#it makes me so happy to think and talk about them

[tbaluver]

S/O With ADHD- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader requested: by a couple anonnies ♥︎ a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i just want to mention a disclaimer about this. while i do have adhd, everybody experiences things differently so what might be common for me, can be completely different to another person! these symptoms presented here are only what i’ve experienced and what my friends have experienced and what people have requested! do not refer to this to diagnose yourself. if you suspect you might have adhd, please refer to a professional! there will be a part two to this because theres more to add but anyways enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He didn’t fully grasp the idea when you tried to explain your adhd to him, your thoughts would jump from one thing to another and he tried to keep up. He would do his own research to understand better what you were going through. He would notice the little things, the way you would say you 're going to do something but never actually start or how tasks seem to take you forever to finish.

No worries about being late or rushing to go on dates or hangouts with him, there’s no set start time. Often times the dates and hangouts are flexible. He’ll wait until you’re ready as long as he gets to spend time with you and eat yummy food together, he’s happy

Indulges and learns your hyper fixations and your current obsessions. He’ll learn more about them on his own time so he can talk more about them with you

If you’re okay with it, he’ll join you whenever you need to rest and watch your comfort shows whenever you’re feeling drained or overstimulated. He’ll make the atmosphere in the room feel more cozy either by giving you space, adjusting the lighting and closing the curtains, tucking you in your blankets, so you can recharge

Praises your smallest victories even if it was just cleaning your room or finishing a simple task in under an hour without thinking or worrying about it. He knows that even the simplest tasks can feel overwhelming so when you manage to do something without thinking or bed rotting before doing something, he’s genuinely proud of you.

Zayne:

He would truly listen when you go off on a tangent of your hyperfixations, letting you ramble about them without interrupting you. Even if you branch off too many topics that you swear relates to the main topic, eventually forgetting what the point was, he patiently brings you back to the main point.

“..wait what was I talking about?”

“you were talking about how ___ and __”

He’s very organized, constantly tidying and rearranging things for you without needing to be asked. He doesn’t mind it at all. He organizes in a way that he knows would help you but if you ever forget where something is, he’s quick to help you. lost your keys? by the dining room table. your jacket? in the laundry basket. your phone? you’re holding it

Tries to keep his explanations short and easier to understand. He’ll give you just enough without getting lost in any unnecessary details

When he’s not around, he helps you by texting you on specific times to check up on you or to help shift your focus

Separate calm activities alone but together with him. You could be doing your own thing while he reads his book(s) or finishes up any medical reports

Calculates how long it usually takes you to get ready, so he’ll plan dates with reservation an hour or two ahead of time, sometimes maybe even more depending on the date, just to avoid overwhelming you. He’s always patient and understanding, sometimes he’ll help you get ready to take the weight off your shoulders

Rafayel:

In the beginning, he’ll notice you can run late to things but once you explain that it’s because of your adhd, he’ll be more understanding. Still, he can’t help but tease you just a little but he means well. He’ll just plan more hangouts that don’t require any set start time, just as long as you two are together at the end

Yap sessions with him take up an ungodly amount of hours. You both branch off to different topics, each one you both swear is just as important as the last, so the conversation goes in different directions. It takes forever to circle back to the original point.

He loves hearing about your hyper fixations. You can tell him everything, every little fact and he’ll ask you a million questions, indulging in your passion for it as well.

Loves to spend time with you but he is mindful and lets you have the space to unwind whenever you might feel overstimulated or just need to recharge

Shows so much encouragement whenever you show your creative and passionate side. He’ll recognize and appreciate the things you’re good at, even if you’re not able to see it in yourself

It’s canon that he sends you separate messages instead of big blocks of texts but its not because that’s how he feels more comfortable texting but also because he knows that long paragraphs can feel overwhelming. He doesn’t want you to miss anything or feel pressured to read through a lot at once

Sylus:

Lets you hold his hand whenever you want, no need to ask. He knows how much you fidget and he loves how you rub circles on the back of his hand, melting under your touch. If it helps you feel better, then go ahead. He’d even buy you rings to fidget with, ones that maybe match and also just so you can have something to twist and twirl when he’s not around

He adores listening to your obsessions and your hyper fixations, letting you ramble your latest interests or the new trinkets you’ve added to your collection. He’ll even surprise you with little trinkets he remembers from past conversations, knowing they would make you smile

Enjoys spending time with you even if you were focused on your own thing, whether it was hobby related or just unwinding in your own way while he’s also doing his own thing.

When you need help focusing and he’s not around, he’ll reach out at a certain time to check in and help refocus your attention

Doesn’t really send you paragraph lengths of text messages but sends you shorter messages so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming. He’ll mostly send voice messages that are short and the right length so it doesn’t let your mind drift away

Online shopping with him can help so you can control yourself from impulse buying so many things. He doesn’t mind you buying the entire world with his card but sometimes he has to stop you from buying things you absolutely don’t need

Caleb:

It’s easy for tasks to slip through or become overwhelming. You might start one thing but your mind jumps to something else and it takes a while before you can get back to what you were originally doing. Caleb would help by breaking down your chores one at a time or with more manageable steps or most of the time he’ll step in and take care of things for you so you don’t feel burdened.

If anything important was coming up the day after, he’ll leave little sticky notes for you all over the house, each one with a tiny apple doodles. They’ll be on your mirror, bedroom door, anywhere else he knows you’ll see them

Ever since you were a kid, he’ll still help you go over any of your works or anything you were unsure about when you feel like you missed any details. He’ll make sure you don’t miss anything

Never judgemental at all if you cut him off mid-sentence. He understands that you need to get your thoughts out quickly before they slip away so he lets you speak freely without worry

Sometimes you might forget to reply to a message or forget to come back to the conversation, so he’ll send a follow up message like, “whaddya think pipsqueak? :o” or he’ll send you a post to bring you back to the convo

If you’re struggling to focus on something, instead of pushing you to keep going, he’ll encourage you to take a break. He’ll help you ease back into it whether it’s breaking things down further or offering some encouragement

[bueckersbitch]

greenlight - paige bueckers x reader

☆ warnings : angst, sexual context, toxic!paige

☆ word count : 1.7k

☆ authors note : hi guys! a quick fic bc i loveeee tates new album, the last bit is inspired by her explaination of green light! part two out now!

☆ taglist : @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary @pboogerswbb @lupinqs @rosemariiaa @xxloveralways14 @lovegalor333 @mrsarnold @janaelalfysblunt @bueckersfive @vamptizm

The door knob slowly pushes down, almost mocking the way your heart dropped when receiving the text, “I’ve been thinking, we need to talk.” The message wasn’t unexpected; in fact, you had been counting on receiving it after the last couple of weeks between you and Paige. Part of you still wanted it to be your overthinking getting the best of you again, a figment of your imagination trying to self-sabotage you, yet, it was something deeper: the way Paige’s demeanor changed in what felt like an instant, her loving, comforting words turning quickly into scowls of defense when you confronted her about her passive attitude towards your feelings. The doorknob seems to lag, separating the relationship between you two into two: before the conversation that was about to change your relationship, and after.

Her face is revealed after a moment; her normally perfect, slick-back bun is disheveled a bit; however, her face was numb, lacking any emotion. Her sock-clad feet slowly shuffled back when opening the door, silently urging you to step into her apartment, the one you had helped decorate when she had moved to Dallas. Your eyes flicker up to meet her cold, blue ones; her lips become tightly bound, letting out a sigh. You pick at your hangnails that had accumulated unwillingly after your thoughts about everything concerning you two swarmed your mind over the past couple of nights. You step inside, noticing the lack of the feeling of home: candles remaining unlit, tv that usually had a game on left dark, and the vase that rests on the center of her kitchen island, but instead of having purple irises gifted by you—Paige’s favorite flowers—it was clear, water even being drained since the last time you had given them to the blonde, when you were both happy. 

Paige doesn’t say a word, picking up the tv remote and turning on a game. Crashing to the couch, her fixed stare on the tv felt like a punch to the gut. Paige was good at communicating, something you admired even in the early stages of your relationship. The lump in your throat started to grow. Had she changed so much to the point she felt like she couldn’t tell you what she was feeling? “Are you serious?” You questioned, voice shaking a bit. Paige hummed in response, eyes still glued to the tv, making you feel like an afterthought, unimportant. “I didn’t drive half an hour for you to not tell me what you want.” You said, leaning on the kitchen island, tears starting to well now. “I thought it was obvious. We aren’t working, baby.” A tear fell from your eye now, taking your makeup with it to your neck. You knew that, you knew something wasn’t working, but what shocked you was Paige’s lack of effort to try and fix what was wrong. “Tell me what’s not working then, because I feel like recently whenever I try to get to you, what you’re thinking, you feel like I’m a nuisance.” It was different. You leading the conversation about talking about feelings, emotions were something you encouraged yourself to suppress. “I don’t wanna tell you though.” Paige says, resting her elbows on her knees as she turns her head with minimal effort to look at you. Confusion jolts through you, apparently evident on your face through your eyebrows and slight stutter of the start of a sentence beginning with “W-w-wha-” Paige rolls her eyes, cutting you off with, “Don’t you get it? I’m tired. I don’t wanna tell you because I don’t think I wanna fix us.” Your heart really drops, feeling heavy with the weight of her words shutting you down. “Do you hear yourself? Did the past four years mean nothing to you?” Paige scoffs, nodding her head as it dips between her shoulders, “You know it did. I just feel like I’ve grown. I’m not the injured girl you met in sophomore year anymore.” The mention of how you met tugging at your heart strings.

-

Four years ago

The lecture to your psychology class had finally ended, meaning it was time for a nice Friday out  with your girls. You gathered your stuff, placing your iPad in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Pulling your phone out, you start scrolling through the notifications of ideas for what you guys should do tonight. You walk through the tiled hall, a little too quickly it seems, because you brush past someone, hearing them grunt in annoyance. You whip your head around, to a tall blonde. You had heard about her injury, watched it happen even, how she was projected to be out for six to eight weeks. Her words sliced through your thoughts, “I miss when I could walk mindlessly.” Your eyes widened, baffled at your ignorance to your surroundings. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry-” Paige laughs. “I’m just teasing you. What’s got you rushing to get back though?” You let out an exhale of relief, smiling while telling the girl your plans for the night. Conversation ending with you carrying her stuff for her while walking her back to her apartment. Impulsive thoughts overcoming you, word vomit producing a, “You should totally come!”

-

Present

“Trust me, I know,” you manage to say through a facade. Paige’s brows furrow now. “What’s that ‘supposed to mean?” You exhale, similarly to how you had all those years ago, but this time, it was to brace yourself for what you were about to say. “I mean the Paige I knew back then, fuck, even a month ago, wouldn’t push aside my feelings like it’s something that’s optional in her life!” She leans back again, seemingly unphased by your confession. “I’m not about to pour my heart into something you don’t deserve.” Your mind was clouded now, something you didn’t deserve? If there was the bare minimum of what you deserved, it was an explanation, a reason why your soulmate had turned into someone that looked at you like a burden. “I’m just standing here trying to understand what you want from me, because I’ve tried, Paige, I really have, but it’s obvious that you think I don’t deserve a basic explanation as to why you’ve just shut me out.” You try to reason with her, not ready to accept the truth of what could happen. “I don’t want anything anymore. I don’t know why I gotta spell that shit out for you.” There it was, the admission that had you in a grasp of anxiousness. “So what?” Still finding it hard to accept that your loving, communicative Paige was acting this way, “So, it’s done.” 

Her words rang through your head like a stupid song you couldn’t get out of your head. Your keys gripped so hard in your hand they started to leave indents. Your hood was pulled up over your head, trying to avoid the receptionist that would greet you after the long journey of the elevator, plummeting like your heart had. You push through the revolving door, out into the soft water of the rain, almost like the universe was sad for you. Flinging yourself into your car, you start to drive back to your apartment in silence. You roll to a stop at a red light, finally letting yourself break down in the comfort of your own car.

-

Three months later

The delicate notification rang through your ears again, light turning green as you pushed on the gas. It had chimed a couple of times now, a specific notification sound you had only reserved for a certain blonde. You forgot you even did that, changing the setting when you were so young and lovestruck. Sure, the sound surprised you a week ago when you heard it for the first time in three months, but now? It was almost background noise to your daily tasks. She tried to work her way back, endless texts and voicemails that had her saying “I fucked up” and “Please talk to me, ma” and other things of the sorts. You would’ve gone running straight into her arms had it not been for what you found out. Another girl. One she felt so taken aback by that she felt the need to shut you out, to break up with you. You wanted to make sure she lived with the consequence of losing you. So now, you were on your way out to a restaurant, your therapist encouraging you to get back out into the dating scene again. Skylar, was her name. 

You sat across from the brunette girl, smiling with her as you both talked about your families. It felt nice, feeling like your presence was wanted. A voice rang through your ears, one that was too familiar, one that you had heard every day straight for four years. There she was, talking and laughing with her Wings teammates as she looked over the menu.

You broke. Something about having such a deep history with her coaxing you back to her, pressed up against the very door you had slammed shut in anger a few months ago. Her hands gripping your waist as she confessed how her admiration for you had never left, “Missed you so bad, you’re the only one for me.” Hands trailing past your waistband, finding the pool of arousal that awaited her.

She sweetly talked you back into her bed, but even after pulling three orgasms from you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of what you had found out she had been hiding from you. So, you found your clothes, taking in the way her wavy blonde hair framed her sleeping face, before slipping away in the middle of the night, attempting to avoid the start of a toxic back and forth.

-

One week later

The post sat unliked in your feed, taking a second to take it in. Paige’s new girlfriend. The girl she left you for, the one she was still seeing a week ago when she was fucking you. 

