#i was so surprised when i got to the world of memories that there was nothing there for her!! no visions of burmecia or fratley or anything

[jandthecrow]

Eggs & Bacon

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

SUMMARY: Morning after a eventful night Ghost makes you breakfast

CW: soft!Ghost(???), morning after sex, SFW, heartwarming, should be gender neutral(tell me if it’s not lol), domesticated!simon ghost riley

The first rays of sunrise had crawled through the window, casting a soft glow across the room.

You stirred, your body heavy with the memory of having slept so deeply, the scent of Simon - leather and the faintest trace of gunpowder - lingered in the air. You shifted under the sheets, feeling a smile tug at your lips as the events from the previous night flashed through your mind. It had been… perfect.

You stretched, cozy in the aftermath of a night spent in his arms, and just as you started to stand from the bed, you heard the sound of dishes coming from the kitchen.

You rolled out of bed and padded barefoot down the hallway. The smell hit you first, something delicious: eggs, bacon, maybe pancakes. You blinked, still half-dazed, as you reached the kitchen and saw him standing at the stove.

Ghost. Your Simon Riley. He was wearing his black t-shirt and sweatpants, his skull mask missing so only his ruggedly beautiful face remained. His back was to you, his large frame filling the space as he worked with surprising skill. The image of the hardened soldier who could take on any mission with cold efficiency seemed so wrong right now. Instead, the man standing in front of the stove-cooking breakfast-looked like someone ready to care for the person he loved.

Morning," you said, your voice still hoarse from sleep.

He turned, his face softening when his gaze landed on you. That rare, almost blinding smile was tugging upwards. "Morning," he replied, his voice low, gravelly, as though not to break the silence of the morning. "How'd you sleep?"

You smiled, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. "Better now. You're making breakfast?

He nodded, turning back to the stove, where a sizzling pan of bacon and eggs was cooking. "Figured I'd take care of you. After last night… you shouldn't have to do anything today."

You raised an eyebrow. "You know you don’t have to do this for me, right?"

Simon shot you a look over his shoulder, eyes dark but soft in such a way that only he could manage. "I know you're perfectly capable. But I want to do it. You've been through enough. You've got enough on your plate as it is, the least I can do is help around.”

It was just a statement, but it meant so much more. He wasn't talking about breakfast anymore. He was talking about everything: the nights you spent apart, the missions he couldn't tell you about, the burdens he carried in the silence of the world. And here, in this moment, he was making sure you didn't have to lift a finger. It was just so… Simon.

"Well, you're doing a good job," you said, stepping closer, trying to hide the way your heart squeezed at the sight of him so effortlessly taking care of you. The man who'd walked through war zones, survived hell on earth, and now? Now he was making sure you had a hot breakfast.

"You should see the way I handle MREs," he said with a smirk, flipping the bacon with military precision. "But I've been practicing. Can't have you thinking I don't know how to cook."

You laughed softly, and leaned against the counter as you watched him work. "I've got to admit, I didn't expect this when I met you."

He shrugged, still looking into the pan. "I'm not always the guy you think I am."

There was a silent sincerity in his voice that would catch your breath. You knew him better than anybody, saw the parts of him no others ever would, and sometimes it still surprises you. His kindness, how he'd always make sure you had what you needed, even down to the smallest things-like making me breakfast after a night of passion-was something I hadn't expected when you first met him.

You stepped closer and slid onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "You're something else, you know that?"

Simon glanced over his shoulder, that rare smile tugging at his lips for the second time this morning. "Only for you."

He sets a plate in front of you: scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, buttered toast, and a warm cup of coffee. The smell was addictive, and one could tell he'd made it with care. Your stomach growled in appreciation as you picked up the fork.

"How did you make it so…. well?" You asked, cutting into the eggs.

"Like I said," he replied, his voice softer now, "I've been practicing.

You took a bite, savoring the flavors. “Well, I’ve got to admit, you’ve bested yourself.”

Simon leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with a look of contentment. He was so used to being the one giving the orders, the one who does the protecting, but this? This felt more him than anything. Caring, thoughtful… loving. He was letting you see all of him and you were falling harder every day.

You'd just finished breakfast, and as you looked up at him, your heart squeezed. "You really don't have to do this, you know."

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "I want to. Don't argue with me on this."

You smiled and put your fork down, rising to your feet to close the distance between you two. "You're something special, Simon Riley.

His gaze softened and he pulled you close, brushing his lips over your forehead. "Not special. Just yours."

And in that moment, you knew you’d never let him go. Because Simon, the soldier, a deadly lieutenant, the man who would fight to the death for those he loved - he was also the man who believed you shouldn’t have to do anything for yourself because he’d do it for you.

And you could never ask for more than that.

[harmonyrae]

Devil in the Mirror: Part 2

Synopsis: Part two of my AU fic about Abysswalker inspired assassin Rafayel. His one night stand is his next target. He’s already signed the contract, but she’s captured his attention - and maybe his affection. He surprises himself when he invites her to be his date to his art exhibit. He is great at thinking on his feet, but his lack of self-control could be his undoing. (Written in Rafayel's POV)

Warnings: Mentions of violence & death & very explicit sexual descriptions. 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.9k

Rolling over, your hand falls to the mattress, when you don’t feel her your eyes snap open. Sitting up straight in bed you glance around the room. The wave of anxiety settles when you hear the sound of the shower. You spot her clothes piled on the desk. You swing your legs off the bed and stretch, your breath catches as you notice just how sore you are. Yeah, that definitely wasn’t just because of the absolutely insane sex - oh how you wish it was. 

The man you “dealt with” yesterday was huge. Double your size and a total beefcake. Probably spent more time in the gym in one day than you spent in a whole year. But in the end, you’re faster and years of practice with your blade meant the final slash across his throat was precise. But he got some good hits in and you’re sure the bruising was worse. Would it be more noticeable in the daylight? 

You slowly make your way across the room to the desk. Your fingers gently sweep across the fabric of her dress. Memories of the club flash through your mind. Her hips swaying against you, her hands threading through your hair, her pulse racing as you kissed her neck. Your peripherals catch your reflection in the mirror above the desk. 

Fuck.

Those were not the bruises you were expecting… Sure, the giant bruise across your rib cage was dark and tender, but you could explain it away easily. Took a tumble off your ladder while finishing your latest painting. But how the fuck are you supposed to explain the small bruises across your neck and chest? The press would have a field day…

Ding

Your phone chirps from its place next to the bed. You trudge back, grab the phone and fall back onto the plush blanket. You hold the phone above your face and swipe to unlock. A new message from Thomas. 

Thomas: Started a new file for your new project. Should I bring it to your place or hand it off tonight?

“Oh fuck…!” 

Your nose burns as you rub it. The panic you had suppressed from last night had resurfaced catching you off guard, causing you to drop your phone, right onto your face. For fucks sake… Your next target was literally in the next room. Your target, who was beautiful, bold, enticing… Who rocked your world less than 12 hours ago and slept beside you. Who you were desperately trying to stop imaging standing, hot and dripping, in that shower. God, you want to join her. Feel her hands on you again. Your hands holding her hips, pulling her to you, your lips on hers. NO. STOP. She’s your fucking target. You should go in there and finish the job.

No, no, no… Who knows who she came to the club with last night. You remember another girl, with short brown hair, dancing with her. Did they notice you and her on the dance floor? Did they notice her leaving with you? Did she text her friends or family this morning while you were still asleep? Too many risks. It wouldn’t be hard to link her death back to you. No, it wasn’t a good idea to do this now. And do you want to? What the fuck? That should NOT be a factor. But it is and the more you deny it the more your stomach twists into a knot.

You hear the water shut off. Shit. What do you do? What is the plan? Like you ever really make plans for these things. But this is different. Why is it different? It just is. So what do you…

While you’re thinking, well more like panicking, she exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. She notices you sitting up on the bed and smiles. God, she’s radiant. Stop complimenting her. Well, complimenting her in your head. Just stop it. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” 

Really? You’re pathetic… Why did you say that? Now she’s blushing and walking over. In a towel, she’s in a towel. Your thin sweatpants are proving to be very revealing, your cock throbbing at the thought of her dropping that towel.

She cups your face with her hands, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Can she feel it? Can she see it? Oh, she 100% can. Her eyes fall, trailing their way down your torso and - oh shit - she lets out a breathy giggle as she notices how hard you’ve gotten. Her smile widens and she leans down to kiss you fully. Her lips are just as soft as last night. She smells like heaven, you can tell she used the hotel soap but her fragrance is so much stronger. Delicate and breezy. Fucking hypnotic. 

Your hands find themselves on her hips, pulling her closer. She smiles against your lips and pulls back slightly. You can feel yourself pouting - real mature, she’ll love that. She giggles and swipes her finger across your bottom lip that’s pushed out. Wait, does she? 

“Usually, I would have left by now. To avoid that uncomfortable morning-after small talk. But… I didn’t really want to.” She says in a hesitant voice.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave.” Are you now? Really?!

“Me too.” 

You pull her back to you trying to continue the kiss, even though you know it’s a bad idea. It’s like you can’t stop yourself. You start trailing kisses down her chest, but she pulls back, stopping you in your tracks.

“But I do have to go. I have a meeting in an hour.”

“A meeting?” At the Hunters Association, most likely. 

“At the Hunters Association. Oh, I don’t think I mentioned my job before. I’m a hunter.”

“Ohhhhh wow!” Thank god, she bought that.

“Yeah, I have to do a debrief before my leave.”

“Your leave?”

“I… It’s mandatory after I got injured a few days ago. A huge Wanderer showed up at the park and I was the only hunter around and there were kids. People were getting hurt, so I… ugh… I jumped in and ended up in the hospital again.”

“Again?!”

“Well, I was on desk duty and not supposed to involve myself in any fights… My new injuries made my previous ones worse. I had to have a minor surgery. So now, my boss is making me take a mandatory leave and turn in my weapons so…”

“Wait, you’re telling me you just had surgery…”

She hesitates and avoids meeting your eye.

“Well, it was like… two days ago…”

“Are you serious?! And last night… You were at a club? Drinking? Dancing? And then we… Fuck! I could have hurt you?!” 

The panic in your voice is too intense, why are you panicking? She is a grown woman capable of making her own choices. However questionable those choices might be...

“I’m fine. Seriously, when I say it was minor, the doctors literally told my boss I could go back to work pretty much right away. But she’s still pushing for the leave. It’s more a punishment than a recovery. You didn’t hurt me. Well, you did, but in a good way.” Her smile turns dangerous and there you go blushing again.

