he would do differently if given the chance.

Groggily, Stolas wakes in silent bursts. In and out. He grapples with reality, wishing to let himself slip away into that useless, empty slumber until he felt something, anything. . . . Or maybe it was better to feel nothing at all. But something soft in his arms is grounding. He hears the distant noise of the city beyond the walls and feels a gaze trained upon his form. Fingers stroke the small plush as his eyes lower towards it. Slowly, they track towards Blitz, floating on the query like a stray feather. Unfortunately, he thinks. But Stolas swallows the word and momentarily clutches the small horse close. He wishes it were Octavia.

What will she think now? Will she think of him at all? What if she forgets him in the hundred years that he is gone? An ache begins in his chest and with it, an icy rush. His beak clicks softly and Stolas closes both eyes. In and out. He breathes, attempting to ease the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him. Only when he knows he can maintain his composure without choking, desperate for air, does he reply.

❝ Yes. Did you. . . . Did you sleep at all? ❞

Blitz. Blitz who gave him a home after nearly destroying everything he had. Not by his own direct doing, but all because of that fucking book. His Grimoire. Feathers ruffle gently, low trill sounding in meek frustration with himself.

Now he was imposing. With nowhere else to go, Stolas let Blitz bring him to his home. The now ex-prince could not return to the Goetia mansion, lost connection with his daughter, and had his magic stripped. What was he now? He was no one. But Blitz was everything. And a flood of relief ebbs against the sharp and jagged edges of the previous night's events. Everyone was safe; everyone was alive. That was enough for him.

[iris-drawing-stuff]

Fuck yeah!!! He got the innocent verdict!!!

[quietwingsinthesky]

Hiiiii! So, a few days ago you were talking about the whole thing with Amy, Rory, and River. And when I saw those posts a thought arose in my head and I wish to share it with you.

Since River grew up with Amy and Rory as Mels. And Mels was Amy's best friend do you think that they ever talked about children? Since I know that it can come up when talking with friends, and like... do you think that Amy might've ever expressed whether or not she wanted children?

And if she didn't, that Mels would've had to listen to her mother say that she doesn't want children? The idea is so heartbreaking and sooo interesting.

What do you think about it?

no, no, see, you're so right and this drives me wild.

because, the way i see it, i don't think amy wanted children. she's somewhere on the 'hasn't thought about it' to 'vaguely negative feelings about it happening' range to me, which falls sharply into 'Not Happening Ever Again' post-s6. (specifically, in terms of having a kid herself, even if she could, i really don't think she would. i do love that she and rory end up adopting a kid later, because that does make sense, for amy pond who grew up alone in one universe with her family swallowed by cracks in time before the doctor helped her set it right again, for her to want to make sure another child won't be alone in the world like she was. getting off-track here.)

and that's so. because the first real memory river/mels has of amy is of amy shooting at her. and depending on how well the silence fucked up the rest of her memory, it might be one of the very first memories she has at all. that's how she met her mother, crying for help and getting a bullet instead. her mother tried to kill her, so of course, you have to think. she must have needed to hear that she was wanted, right? even if she was taken away, even if amy shot her, at some point, melody must have been wanted?

river is good at getting people to do what she wants, but she is very, very bad at subtlety. and mels is younger, has less practice, so when she wants to know this, she's just going to ask. blunt and quick, easy enough because amy's used to the way mels will open her mouth and you just have to be ready to roll with what comes out if you want to keep up. it's why they're such good friends (like mother, like daughter.)

they're nine, and mels asks if amy wants kids, and amy wrinkles up her nose and says she won't have time for children, obviously, once her raggedy doctor finally comes back. they're fifteen, and amy and rory dance will they-won't they in a way that makes mels twitchy to watch, and taunting amy about wanting to have rory's babies is a good way to get on her nerves. but amy calls her gross, tells her she's got more life planned than children would leave room for, and besides, imagine her, a mom? it'd be a disaster.

mels does. a lot. she looks at her mother and just sees her best friend instead. she's not even sure what she wishes was there, but. maybe amy's right. and besides. imagine her, a daughter, instead of the ticking time bomb she really is? it'd be a disaster.

they're sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and on. mels stands on the outside of a love story that births a universe. and her. how do you compete with that? not that she would know, not yet, she hasn't been there. but it doesn't make her feel any less alienated when amy and rory talk in whispers about a half-remembered world that's bled through to this life, about roman soldiers and boxes and the big bang of belief.

all these memories, they never mention children. on amy's wedding day, she's different, not like someone remembering a dream but someone who lived it. rory stands straighter, won't leave her side, and they're both so much older than they were yesterday. maybe now, right? a wedding's as good a time as any to decide you want kids.

mels not being at amy & rory's wedding is such an obvious lazy way of them trying to explain why they totally didn't just throw this plot twist together at the last minute that i'm not even going to acknowledge it. of course she was at their wedding. she's their best friend. there's too many people around the doctor, and she wasn't ready today of all days, so despite this horrible burning need under her skin to strike, she stays her hand. doesn't let him dance with her because she might just tear his throat out if he gets too close. stays with amy and rory as the maid of honor should. she must have been there for the awkward questions that always gets asked, 'so, any plans for a baby?' 'when am i getting grandkids?' 'oh, you two are going to have gorgeous children together.' standing a few feet from amy in her wedding dress and watching her mother tense and grit her teeth and brush off the questions. watching her look nervously at rory but never ask if he means it when his mom asks him if he'd prefer a son or a daughter, and rory answers 'either one, some day, not anytime soon.'

god i'm just going on and on, aren't i. but really, what's it like to know that amy never changed her mind. the next time she sees them, she's already been born and stolen. i don't like let's kill hitler for. so many reasons. but there is something compelling about how recklessly river lashes out at the world, at the doctor. even her sacrifice at the end is almost suicidal, throwing all her regenerations into this man without knowing if that will even work or if it might kill her to do it. but it makes more sense in the context of someone who has reached the end of a long, long wait for some kind of indication, any kind, that her mother wanted to have her. and finally been told, no. she didn't choose melody.

[alchemiclee]

been looking in tags for a few days now to see if anyone else found the whole high cloud quintet and related story to be a bit.....poorly written, nonsensical, contradictory, full of plot holes and loose ends, etc. apparently i'm not the only one. (and i'm not even talking about shipping stuff, because any time I saw someone mad about bad writing, someone always replies to be homophobic and laugh about failed ships. weirdos.) it could have been so good but was thrown into the garbage for the most part (IF you noticed all the plot holes and contradiction. if not, then it's a fine enough story tbh. I expect most people to see it on surface level and not read all the little hidden lore bits and try to piece it together like my autistic brain did. which is ok! enjoy it if you liked it and ignore me 😆)

[t4tklonoa]

in almost. exactly 8 hours I finished Lunatea's Veil.... I feel like crying still tbh why did they put two heavy emotional back 2 back oug h

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”