You were shielding your phone from Skylar. Of course, you tried to move on, but a part of you still believed you would get her back, your Paige back. It was wrong, and everyone around you told you to move on. Paige sure had. “Babe?” You quickly locked your phone, looking at your date in the passenger seat of your car. “You were so invested in your phone that you fully sat through that entire green light.” She laughed. You forced a fake laugh, suppressing the solemn feeling that the universe was mocking you through the situation. You sitting still at a green light, while the light is telling you it’s okay to go, is like everybody around you saying it’s okay to move on from Paige, but it still feels impossible.

[verdancy-hime]

Sometimes you can.

If people leave you alone to do it, it's easy.

The main reason I can't think myself out of depression or executive dysfunction is because the overwhelming majority of the people in my life throughout my life have wanted me to be depressed and barely functional.

I think about how after years and years of struggle I finally beat my messy tendencies and then this guy I used to talk to started telling me all of a sudden how sexy my messy room was and praising me for photos of it.

I think about how any time my life is stable and going well, some funny little series of coincidences piles up to make it incredibly hard out of nowhere.

Some of those are just coincidence.

Some of them have been my employer that didn't pay me enough or give me full time hours giving me the worst shifts and the worst tasks and switching up my hours so I couldn't get a second job. My boyfriend suddenly getting our joint account garnished by the irs when I finally found a full time job. My boss accusing me of stealing to cover up her own theft. Now the people at my job are intentionally stalking me online and in person trying to make me stressed out all the time. Targeting me at work and pretending that suddenly all the things they used to like they hate now and annoy me in various ways on purpose.

I don't know why.

I'm just not allowed to be happy or stress free.

I'm not allowed to be cute or not in poverty.

I'm not allowed to have a relationship that's not abusive. I tried that for years. No matter what I did, it just turned into being in a hostage situation with a guy who hated me. Only the means of control was different. The idea that I don't want to be around any person who doesn't treat me well is apparently also not allowed, because the more I keep to myself the more people bully me.

But most people in most friendships and relationships seem to be unable to allow me to be normal and be myself and constantly follow either a bait and switch cycle or turn abusive.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that.

I guess I know one thing.

Anyway, the point is?

You very much can think your way out of internal problems.

You can take other actions that also help.

The problem is that you can not think your way out of the fact that most other human beings are sadistic and hate you. Like... most other human beings default to wanting to see you miserable and dysfunctional except while you are doing things for them. There is never enough that you can do for them that they won't want every minute that you aren't doing something for them to be hell on earth. There is never enough you can do for them that they won't try to make hard or impossible on purpose.

You can't think yourself out of the fact that capitalism requires you to beg other people for resources to survive and those people all hate everyone

Say you break your ankle. You could know everything there is to know intellectually about the injury. Even with this vast knowledge, you will still experience physical pain.

Now take this logic and apply it to things like ADHD, autism, clinical depression, and other less visible/divergent disabilities. You cannot think your way out of feeling.

That is to say: you are not a bad, lazy, or selfish person for struggling, even if you know why you are struggling.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

I'll Always Be Here

Sylus x Y/N - drabble - 867 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, implied nudity, soft Sylus, taking care of him

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

Sylus leaned on the doorway, watching you lay in bed. You hadn’t left the bed in days and he was starting to seriously worry about you. 

“Kitten,” he said softly as he walked to the bed to sit on the edge. “You need to get up… just for a little bit… take a bath, eat something.” he said.

You didn’t move, didn’t even make a sound. He sighed. As much as he didn’t want to, he decided it was for your best; he gently pulled the blankets off before picking you up bridal style. Your eyes were devoid of emotion, looking glazed over and unfocused. He turned on the water with one hand, dumping a little soap in as well which bubbled quickly. He set you on the counter, his touch was light as he took your clothes off. You didn’t look at him but you didn’t resist him either. The water steamed and bubbled just the way he knew you liked; he picked you up and placed you in, his arms staying wrapped around you until you were gently laid all the way down. You wrapped your arms around yourself. It was the first time Sylus had seen you move in days. He leaned his head on his arms which were resting on the side of the tub.

“I feel so numb Sylus.” you whispered, still not looking at him. Silent tears fell from your already puffy eyes. 

He perked up at the sound of your voice, not hearing it for the last three days. It was a bittersweet feeling. He always loved hearing you talk but when you said such damning things it broke his heart. 

“Like I don’t want to be here anymore.” you mumbled before slipping down in the tub to rest completely on the bottom. Everything felt peaceful here, quiet and weightless. You could see how concern covered his face. You hated falling into these lows, they made you hopeless and desperate for an end to life. It was the easiest and most permanent option your brain could think of. When the need for air was too much you rose out of the water, resting against the tub again. “I’m scared of myself Sy…” 

His eyes were soft, pleading with you. “I know honey… and I wish I could do something about it. But I'll tell you this,” he said, sliding his hand to hold your face reassuringly, “I am a selfish man - so I will do everything in my power to help you, keep you safe and happy. You are all that matters to me. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” he said.

You leaned into his palm, tears and sobs leaving you. You curled into him, half in the tub and half out. His crisp white shirt soaked through but he couldn’t care less as his strong arms wrapped around you. He nestled his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply. He hadn’t touched you in days, he felt so touch starved he never wanted to leave your arms. “I’ll always be here for you. To keep you and love you always.” he said into your neck before placing a soft kiss right below your ear. 

You tightened your hold on him. You don’t know how or why the universe brought such opposite people together, much less made them fall madly in love but who were you to question it? All you were in this moment was grateful. You weren't in this alone anymore, Sylus was the light you needed, whenever you needed him.

He let go of you before moving to get the washcloth and bar of soap. Neither of you spoke as he washed your body or scrubbed the suds into your hair. Every touch was deliberate and delicate. You felt yourself feel slightly less heavy, a little more… human. 

When the bath was tepid and your fingers started to prune Sylus helped you step out before wrapping you in a towel. You walked back into the bedroom, Sylus holding your waist just for the comfort of knowing he was there. As you dried off he went to the closet before returning with one of his massive shirts and a pair of underwear for you. Once dressed you slowly slid back into the bed.

Sylus sighed quietly, he was proud you bathed, talked, and moved today; he didn’t want to push it. He leaned down, kissing your forehead. “I’m going to get you some food and water, I’ll be right back.” he said, thumbing over your cheek. 

You turned on the tv, flipping on a favorite comedy of yours to try and cheer yourself up. Sylus returned after a moment, setting down multiple different snacks before handing you a bottle of water. He took his shirt and dress pants off before climbing into bed in his boxers. You instinctively scooted into his arms, his warmth radiating off him, enveloping you completely. His steady heart beat and his hand massaging your scalp lulled you to sleep. A restful sleep unlike the despair sleeps you had been having so regularly. 

Sylus kissed your head, keeping you close. Trying to protect you from anything and everything, including yourself.

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

Naboo's Note:

I hope ya'll enjoy, I've been pretty down in the dumps as of late and I'd love for this man to just comfort the shit out of me rn. I love ya'll so much and I'll post again soon. Stay safe and be well :) XOXOXOXOXOX!!!!!!!!!

[adverbally]

Intention

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “courting rituals” | wc: 913 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steddie, Steve & Wayne, omega Steve, alpha Eddie, alpha Wayne, early relationship, asking permission to court, non-traditional relationship dynamics

———

Steve hesitates on the Munsons’ front porch. The trailer is familiar and comforting with its worn screen door and peeling paint, the warm light and organized chaos he knows to be hidden inside. This place has become more of a home to him than the house he grew up in.

He doesn’t want to lose that now.

But he thinks about Eddie nervously asking him on their first real date, hiding his grin behind the lock of hair he tugged across his face when Steve said yes; the way Eddie’s eyes had sparkled in the glow of the streetlight outside Steve’s house when he dropped him off after dinner, just before he leaned in for the best first kiss Steve has ever had; how Eddie had carefully brushed his wrist along the cuff of Steve’s sweater so he could still smell Eddie’s smoky ginger scent for the rest of the evening.

Steve wants that, all of that and more. The promise of that has to outweigh the fear of screwing everything up.

He knocks on the door.

It feels like an eternity before Wayne answers, already dressed in his work clothes for that evening’s shift. He seems surprised to see Steve, but he pushes open the screen door between them and waves him inside anyway. “Did Ed not tell you he has band practice? He should be home soon but you’re welcome to wait.”

“No, I…” Steve takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets so he doesn’t start fidgeting with his jacket zipper. “I wanted to talk to you, actually, if you have a minute?”

Wayne looks even more baffled now but gestures for Steve to take a seat in one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the small dining table. He doesn’t join him immediately, instead going into the kitchen and silently filling two glasses with water from the tap. When he returns, he sits in the seat across from Steve and slides one of the cups over to him.

“Thanks.” Steve’s mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, but he’s not sure he can take a drink without spilling or choking on it. Not until he says what he needs to say. Keeping his gaze on the scratched tabletop, he begins, “I think you probably know why I’m here.”

“I think so,” Wayne agrees. “And I think you know I need to hear you say it anyway.”

Steve nods, thinking of Eddie’s spicy warm scent to steel himself. “Eddie said you’re not very traditional. Your family, I mean. He offered to do this because he thought I wanted to do it, and I know he would’ve, but my dad…” He cuts off his rambling with a shake of his head. “Sorry, I’m nervous. Eddie said I shouldn’t be–”

“Steve. Take a breath.”

He does, then sips from his glass. Wayne doesn’t say anything while Steve gathers his thoughts for a long moment. Finally, he speaks again, deliberately. “Eddie is incredible. I care about him. I want to be with him.” It’s a gross understatement but if he starts elaborating, he might never stop. “I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks, but it matters to me what you think. Because it matters to Eddie. You’re the most important person in his life. He’s an adult and he can make his own decisions, so I’m not asking for permission, but… I wanted to inform you of my intention to court your nephew.”

Wayne nods, a slight tilt of his head acknowledging Steve’s declaration. “I accept it.”

“Okay.” He nods back, taps his fingers along the side of his water glass, listening to the quiet ping of his nails on its surface. “Thank you.” It’s almost disappointing how anticlimactic this was. He had stressed over it for days, and Wayne just… accepts him, just like that?

Like he can read Steve’s mind, Wayne leans closer. “You’re a good kid, Steve. You saved Ed’s life, you make him happy, you take care of that pack of kids. I think you’re good for him. Mellow him out some.”

“Yeah?” The compliment makes him warm from head to toe. Steve grins down at the table. “I think he’s good for me too.”

Wayne drains the last of the water in his glass. “I’d’ve given my permission, too, if you’d asked. Not that you need it.” He rises from his chair with a groan. “I gotta head to work now, but you’re welcome to wait for Ed. Make yourself at home.”

Steve stands as well, accepting the handshake Wayne offers him. “Thanks again, sir, I appreciate it.”

“Call me Wayne, son.” His mouth twists in a wry smile. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, then shrugs on his coat. “Make sure you’re being safe, now. I’m not ready to be a granddad yet.”

Wayne can surely see him blushing as Steve stammers, “No, we— I mean, we haven’t, I’m not—” When he realizes Wayne is fighting back his smile, he sighs, embarrassed but relieved to be in on the joke. “Okay, laugh it up.”

He waves to Wayne from the doorstep, watches the beat-up old truck kick up dust until it turns onto the asphalt outside the trailer park. The alpha’s scent lingers in the trailer, more woodsy than Eddie’s but still warm. Familiar.

Steve thinks he could get used to it.

[krazycat6167]

Say No

(written for @keferon’s Apocalyptic Ponyo AU. A bit of Jazz and Prowl set after most of the events of the au. Enjoy!)

-.-.-.-

Prowl watches from the sidelines as Jazz goes through yet another interview. He can’t shake the feeling that there is something off with Jazz. That there is something that isn’t right. 

Oh sure, Jazz looks happy, but Prowl doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t trust it though, so he’s scrutinizing Jazz and his behavior to try and figure it out. 

The other orca mer is smiling, talking as animated as he usually does (though notably trying to be polite by staying in one general area), using his hands as he speaks. Those are normal Jazz things to do, even if he seems a bit…more Jazz-y? He’s using a bit more inflection, slightly more exaggerated movements, a smidge extra charm behind the smile. The effect is entertaining, sure, but-.

But…he is…being entertaining. He is here, in an interview, answering questions both benign and personal, and he is putting on a show. 

Prowl’s gaze flicks around the room. Multiple cameras, stage lights, a dazzled audience. 

The interviewer, masterfully directing Jazz through the narrative with light and heavy topics and making sure to end on a high note. 

Jazz, big movements, big personality, put on display like a thing to be marveled at. 

A large grin that had been bothering Prowl the whole time because it is wrong. And now he knows it’s because it is fake. 

When the interview ends and Jazz swims offstage, Prowl takes his arm and leads him away. Away from the crowds, the lights, the cameras. Just away. From everything. Anyone who even thinks of approaching the two as they leave take one look at Prowl's hard expression and become too scared to even try. 

“While I enjoy swimming with you,” Jazz says when they are properly away from everyone, “is there a reason we left so quick?”

“You were uncomfortable.” Prowl answers. 

“Is that so?” Jazz says, amused. 

Prowl stops and turns to Jazz, stopping the other mer cold with a hard stare. “Yes, you were. You were putting on a show like it was still an obligation you owed for living somewhere when in reality you don’t owe anyone anything of yourself that you don’t want to give.”

The fact that Jazz looks shocked by this makes Prowl’s heart clench painfully. 

Prowl takes both of Jazz’s large hands in his. “I’m sorry,” he says while giving his hands a reassuring squeeze, “that I didn’t see it sooner. You did so many interviews and I didn’t see how similar they were to that tank until now.”

“Wha- hey, no,” Jazz brings their hands closer to his chest. “don’t apologize for this when it wasn’t even your fault. They asked to hear my story and-“

“And you could’ve told them no.” Prowl interrupts. “You don’t have to do these things anymore. You can say no. You can leave off you want. You aren’t confined to a small space anymore with no escape and no privacy. You can say no.”