“You are a handful aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

She tugs at her towel, letting it drop down her waist and over your hands which are still on her hips. Her breasts sit perfectly in front of your face. You spot the various bruises you left, mostly surrounding her nipples. As you move your hands to let the towel drop to the floor, you see her lower stomach and inner thighs are also covered with your love bites. Her hands trace over the bruises she left on your collarbone. She shifts her legs and straddles your lap, her bare pussy sitting directly on your barely covered, painfully hard, cock. She gasps softly when she feels the rough stitches over the wound on your chest. 

“When did this happen? Wait… Did you stitch this yourself?”

You take her hand away from the wound and hold it tenderly, placing a kiss on her knuckles. 

“It happened the other day. It wasn’t serious so I handled it myself.”

“And you were upset with me… Wait, are you a doctor?”

“No, not a doctor. Stitches look pretty good for a non-doctor? Pretty impressive, yeah?”

You were avoiding her question of how for as long as you possibly could. Her eyes narrow and she pushes you back onto the mattress before moving to straddle your torso. Feeling her grind against your stomach, you could feel how wet she was, and it wasn’t from the shower. Fuuuuck.

“You didn’t answer my question. How did it happen?” Her hands drift down your arms and take hold of your hands.

“So, I’m an artist. I make my own paint. Sometimes finding the ingredients I need can get… risky.”

She squints her eyes, considering your story. Her hands close in around your wrists as she pulls them to her waist.

“Risky, huh? So what happened?” 

“I uhh… I was diving to find some coral. I needed a particular shade of red for a - ahh hah…”

She had slowly lifted your hands to her breasts and your self-control was at an all time low. You already sounded extremely suspicious. What if she felt the cut on your head? Would she buy the diving story a second time? She moves your hands up and down, giving her the friction she desired. She dropped her hands away when you started kneading her breasts on your own, letting her head fall back. Your thumbs moving up to roll over her peaked nipples.

“I thought you said you had a meeting…” You almost didn’t recognize your own voice. What was she doing to you?

“You’re right, I should go then…” 

She smirks down at you as she shifts slightly, moving to get up. You sit up and reach your arms around her waist, pulling her down on top of you. Her chest flush against yours, you could feel her heartbeat. You crash your mouth into hers. She kisses you back with equal intensity. One of her hands makes its way down your torso, the other still, braced against your chest. Her hand begins rubbing over your cock through your sweatpants. This is such a bad idea. You should… Your thoughts come to a screeching halt as a moan escapes your throat.

“Too much?” 

She had reached her hand down into your pants and was cupping your balls. The squeeze she had given them had taken you by surprise - you really are getting lost in your thoughts... She felt so good, her body melting into yours.

“No… no, I just didn’t expect it. It felt good - kinda…”

“Kinda?”

“You’re not afraid to be a little rough, are you?” She smirks before taking your bottom lip between her teeth, giving it a tug before letting go. Well that answered your question. 

Ding

Your phone chimed. It’s got to be Thomas. Shit, what time is it? The exhibit…

“Sorry cutie, that would be my manager.”

She releases your balls and you whine. You. Whine. What are you, twelve? But she was literally bringing you to the brink so fast you didn’t want her to stop so suddenly. She smiles and leans down to place a kiss to your forehead before standing up and grabbing her towel to wrap around her once more. 

You sit up and pick up your phone. Sure enough, a message from Thomas. 

Thomas: Exhibit is in 2 hours. Please tell me you are getting ready…

Thomas really needs a vacation. That would also mean he wouldn't schedule interviews or exhibits for a while. Okay, mental note, plan a mandatory vacation for Thomas as soon as this mess of a job is done.

Me: Stop worrying, I’ll be there.

You toss your phone to the bed and look up to see she was fully dressed again. There goes your chance at a round two. Thanks, Thomas. You stand and approach her, she’s carefully touching up her lipstick and trying to smooth out her messy curls in the mirror next to the desk. You wrap your arms around her waist and look at her in the mirror. She smiles as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You have to get to work?” 

“An art exhibit. I have a new collection on display today. Starts in a few hours” Before you had even a minute to process your next words they were spilling out of your mouth. “Would you be interested in joining me?”

“Are you asking me out?”

You were losing your nerve. Good, you shouldn’t be asking her to join you anyways.

“I am.”

Rafayel, you are truly the worst.

“As in, you want me to check out your art or…”

Yes, just a guest. Just check it out. Not a date.

“As my date.”

For fucks sake…

“I don’t really want this to be a one night stand.” You continue. “You’re gorgeous, funny, bold and sexy as fuck…”

“I’d love to be your date.” She answers quickly.

You see your goofy ass smile in the mirror, you try to hide behind her head. She laughs before turning around. She places a kiss on your cheek. She grabs her purse off the desk and pulls out her phone.

“I’ll call you after my meeting?” She hands her phone to you and you put in your number.

“And I’ll pick you up. Do you need a ride there?”

“No, I’ve already texted Tara to pick me up. I guess I will see you later?”

“Yes you will.” 

— —

You spend the next 2 hours gathering your things and getting back to your house to shower and get ready for the exhibit. Fuck, this is going to be a nightmare. You’re going out, on a date, with your target. How the hell are you going to get yourself out of this one? Do you want to? 

As you mull over your current situation, you stand in your closet and look through your designer suits. Maybe the blue one with a crisp white dress shirt? Low key, casual, nothing fancy. Could give the impression this date is more casual and certainly won’t lead to anything serious. Or maybe the red suit with a black dress shirt? Or the black suit with a lavender dress shirt? You have never thought about what to wear to an exhibit before, usually grabbing the first suit you see and slapping on a smile for a few hours to make Thomas happy. 

Buttoning the lavender dress shirt proves to be challenging with your hand shaking so much. No shot you’re nervous. Well, the contract you signed agreeing to kill this woman did say if you failed to accomplish this mission the consequences would be… well actually, they didn’t specify. They just said “you don’t want to know” trying to be menacing assholes. Honestly, you kind of want to know at this point. She did give you the best head of your life and she’s funny and cute and… 

Ding

Your phone chirps bringing you back to your very complicated reality. Placing your golden sea turtle cuff links on the dresser you pick up the phone to see a message from her. She’s ready. Are you?

— —

Settling into your dark blue McLaren, you do a quick quality check to make sure the interior is pristine. You haven’t driven this car in a while, but it certainly makes a statement. So why not? The cream interior is spotless and it smells like vanilla. Thomas definitely took it to get detailed recently. That little shit used it without asking again. Maybe you can use that against him to get out of this event early. 

Pulling up to the address she gave, you spot her on her phone pacing along the sidewalk. Blood rushes straight to your cock. Oh fuck… The black high-waisted skirt falls just above her knees, a loose black blazer hangs off her shoulders and the pop of red from a lace bustier tucked into her skirt props her tits up so perfectly. And of course she’s wearing the same heels from last night. You can’t stop yourself from remembering how she kicked them off before tugging her dress down to fall to the floor. Oh, she sees you and is waving. Pull it together, for the love of god. 

You hop out to open the passenger door and hold her hand as she ducks her head to get in. You damn near run back to the driver side so you can sit beside her. As you close the door, she giggles and you turn to face her.

“You look really good in a suit. Damn.” There’s a hint of blush creeping up to her cheeks. 

“Are you saying I look bad in everything else?”

“No! You look good in everything I didn’t… you’re such a tease how dare you!” She swats at your arm laughing along with you. “But honestly, I think you look best in nothing at all.” 

Oh. Great. Just what the press want to see you arrive with - an erection. You feel her hand lightly graze your thigh. You look over at her with a smirk. 

“Oh and I’m the tease?”

She giggles and removes her hand, but you grab it and place it back on your thigh. She gives you a gentle squeeze and settles back in her seat to watch the city blur as you speed to the gallery. Your hand stays over hers, relishing in her warmth. 

Pulling up to the gallery, photographers surround your car. Security works to usher them away so you can get out. Once there is a path, you give her hand a squeeze before hopping out to open her door. Helping her out of the car, she keeps her head down as the flashes strobe around you. You wrap your arm around her, protecting her from the photographers pushing closer. Once inside the gallery she looks up at you with wide eyes. 

“They knew it was you immediately! They really wanted to talk to you out there.”

“Yeah, they memorized all my cars… And the only people I talk to are the reporters inside and I don’t even want to talk to them.”

“Why not?” You sigh in response.

“I don’t like talking about my art. I want my art to speak for itself. Everybody interprets a piece differently, I don’t want to tell people what they should see.” 

“Well I certainly look forward to telling you what I see in your art.”

“I can’t wait.” She smiles up at you, damn her smile is breathtaking. 

Her hand clings to your arm as you take a turn around the gallery. You politely greet patrons and listen to her analysis of your work. You scan the room for Thomas. Eventually you spot him, his eyes go wide when he spots the woman on your arm. You wink at him, but he stares daggers directly into your soul. You approach him with a shit eating grin. You aren’t sure why he is so mad, but he’s just too fun to mess with at this point. 

“Rafayel! Right on time, wow, that’s so unlike you.”

“I’m always right on time Thomas. Nothing really starts until I arrive.”

“Right. Right. And hello miss, who might you be?”

Now he is staring daggers at your date. The primal urge to wrap your hands around his throat takes you by surprise. This is literally your first date with this woman - besides your night with her at the club and in your hotel room. It just makes you angry. That’s all you know. You wrap your arm around her shoulder, your smile tense.

“This is Y/N. She’s my date tonight.” 

Thomas chokes on air. He coughs for a minute before regaining his composure. 

“I apologize, ahem, hello Y/N it is a pleasure to meet you. I just didn’t expect Rafayel to bring a date tonight. He usually attends exhibits alone.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s branching out. It’s nice to meet you Thomas.”

“Might I have a word with Rafayel for a brief moment? I have to prepare him for a few interviews.” 

“Of course. I’m going to find the bar and grab a drink.”

“I’ll find you as soon as I’m done.” She winks at you before turning to stride towards the bar. You watch her walk away, her ass swaying. She knows what she’s doing, you just know it. 

“Fuck!” Thomas hits you over the back of the head. The sting of the slap against the stitches makes your vision blur momentarily. “Thomas, I have stitches you dickhead.” 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. But what the fuck are you doing? You know who that is right?”

Thomas lowers his voice to a whisper as he pulls you over to an empty corner. His face is shrouded in shadow, but you can tell he is beyond pissed.

“Yes, I know who she is. I met her at the club last night and we might have… uhh…”

“You might have what?”

“I might have… okay, before you sent me the details I might have met her at the club and then we may have gone back to my hotel room and…”

“Please stop. You did not fuck. You did not. Oh for fucks sake, Rafayel!”

“I know! I know it's complicated, but I have a plan.” 

“Oh, you have a plan?”

“Yes!”

You did not, in fact, have a plan.

“Just trust me.”

He should not trust you. 

“I’ll do the interviews and be out of here in a blink and focus on the job.” You couldn’t focus on anything but getting back to your place with her and getting a repeat of last night.

“Fine. Lucy and Kenneth want to interview you and let the photographers get a few shots of you. But I beg of you, don’t get any pictures with her that look, too friendly. It’d be front page news tomorrow.”

You decide not to tell him they’d already photographed the both of you when you arrived. She had kept her head down and the security surrounded you, they hadn’t gotten a clear shot. It’ll be fine. 

“I got you. Don’t even worry about it. Oh and next time you want to borrow my car… ask.” 

Thomas’ face turns bright red. He nods and runs a hand through his hair before scurrying away to talk to a group of businessmen surrounding one of your latest works. Probably looking to purchase and hang up in their stuffy office. You’d rather go broke than let your art suffer in such a place. 

You turn towards the bar and spot your gorgeous date sipping a martini, chatting with a woman in a navy suit. She looks like… oh no. Not McCarthy. You damn near sprint over to stop the conversation before McCarthy can pull any salacious details regarding your connection with the mystery woman everyone saw you arrive with. 

“Oh that’s fascinating! Rafayel seems like someone who wouldn’t need a muse if I’m honest.”

Shit.

“I’ve been reporting on Rafayel’s career since the very beginning. I’ve seen him go through many muses. I am so looking forward to seeing what he has in store with your… influence.” 

Your instincts to drag her to a secluded building and end her miserable little life… The moment you see the sparkle fade from your beautiful dates eyes, your mind shifts into overdrive. You step closer and wrap your arm around her waist pulling her close to your side.

“McCarthy. So good to see you. How’s the divorce going? Must be a nightmare with the defamation lawsuit my lawyers launched against your agency.”

McCarthy’s face falls and her nostrils flare as you air out her dirty laundry. If she’s going to be a bitch, you have no problem being a bitch as well. You’re not going to let her ruin this… whatever “this” is.

“Ah, yes, it’s uhm… difficult, but I have no doubt the lawsuit will be dropped. My sources are always airtight, Mr. Rafayel.” Oh she is really trying your patience. 

“Airtight? Hmm… a thieving gallery janitor, an abusive valet, a housekeeper who set up secret cameras in my house on behalf of - oh right - yourself and your agency. I think you might need to look up the definition of airtight, Madison.”

McCarthy’s brows knit together. She sucks in a breath and bows her head. 

“I believe my colleague just arrived. I do hope you both enjoy the evening.”

She turns on her heel and leaves in a hurry. You stifle a laugh at how red her face became after calling out her bullshit. But the cutie on your arm shifts uncomfortably next to you and all the joy of ruining McCarthy’s night vanishes. Turning to face her, you see her cheeks flushed and her restless fingers twisting the martini glass in her hands. 

“Sorry about that cutie. McCarthy is a pariah. She had to start her own news agency since no one would hire her with her dirty investigation tactics.”

“Yeah…”

“What are you thinking? Come on, I see those wheels turning.”

“Just because she uses dirty tactics doesn’t mean her intel is false.”

This is not the conversation you wanted to be having tonight. Sure, you’ve had a few slut phases and the term “muse” was widely used by the media when referencing your… escapades. But this girl… she’s not a muse. She’s the air in your lungs. She makes colors brighter and the sun warmer. What is above a muse? Whatever that is, she’s that. But you have to be honest with her now. She could just go home and look you up on the internet. And that would make everything worse.

“She’s not wrong, I’ve had my fair share of muses. But before you start thinking you’re just another one - you’re not.”

“You have to admit, that’s what I’d expect you to say.”

“You got me there. But I mean it. You approached me last night, remember? You took me by surprise, I couldn’t… I didn’t even… I…” 

“You’re cute when you stutter.”

You let out a loud laugh and pull her closer to you, her hand reaching up to rest against your chest.

“You make it hard for me to think straight. It’s why I like being around you, I can’t get lost in my thoughts when you’re around.”

She shifts her leg to press against your cock - half hard from earlier and growing harder as she rubs her thigh against you. She is playing a dangerous game.

“It’s not the only thing that gets hard around me, huh?” Oh she really likes to tease… damn it. That is your specialty and she is beating you at your own game. 

You lean in close and let your lips graze her ear. She shivers as your breath hits her skin.

“Have you seen yourself? You drive me crazy.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” She leans back and bats those dark lashes at you. 

“Please do.” 

She reaches her arms around your neck and pulls you close. Her chest pressing against you so you can feel her nipples hard against the thin fabric of her top. Yeah, you’re not going to be the one to kill her, she’s going to kill you at this rate. You feel her hot breath against your ear as she speaks..

“I’ve been wet for you since we got here.” 

You don’t even hesitate before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the offices at the back of the gallery. Digging into your pocket you find your phone and open the gallery management app. She giggles as she jogs along behind you trying to keep up with your pace. You press your phone to the panel on the door and slide the bar on your phone to unlock. You swing the door open and pull her into the dark hallway, closing the door with your foot and relocking it on your phone. You find the nearest office and pull her inside.

And just like that, your lips are on hers again. Your pounding heartbeat steadies, the closer she is the calmer you feel. Her hands run all over you, your chest, your neck, your hair. She pushes your jacket off of your shoulders as you pull her skirt up over her hips. You pull back and start trailing kisses down her jaw, settling yourself into her neck nipping and sucking until her breathing is ragged. 

She tugs at the buttons of your shirt and slides her hands in to caress your chest. God her hands against your skin feel like fire. You shrug off your shirt before returning your hands to her back, tugging at the clasps of the bustier. They unclasp easily and you pull back to watch it fall away, her breasts bouncing as they’re released from the structured top. You toss the top to the floor before leaning forward and capturing one of her nipples in your mouth. She lets out a moan as her head falls back. 

You tuck your hands under her ass and release her nipple from your mouth with a loud pop. You lift her and she wraps her legs around you. She wasn’t lying, you can feel her wetness against your stomach as you carry her to the desk. 

You don’t even bother to look for the nameplate on the desk before shoving the folders to the side and settling her ass on the cool wooden surface. Your fingers hook on her lace panties and you tug them forward. You both gasp when you hear a ripping sound. You look down and see the fabric is torn in half. She slaps you on your shoulder.

“I liked those!” Her voice is raspy and full of need. Her hands quickly wrap around the back of your neck, almost forgetting her torn undergarments. 

“I’ll buy you a new pair in every color. At least now, it’s one less thing to remove later.”

“Later?” She giggles against you as you resume kissing her neck, slowly moving down to her chest. Your hands digging into her hips.

“I plan to make you cum until you lose your voice from screaming my name. This is just a preview.” 

You reclaim her nipple in your mouth and gently tug at the sensitive bud with your teeth. She groans loudly and shifts her hips forward, desperate for more. You oblige, of course. You run your finger over her entrance and whimper against her skin - she’s so damn wet. You pull back and press your forehead to hers, flashing a devious smile at her before sinking your middle finger into her needy pussy. 

She brings her hands to the back of your head and pulls you to her. She kisses you hard between breaths. You feel your cock throb as she kisses you. Her tongue presses against your lips, but you’re enjoying these moments of teasing. Your finger plunges deeper, earning you a low grunt and shiver. You press your ring finger inside of her, dragging the pads of your fingers against her slick walls.

It seems she isn’t going to let you be the only tease. She bites your lower lip and drags it out as she leans back. You taste the faintest bit of blood on your tongue and make a sound you didn’t even know you could make. You hate how it sounds like a growl, she probably thinks you sound like an animal. As quickly as you think she hated it, you were proven wrong since she is squeezing the living fuck out of your fingers.

As you remove your fingers, she breaks the kiss to whine at the sudden emptiness. She looks down, expecting you to pull your cock out, but instead, you lower to your knees. Her eyes widen and you chuckle as you catch her eye. Your hands slowly caress her calves until you reach her ankles, you lift them swiftly and toss her legs over your shoulders. She gasps and shifts her hips pushing her pussy closer to your face. God she smells divine.

You press your mouth against her, allowing your nose to split her open before dragging your tongue from her entrance to her clit. You suckle her clit slowly as you unbuckle your pants and push them down over your hips to stroke your aching cock. With one hand on your cock, you move your other hand up over her thigh to thumb her clit. 

You shift your mouth away from her clit as your thumb takes over. You turn your head side to side to sink your mouth as deeply inside her as you possibly can. You press your tongue into her entrance, savoring just how sweet she is. She writhes against your mouth as you continue to swirl and push your tongue deeper. You feel her pussy squeeze your tongue and you can’t hold back a moan. The vibrations must have sent her over the edge because she’s gripping your hair and trying (and failing) to stifle her shouts of pleasure. 

“Rafayel... fuck I’m coming ahh- I’m oh my god…”

Her voice is low, she can barely breathe, and it completely unravels you. As if there was a countdown, both of you are coming. All you can hear are the filthy sounds coming from your mouth, the slurping, the moans, you aren’t even thinking about the mess you’re making under the desk. 

When you finally pull back and look up to her, her cheeks are flushed and her chest heaving. She looks down at you and clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle as she looks to the floor below you. You follow her gaze and see the mess you made. Whoever uses this office is going to lose their shit tomorrow…. 

“It’s always a good sign when it’s messy.”

“Is it now?” 

She smiles as you rise to your feet and tuck yourself back inside your pants. She reaches for you and you settle your hands on the outside of her thighs. She slowly traces her fingers over your abs, chest and down your arms. Your breath catches when her hands return to your shoulders and trial up to your face, tugging your chin upwards to look at her.

“As much as I like seeing this side of you, I’m really glad you invited me today. Seeing your art, you’re incredibly talented.”

“I’ve never enjoyed these events, that is until today. How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel on fire and completely calm at the same time?” 

“I was going to ask you the same question…”

Your heart skips a beat. She locks her fingers behind your neck. She gently pulls you into a kiss. Not a heated, passionate kiss, but a gentle kiss. Her soft lips press against yours, her tongue tracing your bottom lip slowly. She doesn’t tease like earlier, she’s sweet and slow. You don’t deny her this time. She slips her tongue between your lips and she sighs softly as she tastes herself on your tongue.