“I- I can say no.” Jazz whispers like it’s revelation straight from the vents below. “I can leave.”

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want.”

Jazz floats there, clutching Prowls hands to his chest like they’re a lifeline, as his gaze drifts down in thought. “What I want…”

Slowly, Jazz looks up at Prowl. “I want you to show me that Crystal Reef you were talking about.”

Prowl smiles. “This way then.”

-.-.-.-

Two of the things Jazz loves about Mer society are the pouches that he can carry stuff—his stuff—in and the phones. After years of seeing humans use them (filming him, taking pictures of him), he now has one of his very own. An underwater phone, a fish phone, a fone (“It’s funny Prowler, trust me.”). It’s awesome!

Not very awesome right this second though. 

It’s vibrating, meaning someone is calling him. The screen only shows a frequency instead of a name, meaning it’s someone he doesn’t know. 

He sees Prowl look at him curiously from where he’s been sunbathing next to him as Jazz answers.

“Hello?”

“Hello! I am Undertow, a reporter with The Tuning Trident. Is this Jazz?”

Jazz sits up. “Yeah, I’m Jazz.”

“Excellent!” Undertow says, chipper. “We have been working on an article covering your story and the trials you went through. We here at The Tuning Trident are dedicated to bringing our readers the most accurate information that we can provide and we were wondering if you could come over sometime within the next few days to answer a few questions we have about your experience.”

Jazz freezes. He…doesn’t really want to talk about it with reporters anymore. He’ll just have to politely turn them down. 

Jazz opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His throat is suddenly dry. He swallows his trepidation and tries again. “Uh…”

Is that it? Is that all he can bring himself to say that isn’t a fake and enthusiastic agreement?

The reporter on the phone starts talking again. “Of course, if coming in is an inconvenience, we can have a small team come to you to conduct the interview. We are very flexible here, so whatever may be best for you, we can certainly work with!”

That was even worse! He didn’t want nosy strangers coming to his favorite spots!

But he still can’t say no. 

His gaze flicks to Prowl, desperately and silently pleading for help. 

Prowl sits up and holds his hand open to Jazz. Jazz gives him the phone. 

“I regret to inform you,” Prowl says with no regret or remorse, “that Jazz won’t be doing any interviews for the time being.”

“It’ll just be a quick thing.” Undertow promises in a small tinny voice that Jazz can still hear. “Only a couple of questions to clarify a few facts.”

“No.”

“I- but- who is this? Who are you to speak for Jazz?”

“His manager.” Prowl's tone turns cold. “He is not available for an interview at this time.”

“Why not?”

“Jazz has his reasons and he doesn’t owe them to you. Good day.”

“Wait, if you could just tell us-“

“No.” Prowl hangs up. “The nerve of some Mer, it’s like they forgot that you're an apex- urk!”

Jazz hugs him, eyes shut tight, tucking his head into Prowl’s shoulder, and squeezes. “Thank you.” He whispers, voice wobbly. 

Prowl returns the hug, using one hand to cradle Jazz’s head. “Of course. You deserve some peace.”

“I tried.” Jazz says to Prowl’s shoulder. “I wanted to say no. I tried but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get that one word out and I tried.”

“I know.” Prowl pats Jazz’s head through his beanie. “It’s okay. You keep trying. And until you are able, I can say no for you whenever you need.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

[tarotbydelilah444]

PAC • what is manifesting for you

pile one

angel numbers

111

888

444

777

222

what’s manifesting…

Abundance in all forms is coming your way. You have unexpected windfalls of money that is coming in. I intuitively heard, “Fuck Up Some Commas” by Future. This could be a tax return, refund check, settlement, inheritance, return on investments, or a loan being repaid. Whatever it is, you have definitely been waiting on this for a while. Make sure you spend it wisely!

Starting your influencer journey. You may start an influencer/lifestyle channel. Do it! You will receive so many followers and views.

Gaining happy weight. Your body is filling out and going in all the right places. You will definitely appreciate and love the appearance of your body. Realizing that you're "that girl".

Starting your own garden. Growing fruits, vegetables, and herbs.

Becoming a plant mom or spending more time in nature.

• Trying new products for your hair and skin and seeing amazing results.

The months of May and September are of significance. Autumn is also of significance.

• If you’ve been thinking about changing your appearance, go for it! This applies to you if you want to dye your hair, specifically red, or even straighten your hair for the first time. A silk press or perming your hair is of significance.

• Someone that you blocked or in a no-contact situation with could be lurking on your social media. You know exactly who this person is. They still have feelings for you, or they still in their feelings about you blocking or ignoring them.

MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY. Your confidence will be improving. “And to me, you are the star of the show still”. You are officially God’s favorite and the universe will be showering you with nothing, but blessings on top of blessings. Be open to receive and give thanks to the most high for these blessings. This is your time to shine and thrive because everyone is watching you, yes, even your HATERS. Everything about you is so magnetic and contagious right now, so be mindful of who you are letting in your space at this time because you definitely got some people trying to block your shine, trying to talk shit, and even sending you the evil eye to block your blessings, but know that you are protected and no harm shall touch you. 

Changing your eating habits. This could be dieting, fasting, or even being more mindful of what you are consuming. Working on that summer body!

• Learning new cooking recipes rather than eating out all the time. You could find new recipes on TikTok that you've been wanting to try out. Nara Smith could be of significance.

• If you are single, new love is coming in. This could be a soulmate connection, especially, if you've been trying to manifest in your soulmate. The wait is over and there is no need to look any further because this person is coming in sooner than you think. This person may be an Aries, Leo, Sagittarius, or Taurus, or could have these placements in their big three. They are very attractive, confident, friendly, creative, passionate, nurturing, and fun-loving. They could be younger than you or they could be a bit immature. Your advice is to allow yourself to be open to receiving this love and give this person a chance. Do not allow past experiences to rob you of this beautiful opportunity. "Love Like This," by Faith Evans is what I intuitively heard. For others, you got options, babyyy! You have so many people who are attracted to you and ready to shoot their shot and risk it all. "I'm here for a good time, not a long time" is your mantra. Right now, you are perfectly content with just exploring your options and having some fun. Take if it resonates, but some of you are discovering yourself, as it pertains to your sexuality, and others are becoming more comfortable in how you express your sensuality. Overall, you have good sex coming your way, so make sure you take precautions. I am sensing heavy fertility energy in your reading.

If you recently applied for an internship or scholarship, you will hear good news regarding this within the next few days or three to six months from now. Nursing could be of significance.

Receiving an invitation. This could be an invitation to a birthday party, baby shower, graduation, concert, trip, or some type of event/celebration. It will be fun and I see you enjoying yourself, if you decide to go. This definitely applies if you are an introvert, you are being encouraged to get out more and say “yes” to new opportunities and experiences that are heading your way. Time to get out of your comfort zone!

• Making birthday plans, especially, if you are a Pisces, Aries, Taurus, or Gemini.

• Tapping into your creative energy. If you have been thinking about starting a business or working on a new or old project, it’s time to START RIGHT NOW! I intuitively channeled that clip of Kim K, saying "Get Your Fucking Ass Up and Work". This may be a passion project or even you discovering a new hobby that has piqued your interest. Whatever it is, nurture it and watch out for how abundant and prosperous, it can become. It's time for you to share this idea, business, or project with the world because it will receive so much recognition, praise, and attention, especially if it's related to beauty or fashion.

keywords: glow up, Obsessed by Mariah Carey, abundance mindset, "patience, young grasshopper", Sum 2 Prove by Lil Baby, the world is yours, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper, "My vibe right now is just living life", How Stella Got Her Groove Back, Blessings by Big Sean ft Drake, All Eyez on Me by 2Pac, having my way, YOLO, Valentine's Day, Congratulations by Post Malone ft Quavo, new character development, going viral, five-star b*tch, All I Do is Win by DJ Khaled ft T-Pain, Snoop Dogg, Ludacris, monitoring spirits, Cocky Af by Megan Thee Stallion, destiny swapping, Pretty Girl Rock by Keri Hilson, soft girl life, Work Bitch by Britney Spears, high maintenance, Get It Sexyy by Sexyy Red, losing your virginity, I Am Woman by Emmy Meli, Korean skincare, life feeling like a movie, pilates princess, Git Up, Git Our by OutKast, "baby, you summertime fine", gang-stalking, Look At Me Now by Chris Brown ft Busta Rhymes & Lil Wayne, brand deals, "young, hot, and turnt, TGFI by Glorilla, Shining by Dj Khaled ft Jay-Z & Beyonce, romantizing my life, Stay Schemin by Rick Ross ft Drake & French Montana, buying a rose vibrator, Excuse Me Miss by Jay-Z ft Pharrell, Brokey by Latto, “let me give her a new style, a new hair-do, a new cut, a new color”

affirmations to affirm

"I am intelligent"

"Life is beautiful"

"I am beautiful"

pile two

angel numbers

333 666 888 444 111

what's manifesting...

You may have gone through a rough time or felt like it's you against the world for some time. You've learned harsh, yet valuable lessons and managed to overcome each obstacle and challenge that has come your way. "Everything happens for a reason". The Universe is so proud of you and is ready to reward you for your resilience, bravery, patience, and perseverance during this time. Things will begin to make sense and finally shift in your favor very soon. The storm is finally over!

A solo trip. I channeled Paris, Mexico, or Italy. If it's not these specific places, it will definitely be somewhere overseas. You want to get away to clear your mind. I intuitively heard, "reset button".

Learning how to detach and move away from things that no longer serve you. You no longer want to entertain and engage in/with low-vibrational things, people, and situations that subtract from you rather than add to you. "It ain't nothing to cut that b*tch off" is what I channeled. LOL, you guys are truly over the bullshit and are choosing to protect your peace by removing yourself from unnecessary stress and drama. It hasn't been easy, but these changes are necessary, for new things to come towards you.

Wanting to change your number. "New number, who dis". You are being more selective of who you allow access to you. You could be de-cluttering your phone by deleting old numbers and texts.

A passed-on loved one watches over you and constantly sends you signs from Heaven. They actively try to communicate with you through synchronicities and send you messages in your dreams to get your attention. They act as a guardian angel, always guiding you and protecting you from harm, both physical and spiritual.

The months of February, May, and August are of significance.

A new job or job offer is coming in, especially, if you've been applying non-stop or waiting for a response about a position. Make sure to stay vigilant and check your emails, junk mail, and messages, and answer phone calls because they may come in unexpectedly. This can also apply if you applied for an internship.

Tapping more into spirituality and leaning more into your spiritual abilities. You will find it easier to trust your intuition as a guide as well as see and trust in the signs and synchronicities that the Divine sends to you to assist you on your journey, especially when you are feeling confused or lost. Lots of praying, meditating, connecting with the elements, practicing gratitude, shadow work, and visualization. You may even find it much easier to manifest.

Finding or changing your style or aesthetic. "A new era of me".

If you recently went no-contact or blocked communication with someone, this person has been thinking about you a lot. You and this person share a karmic connection. They may have Gemini, Aquarius, or Pisces placements in their big three. Further characteristics: hazel eyes, average height, Asian, brown or darker complexion.

If you struggle with any health issues, you will make a speedy recovery, as long as you remain consistent with your health regime. You are learning how to prioritize yourself rather than choosing to ignore them for a change, through radical self-care and mindfulness. Replacing bad habits with good habits. Taking responsibility for your health, no more victim mentality.

Working and improving your credit score. You are becoming more frugal or mindful of where you are spending your money. Learning how to budget and how to invest in stocks. Paying off your debts.

Becoming more organized and being able to accomplish and deal with things with ease. Moving with intention.

Setting boundaries and being comfortable with saying "no". You guys are finally putting yourself first, for the first time in a long time. You are no longer interested in being a "people pleaser" and are focusing on only pleasing and accepting yourself. I channeled, "Don't save her, she don't wanna be saved". Not playing "captain- save-a-hoe anymore". The solar plexus chakra is very strong in your messages.

Shifting your mindset and learning how to be mindful of what you are thinking. Learning how to observe your thoughts rather than attaching meaning to them. Gaining control over your mind and thoughts.

keywords: protecting my peace, law of attraction, the art of detachment, I Wish You Roses by Kali Uchis, DND mode, Joy & Pain by Maze ft Franke Beverely, "It's above me Now", The Pressure by Jhene Aiko, actions speak louder than words, Free by 6lack, entering my villain era, Access Denied by Lucky Daye ft Ari Lennox, divinely protected, Female Energy by Willow "it's in me, not on me", spring cleaning, Bounce Back by Big Sean, me vs me, "I am the master of my fate", self-improvement books, epiphanies & realizations, Level Up by Ciara, herbalism, "I got to put me first", Do Not Disturb by Drake, in my healing era, medicine woman, "I forgive, but I don't forget", Not My Problem by Laila!, the path of self-discovery, phoenix rising from the ashes, Ambience by Nia Sultana, finding your voice, After the Storm by Kali Uchis ft Tyler the Creator, out of sight, out of mind, M.I.A, year of the snake, "no mean no", enlightenment, expand your consciousness, Surrender by Jhene Aiko ft Dr. Chill, too much static, return to sender, Fuck the World (Summer in London) by Brent Faiyaz, being tested, Silent Hill by Kendrick Lamar ft Kodak Black, the five clairs, sink or swim, Spider-Man Superman by Drake ft PartyNextDoor, "come correct or don't come at all", fuck around and find out, mental clarity, thrift shopping, standards going up, G.O.M.D by J.Cole, None of Your Concern by Jhene Aiko ft Big Sean, 0 to 100 by Drake, "didn't tell I was a savage", I Don't Fuck With You by Big Sean ft E-40, rebirth, Prada Process Guapdad 4000 ft 6LACK

affirmations to affirm

"I have a beautiful life"

"I am in control of my destiny"

I know my value and I add tax"

pile three

Disclaimer: Tumblr has a limit on the amount of songs you can add, so the rest of the channeled songs will be typed out.