Knock knock

You pull back and she gasps, quickly wrapping an arm over her breasts as she glances over her shoulder at the door. You quickly scoop her top off the floor and toss it to her. She wraps it around her backwards and reconnects the clasps before shifting it around and pulling the cups up over her chest. Just as you finish buttoning your shirt another knock sounds at the door. 

Knock knock knock

You stride across the office thrusting your arms through the sleeves of your jacket. You glance over and see the gorgeous woman beside you straightening her skirt. She gives you a soft smile and nods. You know the desk will hide the mess you made and there’s nothing else to signify anything unsavory happened. You take half a second to wonder who else at the event had access to the private offices. Maybe Thomas? Is he looking for you?

You swing open the office door and are blinded by a flash. You blink rapidly as your eyes readjust. You hear a gasp behind you and as your pupils return to a normal size, you understand the reaction. Your stomach drops in an instant.

“How interesting… Seems I was right after all.”

McCarthy stands in the doorway, a camera in one hand and her other on her hip. By the shit eating grin on her face, she must think she has something worthwhile to print. You chuckle under your breath and stare at her.

“McCarthy, if you’re not careful, I could easily add stalking to that lawsuit.”

“I have a key. And I’ve used this office before. But I will admit, I’ve never used it like you two just did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about McCarthy, but if you don’t-” She cuts you off.

“A photo is worth a thousand words, Rafayel. And a photo of a famous playboy artist, his… muse… and her torn panties on the floor of an office is surely worth several thousand.” 

You hold your breath as you look over your shoulder. Sure enough, the torn panties you tossed aside are on full display. By the time you turn back around, McCarthy is gone. You stumble out into the hallway, jogging to the end and back looking for any sign of her or where she could have gone. Your chest starts hurting and you realize you haven’t taken a deep breath in several minutes. You gasp for air and run a hand through your hair. Thomas asked you for one thing.

“I’m sorry…” Her voice is barely above a whisper. 

When you turn to look at her, you see her wrapping her blazer around her torso. You hadn’t realized she’d slipped it on. It’s like she’s using it to hide. You walk right up to her and hold her face in your hands. 

“No no no. Stop. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“If I hadn’t been teasing you, we wouldn’t have even come in here and-”

“McCarthy is the lowest of the low. I’ll call her to see what I need to do so she won’t publish the photo. I’ll even get the fucker who gave her a key fired for good measure. It’ll be okay. You have nothing to apologize for and I don’t want you to think you’re responsible for any of this bullshit.”

“I know you have interviews to do before we leave. But you probably shouldn’t go out there with lipstick on your neck.”

She licks her thumb and gently wipes away the lipstick stain. You smile and lean in to kiss her forehead. You let go of her hips and cross the room to where the discarded panties lay. You stoop down and pick them up, swiftly placing them in your pocket.

“Are you keeping them as a souvenir?”

“What if I was?”

“That’d be pretty hot.”

“What would be pretty hot?” 

Thomas’ voice startles both of you. You glare at him over her shoulder, but as soon as you meet his eyes you know you’re on borrowed time. He’s angry. No, not angry. He’s homicidal. You’ve never seen him look like this. It’s kind of impressive, if not terrifying. 

“Thomas, I’m glad you’re here. Have you seen McCarthy?” 

You approach the door, casually slipping your arm back around her and pulling her into a reassuring embrace. Keep her calm. Defuse the bomb that is Thomas. Bribe McCarthy. Talk to the journalists. Get this woman home to fuck until neither of you can walk. Easy.

“Oh, I’ve seen her. And boy, does she work fucking fast.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rafayel, I asked you for one thing. Just one. And now, I have an absolute shit storm to deal with.”

“Thomas, what are you talking about?”

“Check your phone.”

You pull out your phone just as her phone rings. 

“I have to take this, one sec.” She steps further into the office to take the call.

Unlocking your phone you see a never-ending list of notifications. Social media, texts from friends and other artists, multiple missed calls from Thomas and a call from an unknown number. As you sift through the notifs you finally see what they’re in relation to. Your knees nearly give out. You look up at Thomas, eyes wide.

“What… I… how…”

“You never pay attention to my updates and now it is biting us both in the ass.”

You look over your shoulder and your eyes lock onto hers. The horror in her eyes tells you she already knows. Her eyes glisten with tears and your anger is about to take over. When this is sorted, McCarthy is dead.

“You told me…”

“I told you McCarthy has moved to instant news. As soon as she got that damn photo she was already uploading it. Now the world knows about your little sexipade and her name is trending with the hashtag Rafayel’s girlfriend.”

“Fuck.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @crystalrainforest @libriomancer

I wasn't sure I would write another part to this, but I am low key glad I did. More to come I hope!

[valentine-cafe]

May I have a mango pudding, a strawberry shortcake and a tiramisu please?!?

[Afab gn reader]

May I request how they would act with their pregnant lover reader please?!?:D

-🍄

˖⁺. “ bundle of joy ” : 

﹙ hero duo x fem reader x antihero bf ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 781 alessio, rishen & talisen x fem reader !! 🍓 : ﹙  rishen: hero ˖ moth-spider-mantis hybrid ˖ preppy nerd character ˖ talisen: poet ˖ grim reaper ˖ naga character ˖ alessio: punkgoth ˖ mercenary ˖ immortal ˖ antihero character ﹚

headcanons of when you fall pregnant with the 781 trio <3

﹙ cws ﹚: none ! | wc : 0.7k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: the trio being domestic like this is sooooo

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

their first reaction would be absolute shock. pure shock

at the sudden news, talisen’s teacup fell to the floor. shattering in millions of pieces, while rishen’s eyes widened, and she was quick to sit down. hand on her chest, while taking in deep, deep breaths. confusion unmatched of that alessio was currently going through. his brain not following his processing.

after their moment of surprise, and you calling for them a few times, looking around with a frown and furrowed eyebrows. was that not okay? had you said it wrong?

“who’s is it? whi- well— no, you probably wouldn’t know.” alessio would mutter to himself, while talisen waved his hands at you reassuringly.

”baobei please do not worry, we are not mad. we never would be.” the overwhelm was still prominent in you. fortunately though, his words eased you just a bit. your arms slumping in his hands, as he gently wraps around them to pull you in for a hug.

rishen would sit and ponder still, though. which of them had made you pregnant? was it them? talisen was included from the mix completely. his reaper genes are incompatible with that of a human’s. it would either be her or alessio. he could run a test, perhaps?

they would be so happy though. over the moon and sun infact! oh, alessio, who had always wanted to have a family of his own. though being a nervous wreck about it too, would go and buy baby clothes, pacifiers and lots and lots of diapers, so that they were ready for when the baby arrived!

“i bought small picture and memory books too— so when the baby—”

talisen would start counting down the days for the birth. while he always wondered what he would be like as a father. he was still mildly intimidated by the thought in all honesty, it took reassurance from you in great amounts to make him believe he would be an amazing father. in all sorts of aspects. he could teach the bebé so much!

“i can not wait to read bedtime stories for the baby. such a simple thing, but truly, i really can not wait.”

rishen would be running the ultrasounds and checkups on you, he did not want anyone else checking on you. that was in his field and she knew what she was doing! everytime she saw the baby’s little shifts and feetsies kicking around during the scans, they couldn’t help but laugh out loud. smiling brightly at the image. he loves to feel for the baby, listen for hiccups too!

“oop— another hiccup! got too much food in there? hehe”

they will all treat you as they always has: like royalty. spoilt and made sure you feel good.

however, they are all very aware of pregnancy hormones, and are also careful around you. making sure that you are not overwhelmed, overstimulated or that you feel bad or discomforted in any way or form!

they bring you the food you like, nevermind the odd combinations it may be. and sit and eat with you as much as they can even if they’re busy.

all of them love to sit down on their knees and murmur or coo at your tummy for the baby to hear them. get accostumed to their voice.

and another thing they adore is watching you talk to the baby too, when you think you’re alone. happily mumbling to it, assuring it that it will grow up to be a kind and amazing individual. and do good in this world, they will grow up with loving parents.

alessio always comes around to help lift up your tummy to give your spine and back a break once the baby begins growing bigger. supporting it gently while you walk around as well.

rishen is the one who ushers you to the couch or bed to make you rest, telling you to lay back on chores and everything else. they all have that covered!! just eat and rest! don’t stress yourself or the baby!

talisen is the one who always makes sure that you are doing okay mentally as well, asking you how you feel about the baby, how you feel about everything. if there’s stuff you need to talk about. he wants to make sure you are in a good mindset during the entire pregnancy. if anyone hurts your feelings or wears you down, they’re gonna have to deal with him!

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[kingdomaddiction]

I can’t stop thinking about my Fragmented SQH AU so here I go:

—

Obviously Shang Qinghua is not fine. He tries to be, really. The story is over, his son is finally happy with the love of his life and the world didn’t end. Even his ex-husband (they never got a divorce, Qinghua technically died, does it count as one?) is now free! And his cute and socially awkward King is trying his best to treat him like a friend instead of a servant.

Still, Qinghua yearns.

Sometimes, when no one is looking, he touches his flat stomach and remembers his pregnancy when he lived as Su Xiyan. A strange, lovely feeling to carry someone inside you. Unforgettable. He misses those days, but not so much. Too stressful, always running and hiding in order to protect her little one.

Other days he gets lost in the memories of his life as a washerwoman. Sad, grey days were those. Binghe was her little sunshine, the only reason she kept waking up everyday until her frail body could no more.

He remembers Binghe’s first words, his first steps. He even remembers the things he used to whisper to calm him down after a bad nightmare, kissing his tears away. Back then she used to dream for a better live, hoping to live long enough to see her baby boy grow up and marry someone kind.

He got to see Binghe grow up, yes, but only from afar. Qinghua had to restrain himself many times from killing Shen Qingqiu pre transmigration. Seeing his son cry with no way to comfort him was torture. Or so he thought. Because living right now so close to him and only being victim of his hatred is way worse.

“The traitor.”

“That rat.”

“Pathetic—“

It was too much.

He did deserve it. Qinghua did nothing to stop the stop fate (why was Shen Yuan allowed to change the rules when he was forced to hurt his son?) but it still hurt so much.

So it was no surprise when a few tears rolled down his face after a specially mean comment. A few demons from the court snickered, but Binghe just looks at him with a mixed of confusion and surprise, recognizing the tears as real and not the fake kind Qinghua usually shed around Mobei. He doesn’t feel guilt, because if it isn’t Shizun he does not care, but is still odd to witness.

Shang Qinghua just bows and leaves. He cries the whole way to his rooms. It’s depressing, he knows, but he must endure this. This is his penance, right? Now he must face it.

He tries not to stare at Binghe too much after that or even speak in his presence, but it only draws his attention. Binghe seems to attack him more often as if trying to test something, curious to see his reaction. Why? Qinghua doesn’t know, but it can’t be good. His love for his son does not blind him of his cruelty.

‘Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry—‘

Why did his little sunshine had to become such a fearful and cruel emperor? Why couldn’t he remain small, and cute and kind? Why in the world did he write that cursed story?

He sighs giving Binghe a quick glance. The young demon looks tense. Qinghua is sure his bad mood is mostly for Shen Qingqiu’s absence, who left a few days ago for serious sect business (yeah, right— you just wanted a break from your clingy husband bro) and hasn’t returned yet. On top of that the last few meetings at court has been terribly stressful. So many demons playing mind games can be exhausting.

Qinghua even after feeling hurt by Binghe feels the need to comfort him. To tell him his doing great and will find a solution. What can he say? The love of a mother (should he say father? He is currently in man’s body, but he took care of Binghe as a woman—) never fades.

It’s a silly idea, but Qinghua sneaks into the kitchen to prepare a little snack. Steamed millet buns. Very cheap and easy to make. He only needed millet flour (which was even cheaper than rice and widely cultivated in poor areas) and water. If they happen to be lucky enough to have more ingredients available then Qinghua added salt or a bit of onions. It used to be Binghe’s favorite— well, he said “everything mama makes is Bing-Bing favorite!”

Ah, he used to be so cute.

He finishes making the buns and brings him back to the court room. The other demon lords are gone and Binghe looks like he has a migraine. Qinghua approaches carefully trying to be brave.

“Junshang…” he calls softly. Before he can say something more Binghe opens his like he’s searching for something and sniffs the air. Then he finally looks at him, well, the tray in his hands.

“What is that?”

“Ah… steamed millet buns, my lord. I— I made them… for you?” Binghe just keeps staring at him as if he had grown another head. Qinghua clears his throat. “This servant thought Junshang should eat something after a long day.”

Binghe looks at the tray, then at him, then the tray again and he seems like his about to reject the offer. Qinghua holds his breath, already preparing for the burning sensation of rejection. Instead Binghe surprises him by saying:

“Bring it here.”

The peak lord nods and feels so excited he almost trips in his way to the throne. He offers the buns and Binghe stares at them with mild disgust (maybe because his treacherous shishu made them) and after long consideration he finally takes one.

He gives it a sniff before taking a big bite.

Binghe’s eyes open wide and for a brief moment they seem to shine. He keeps eating one after the other and Qinghua feels his heart fill with warmth at the sight remembering when Binghe was 3 years old and tried the buns for the first time.

“I’m glad Junshang enjoyed the buns.” Said the cultivator with a small but honest smile.

Binghe seems to finally realize what he had done and cleans the crumbs with his sleeve.

“Shang… shishu,” Wow, really having a hard time respecting your elders, huh, mister? “… made this on his own?”

“This one did!” He says proudly. “If Junshang desires this servant can always prepare more“ Qinghua offers because he knows his son enough to know he won’t ask for them again even if he loved them.

“… Do as you wish.” Oh, someone has been spending some time with his King. Doesn’t matter.

This is a good sign, right? First positive interaction with his son since forever— oh! Maybe he can prepare him some congee and mantuo next time? Yes! He can’t wait!

…

// Binghe’s angrily eating buns the next day in his room, crying: I miss my mom (˃̣̣̥ヘ˂̣̣̥) stupid rat—

[arkhamabyssfiles]

Loading FILE...RED_HOOD_MEMORY_13 BRUCE WAYNE: AGE, 38 JASON TODD: AGE, 17

Jason yawned and stretched, it had been a slow night, which was all good with him as Finals were coming and he had to study. He passed Bruce by the Batcomputer and was in the process of debating with himself for the eleventh time this week if he should bring up the fact that Helena had…confessed to having feelings towards him...again. And this time—it somehow seemed more serious even when she’d said it when she’d been half asleep and tired to the bone. While carrying her upstairs it had slipped her, and he knew by her awkward and flustered reaction the next day that she remembered it. Jason had nearly dropped her when she’d said that in his ear, he felt his face grow slightly flushed at the memory so he waved it away.

But he felt guilty for some reason, and he believed it was his duty to inform Bruce.

“What is it, Jason?” Bruce asked without turning on the chair, startling Jason who’d spaced out behind him.

Jason swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I—There’s something I think you should know…”

Now, Bruce did turn the chair around. An expectant look in his eyes—if you could call it that. It unnerved Jason, but now he’d reached this point he might as well go through with it.

“It’s about Helena…She—She kind of—said she had a thing for me…”

There was a moment of awkward silence and Jason looked up at Bruce’s eyes. He wasn’t expecting to find him smiling, or as close to smiling as he got, in amusement.

“Yes. She’s had a thing for you for quite some time now.”

“I—You knew?” Jason asked trying to swallow his dismay at the situation.

“I’m afraid so. I think you were the last one to realize it.”

“Fuck,” Jason passed his hand over his face. This was even worse than he’d been expecting. Bruce had been laughing at him all this fucking time…

“Language,” Bruce corrected without much heart behind it. 

Jason dropped his hand from his face, “Aren’t you going to—I don’t know, say something?”

“Like what?”

“Like to stay away from her.”

The slightest downturn of his lips showed Jason he was surprised, or at least not quite expecting that. Ha, that was something at least.

“No.”

Jason really wished Bruce could be more eloquent from time to time without prompting, talking to him about normal day-to-day stuff was sometimes like pulling teeth.

“Then you’re fine—”

“It was to be expected. Both of you are close in age, and see each other almost every day… And you’re opposites in background, interests, and personality...” Bruce said so matter-of-factly that it exasperated Jason.

“But I’m no good!” Jason burst.

Again the smallest of changes in Bruce’s face appeared and piercing eyes searched him. “Is that what you believe?”

Jason looked away, cursing himself for uttering such nonsensical insecurities in front of Batman of all people.

“She thinks you’re more than good,” Bruce pointed out.

Jason’s heart squeezed, what about him? Did Bruce think he was good enough as well?

“You’ve come a long way, Jason, from the life you were born into…” Bruce stood up from the chair and walked towards him, but still left some space between them—“it’s not easy to walk away unscathed. But that doesn’t mean you’re bad or less for it. You’ve not only survived but taken a path to make the world a better place. I’ve seen enough of said world to assure you, that there are very few people who choose to do so. Most will never go beyond thinking that as long as they do no wrong they’re already helping the world. But you know better than anyone how that ends, don’t you?”

Now he closed the space and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“And another thing that matters is what you want, Jason. Don’t think of going or not going along with her just because out of some duty to me or anyone. Figure out what you want for your future, and do what you can to achieve it. If you don’t think you’re ready yet, then work slowly towards it. You’re young, you don’t need to rush.” He gave him an encouraging pat and returned to the chair of the Batcomputer. Before turning away to the screens again he added, “And I would prefer for Helena to be where I can easily keep an eye on her if she were to get a boyfriend.”

Jason cringed so hard at the idea of him being anyone’s boyfriend…He’d never given it much thought beyond thinking it must be nice to have someone love you and love back romantically in a far-off way—like how it was in books.

“I—I’ll think about it,” Jason muttered, unable to think of anything else to say, because his head was a messy tangle of thoughts and realizations that left him even worse than how he’d started.

END OF MEMORY... For more FILES check previous entries...

[stealingyourbones]

Out of all of the people The Ghost King Phantom expected to relate to, it definitely wasn’t the scrawny red headed photographer of the Daily Planet. Jimmy Olsen has gotten so many temporary superpowers over his time being Superman’s friend. Hell, he once gained a 4th dimensional being’s reality warping abilities when he was given said dimensional being’s powers during a fight. Sure there’s a dozen or so heroes with the same amount of powers he has, but none as suddenly granted to them as a all powerful god that can relate to a teenager.

[lovelessactv]

trying not to get my hopes up about the ff9 remake but gosh i would looooooooove some more story stuff for freya in the latter half of the game...

[teethbomb]

hrrnnggg digital circus…

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

was cleaning up yesterday and found my old notebooks just chocked FULL of cute little emo drawing from when i was like 13 😭😭😭 i was even more miniscule back then. it's all so fucking cute. zero cringe! cringe is dead! i was having so much fun and it made me happy when i was at my most suicidal so i think it was worth it even if most of it objectively sucks.

i am a transgender man since this post got liked by a transphobe ! i block and report transphobes !

[maskedbyghost]

when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

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hii!! i'm backkk!! send some requests plsss, byee <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ snuggles for hire

summary: first years try helping you out with your touch-starved problem type of post: short fics (blurbs?) characters: leona, floyd, jade, vil additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

"Really? That's it?" Ace scoffs.

"So, they haven't been hugged in a while. Okay? Neither has Deuce,"

Deuce glares. It's almost menacing. "That's not true, and you know it! I get lots of hugs every time I visit home!"

"I do, too. But that's just the thing, though, ain't it?" Epel says. "They don't have no home to get hugs from."

The huddle of first years goes quiet. Some days, you become such a part of their world, they forget you're really not from it.

"...Okay, point taken," Ace sighs. "But they have Grim! And he only stinks like, half the time!"

"If memory serves, Grim usually sleeps on the floor..." Epel says. "Poor prefect, all lonely. Now even their sleep is suffering 'cause of it!"

Jack rubs the back of his neck. "It must be tough, not having anything to look forward to,"

Another melancholy silence. Finally, Ace stands, hands on his hips.

"Well, let's do something about it, then. There are tons of boys at this school- one of them should be willing to help,"

It's eight in the morning after another disappointing attempt at rest, and now you can't even sleep in. Damn visitors.

You throw open the front door.

"What? What could you possibly- wh- Leona?"

The housewarden smirks. He looks a little too proud of himself for this early in the morning...

"A little wolfie told me you weren't sleeping well. Lucky for you, that's my specialty. Now, are you gonna let me in, or what?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, letting himself in and making himself comfortable on the couch in the foyer.

He pats the spot next to him.

"Listen..." you say. "I don't know what you heard, but I'm fine."

"Don't be proud. I don't pity you, I just... owe you. Now get your butt over here, yeah?"

Leona isn't so scary when he's asleep. He's more like... the world's largest pillow. Of course, you're at risk of being smothered until you crawl into a better position, but once you're on top, he's surprisingly warm and comfortable.

You can tell you're being watched before you hear anything.

And you think you might just know wh-

"Shrimpyyy!"