Never Be Yours - Kali Uchis Burning - Tems Lucky Girl - Carlina

angel numbers

555 222 888 1010 111 /1111

what's manifesting...

Receiving recognition or having a viral moment. I channeled "overnight success/sensation". You or something is finally receiving its flowers after a long time of going unnoticed.

Wanting or getting a piercing.

Adopting a new pet.

Reconnecting with your inner child by following your passions and childhood dreams. Enjoying activities that you enjoyed in your childhood.

Volunteering. You could be working with children.

If you are experiencing family issues, there will be some type of resolution or mediation. "Waiving the white flag" is what I heard. For others, you could spend more time with your grandparents, especially since they are getting older.

Experiencing shifts in your friendship circle. The snakes in the grass are revealing themselves. Using your intuition to help guide you on who needs to be removed. " Not everyone can come along with you on this next phase of your journey". Don't worry though because you are meeting new people that are in alignment with you and your path.

People from your past will be resurfacing. This could be old friends or an old love interest. However, I strongly sense that this is the energy of an old love interest. This person could be Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn, or Cancer. This person is missing you real bad. They constantly replay the last encounter with you in their head like a broken record. They cannot get off their mind, no matter how much they've tried to, everything reminds them of you, especially if this a no-contact situation. I am intuitively hearing, "Missing You" by John Waite. This person looks at your photos a lot at night. They definitely relieve themselves to your photos and have flashbacks of the "intimate" moments that you two shared together. I received the "twin flame" card twice in the reading, so this is confirmation if were looking for a sign. This person wants to communicate with you and tell you how they truly feel about you. Apply if it resonates, but they are tired of running away from this connection and are realizing that they still love you or have fallen in love with you, and are hoping that you will grant them a second chance when the time is right. For some, they may even ask you out on a date. Further confirmations: Hispanic / Latino / Latina, curly or wavy textured hair, hazel eyes, and piercings.

Receiving calls or messages from unknown numbers.

If you are doubting if you are on the right path, 222 is confirmation that you are on the right path and that you are right where you are supposed to be.

Maturing. You are growing out of certain things that no longer resonate with you. Some of you may have experienced or are currently experiencing a spiritual awakening. Everything is shifting for your highest purpose, so don't panic or resist! You are no longer interested in repeating the same cycles.

The months of March, June, July, August, and October are of significance relating to your manifestations.

Good news about an interview or a deal. This can apply if you have aspirations of becoming a singer or pursuing a career in the creative field.

A new car. For some, this could be your first car, and for others, you could be passing your driver's test, getting your driver's license or your driving skills improving.

Going out on more dates. This could either be solo dates or allowing yourself to be wined and dined by others.

A mentor.

Enrolling in school to further your education or to earn a certification/license. If you are currently enrolled in school, your grades will improve and you will pass your courses. For others, yes, you will graduate, just stay focused and continue to study and work hard. This applies if you are studying for exams or a standardized test as well, you will get the results that you are seeking. An acceptance letter.

You will be more confident in sharing your talent with the world. You are beginning to believe in yourself and you are ready to share your talents with the world. You were meant to stand out and inspire others, you have so many people that look up or will look up to you as inspiration. "Allow me to reintroduce myself" is what I heard.

The ability to speak your manifestations into existence is becoming more powerful and potent. Remember that there is power in the tongue, so make sure, you are using it wisely. I also channeled that some of you are listening to subliminals to help you attract and manifest your "dream life", and receive your desired results.

keywords: What About Your Friends by TLC, having flashbacks, Can't Get Over You by Maze ft Frankie Beverly, true colors, "I want that old thing back", butterfly cycle, follow your dreams, "You complete me" (Jerry Maguire), close mouth don't get feed, Express Yourself by Charles Wright, Sparkle (movie), No Frauds by Nicki Minaj ft Drake & Lil Wayne, look how far you come (looking through old photos), Break My Soul by Beyonce, facing and overcoming your fears, Same Ol' Mistakes by Rihanna, the world is your oyster, Empire State of Mind by Jay-Z ft Alicia Keys, Lakshmi, it was all a dream, God's Plan by Drake, focus on the vision, Dedication by Nipsey Hussle, power of the mind, Glamorous by Fergie ft Ludacris, out with old, in with the new, 7 rings by Ariana Grande, the people's princess, New Level by A$AP Ferg, investing in yourself, honor roll, valedictorian, Roar by Katy Perry, runner & chaser dynamic, Live Your Life by T.I. ft Rihanna, trash taking itself out, Make Me Proud by Drake ft Nicki Minaj, "with great power comes with great responsibility", listening to subliminals, Motivation (Cardi B clip), "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade", Complicated by Nivea

affirmations to affirm

"I am proud of all my accomplishments"

"I am high frequency"

"I am standing in my power"

[hoe4hotchner]

Retirement | [A.H]

Pairing: Retired!Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: Nothing but cuteness

A/N: Don't worry, Hotch is not an old man he's like late 50's early 60's in this based on Jack being in college ;)

The porch was bathed in the golden light from the afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the wooden planks. The gentle creak of the rocking chair kept rhythm with the distant hum of cicadas, a sound that had become so familiar it felt like part of the air itself.

A soft breeze carried the scent of summer—freshly cut grass, the lingering sweetness of honeysuckle climbing the trellis, and the faint, smoky remnants of the firewood stacked near the house.

You leaned against Hotch’s chest, his arms loosely draped around your waist, fingers idly tracing patterns on your bare legs. The warmth of him seeped into you. You let out a content sigh, snuggling further into his chest.

It had been six months since he left the BAU. Six months of long walks through the countryside, of mornings spent in bed with no reason to rush, of rediscovering a man who had spent years sacrificing himself for the safety of others.

At first, the transition had been difficult. Aaron had been hesitant, unsure of who he was outside of the job, as though his identity had been stitched together by the cases, the late nights, the endless chase of justice.

He had been restless, waking up at odd hours as though his body still expected the call of duty. Some nights, you had found him on the porch, staring into the darkness, lost in thought. And other's you had found him sitting in the kitchen, his phone open on either JJ or Emily's contact in his phone, debating whether he should check in and see how everything was going without him.

But in this almost sanctuary you had built together, he had begun to unravel—layer by layer, breath by breath. The sharp edges of stress had softened, the lines around his mouth no longer weighed down by exhaustion. He still carried the past with him, no doubt he'd always have it with him, but it no longer defined him.

Your legs stretched over his lap, the warmth of his hands resting against your skin. His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knee, and you smiled, closing your eyes as the wind tousled your hair.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, edged with that lingering gravel that had always made your stomach flip.

You hummed in response. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You tilted your head back, meeting his eyes. The sunlight hit them just right, turning the brown into something lighter, warmer. “How much I love you.”

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile appearing as he squeezed your thigh. “You always get sentimental when we sit out here.”

“Can you blame me?” you teased, running your fingers through the graying strands at his temple. “Look at this. It’s peaceful. I never thought we’d have something like this.”

He exhaled, long and slow. “Neither did I.”

There was something about the way he said it, the weight behind the words, that made your chest tighten. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Are you happy, Aaron?”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze soft but intent. “More than I ever thought possible.”

You kissed his shoulder, letting the moment stretch, settling into the quiet contentment that came so easily now.

You tilted your head slightly against him, voice soft as you asked, "How's Jack?"

Aaron exhaled, a small, fond smile pulling at his lips as he continued tracing patterns against your skin. "I talked to him yesterday," he said, his voice warm with pride. "He sounds happy. Settling into college well, making friends. He even mentioned joining an intramural soccer team."

Your smile widened at that. "That’s wonderful. He always did love playing." You recalled the games Aaron had invited you to when Jack was only a young boy

Hotch nodded, the tension he once carried about Jack leaving for college no longer evident in his expression. "He said his classes are challenging but interesting. And he likes his professors."

You ran your fingers gently along his arm, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek. "He’s thriving, then. Just like you wanted."

Aaron let out a quiet chuckle. "Just like we wanted. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. I think Haley would be proud."

You squeezed his hand, understanding the weight of his words. "She would be. You’ve raised a good man, Aaron."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, silent gratitude passing between you. You let the moment settle between you, filled with warmth and love.

A rustling sound caught your attention, and when you glanced to the side, a small smile pulled at your lips. “Aaron,” you whispered, nudging him lightly. “Look.”

He followed your gaze, and there, across the wooden railing of the porch, a handful of ladybugs had gathered, their tiny, spotted bodies crawling along the grain of the wood. One took flight, landing on your outstretched hand.

Hotch chuckled. “Looks like you’re a favorite today.”

You watched the little insect as it wandered across your palm. “You know, my grandmother used to say ladybugs were good luck.”

“Did she?” He tilted his head, watching as another landed near his wrist. “Mmhm.” You met his eyes, a teasing glint in yours. “I think it’s a sign.” He arched a brow. “Of what?”

“That this—” you gestured around you, at the house, the land, the life you had built together— “was always meant to be.”

His expression softened. He brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers. “I don’t need a sign to know that.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the only sounds the distant chirping of birds, the whisper of leaves rustling in the breeze, and the steady rise and fall of Aaron’s breath. He had a way of making the world feel smaller, simpler—of making you feel like the only thing that mattered.

“Jack texted earlier by the way,” he murmured after a moment, remembering something he had forgotten to tell you when you asked about him. “Said he wants to come up next weekend.”

Your heart warmed at the mention of a visit. “That sounds perfect. Maybe we can take him fishing.”

Hotch’s lips quirked. “You still think you can out-fish me?”

You grinned. “Oh, I don’t think—I know.”

He chuckled, the deep sound reverberating through his chest. “We’ll see about that.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink, you leaned back against him, letting the moment settle deep into your bones.

The world felt softer here, free of the chaos and darkness that had once consumed so much of your lives.

[thelov3lybookworm]

A Little Gift

Summary: Being late to a date is unacceptable, unless, of course, the reason for the delay is so adorable.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1846

Warnings: none, just fluff and rhysie being an adorable brother 🥹

A/n: based on this request 😋 @knoxic BESITE I LOVED LOVED LOVEDDDDDD THIS IDEA OMG I LOVE THIS ONE SM HOPE U LIKE IT TOO🤭

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"Y/n, baby, are you sure you want this?"

Y/n pouted up at her brother, nodding. "He’s very nice to me."

Rhysand sighed, rubbing his forehead. He had been sighing a lot the past week, Y/n noted, since she told him the new HIgh Lord of Autumn had wanted to court her. Y/n knew none of the members of the inner circle liked the news, she could see the disappointment and doubt on their faces clearly. And it had saddened her deeply to know she had let down her family, who had been nothing but kind and loving to her after her parents and sister had passed.

Rhysand had been so loving, taking up the role of a doting big brother so seriously that at times people confused him for her father.

Not that he could have ever been as caring as Rhysand was.

Out of the three siblings, Ophelia had been the loudest, the cheeriest. She would always smile, no matter what situation she was in. Then was Rhysand, loud, but quiet when needed to be. And then Y/n, who barely ever spoke if it wasn’t in front of her siblings or mother.

And then Rhysand and Y/n were suddenly the only ones remaining alive, and she had drawn in on herself more than ever. The first few months, Rhysand was too busy wallowing by himself and trying to take care of the court, thrust into the new role of the High lord without preamble, to notice.

When he had, he had cried, holding his only remaining family tight.

Since then, he had made sure to give Y/n all the attention in the world, never raising his voice at her, knowing she could be ripped away from him too. He did not want to hurt her, when she was the only person who really mattered. He gave her everything she asked or, never saying no to anything.

So Y/n had known when she told him about Eris, that he would not outright refuse to acknowledge their budding relationship, nor would he get mad at her.

But he would try to talk her out of making a grave decision, in his words, and Y/n did not mind it one bit.

"I can’t imagine him being nice, in any world." Rhysand mumbled under his breath, glaring holes into his shoes as he paused his pacing.

"Rhys, can’t you just give him one chance?"

"One chance to do what, angel? Break your heart?"

Y/n leaned back in the armchair she was sitting in, waiting for Eris to show up so the two could spend time together, as promised in the letters exchanged the week before. She picked at the soft fabric of the skirts of her shimmery dark orange silk dress, chewing on her lip, trying to come up with something to placate her panicking brother.

"Y/n, he's late. The male can’t even show up on time. How can I bring myself to trust him with you when he is keeping you waiting?"

Y/n glanced outside, then back in her lap. He was right. Eris was late. Not too much, of course, but late nonetheless. It didn’t bother Y/n. She knew of the problems and responsibilities that came with being a new high lord, having seen her brother go through the same experience her lover was going through. She knew how meetings and tasks came up and demanded your attention even when you didn’t have time for them.

But Rhys wasn’t as willing to be lenient as Y/n, it seemed.

Once again, he sighed, dragging his hands down his face and walking closer to Y/n. She sat quiet, watching him move to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his.

"I just want you to be happy, Y/n. You are like my own baby, my child. I’ve seen you go through so much, so much pain, so many hardships, and I think you deserve to have a quiet, calm life where there’s no uncertainty. A life where you know you are loved, with someone who isn’t broken, who hasn’t been known to be hateful. I see Eris, Y/n, and I can tell his circumstances were not ideal enough for him to be able to afford being good, and I understand that. But what if his goodness now is overshadowed by his old habits? The things he’s been forced to do won’t leave him just like that."

Y/n’s eyes prickled as she nodded along, her grip tightening around her older brother’s hands. She understood what he was saying, of course she did. But that didn’t mean she wanted to accept it.