For two boys so tall, the tweels are awfully quiet. Especially when it comes to "surprising" you in random places. This time: the hall.

Floyd pulls you into a bone-crushing hug while Jade watches from behind, smiling subtly.

When he finally lets you down, you're dizzy. (Though, at this point, you'll take whatever physical touch you can get).

"Shrimpyyy, why didn't you tell us you were lonely? We had to squeeze it outta Spade," Floyd pouts.

"His face makes fascinating expressions when he's afraid," Jade says, merrily.

Before you can answer, Floyd's already got you under his arm (seriously? Where do they find the strength?) and is heading straight towards the hall of mirrors.

You already know there's no getting out of this one...

Floyd is, unsurprisingly, all over, from leaning his whole body weight against you to lying across your lap, to biting your shoulder (in his sleep...?) Oh, and he drools, too.

Jade sits on your other side, one hand holding yours, the other leafing through an almanac from twenty years ago.

You're almost hesitant to admit just how nice it really is.

"And nothing else has worked?" Vil says, throwing open the door to your bedroom with no regard for a "hello" or, "how are you?"

You blink. "...Hello to you, too. May I ask what you're talking about?"

He storms inside, standing over you with his hands on his hips.

"Just that I overheard Epel Felmier asking my vice housewarden if he would be willing to satisfy your need for physical affection. You've been struggling? With sleep? And you didn't think to come to me, first?"

He almost sounds... offended that you didn't.

"...Well... I wasn't making a big deal about it,"

"So, no teas, no vitamins, no pills- nothing has helped?"

You shake your head. He sighs.

"Perhaps it is purely psychological... very well. Get up. I hope you don't toss and turn much, I'm a light sleeper,"

Vil is completely still when he sleeps. No tossing, no turning, no drooling, no snoring. He also insists on sleeping on his back, you, clinging to his side, and a single arm around you. Just as elegant as when he's awake. He'd be a true sleeping beauty if not for the mumbles of nonsense that come from him every few minutes. You swear you can make out your own name, once or twice or three times...

He is warm nonetheless, and his mumbles and idle stroking of his fingers on your waist is enough to satisfy you for a night of good sleep.

[stringsbasement]

ngl i 100% thought peri would be an antagonist

he's the first fairy in thousands of years, born directly under the lineage of what has to be the most powerful fairy family line in current existence

(cosmo is a von strangle, and also the very reason fairies stopped having babies in the first place. he's incredibly powerful and nobody talks about it for some reason. it's clear peri inherited that destructive potential)

the second he was born, entire fairy species (including his own kin) were out to get him to use his volatile magic for their own selfish goals. he's nearly kidnapped thrice, and almost ends the universe on the same day

the threats keep coming, and he's being dragged to countless adventures that put him at risk. he literally ceases to exist more than once

anyway, i wouldn't be surprised if some form of expectations were placed upon him growing up. maybe not by his family, but he's famous (a teacher described him as such once); in fairy world, he's automatically adored and celebrated by adults and peers alike, which foop antagonizes (and tries to kill) him for

cosmo and wanda would, realistically, of course try to shield him from all this, but no matter what they do, he's inevitably isolated

people either want to use him, put him on a pedestal, or is a universally infamous human godchild who will forget all about him in a matter of years

(cosmo and wanda becoming godparents and learning (choosing) to eventually let go of their kids is one thing, but it can be assumed poof was still a young, underdeveloped child by the time timmy (+chloe, for what it's worth) got his memories wiped

and he sees that timmy's able to live his own happy life without him in it. he lost his brother just like that, and there's nothing he can do despite all his godly powers)

there's so, so many ways he could've gone wrong

thus, my initial thought was that peri was going to be a somewhat petty, "spoiled brat," and him becoming a godparent would be the result of spite or rebellion, which cosmo and wanda would feel entirely responsible for. I HATE MY PARENTS!! yada yada yada

it was a pleasant surprise to see all those clips of them loving each other. and it's not even because i doubted for a second that cosmo and wanda are bad parents, it's just what you usually expect when seeing shows from the 2000s, even if it doesn't make sense

all things considered, i'm very glad they went for the lighthearted silly family trope. not every show needs such conflicts, and showing healthy dynamics are better for kids overall

still, i find it interesting to think about if they'd gone down another route instead. i love me a pathetic cringy villain who tries (fails) to hate the people they love the most

[pucksandpower]

Malfunction

Franco Colapinto x physician!Reader

Summary: Franco’s concussion has come and gone, but his desire to see the angel of a physician who likely saved his life has only gotten stronger … it’s just a shame that he tends to lose any semblance of composure when you’re around

Note: this is the much requested second part to Malpractice … but even better than the first part if I do say so myself 🫣

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is a distant blur in Franco’s memory. The crash. The pain. The disorientation.

But there’s something else that lingers, too. Something soft that refuses to leave him alone.

It’s the image of you, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady even as his world spun. Your voice cutting through the haze, your gaze sharp and intense, demanding his attention. The way you pushed him to stay alert, to pay attention, to focus on something other than the chaos in his head.

Franco knows he owes his sanity, maybe even his life, to you.

It’s been a week since the crash, and he’s been cleared by the medical team to race again in Qatar, despite a lingering headache that’s been stubbornly hanging on. But it’s not the headache that’s bothering him. It’s the fact that you’re not here. You’re not at the track. Not in the garage. Not hovering over him like some kind of guardian angel.

He wants to see you again. Needs to.

He’s sitting in the Williams debrief room, surrounded by engineers who are talking a mile a minute about tire wear and lap times. But Franco is barely listening. He keeps checking his phone, hoping for some sort of miracle: a text, a call, anything that might tell him you’re here. That you’ve returned to the paddock.

But the screen stays empty.

“Franco, are you with us?” James Vowles’ voice cuts through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry,” Franco mutters, rubbing his eyes. “What were you saying about tire strategy?”

James raises an eyebrow. “It’s fine. Focus on your recovery. We’re just going over the data from today’s practice. You’ve got time. But-” He looks around, making sure no one else is listening, “-don’t be distracted during qualifying tomorrow. We need every bit of performance we can get from you this weekend.”

“Right.” Franco nods, but his mind drifts again, his gaze slipping back to his phone. It’s like the rhythm of the weekend has been broken without you here, without the sharpness of your voice telling him he’s being an idiot, without your soft, steady presence making everything feel a little more manageable.

A soft knock sounds at the door, and Alex steps in, his casual smile immediately making the room feel a little lighter. His eyes flicker over to Franco. “How’s it going, mate?”

Franco immediately perks up. “Alex! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He straightens up in his chair, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Alex raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that because you’ve missed me, or because I bring good news?”

“Both,” Franco grins. “But seriously, I’ve been thinking about something, and I need your help.”

Alex folds his arms, giving Franco a knowing look. “Uh oh. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

“It’s about Y/N,” Franco says, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t seem too surprised. He sighs, already knowing where this is headed. “Ah, I should’ve known.”

“No, listen,” Franco presses, his voice a little more serious. “I need her to come to Abu Dhabi. She has to be there. I-” He pauses, trying to put his feelings into words. “I’ve been thinking about her all week. I just … I need to see her again.”

Alex raises both hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You want me to convince her to come to a race just so you can see her again?”

Franco shrugs, looking entirely unapologetic. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Alex shakes his head, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “You really have it bad, don’t you?”

Franco hesitates, his smile faltering just slightly, then nods. “I do.” His expression softens. “She helped me when I didn’t even know what was happening. I’ve never had someone take care of me like that.”

Alex takes a moment, studying Franco’s face, then lets out a long breath. “Look, I can’t make any promises. Y/N’s a resident physician. Her schedule is insane. She barely has time to breathe, let alone fly out to the Middle East for a race. But-” He hesitates, as if weighing his next words carefully. “But I’ll ask her. I’ll see what I can do. But no promises, okay?”

“Just ask,” Franco says urgently. “I don’t care if it’s a long shot. I need her there.”

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask. But you owe me a beer if this works.”

“You got it,” Franco grins, already feeling the relief of having put his request into motion. “Thanks.”

***

It’s late by the time you’re wrapping up your shift at the hospital. The weight of your scrubs feels heavier than usual tonight, your body aching after hours of rounds and consultations. You’ve barely slept all week, the demands of your residency taking up every last ounce of energy. All you want to do now is crash into bed and forget about the world for a few hours.

But then your phone buzzes in your pocket, and the familiar name on the screen makes you stop in your tracks.

Alex.

You sigh, glancing around the empty hallway before answering. “Hey, Alex. What’s up?”

“Hey,” Alex greets you, his tone casual but there’s a hint of something else in his voice. “How’s it going?”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall. “You know, same old. Patients, paperwork, more patients. I swear, I’m starting to see people’s illnesses in my dreams at this point. What’s up?”

“Well, funny you should mention that,” Alex says with a chuckle, “because I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask.”

You brace yourself. “What now?”

“I need you to come to Abu Dhabi.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What? No. I can’t just drop everything and fly to Abu Dhabi. You know how insane my schedule is right now.”

“I know, I know,” Alex says quickly. “But listen, it’s not for me. It’s for Franco.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “Franco? What does he have to do with this?”

“He, uh, well, he’s been asking about you. He really wants you to come. He … he kind of needs you there, Y/N.”

You frown. “Needs me? What, like for a medical emergency?”

“No, no,” Alex quickly reassures you. “It’s not like that. He’s just — he’s been a bit, you know, off since the crash. He keeps talking about how much you helped him, how much he needs to see you again. He’s … kinda, well, taken with you.”

You pause, processing the unexpected request. “Wait. You want me to go to Abu Dhabi just to … see Franco?”

Alex sighs. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally get it if you can’t make it. I just thought I’d put it out there, because he’s really … well, he’s really worried about seeing you again.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the floor. There’s a tug at your chest. Franco’s crash. The way he looked when he stumbled into the garage, his eyes unfocused, his voice thick with concussion. And how you couldn’t help but care, couldn’t help but feel something stir in your chest as you took care of him.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. “I don’t know if I can get time off. I’ve got a million things to do.”

“Please,” Alex pleads, his tone sincere. “Just think about it. I’ll take care of the rest. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just — just come for the weekend. For him.”

You hesitate for a long moment. Your exhaustion is overwhelming, but so is the pull to be there for Franco, to check in on him after everything that happened.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice quiet but firm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Alex lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to him.”

“I’ll talk to my supervisor tomorrow and see if I can get a couple of days off. I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks again, really.”

As the call ends, you press the phone to your ear, staring at the blank hospital hallway. Something in your chest stirs, a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite name. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get involved with any of these drivers. But Franco … there’s something about him. Something you can’t shake.