"I… I don’t-" Y/n paused, trying to understand what she even wanted to say.

"I’m not saying you shouldn’t court him, Y/n. Just- just be careful, yeah? Guard your heart until you are sure of his intentions."

Y/n nodded, leaning down to put her head on her brother’s shoulder. She blinked away the tears furiously while one of Rhys’s hands went around her, rubbing her back.

"Okay, enough emotional talk. Too much for my health."

Y/n huffed out a wet laugh, pulling away from Rhys to peer at Cassian, who pretended to gag and turned away.

"When did you come, Cass?"

"Yeah, why did you come, Cass?" Rhys stood, dusting off his pants and sneering at Cass, who offered him the kindest finger he owned.

"I came to see Y/n off. Where’s your mate?"

Y/n swallowed, glancing outside once more. "I don’t know."

His mouth dropped open in a show of exaggerated shock. "He’s making a lady wait? Absolutely horrendous."

Y/n shook her head, pushing to her feet, running her hands down her skirt. "It’s no big deal."

The next few moments passed quickly, as Y/n watched Feyre materialise in the doorway, Nyx and Nesta by her side. Then Azriel and Mor, and her brows furrowed. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for everyone to gather in the sitting room after breakfast on the holidays, lazing around until it was time for lunch, but… this gathering didn’t seem to be about that.

Were they all here to see her off?

Ridiculous busy bodies.

Before she could say anything about it, though, a knock drew her attention, and Y/n’s heart quickened, already predicting who it was.

But it was Rhysand, who hurried out to open the door.

"You’d think it was him going out with Eris." Y/n murmured, following him out into the foyer. Azriel made a noise of agreement, his arms folded across his chest as he walked behind her.

Y/n ignored his presence, pushing her jittery hands behind her hips, pressing her lips together before stepping fully into view of the door.

Eris wore a simple burnt orange dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow and two buttons undone, showing off his, evidently, hard earned muscles. Dark brown slacks clung to his hips and thighs, matching with the dark brown long jacket he had draped over his shoulders.

Just the sight of him was enough to make Y/n drool. But she forced herself to look away, to focus on what her brother was saying.

"You understand me?" Rhys said his voice low, menacing.

Y/n didn’t even want to imagine what he was trying to make Eris understand.

"I understand-" Eris paused mid sentence, his eyes moving to rest on Y/n, widening ever so slightly. His gaze moved down to her toes, then back up again, snagging on her hair before meeting her eyes, offering her a small smile.

Rhys didn’t seem too bothered by Eris’s sudden lack of words, moving away from the doorway to grab Y/n’s long jacket before turning to her, waiting. Y/n hurried to put it on when her eyes fell to the way Eris held his hands behind his back. Almost as if he was as anxious to see her as she had been to see him.

"What took you so long?" Y/n pushed one arm through the jacket Rhys held open for her as Azriel prodded, curiously watching at Eris.

His cheeks turned a light shade of red, the freckles dotting his cheeks standing out.

"I, uh… had a little something come up."

Azriel raised a brow. "And that is?"

Eris glanced at Y/n, before clearing his throat. "I wanted to get her a gift."

"And did you?"

Y/n whipped her head to glare at the spymaster. "Azriel."

"No no, he has a point." Rhys said, resting his hands on Y/n’s shoulders.

Y/n sighed, exasperated, and pulled away from her brother. "Let’s go, Eris. Ignore them."

He smiled, the indent on his cheek making an appearance as he pulled his arms forward. In them, nestled, was a small, golden little pup, eyes wide yet drooping, a messy little red bow adorning its neck.

Instantly, Y/n’s heart melted, a soft gasp escaping her. Her focus zeroed in on the little thing, her brother and Azriel fading away into the background until all she could see were the innocent eyes, the small body, the soft fur and the wagging tail. She stepped forward as he extended his hands, letting the pup sniff the fingers she lifted to pet the little thing.

"What is this?"

"Your gift?" Y/n didn’t look up, but she could practically hear the look on his face.

"Eris- you didn’t have to." Y/n mumbled, feeling her brother peek over her shoulder at the animal she gently took into her own arms.

He shrugged. "I knew you liked cats but I couldn’t find a kitten so I just- got you him. I hope you like him." He paused for a moment, and Y/n could hear his smile when he spoke next. "He certainly seems to like you."

"Like him, Eris?!" She lifted her head and drew the animal close to her chest, her lower lip jutting out as tears gathered in her eyes. His eyes widened, a look of alarm crossing Eris’s face as his shoulders stiffened. "I love him!"

He exhaled a relieved breath, his small grin making an appearance again. "Well, I’m glad to hear that."

"Aren’t you supposed to go?" Rhysand questioned. When Y/n glanced at him, he didn’t even look up at her. His eyes were fixated on the whining pup.

Her eyes narrowed. "He’s mine."

Rhys rolled his eyes, reaching out to take the dog whose tail wouldn’t stop wagging. "Go on, it’s almost dinner time."

Y/n wanted to argue, but he was right. They were running late.

"See you later then." Y/n kissed her brother’s cheek, who simply waved her away, too busy cooing over the golden fur ball in his arms. She dropped a peck on his little head, too, before turning to Eris and pulling the door shut behind her, sighing.

His eyes twinkled as he extended his arm towards her, head tilted.

"Shall we?"

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[lubdubology]

Come A Long, Long Way

SYNOPSIS: His days are long and his nights are longer. He comes to you during those hours when the rest of the world stills, lured in by something almost like fate. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 12.2k

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, scars and healing; gratuitous sexual tension; mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption; dirty talk; frottage; nipple play; surprise appearance by Charles; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; sex with feelings; cowgirl; mating press; creampie; brief mentions of Laura; happy ending because I said so

A/N: The idea for this story came to me through a song--My Fair Lady by Kaleo. I was struck by this verse: I'm weary from my travels // I've come a long, long way // I haven't felt a woman // Since last that I was here // Oh, won't you bring me whisky // And run your fingers through my hair? // Oh, won't you whisper sweet words // Oh, so softly in my ear? I thought, "Wow, that's so Old Man Logan" and this is what I birthed from that. This may be one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I sincerely hope you think so too. Huge, huge thank you to @yxtkiwiyxt for betaing this for me and making the final draft what it is; you helped end this in such a beautiful way. Thank you to @saradika for the use of her graphics. And as always, I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

He shouldn’t care about the car pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking as the rain pours down. 

For three days, Logan’s entertained a rowdy bachelorette party, chauffeuring them from bar to bar, dinner to dinner. The scent of cheap perfume and desperation still linger inside the limo, the drunken, whispered advances still burn against his skin. 

He’s tired. Exhausted down to his very marrow and he wants nothing more than to crawl onto his sagging mattress and steal whatever amount of sleep his shattered mind will give him. 

So, no. He shouldn’t care about the car. 

But he finds himself easing off the gas, the limo starting to slow as he nears. He feels drawn, like a month to a flame, as if some unseen force has wound itself around his sternum and is pulling him forward. 

Pulling him to you. 

As the limo approaches, he spots you crouched down by the front left tire, struggling with a lug wrench, the tool slipping in your rain-soaked fingers. He can almost hear the curses spilling from your lips as you glance up and look towards where he’s sitting. 

Logan knows you can’t see him, not well anyway with the headlights shining directly upon you and the rain pouring down in sheets, but he swears you find his gaze, your eyes seeming to pierce down directly to his soul. He feels the flutter of something deep in his chest and he feels exposed, like a raw wound that hasn’t quite healed. 

For a moment, he hesitates, and wonders if you’re a siren, out here in your element to lure him to his death. Then your gaze drops and the thought dissolves but only just. Before he can talk himself out of it, Logan’s throwing the car in park and opening the door. 

The rain is frigid, the cold biting at his skin as the downpour soaks him down to the bone. You glance up at him as he approaches, your fingers loosening around the wench but still keeping it firmly in your grasp. Straightening up, you push wet strands of hair out of your face, your fingers trembling from the cold. 

“Need a lift?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. What he should do is swap out the old tire for the spare and let you go on your way. But those eyes of yours are piercing him again, the hook you’ve sunk deep in his sinew pulling taut once more and Logan feels compelled to take you home. 

For a few moments, you continue to silently assess him, your gaze flitting between your car, the limo behind him and back to his now soaked frame. Then, you stand and open the driver’s side door, tossing in the wrench and pulling your purse close to your chest. You follow him to the limo and climb into the backseat as Logan slips back in behind the wheel. 

He glances back at you through the rearview mirror, watching as you lean back into the seat, your wet clothes clinging to every curve of your body. Which is another thing he shouldn’t care about and yet…

Clearing his throat, he turns up the heat. “Where you headed?”

“North. About twenty miles or so.”

Logan nods and shifts the car into drive, heading back down the road as the rain continues to come down. Several minutes pass in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers. Finally, your voice breaks through the silence, soft and lilting. 

“Got a name?”

“Who’s asking?”

A half smile tugs at your lips as you slide from the seat and slip into the row directly behind the partition. Logan can feel the damp of your skin as you lean into his space, the scent of rain flooding his nostrils almost intoxicating. You say your name and wait for him to respond in kind.

“Logan,” he answers, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Logan?” you ask, his name dripping from your lips like honey and just as sweet.

Logan stiffens, his grip tightening on the wheel as your words cut through the night. There’s no pity in your tone, which he’s silently grateful for, but an unsettling mixture of curiosity and understanding.

At the best of times, he doesn’t like anyone trying to scratch below the surface, to worm themselves into all the soft and vulnerable bits he tries so desperately to hide away. Now that he’s older and feeling every bit of his age, the weight of his bones threatening to drag him down with each step, he likes it even less.

“It’s not kind to anyone,” he answers, turning his head just enough to glance sideways at you. 

You tilt your head slightly, a wordless noise humming in your throat. “Maybe,” you concede, voice soft, like you’re mulling over his words. “Except your life has carved itself into you a little more than most.”

He wants to be annoyed, to slam his foot on the brake and send the limo careening into reverse back towards your broken down car. But something stirs in him, thrumming in time with the pulse beating in his veins—a spark of irritation mixed with that pull that’s been gnawing at him since he first saw you. 

“You a therapist or somethin’?”

You chuckle softly, the sound low and intimate, as you lean back into the seat, finally putting some space between you. “No. Just intuitive.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you through the rearview mirror with a scowl. “Intuit less. Just tell me where I’m goin’.”

A soft, chiding “tsk” falls from your lips and you shake your head, but Logan doesn’t miss the smile playing on your lips. You give him directions to your house and for moment you both sit in silence but the air remains heavy with unspoken tension. 

Logan pulls off the highway, beginning to wind through the smaller streets of the town as he gets closer to your place. The thought of this ride ending, of you leaving this car, both thrill and disappoint him. 

“You believe in fate?”

The question cuts through the silence, pulling Logan’s focus back to you. He glances at you briefly, your expression thoughtful as you wait for him to answer. 

“No,” he finally says, voice flat. 

A soft hum escapes your throat. “Unsurprising. But don’t you think, Logan,” you begin, leaning back into his space, “that maybe fate is what brought us together?”

You have that knowing look in your eye again, a sly smile tugging at your lips. As if you’re in on some cosmic secret he’s not privy to. It unnerves him. 

But it intrigues him, too. 

“I think a broken down car brought us together.”

“Or maybe life decided to be kind to you,” you challenge. “To bring me to you.”

Logan turns into a quiet subdivision as your words rattle around in his brain. The rain has mostly subsided, but is still falling in a gentle drizzle as he pulls up in front of your house, a single porch light illuminated in welcome. It looks small, yet homey, the kind of place he could have seen himself in once if life had been kinder to him. 

“You should come in,” you say as you gather your belongings. “Get out of those wet clothes.”

Your eyes meet his again through the review mirror, a mischievous glint in your gaze and an even more sinful smile on your lips. 

It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone. The thrill of finding a partner for the night having lost its luster around the time his bones started to ache. More often than not, his sexual escapades involve his own calloused hands and memories from when he was a younger man. 

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.” 

Logan sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, contemplating whether or not to follow you into the house.

Your offer is tantalizing, ripe for the picking, and the baser part of himself wants to accept—follow you into sin. You’ve already injected yourself into his veins, he might as well see the high through. 

The rational part of his brain knows he should leave, throw the limo in reverse and tail it back to the life he’s carved out for himself in the desert. Experience has hardened him, left him unable to, or maybe unwilling to, open himself to others. He doesn’t need whatever it is you think you can offer him, no matter how alluring and sweet your words may be. 

The weight of his wet clothes against his skin begins to feel almost suffocating and with a low curse under his breath, Logan steps from the limo and follows the path you took up the porch and into the house.

A trail of water leads from the front door to a small laundry room just off the foyer and then damp footprints lead deeper into the house. He can hear the low rumble of a dryer as he steps further into the space, the squeak of his shoes against the hardwood doing nothing to hide his approach. 

Logan finds you in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, standing in only a pair of mismatched underwear, the damp fabric barely concealing what’s underneath as you gently swirl a glass of whiskey. A second, untouched glass sits next to your hip on the counter. 

“You seem like a whiskey man,” you say, your smile curving around the glass as you take a slow sip. “Did I get it right?”

Stopping in the doorway, he flexes his hands at his sides, and wills himself to move—forward, backward, he’s not quite sure. The muted light catches along your curves, the damp sheen of your skin enticing, the dark outline of your nipples and curls between your thighs acting like a beacon. Logan can feel himself hardening against his slacks. 

He can smell you—bright and earthy and wholly intoxicating. Your heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick, but steady, betraying no fear. 

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now,” you say and he has half a thought to wonder if you can read his mind. 

A sly smile spreads across your face as his eyes finally meet yours, a knowing edge to your expression that further sets him off balance. 

“What’s happenin’ here?” Logan finally rasps, his voice low and rough. 

You give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you grab the glass next to you and take a step towards him, your movements slow yet deliberate. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as you approach him. 

“That’s up to you,” you reply, handing him the glass. “You can get out of those wet clothes and enjoy this whiskey with me, or,” you pause to step closer, “you can walk back out that door and pretend like you weren’t curious about what’s waiting for you here.”

Logan’s fingers grip the glass in his hands just a little too tight as you stare up at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. You’re challenging him, daring him to act, and he knows the minute he breaks, he’s done for. He won’t be able to stop. 

You risk another step closer, leaving barely a breadth of space between you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can smell the rain on your skin, as your closeness overwhelms his senses. He wants to drown in you. 

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask in a whisper, your fingers trailing along the edge of his belt buckle. 

Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin. His free hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, halting your teasing fingers before they venture any further. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying and threatening to snap.

“You sure this is what you want?” His voice is low, all gravel and grit as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened by a hunger begging to be fed.

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as you press yourself fully against him, soft and warm. Rising up onto the balls of your feet, you drop your gaze to his lips before flicking your eyes back up to his and ghosting your mouth along his jawline. “Stay with me,” you whisper, sliding your hand up his chest. “Just this once.”

Logan’s restraint snaps. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering against the floor, but neither of you seem to notice. His hand moves to the small of your back, wanting to press you impossibly closer as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding. 

You respond in kind, a whimper dying in your throat as your fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer. A growl tumbles from his lips as he trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and tasting as he goes, his tongue finding your pulse point and sucking. His hands roam freely, his calloused fingers sliding over your smooth flesh, palming your hips and gripping you as if you’re the only thing grounding him to earth.

He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You’re a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole. 

You gasp as he nips at a spot just below your ear and he smirks against your skin, the sound spurring him on. “Tell me where your room is, or I’m fuckin’ you right here on the table,” he husks, his voice thick with desire, breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips swollen and eyes dark, you reach for his hand and wordlessly lead him past the living room and down the small hallway to your room. Once inside, he pulls you back towards him, mouth slanting back over yours, stealing the very air from your lungs. 

His cock is almost painfully hard as he walks you towards the bed, only pulling his mouth away from yours as your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Instead of sitting back on the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt, easing them open before sliding the fabric from his shoulders. There’s an eagerness to your movements, your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle as he sheds his undershirt and tosses it somewhere behind him. 

Logan watches with a hooded gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as you shove his pants down his legs, barely getting them past his knees before you’re reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements and you gaze up at him, licking your lips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We have all night.”

A shiver runs through you and then his mouth is on you again, hungry and all-consuming. He drinks you in like a man parched, lips and teeth mapping the curve of your jaw, the solid edge of your collarbone as your pretty little moans and gasps fill the air. You tilt your head back and offer yourself to him, your hands grasping at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle to keep him close.

His hands are rough against your skin as he slides them up your sides, tracing the soft, damp skin below the band of your bra. Unfastening the clasps, he trails the fabric down your arms, his eyes darkening as he finally takes in your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice dripping with raw want.

Any final restraint he has evaporates and he kicks the last of his clothes off before tightening his hands around your waist and setting you down on the bed. Logan steals the gasp from your mouth as his body covers yours, easing himself between your thighs and thrusting once against your clothed cunt.

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to wet the skin. “Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.” 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, his teeth bared. A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?”

Logan lets out a deep, guttural sound, something between a growl and a groan before he slots his mouth back over yours and follows you into temptation.  

“Figured you’d try and sneak out.”

Logan whirls around at the sound of your voice, claws slowly unsheathing from between his knuckles. Blood wells up from the wounds, dripping between his fingers as he finds you dressed in an oversized shirt, the hem just concealing the edge of your panties. Your expression belies no fear as you take in the metal jutting out between his skin, your eyes alight with an acceptance he’s not use to. 

Fear, disgust, repulsion, but rarely acceptance. 

Slowly, he retracts his claws as you move further into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to grab and moisten a washcloth before coming to stand in front of him. Logan instinctively pulls away from your touch, but you’re undeterred, taking his hands in yours and wiping the blood away from his skin. Your movements are gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing slits.

Washed of blood, you finally glance up at him. “You can stay, you know.”

“I’m not the stayin’ kind, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of those slow, knowing smiles tugs at your lips as you release his hands and Logan actually mourns the loss. “We’ll see,” you say with a shrug, stepping back just enough to put space between you. “I don’t think fate is done with us yet.”

Your words hang in the air like smoke, curling around him and pressing into his skin. He wants to argue, the words burning on his tongue, but he doesn’t. Because despite his earlier claims that he didn’t believe in fate, he can’t deny the unnatural pull you have on him. A pull Logan doesn’t necessarily dislike.

At his silence, you lean up and press the faintest of kisses to the corner of his jaw. “I’ll leave the light on for you,” you whisper into his skin.

It’s then he knows—he won’t be able to stay away. 

Logan shows up at your door again two weeks later. 

He’s been driving around some bigwig CEO, chauffeuring him from conference to conference during the day and dropping him off at random hotels during the night. When he gives Logan the address to tonight’s hotel, Logan knows instantly he’s in trouble. Just his luck the hotel is in your town. 

Pulling off the freeway, he feels that familiar tug behind his ribs. His hands itch with the want, the need, to turn the wheel towards you instead of the address on his GPS. Since that night, you’ve haunted him, your face showing up in his dreams, waking with the sensation of your softness burning into his skin. 

Logan knows he could stay at the hotel or sleep in the back of the limo like he’s done so many times before. But as he slowly inhales at his cigar and waits for Mr. CEO to stop fingering his mistress in the back seat and get the fuck out, the need to be near you only grows stronger. 

And damned if he knows why. 

He doesn’t need a relationship, or whatever the hell this is. Enough of him has been spread to others, for better or worse, and he’s already worn thin. The last remnants of any family he has are hanging off a very precarious ledge and he can’t bear the heartache of more loss if he opens himself to you. 

But as much as Logan keeps telling himself he’s closed off, fortified against anything new, he can feel himself bleeding through the cracks. 

By the time he finally turns down your street, it’s well past a respectable visiting hour. Most houses are dark for the night, but not yours. The front porch light illuminates just like it did two weeks ago and the dim lights of the kitchen shine through the pulled blinds. You’re up and a frisson of anticipation shoots through him. 

He parks the limo and stamps out the cigar before walking up your driveway. As he approaches the door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. While your final words to him were open ended, did that give him the right to just show up in the middle of the night? 

You open the door as he contemplates and when his gaze finally focuses on you, he relaxes. A well worn robe is tied around your waist, your hair tied up in a messy bun, your face cleaned of makeup and yet you’re more alluring to him than you were that night in the rain. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confesses, stepping just a bit closer towards you. 

A slow, soft smile spreads across your face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you reply. You open the door to allow him entrance and he steps in after you. 

Logan follows you into the kitchen, where you already have a glass of whiskey ready for him. Handing him the glass, you nod your head towards the living room. “Come. Relax for a bit.”

He follows you into he living room, the single lamp casting a soft glow within the space. You settle onto the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you and turning yourself towards him as he joins you. For a moment, neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like it always is around you. 

“You look tired,” you say, finally breaking the quiet. Your voice is soft, a sense of familiarity laced in with your words, as if you understand the magnitude of his fatigue.

Logan huffs as he swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Honey, I’m always tired,” he replies. “Comes with the territory.”

You give a small hum, your head tilting to the side as you assess him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Logan freezes at your words, his eyes flicking up to your face. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and guarded, like you’ve peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready to expose. And yet, you’ve been doing this since the beginning. Finding the cracks in his facade and wedging yourself in until the gap widens, uncovering the raw nerves underneath.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his tone challenging.

You gaze remains steady and calm, holding a softness that unnerves him more than the question itself. “Because it’s written all over you,” you say simply. “I see it in your scars, in the way your hands are always clenched, as if steeling yourself against a blow that’ll never come.”

Logan exhales a low, humorless laugh before taking a long sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. “Don’t even notice it anymore,” he lies, shifting in his seat. 

Your mouth tugs into a gentle frown as you shift, crawling closer to where he sits. You pluck the glass from his fingers, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. Logan watches as you swing your legs over his lap, your robe riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of your thighs. 

The weight of you against his lap sends a rush of arousal down his spine and he can feel his cock stir in his slacks. If you notice, you ignore it, instead reaching for a small bottle of lotion on the end table and squeezing a dollop into your palm. You rub your hands together twice before reaching for his right hand. 

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath. 

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more. 

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand. 

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time. 

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand. 

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers. 

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

Logan slides his palms up your thighs and around your hips, pulling you flush against his lap, your clothed center pressing against the fly of his slacks. He doesn’t miss the gasp that falls from your lips or the shift of your hips as you try and press closer. 

That thrum of aliveness begins to churn in his veins as he slowly unties the sash of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall to the side. You’re bare underneath and Logan can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the center of your chest. 

“You dress like this jus’ for me?” he asks, dragging his lips towards your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, working into a taut peak beneath his tongue.

Your fingers wind themselves into his hair, holding him close. “Yes,” you breathe, a whimper falling from your lips as he moves to your other breast. “Only for you.”

A surge of possessiveness rushes through his veins and Logan can feel the prickle between his knuckles, his claws threatening to unsheathe at the thought of you with another man. Instead, he doubles his focus onto you, his beard scraping against your skin as he licks a hot stripe across your nipple. “Damn right, only for me,” he growls. 

You shift your hips in response, seeking more friction against the hard length of his cock pressing against you. Logan groans, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, urging you to move against him. The soft, wet heat of your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties and his slacks sets his control on a razors edge. 

Logan leans back slightly to lock eyes with you, your pupils blown wide with want, your skin flushed with desire. You find his gaze, hazy with pleasure, but focused and then you smile at him, bottom lip pinned between your teeth. 

“And you, Logan,” you whisper, your hands sliding down the column of his neck, “you’re only for me.” 

That hook you’ve lodged in him sinks deeper and he’s too far gone to care. The mystery behind your presence in his life is one he’s willing to spend the rest of his days unraveling so long as you stay right here, continuing to bewitch him with the beauty of your soul. 

Your allure was more potent than any pheromone, more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac. In his waking moments, Logan found his thoughts drifting to you more often than not and the frequency between his visits grew shorter and shorter until he found himself lured into your embrace almost every night. 

He was good at lying to himself, writing off these visits as nothing more than comfort—the need to find warmth in a world that so seldom offered him that luxury. But that lie grew bitter, warped in the liminal space between midnight and dawn where you stripped him down to his very bones, saw through the gruff and grit he wrapped himself in. Saw him as something more than the sum of his sins. 

Logan couldn’t hide from you and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Those carefully crafted walls that surrounded him cracked and crumbled, turning to dust at his feet. In that mysterious way of yours, you always knew what he needed—a warm meal; your tender, healing touch as you helped him stitch the worst of his wounds; the soft, pliant feel of your skin on his as you kissed him deep, the kind of kiss that burned like wildfire and whiskey.

God help him as your gravity pulled him in closer, your orbits circling tighter and tighter, destined for an inevitable crash. 

“What am I to you?”

Those five words root him where he stands, flaying him down to his very marrow. Logan should have expected this question, should have known that eventually you’d ask. 

He wants to tell you the truth, speak those words that burn against his tongue, begging to be said.

He wants to tell you of his need to find you when the days are long and the nights are longer. When the weariness he feels in his bones aches more than usual and seems to bleed into his very soul. 

When he needs to feel something more than the hollowness that seems to grow inside his chest. The slow carving away of his humanity that’s been scraping closer and closer to emptiness for years. 

When he needs to be wrapped in warmth and set afire by something almost like love. Like home. 

But he says none of this as he gazes over at you sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest. You look small sitting there, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before. 

And instead, he remains silent, praying you’ll let the conversation slide. But he knows better. 

You glance up at him, your gaze piercing straight through the heart of him and then you devastate him with three simple words. 

“I love you.”

The air punches from his lungs and for a moment it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Your words tear through him, cutting deeper than any knife, and his hands curl into fists as you slice him open. 

“Don’t,” Logan rasps, his voice rough, barely more than whisper. He avoids your eyes, knowing that if he looks and sees the sincerity in your gaze, it’ll be his undoing. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Your voice cracks with emotion as you push away from the table, your arms wrapping around yourself. “What about those words can’t you hear?”

His jaw clenches and for every step you take closer him, he takes a half step back, as if he’s trying to distance himself from the truth beginning to swirl between you. You can’t love him. Loving someone has brought him nothing but misery and pain, loss and suffering and he’ll be damned if he drags you down that road. 

So, instead he lies, the words bitter in his mouth. 

“This ain’t love, sweatheart,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “This is fuckin’.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth and your expression twists into disbelief, the beginning of tears welling in your eyes. “Fucking?” you bite back, your voice trembling but still firm. “You think after all these months that this is just fucking?”

Logan doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, jaw clenched so tightly he could shatter bones. He can’t say yes. If he does that, if he voices that lie into existence, he’ll have to spend the rest of his days remembering the look in your eyes right now—destroyed. 

Your breath starts to shudder as you continue to step closer towards him. And he can feel you, warm and comforting, even though you shake with barely contained anger. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is,” you demand, your voice thick with emotion. “Tell me that when you come to me in the middle of the night, broken down, bloody and bruised, it’s just fucking. Tell me that when I touch you, hold you, love you, that it means nothing.” 

He remain silent. 

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” Your trembling voice matches the shake to your hands, your fury pouring off you in waves. “You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

Logan nostrils flare at the insult and he can feel the prickle of his claws between his knuckles. He knows his rage isn’t with you, but himself. And yet he can still feel his lips curl into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you seethe, your voice now raw, pain bleeding through every syllable. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie.”