You don’t know what’s going to happen in Abu Dhabi. But you know one thing for sure: you’re going to see him again.

***

Franco is buzzing with energy as he walks away from the Williams garage after FP2. The track is alive with its usual Friday hum: team radios squawking, mechanics wheeling equipment, fans pressing against barricades for a glimpse of the action. Normally, this is his favorite part of the weekend — the calm between sessions when he can breathe and think through what’s next.

But today, his thoughts are miles away.

You.

Alex told him you’d agreed to come. He’s spent all week mentally preparing for this moment, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again. He’d told himself he’d play it cool. That he wouldn’t come off as desperate or weird. That he’d be charming and effortless.

And now, as he walks toward the Williams motorhome, he’s running through those lines in his head like a script. But then, through the glass doors of the motorhome, he spots you.

You’re sitting at a table with Lily, wine glasses between you. You’re mid-laugh, one hand lightly gesturing, the other wrapped around the stem of your glass. The sound of your laugh doesn’t reach him, but your expression — warm and animated — is enough to stop him in his tracks.

Franco stares, frozen. For a second, he’s not a professional driver or a smooth-talking twenty-one-year-old. He’s just a guy, floored by the sight of someone he’s been thinking about far too much.

And then, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, he walks straight into the glass door.

The sound is embarrassingly loud — a deep, resonant thud that draws the attention of a couple of mechanics nearby. Franco stumbles back, clutching his forehead as the door wobbles slightly on its hinges.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters under his breath, blinking rapidly to clear the stars dancing in his vision.

Inside, Lily gasps, already half out of her chair. But you — you just press a hand to your mouth, visibly trying to suppress a laugh.

Franco pushes the door open this time (successfully, thank God) and steps into the motorhome, trying to salvage whatever remains of his dignity.

“Didn’t know the motorhome was defending itself today,” he says, flashing a crooked grin as he rubs his forehead.

You’re still smiling, but there’s a glint in your eyes as you take a sip of wine. “I see you’re still finding creative ways to injure yourself.”

Lily, standing now, gives him a once-over. “Are you okay? That sounded bad.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Franco says quickly, though he’s still holding his head. “Just testing the structural integrity of the door. Very solid. Great engineering.”

Lily rolls her eyes, muttering something about grabbing an ice pack before disappearing into the kitchen.

You lean back in your chair, tilting your head as you look at him. “You know, you really don’t have to keep hurting yourself just to get my attention. There are easier ways.”

Franco blinks, momentarily thrown off by the teasing edge in your voice. But then he recovers, his grin widening. “Oh, so you noticed me, huh? Mission accomplished.”

You arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hard not to notice when someone face-plants into a door.”

“Ouch,” Franco says, clutching his chest dramatically. “First my head, now my ego. You’re ruthless.”

You laugh, setting your glass down. “I’m a doctor. I call it like I see it.”

“And what do you see?” He asks, leaning casually against the doorframe (or at least trying to — he slightly misjudges the angle and has to correct himself, which makes him look anything but casual).

“I see someone who might need another concussion test if they keep this up,” you say dryly, though there’s a hint of amusement in your tone.

Franco seizes the opening. “Oh, you’ll give me a test? What, right here? Should I sit down? Or maybe lie down? Whatever you need, angel, I’m ready.���

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “I’m off-duty, thank you very much. And stop calling me angel.”

“Why? It suits you,” Franco says without missing a beat. He steps closer, his grin turning just a bit sheepish. “You did save me, after all.”

“From driving with a concussion,” you reply, crossing your arms.

“Still counts,” he says, shrugging. “So … you’re really here. Thought maybe Alex was messing with me.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, for fun? He likes to mess with me,” Franco says, his grin turning rueful. “But I’m glad he wasn’t. It’s … it’s good to see you.”

Your expression softens, and you glance down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “It’s good to see you too.”

For a moment, there’s a silence between you. Not awkward, but charged. Franco shifts his weight, scratching the back of his neck. He’s been preparing for this moment all week, but now that you’re standing in front of him, he’s at a loss.

Lily reappears then, an ice pack in hand. She tosses it to Franco, who catches it against his chest. “Here,” she says. “For the door-shaped bruise you’re probably going to have.”

“Thanks,” Franco says, pressing the pack to his forehead. He winces slightly but keeps his gaze on you.

Lily looks between the two of you, her lips twitching as if she’s trying not to laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you two to … whatever this is,” she says, grabbing her glass and retreating toward the other end of the motorhome.

Franco watches her go, then looks back at you, his smile softening. “So … you’re here for the whole weekend?”

You nod. “Lily convinced me to stay. Said I needed a break.”

“You do,” Franco says quickly. “Definitely. Big time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because …” Franco hesitates, then decides to go for it. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Vegas.”

You blink, caught off guard by his honesty. “Franco-”

“I’m serious,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “I know I’m probably coming off like a total idiot right now, but I don’t care. You-” He gestures vaguely, as if struggling to find the right words. “You’re different. You’re not like anyone else here.”

“That’s because I’m not supposed to be here,” you say, your tone light but your eyes searching his. “I’m a doctor, Franco. Not meant for … whatever this world is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “You could be anything, and I’d still want to know you. You’re …” He trails off, then laughs at himself. “God, I’m bad at this.”

You laugh too, finally relaxing. “A little, yeah.”

“But I’m trying,” he says, his expression earnest now. “And I’ll keep trying, even if it means walking into more doors. Or walls. Or whatever else gets in my way.”

You shake your head, exasperated but undeniably charmed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you,” Franco counters, grinning.

You groan, but your smile betrays you. “Stop. That was awful.”

“Was it?” Hr teases, leaning just slightly closer.

“Yes,” you say firmly, though there’s a hint of laughter in your voice. “And I’m not letting you use your injuries as an excuse to flirt with me.”

“Then what excuse should I use?” He asks, tilting his head.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now. “How about none? Just be normal.”

“Normal,” Franco repeats, as if testing the word. “Okay. I can do that. Probably.”

“Somehow, I doubt it,” you say, but your tone is lighter now, your guard lowering just a fraction.

Franco grins, sensing the shift. He might not be smooth, but he’s persistent. And right now, that feels like enough.

***

The hospital hums with its usual rhythm: the sharp beeps of monitors, the steady shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional murmur of voices echoing down sterile hallways. You’re halfway through your shift, mentally cataloging a growing to-do list, when one of the nurses finds you near the break room.

She looks far too amused for your liking, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Hey, Doc,” she says, her tone conspiratorial. “You’ve got a patient in Room 43. Interesting case. File’s by the door.”

You glance up from your notes, immediately suspicious. “Interesting how?”

“Let’s just say … not your usual trauma,” she replies, her grin widening. “Go see for yourself.”

With a sigh, you grab your tablet and head down the hallway. You’re too tired to entertain the nurse’s cryptic humor, but curiosity tugs at you anyway. When you reach Room 43, you spot the chart hanging by the door. You pick it up and start skimming, your brain automatically processing the medical shorthand.

And then your eyes land on the complaint: penile fracture.

You freeze. Your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds.

Penile fracture. Seriously? You take a deep breath, fighting the urge to laugh or groan. It’s not unheard of, but it’s rare enough to make your day a little more … colorful.

Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself for what’s undoubtedly going to be an awkward encounter. Professionalism, you remind yourself. You’ve handled weirder cases.

But all of that resolve shatters the second you open the door and step into the room.

Because the patient isn’t some anonymous stranger.

It’s Franco.

Franco, lounging on the exam table like he doesn’t have a care in the world, scrolling through his phone with his free hand. Franco, the same man you’ve been dating for months, who absolutely should not be in this hospital room right now.

Your mouth opens, ready to deliver your standard introduction, but no words come out.

Franco looks up at the sound of the door, his face breaking into that familiar, devilish grin. “Hey, angel.”

“What the-” You stop yourself, gripping the edge of the clipboard like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. “Franco, what are you doing here?”

He sets his phone down, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m a patient. Clearly.”

You take a deep breath, setting the clipboard aside. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” He leans back slightly, gesturing toward himself with both hands. “Broken dick. You saw the file.”

Your jaw tightens as you step closer, lowering your voice. “Franco, this is a hospital. You can’t just-”

“I didn’t just anything,” he cuts in, feigning indignation. “I’m here because you abandoned me this morning. And now I’m suffering.”

You blink at him, completely thrown. “Suffering?”

“Yes!” He says, sitting up straighter, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays any attempt at seriousness. “You left me. Alone. In bed. With …” He lowers his voice dramatically. “An issue.”

Your brain scrambles to keep up. “An issue?”

Franco sighs, as though the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Blue balls. A raging, unresolved situation. You’re a doctor — you know how dangerous that can be.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself. “Franco, I left because I had to come to work. Like a normal person.”

“Right, but normal people don’t leave their boyfriends high and dry,” he argues, his tone edging into the realm of petulant. “Do you know how much it hurts? It’s practically a medical emergency.”

You close your eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So let me get this straight,” you say slowly. “You’re here because you have blue balls. And instead of — oh, I don’t know — handling it with your hand and some lotion like a grown adult, you decided to come to my workplace and waste everyone’s time?”

“I don’t see it as wasting time,” Franco says, crossing his arms. “I see it as seeking expert care. From a very qualified, very beautiful doctor.”

“Franco,” you say warningly, but he’s already grinning.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt, “don’t you think it’s romantic? I’m literally willing to suffer for you.”

“Oh my God.” You press a hand to your forehead, feeling a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You are not suffering. And this is not romantic — it’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously sweet,” Franco counters, clearly enjoying himself.

You stare at him, torn between wanting to strangle him and laugh. “You know I could get in trouble for this, right? What if someone finds out I’m treating my boyfriend? Or worse, that you’re faking a medical emergency?”

“I’m not faking,” he says quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “The pain in my cock is very real.”

“Franco.” Your voice is flat, and you fix him with your best no-nonsense look.

He hesitates for a beat, then leans forward slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to confess something scandalous. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a fracture. But it is painful!”

You throw your hands up, resisting the urge to laugh despite yourself. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Franco pouts, his lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated fashion. “Come on, angel. Don’t be mad. I just wanted to see you.”

“You couldn’t have waited until my shift was over?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m impatient. And in my defense, you looked very cute leaving this morning.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me,” he says, his grin widening.

“Don’t push your luck,” you warn, though there’s no real bite in your tone.

Franco leans back on the exam table, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just disrupted your workday. “So … are you gonna examine me or what?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do you want me to call security? Because that’s where this is headed.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says, his confidence unwavering.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Franco holds your gaze for a moment, then sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. No exam. But only because I value our relationship.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, not even trying to hide your sarcasm.

He grins again, the kind of grin that’s always been your undoing. “You can’t stay mad at me, angel. Admit it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts. “Franco, you’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, you’d be on your way out of here in handcuffs.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he smirks. “Kinky.”

“Oh, for the love of-” You don’t bother finishing the sentence, turning toward the door instead.

“Wait, wait!” Franco calls after you, sliding off the exam table. “I’m kidding! Don’t go!”

You pause, looking back at him. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, his expression softer now. “Seriously,” he says. “I just … I missed you. And I thought maybe this would make you laugh. Or at least roll your eyes. Which it did, so … mission accomplished?”

You sigh, feeling your resolve waver. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like that — like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“Franco,” you say, your voice quieter now. “You can’t just show up like this. I have a job to do.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “And I promise I won’t make a habit of it. But … can I take you to dinner after your shift? As an apology?”

You study him for a moment, weighing your options. Finally, you let out a small sigh. “Fine. But only if you promise to behave.”

“I promise,” he says quickly, holding a hand over his heart.

“And no more faking injuries,” you add, pointing a finger at him.

“Scout’s honor,” he says, though the mischievous glint in his eye suggests otherwise.

You shake your head, exasperated but smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” he says, grinning.

“For now,” you say, opening the door. “Now get out of here before someone sees you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco says, saluting playfully as he follows you into the hallway.

As he walks away, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Ridiculous as he is, there’s no denying that life with Franco is never boring.

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Part 1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4]

To not turn into a giant raging asshole hell bent on murdering people and destroying the world after everyone he loved died, Danny had ran from Amity with his chosen vice.

A bottle. That’s right. Even after Jazz’s talks about alcoholism as a poor coping mechanism as a form of self harm, he still chose alcohol. Or maybe that’s why he picked it, because it reminded him of her, right before the booze took the sting of grief off of her memory. He was never really all that good at listening to Jazz.

And now she’s gone, so it’s moot point. Danny really hated Nasty Burger.

Danny made it all the way to Gotham, bottle constantly glued to his hand. It’s better than Vlad’s creep-o-self looming over him all of the time. He bummed out on the streets, fitting into crime alley like a native. Danny learned to pickpocket. Not much, just enough for a bottle when his ran out. He stayed human. At first he tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to be perceived as a meta in a city where Batman notoriously disliked metas. Then, as he sunk deeper, he admitted to himself in a shameful curl of a whisper that it was really because alcohol affected his human side much easier.

Ghosts need an ungodly amount of alcohol to even get slightly buzzed. Danny’s human side? Only one full bottle the shittiest tequila he could find could even hope to be more than buzzed. It sucked.

He’s spent two years being an alcoholic that didn’t actually get that drunk. Technically, underage drinking was a crime. But then again, so was being a vigilante ghost. So, whatever. He does what he can to dull the grief. Mostly, he slept on covered and hidden nooks on top of Crime Alley’s roofs. Gotham city had taken pity on him and cleared her smog clouds when he was awake at night. Stargazing helped, at least. It gave him a little hope. It gave him a little wish to change and better and live like he wants. But then the night ends and when the day comes, Jazz isn’t there. Sam isn’t there. Tucker isn’t there. His mom and dad are not there.

Danny always went back to the bottle, in the end. Not that it did much.

Which was why, when he saw three looming figures over a tiny child, Danny’s saving people thing flared with a vengeance and his surprised ectoplasm burned what little buzz he had achieved by downing most of the bottle away, leaving him stone cold sober and pissed.

Danny sighed, dumping the rest of the nasty tasting liquid out. There’s no point drinking that little.

He approached the trio, who were beating up an actual child. Ancients, he hated Crime Alley sometimes.

“Give me your shit, you little punk!” Asshole 1 decided to say like a typical mugger, raising his leg to kick the curled up kid below. Danny doesn’t let him land the kick, smashing the bottle on the asshole’s head before any of them clocked his presence. He pivots, pushing a bit of that extra strength he normally keeps on a tight leash into his hands, and punched the other two in a quick fashion, knocking them out.

With that taken care of, Danny turned back to the kid who was still curled up. Danny sighed again, the trembles in small shoulders plucking on his heartstrings.

“You okay, kid?”

The kid uncurls, and Danny stared. Holy shit, is he looking into a mirror? Blue eyes, black hair, and tanned skin. Holy shit, he’s even got similar jaws to Danny.

“Huh.”

The kid flinched.

“Y-y’er the drunk,” the kid flinched again, eyes darting to the broken bottle still clenched in Danny’s hand. “I- I ain’t got money, honest. Please-”

Danny blinked down at the kid, brain connecting the dots after so long without actual interaction. He’s panicking and staring at the bottle in Danny’s hand like it’ll kill him. Danny raised the bottle and the kid closed his mouth with a click, terror worming its way into the kid’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to mug you myself, kid.”

“But- y’er the- the Alley drunk.”

Danny blinked. Did he get a reputation without knowing again? Goddammit.

“I guess. Am I famous or somethin’?”

“Nobody- nobody fucks wit’ ya.”

“I also don’t hurt kids.”

“…”

The kid stared at him dubiously and with a sinking feeling, Danny realized that maybe the kid already had some terrible experiences with a heavy drunken hand. He promptly chucks the bottle further into the alley.

“I drink, yes. But I’m also not the kind of scum that would lay hands on a kid, let alone anyone that didn’t provoke it first.”

“Oh.” The kid uncurled more, looking at Danny warily, more at ease now that the bottle has left the chat.

“Yeah. I’m Danny. Stone cold sober, right now.”

“…”

Danny waited.

“Peters.”

“Okay. Peters, do you wanna take their shit?” Danny pointed a thumb at the knocked out would-be-muggers behind him.

“Y… yeah, sure. What’s my cut?”

“All of it.”

Peters stared.

Danny shrugged and started looting.

"Y'er so fuckin' weird."

----

See, the thing is, Danny hadn't anticipated saving Peters- "'s actually Jason"- would result in having a duckling following him around. The kid, Jason, glared at everyone who even looked at them wrong. But that's not the problem, because Danny could take anyone who took issue with Jason's looks, it's more like there's a child following him around now and Danny doesn't want to be the reason Jason turns into an alcoholic. It's- well, it made him cut down on the drinking. He even got jobs- legitimate jobs that sucks out his his poor ectoplasmic soul.

Why? Because Jason's apparently homeless. While that's something Danny's okay with for himself, he can't ever condone that for an actual child. Jason's walking around in threadbare clothes and thin soled shoes in the middle of Fall, for Ancient's sake.

Danny grumbles as he piled a bunch of clothes into the shopping bag as he checked out. Gotham's Walmart is a different kind of hell, but Danny feels right at home.

Sure, the work might suck out his soul and he might hate being sober, but Jason's face every time he comes home to an actual place to live, warm clothes, and food was worth everything.

[eclips-moon]

Cute things the Batboys do in a relationship:

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Morning Texts: This dude lives for sending those “Good morning, beautiful ” texts, usually with some goofy selfie where his hair’s a mess. He just wants to be the first thing you smile about.

Random Dance Breaks: If you’re in the kitchen or just standing around, Dick will 100% spin you around for a random dance. He’ll hum some random tune and make you laugh like it’s a movie moment.

Spontaneous Picnics: Out of nowhere, he’ll hit you with a “meet me at the park” text, and you show up to find he’s got a whole cute picnic setup. The dude’s got snacks, a blanket, and everything ready like a rom-com lead.

Cuddle Monster: Watching a movie? Cuddling. Sitting on the couch? Cuddling. He’s got an arm around you, pulling you into his chest every chance he gets. And don’t even get me started on bedtime—he’s glued to you.

Pet Names: You’re never just your name. It’s always “Sweetheart,” “Princess,” or something that’ll make you blush and roll your eyes. He loves seeing you react.

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Cooking Shenanigans: He’s lowkey a beast in the kitchen, but acts like he needs your help. Next thing you know, you’re tossing flour at each other, making a mess, and laughing like idiots.

Protective as Hell: Jason’s that guy who’ll drape his jacket over you before you even realize you’re cold. If it’s raining, he’s got the umbrella over you—he doesn’t care if he gets soaked.

Books & Notes: He’ll leave books for you to read with little handwritten notes inside. Some are funny, some are deep, but he’s always thinking about you even when he’s not there.

Late Night Rides: He’s all about taking you on rides around the city late at night. It’s quiet, and the world feels like it’s just the two of you while the cool breeze whips by.

Forehead Kisses: Not super into PDA, but will definitely kiss your forehead when it’s just you two. It's his way of saying “I got you” without saying a word.

Tim Drake (Red Robin)

Study Dates: Tim’s ideal date is just chilling in a coffee shop, both of you working on stuff, but occasionally reaching over to hold hands or sneak in a quick kiss. He’s not the clingy type, but loves quiet closeness.

Geeky Gifts: He’s that guy who’ll surprise you with some gadget or comic you mentioned once. His memory for stuff you like is insane, and he’ll always find something that makes you smile.

Random Nerd Facts: You’ll be mid-conversation and he’ll just drop some random fact about the universe or tech that he knows will make you roll your eyes. He lives for those reactions.

Caring Vibes: Tim’s the type to bring you tea when you’re stressed or randomly tell you to take a break. And when you’re sad? He’ll pull you into his lap without saying anything—just wants to make sure you’re okay.

Subtle Compliments: He’s not super vocal, but you’ll catch him staring at you, and when you ask why, he’ll just casually be like, “You’re stunning,” with the softest smile. Smooth af.

Damian Wayne (Robin)

Low-Key Sweet: Damian won’t say it, but he shows love in little ways. Your favorite snack? He’ll just get it. Something broken? Fixed. His love language is basically “silent but effective.”

Learning Your Hobbies: Whatever you’re into, he’ll make it his mission to learn it. You mention an interest? Bet, he’s researching it like it’s a case for Batman. It’s his way of being involved without being obvious.

Animals Everywhere: He’s constantly bringing over animals, like “This cat needs to meet you.” If his pets like you, that’s basically a proposal in Damian-speak. And they always like you.

Art Hangouts: He loves painting, so sometimes he’ll invite you to join him, and it turns into a competition of who can make the dumbest art. Expect lots of teasing.

Acts of Service: He won’t say “I love you” all the time, but you’ll feel it in the way he does things for you—like carrying your stuff, fixing something, or just being there when you need him.