His jaw clenches impossibly harder and he swears he can taste bone. Then, he finally meets your gaze head on, eyes flashing. “You think this ends well between us? You think I get to have somethin’ like this? Like you?” Logan’s voice cracks in a way that he loathes. “I can’t—”

The crack of your palm against his face is deafening. He barely moves from the impact, but emotionally you’ve landed him on his ass. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unblinking.

Logan stands there, immobile, as he processes the sting of your slap. It doesn’t hurt, not physically. It’s the fact that you did it, the fact that you’re standing in front of him, chest heaving from the effort of your breathing as if you just ripped yourself open for him.

“Get out of my house,” you seethe, your voice softer than before, deflated.

Your words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. They shouldn’t wreck him and make him feel like he’s been ripped apart limb from limb. He should relish them, the push, the shove. He should revel in the confirmation that you’re finally seeing him for what he truly is—something undeserving of all the warmth and love you’ve given him. A stray animal that never should have been fed.

Logan swallows, his throat tight as he gives you a small nod. And then he does the only thing he knows how to do. 

He turns. And he walks.

His legs feel like lead, each step a feat and his brain is screaming at him to turn around. To fight. To beg. To plead. To say something, anything. 

But he doesn’t.

Logan exits the house, the front door slamming shut behind him. As he steps off the front step, the porch light above him clicks off, plunging the house into darkness. Your guiding light is gone, lost in the storm of his destruction.

Of all the wounds he’s ever taken, of all the scars that mar his skin, nothing has ever bled quite like this.

Charles watches with sharp eyes as Logan enters the old water tank and shuts the door behind him. The older man is in his wheelchair, tending to his plants as Logan walks around the place, picking up random bits of trash and the tray from breakfast. 

A soft “tsk” falls from Charles’ lips and echos in the small space. “Will you ever learn, Logan?” Charles’ voice seems tired, weary. 

Logan pauses and looks over at him, irritation already prickling along his skin. “Stay outta my head,” he snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table. 

He doesn’t need this, doesn’t want Charles sifting through his mind, seeing those pieces of you he so deeply cherishes. Pieces he doesn’t deserve. Pieces he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have within his grasp again. 

“She loves you,” Charles continues, seeming to ignore his request. 

Logan strides over to where Charles is sitting, unable to keep the ire from boiling over. He wants to sweep all the plants to the floor, destroy the one creative outlet Charles has, retaliate for the way he presses into the fresh bruises on his mind. “I’m begging you, just—”

Charles lifts the spray bottle beside him and directs the spray in Logan’s face, showering him in a fine mist of water. Logan freezes, water dripping from his face as his lips tighten in a thin line. He grits his teeth, an ache already blooming in his jaw. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he growls. 

“Are you a cat?” Charles asks, lowering the bottle. “No? Then stop being such a pussy.”

Logan stares at Charles, the vulgarity of the of man’s words leaving him temporarily speechless. He scrubs a hand down his face, wiping the rest of the water off with the sleeve of his shirt, scowl deepening. 

“You’re pushin’ it,” Logan warns. 

Charles simply smirks, finally setting the bottle down on the table. “Someone should. God knows you won’t push yourself. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath and steps back from Charles, sitting down on the bed across from him. The old metal springs groan beneath his weight. He wants a bottle of whiskey, to quiet the thoughts in his head, at least temporarily, and fall into a drunken stupor. Anything but flaying open his feelings, especially his feelings about you. 

“What are you so afraid of?” Charles asks gently. “That she’ll see all your broken pieces?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Charles raises his eyebrow. “No? Logan, she’s already seen them. She knows what you are and she’s still here.”

“That’s not the point!” Logan roars, his voice echoing off the metal walls. His breathing comes out in short gasps and he knows he needs to rein himself in. Not only for himself but for Charles. It doesn’t take much to trigger a seizure these days and he doesn’t need the stress of this conversation to become a catalyst. 

Charles remains quiet, expression calm and Logan hangs his head, his voice softening into something raw. “It’s not about what she knows. It’s about who, about what, I am. I don’t deserve her.”

Bracing his elbows on his legs, Charles leans forward, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “She knows all that, Logan. And she chooses you. Every night you come to her, she chooses you. How can you not see that?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the weight of Charles’ words hang heavy against his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, seeing the callouses and crisscrossing scars. His body is a physical map of violence, each faded pink line a story of pain, regret and death. 

But you’ve never seen them that way. You’ve only ever looked at them with reverence, traced your fingertips along each one and wondered about their stories. Made him feel whole instead of broken and used. 

“You have a choice to make, Logan,” Charles says, interrupting the silence. “Let her in…or keep running. Don’t make her choose for you.” 

For days, Logan’s mind is plagued by replays of his last moments with you and his conversation with Charles. His already sleepless nights are further tormented by dreams of you, the devastated expression on your face haunting him.

The memory of your face, the crack in your usually steadfast voice, the tremor in your hand after you struck him. They all play in a nauseating loop in his brain, punishing him in a way he’s never felt before.

His life reverts to autopilot—drink, fight, drive, but nothing quells the gnawing ache in his chest. He couldn’t stay in the smelting plant with both Caliban and Charles staring at him, watching his every move as if he were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Charles was running out of medications, a few days supply left at most, and Logan knew he was better off leaving Charles in Caliban’s care than his own.

Now, he sits on the edge of a dingy motel bed, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes are dry and heavy with exhaustion and his skin is itching with that familiar want to be near you. It started as an annoying tug, but has now grown into a maddening want.

He knows he should ignore it. But he was never that strong.

Before he can talk himself out of it, convince himself that this is an astronomically stupid fucking idea, he’s on his feet, keys in hand and driving down those lonely roads towards you.

It’s late when he reaches your house, like it usually is, and he half expects the porch light to remain dark, a cold, bleak reminder of how badly he’s fucked up. Instead, he finds that single porch light illuminated, shining like a beacon of hope. Logan walks up onto the porch, but you don’t open the door like you’ve done so many times before. 

He contemplates leaving, turning around and getting back in the car and drinking himself into a semblance of sleep. But then he hears you, your heartbeat echoing beyond the wooden frame, as steady and as comforting as it’s always been. Logan pauses, wondering if he should try the knob and come inside—if you’ll even let him.

If you even should.

With a sigh, he lowers himself to the ground, his joints aching in protest as he rests his back against the door. “I’m not good at this,” he finally says, hoping you’re listening. “I’ve been alive for too long. Seen too much shit.” Logan pauses, his words burning in his throat. “I’ve lost too many people.”

He hears you shift behind him, your head thudding softly against the door as you listen. His relief is almost palpable knowing you’re there, that you’re at least willing to listen to him. Leaning back, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a heavy breath. “The only way I know how to keep people safe is to push ‘em away. And I need to keep you safe.”

The words feel foreign leaving his mouth, as if they’re uncovering a truth he’s long kept secret. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, raw and honest, and the truth of his words burns. Logan can still hear you on the other side of the door, your breathing slow and steady, yet laced with something—hesitation, maybe, or hurt. It makes his chest ache in a new and unfamiliar way. 

“I’m tired,” he continues, his voice softer. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, sweetheart. Tired of fightin’ when all I want—” Logan swallows hard. “All I want is you.”

The porch light hums above him, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets, but the silence that follows is almost deafening. 

Logan doesn’t deserve you, he knows that. You should turn him away, tell him to leave, to kick him back to the desert to lick his wounds alone. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner, their lover. He’s not sure if he ever has, really, too hung up on all the ways he paints himself as a bad man. Someone unworthy. 

Except with you, he finds himself wanting to fight. To prove he’s not as hard and unyielding as the metal bones inside him. That somewhere deep inside him there still lingers warmth and affection and the capacity to love. 

He’s bracing himself for the worst when he hears the faint sounds of the lock turning. The door creaks open and he shifts to look up at you. One of your well used blankets is wrapped around your shoulders, your hair tousled from sleep and your eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. Logan’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as you stand there and he turns to face you, pushing up onto his knees. Your expression is carefully masked, betraying little of your underlying emotions, and he carefully crawls forward, testing the waters of how close you’ll let him get.

His knees ache as he kneels on the hard concrete, but he’d crawl through glass if you asked him to. Slowly, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he nuzzles his face into the softness and warmth of your belly. Your comforting scent floods his senses as he waits for your anger, your rejection.

Instead, you sigh, a long pent up breath released in a steady exhale and your fingers sink into the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close to you. “You’re an asshole,” you finally say, though your tone lacks any venom or spite.

Logan feels it then, the tension slowly easing from your body as you allow him to sink further into your frame. His heart lurches his chest, the faintest flicker of hope fluttering against his ribs.

“Yes,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“You hurt me.”

He pulls back as you gently push at his shoulders and sink down to the ground in front of him. But you don’t push him away any further and instead, lace your fingers through his. “I should tell you to fuck off,” you continue, your eyes focused on where you’re touching him. “But I can’t.”

His voice comes out in a whisper. “Why?”

Your eyes meet his and your gaze pierces straight through his soul. “You know why.”

And he does. In truth, he thinks he’s always known, long before you ever spoke those three little words out loud. Words so simple, yet so profound. Words he rarely speaks, while others casually toss them around. Words he has rarely felt, but with you feel as natural as breathing, as the sun rising in east.

Words he’s still afraid to say, despite everything, despite every cell in his body screaming at him.

You look at him like you know, because of course you do. You’ve always known him, in that uncanny way of yours since he first saw you standing in the rain. So instead of ire or disappointment at his lack of response, you simply squeeze his hand, grounding him to your reality. 

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady. “Not yet.”

Logan looks at you, his brows furrowed. He can’t fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve you, your patience, your unwavering belief in him. “You make it hard not to,” he finally rasps, his voice rough and uneven. “Love you, I mean.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, raw and jagged, much like him. It’s close to what you want to hear, but not quite. And yet he sees something warm and bright blossom on your face. 

You lean in, raising your free hand to lightly trace the curve of his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “You’re a man of action, Logan,” you say, pressing in closer, your breath mingling with his. “Wanna show me instead?”

This—this is a language he’s fluent in. 

Using his lips, tongue, hands and cock to write on your body all the words he cannot say. He’s mastered your shape, the way your hips curve beneath his palm, the softness of your belly and breasts, the heat between your thighs stoked hotter only by him. He knows exactly where to press, where to nip and suck and tease to elicit all those pretty little moans and gasps of pleasure. 

Logan’s already drawn one orgasm out of you, his fingers still thrusting against you as you ride out your high, your thighs shuddering against his forearm. You’re flushed and breathy as you reach for him, urging him up from between your thighs.  

You pull him close, fingers sinking into his hair as you lick into his mouth, not caring that your slick still stains his beard and lingers against his tongue. He swallows your gasp as he knocks your knees apart and slots himself between your legs, his cock heavy against your belly. 

He wants you. In all the ways he can think of and not just like this, naked and pliant beneath him. He wants your sleepily whispered hellos each morning and your softly murmured goodnights each evening. He wants the warm, weighty press of your body against his as you sit on the couch beside him sipping whiskey. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. 

As his kisses grow more fervent, you grow impatient and push at his chest, urging him back. “Lie back,” you command softly, your breath damp against his lips, “Let me take care of you.”

He wants to protest, deny you this request. This is supposed to be about you, about using his body to show you all the things his words can’t say. He’d spend the whole night between your thighs, using his mouth, tongue and fingers to worship if you’d let him. But there’s something in your gaze that forces him to comply and he gives in, rolling onto his back. 

You straddle his thighs, your slick cunt sliding along the length of his cock. Logan groans and his hands reach for your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he encourages you to move. “This is s’pose to be about you,” he husks as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth. 

“Oh, it is,” you answer, licking your lips as you brace your hands on his chest. “Who else can get you hard and needy beneath them?”

A low growl escapes from his throat. “No one.”

A wicked smile curls at your lips as you drag your heat along him, the blunt head of his cock nudging your clit with every slow, deliberate rock of your hips. The sensation has his control unraveling and he slides his hands along your thighs to palm the curve of your ass. 

You press into his touch, continuing to roll your hips as you lean forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You see,” you murmur, “this is for me.”

Reaching between your bodies, you grasp him in your hand and line him up. Slowly, almost tortuously slow, you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. A sharp inhale escapes him as your warm, tight walls surround him and Logan knows this feels different. 

This isn’t merely fucking anymore, the melding of flesh for the pure sake of pleasure, of briefly escaping the nightmare of his life, of finding solace in sin. You’ve somehow managed to bleed yourself into him, to wrap yourself around his heart. 

You feel as if you’re a part of him, lodged deep between his ribs and that if he were to try to remove you, he’d kill himself in the process. A part of him knows this feeling has always been there, back when you first entered his limo. The feeling threatens to choke him, to fill his love soaked lungs until all he can breathe is you. 

He loves you. 

Pure and unfiltered and it terrifies him. 

“I—fuck, I,” he chokes out, the words caught in his throat. “I feel—”

Your hands run over his chest, up along his collarbones, your fingers blazing a trail over his skin. “I know, Logan,” you whisper, your hips rocking languidly against his. 

He grips your thighs, almost tight enough to bruise, helping guide your movements, but also prove to himself you’re real. Logan’s chest heaves as he watches you ride him, your hips rocking harder, faster, dragging moans out of both of you. You lean back just enough to change the angle, driving him deeper and he bucks his hips, meeting your thrusts with a force that has you crying out his name.

And yet it’s not enough. He needs to wrap himself around you, twine his fingers through your hair and hold your mouth to his until he’s completely consumed you. His hands slide up your back towards your waist and he pulls you down against him, mouth hot and insistent against your neck as he continues to fuck up into you. 

In one fluid motion, Logan grips your thighs and flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, cock still sheathed deep within your cunt. You arch beneath him as he sets a brutal, devastating pace, the raw intensity of his movements stealing short, gasps breaths from your lips with each thrust. A shiver ripples through you as he draws a nipple into his mouth, his name tumbling from you like a prayer.

“Fuck, there it is,” he growls. “I love all those little sounds you make.”

His choice of word isn’t lost on either of you and your eyes meet his as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint red crescents as you cling to him. “Logan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as he hits that soft spot deep inside you. “More.”

“You want more?” he rasps, gripping your thighs and pulling them higher around his waist. The new angle has you crying out, the sound echoing in the room as he continues to slam into you with a force that has the bed creaking beneath you.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” you moan, your head tipping back. 

Logan takes advantage of your offering, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin in a way that’s sure to leave a burn come the morning. There’s a possessiveness to his touch, a need to claim you, to prove to you that this is all he needs—your embrace, your warmth, your love.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he growls against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies and finding where you’re joined. He can feel himself pounding into you, your combined arousal coating his fingers as he finds your clit and begins to rub in tight circles. “So goddamn perfect. You were made for me, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your cunt flutters around him and he knows you’re close, your thrusts against him growing erratic. He feels his own impending release, but he needs you to come first, needs to feel you shatter against him. His fingers press more firmly against your clit and with a breathy moan, your body tenses, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes into you.

“That’s it,” Logan groans, his own thrusts faltering as he feels you tighten around him, pulling him in deeper. “Look at you, comin’ so pretty for me.” He slows just enough to prolong your release, his thrusts deliberate as he draws out every ounces of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him. 

It’s overwhelming—the sensation of you beneath him, around him; the cling of your fingers to his shoulders; the warm, damp breath against his neck; the absolute perfection of this moment right now. In all his years on this earth, he’s never experienced anything like this. The desire to completely consume someone, body and soul, and be consumed return. He wants his dying breath to be your name.

Something inside of Logan snaps, and as you try and catch your breath as you come down from your high, he presses your legs higher, folding you beneath him in a way that has his cock pressing deeper than before. The change has you whimpering and he looks down to find your expression as wrecked as he feels. He pauses his thrusts just long enough to grasp both your wrists and pin them above your head before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you with an almost ruthless intensity.

“I love you,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, his control quickly unraveling with every whimper and cry of his name. “God, I fucking love you.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t even realized what he’s said. Then he looks down at you, your gaze trained on his face and that soft, knowing smile of yours on your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, “I know. I’ve always known.”

Logan lets out a rough, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling with the weight of his confession. Any response he has dies in his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his entire body wound tight. He’s so fucking close, can feel his orgasm coiling hot and tight in his gut, but it’s more than your warm heat drawing him in—it’s everything. 

“Tell me,” he grits out, his hips chasing, chasing, chasing that release.

You lean up as much as you can with your hands still pinned above you and lick an open mouthed kiss against his lips. “I love you, Logan.”

And that’s all it takes. He groans into your mouth as he finally lets go, his body tensing as his release crashes into him. He spills himself deep inside you, shallowly thrusting into your cunt as his rhythm slows.

Logan releases your hands, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, of heartbeats slowing, the two of you tangled in the aftermath.

Logan’s restless and unable to sleep despite your smaller frame tucked alongside him, the weight of your head resting against his chest. From his periphery, he can see his phone illuminating with unread texts, no doubt from Caliban urging his return. Charles has been deteriorating faster than Logan cares to admit, his mind gone more often than not, raving about new mutants. He needs drugs faster than Logan can procure them.

His mind churns, the reality of the outside world looming closer and he contemplates slipping from your grasp when you shift, curling yourself further into him. You don’t speak, not yet, but he can tell you’re alert, floating somewhere in that space between sleep and full wakefulness. Your fingers start to move of their own accord, the gentle pressure of your fingertips tracing over an old scar along his ribs, mapping out an old battle he no longer remembers. 

Beside him, his phone buzzes again and Logan sighs.

“Sounds important,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

He wants to keep ignoring it, stay wrapped in the quiet cocoon you’ve thrown around him, but Logan knows he can’t. It’s a cruel reminder of the chaos that plagues him beyond the sanctuary of your embrace. 

“You can go to him, Logan,” you continue, fingers never stopping their slow path along his skin. “I know you’ll be back.”

“How,” he starts, licking his dry lips, “how do you always know?”

Logan’s asked versions of this question before. You’ve always brushed him off, given a coy answer and steered the conversation towards something else. For a moment, he thinks tonight will be the same.

But then you answer.

“I can feel you,” you answer softly, your breath warm and damp against his skin. “I just—” You pause and turn to look up at him and then disentangle yourself from his embrace. “Stand up,” you urge, nudging at his side until he complies.

He blinks at you in confusion, but you just smile at him, soft and sleepy, and gently cup the side of his face. “Now, close your eyes.”

Logan does as he’s told, chasing after your touch as you step back from him, settling somewhere beyond him on the bed. “I’m going to move and you tell me where I am.”

The soft rustle of bedsheets follows and then, stillness. You’re quiet, but he can sense you, just off to his right, but too far away to touch. “My right, but farther back in the room.”

You move again, keeping your movements light. Again, he pinpoints you, this time towards his left, closer, but still too far away to grasp. “Left.”

A final movement, this time even closer, your proximity flooding his senses, sending a rush of warmth down his spine. Logan reaches out, finding the curve of your hips, hands tucking underneath the shirt you had slipped on earlier in the night, splaying his palms against your back. He opens his eyes and meets your gaze, alive in the predawn glow.

“How did you know?” you ask, looping your arms around his neck.

Understanding dawns on him, the answer so simple, yet so profound. Pinpointing where you were had nothing to do with his heightened senses and everything to do with just you—the way you’ve molded yourself to him like a second skin. “I could feel you,” he answers. “I could—I just knew.”

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. Logan sighs into your mouth, his eyes fluttering close as you press your forehead to his. “It’s like that,” you whisper. “This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until…there you are.”

His phone continues to buzz, growing more insistent as the soft blues and grays of the morning bleed into more golden hues. With a reluctance you both feel, Logan peels himself away, finally answering the phone with an irritation he doesn’t bother hiding. 

You watch him go, standing on the porch with the light casting a halo around your head. Your smile is gentle, but stained with worry and yet you remain stoic, the steady pillar holding up the fractured remains of his life.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too. 

The last one hundred miles have dragged on for eons, the road before him stretching into an almost infinite distance. Logan finds himself darting his eyes towards the dashboard clock, growing increasingly frustrated when the numbers move only a few minutes at a time, the slow passage of time seeming to taunt him. 

It’s been months since he saw you last, though no fault of his own. His memories are hazy—a swirling fog of confusion, pain and burning fever. He’s not even sure how he survived, whether it was modern medicine or sheer stubbornness. Or something more. 

You believe in fate?

Your words echo in his mind, soft and sweet, and he feels a familiar pang of longing in his chest. 

Fate or not, something kept a spark alive in him, pulsing through his veins with each sluggish beat as he slowly and painfully healed. His wounds are still pink and tender to the touch, more of his skin marred by death and destruction. 

As he turns into your subdivision, the night quiet, a cold, creeping anxiety snakes along his spine. What if you’ve given up on him? Figured this last absence was the real deal, all his idle promises of staying away finally coming to fruition. 

But as Logan drives down your street, he sees it—the single porch light illuminating in the night. Acting like the beacon it’s always been, leading him safely to land. 

To you. 

Logan pulls into the driveway and shifts the truck into park. Turning in his seat, he glances back towards the young girl curled up on the backseat. Laura’s face is relaxed in sleep, her hands tucked protectively under her chin. She fell asleep several hours ago, the soft rhythm of the tires against pavement lulling her to sleep. 

Logan’s been many things in his life. Son, brother, fighter, friend. Lover. He never thought he’d add father to that list. While he can’t quite find it in him to call himself that just yet—even though Laura readily and easily calls him dad—he no longer denies the protectiveness he feels towards her.

Easing the door to the truck open, Logan steps out and gently shuts it behind him, loathe to disturb her just yet. 

Here he is showing up at your door like he always has—late, quiet, and carrying a heavy weight he feels only he can shoulder. His hand is poised to knock, knuckles clenched, but he pauses, unsure if he even has the right to be here. 

But then there you are, the front door opening to reveal your tired but relieved face, months of worry etched into your skin, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears. 

“Logan,” you breathe, pulling him gently by the wrist and leading him inside. You don’t ask why he’s there. He suspects you already know. 

The air inside the house is just as he remembers. Warm and inviting and laced with the faint, comforting smell of you. Logan inhales deeply, letting the scent settle somewhere in the parts of him that still feel alive, that thrum with the memory of your touch. 

Your fingers still linger against his wrist and he can feel the heat radiating from your body, but you’re not close enough. And yet, he’s afraid to reach out, pull you into his arms. Afraid of the pity or obligation you’ll feel to comfort him, to allay all his fears.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently cup the side of his face, your nails scratching along his jaw. Logan flinches slightly, his body so used to pain these past months he’s almost forgotten the tenderness of your touch. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, a ragged breath falling from his lips and his head dips forward. 

“C’mere,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he slides his arms along your back, pulling you against him. You feel real and solid and alive pressed this close. Never one for overt physical touch, Logan’s surprised by how much he missed this—the simple act of just holding you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, his breath warm and damp against your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything, unsure where to even begin. The weight of his grief, his weariness, feels heavier than any burden he’s ever shouldered before and it’s almost desperate the way he clings to you. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. If you were to let go, he’d fall apart. 

Logan doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the hot trail of tears against his cheeks. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as you hold him. 

“I couldn’t feel you, Logan,” you whisper into his neck. “Several days of just…nothing. I thought that—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat, but he knows what they are just the same. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your eyes glistening with tears that match the ones rolling down his weathered face. Your expression is marred with pain, raw and unfiltered, but also with a bright flicker of relief. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice rough with emotion. “I got dragged into some bad fuckin’ shit. I almost…we—”

You quiet him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips. “It’s okay, Logan,” you whisper. “Tell me about it later. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Home. 

Logan gaze softens at your words, but guilt gnaws at him. He doesn’t deserve this—your unwavering faith in him, the patience you’ve shown him, the light you’ve been in his dark, endless nights. But here you are, giving him everything he’s never asked for but so desperately craved. 

“C’mon,” you murmur, dragging him from his thoughts, “Let’s get you settled.”

It’s well past two in the morning by the time Logan finally carries Laura into the house, tucking her comfortably into the guest bedroom. Turning from the bed, he finds you there, leaning against the doorframe. You reach for him, in that soft, gentle way you always do, and lead him into your bedroom. 

He doesn’t protest when you sit him down at the edge of the bed and begin undressing him. Kneeling before him, you unlace his boots and peel off his socks, setting them aside. With a slight press to his knees, you force his legs wider, slotting yourself between them. 

Despite the late hour, the weariness and fatigue tugging at his bones, Logan feels his cock twitch as your fingers brush underneath the hem of his shirt. 

It’s been so long since he’s felt you. 

He dreamt of you, in those fevered moments where he didn’t know where one part of his body began or ended. When his entire existence had been boiled down to raw nerves and sluggishly knitting flesh. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he’d ever feel your kiss again, feel the frantic press of your fingers into his shoulders, feel the warm, wet heat of your cunt stretching around him. 

You toss the shirt aside and he can feel your gaze lingering over the new scars, the pink, raised lines of flesh that are still healing. With a reverence he’s not worthy of, you trace your fingertips along the three jagged scars from where X-24 had ripped into him. 

“What happened to you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper as you move to trace more of his scars. 

Logan tells you then about Pierce and the Reavers, about Laura and the other mutant children. His throat grows tight as he continues, relaying the loss of Caliban, Charles and the Munsons, and the final confrontation between himself and his clone. 

He tells you how Laura saved him. How her and the other children brought him to safety over the Canadian border. How he spent the next months fighting with every fiber of his being to knit himself whole. 

For you. 

You lean into him as he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries to shove down the memories of everything he’s lost. Your touch is light against his face as you trace the angle of his jaw, and reach up to press the lightest of kisses against his lips. 

Logan exhales into your mouth as you kiss him again, soft and tender and warm. You seem to breathe him in, imbue life into his weary flesh and reignite the spark he’s kept alive for you. 

He wants to do more—to pull you into his arms, to taste you, to fuck into you until he can’t breathe. But exhaustion pulls heavily on his bones, threatening to sink him. 

Logan knows you can feel his hesitancy because you keep kissing him softly, punctuating each press of your lips with whispered reassurance. Your fingers card through his hair as you lean back. “Just let me hold you?” 

Your voice cracks at your request and Logan can only nod, unable to deny you. You help him shuffle out of his pants before coaxing him further into the bed. He moves slowly and he knows you don’t miss the creaking of his joints, the soft groan of discomfort. 

Coming to rest on his side, you tuck into him, throwing a leg over his hips and pulling him close. He sighs into your touch, the weight of the last few months pressing just a little bit less as you press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. 

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper into his skin, soft and damp. 

Logan feels his heart clench at your words. He’s hurt you. He knows that. Not just inadvertently with his most recent disappearance, but all the other times, too. Those times when he ran, afraid of what your words and touch meant. Afraid to accept what you’ve always so freely given. 

His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your back. “You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.”

Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

[rafeysbangs]

°🂶 ༘˚↷rafe is always just out of reach

warnings ; not proofread sorta... , simply just angst, sortof almost a mention of fwb? ish?, interpret this how you will as to yours & rafe's relationship !

notes ; HI !! i'm so happy to be back. srry this is straight up angst. but i hope you enjoy. can you tell uni is strangling me lol ( this was actually sitting in the drafts.. waiting... oops )

rafe cameron is an enigma you can’t quite solve. a puzzle with missing pieces, a shoreline that recedes every time you step forward. you think you have him—hands grasping the edge of something real—only for him to slip through like sand through parted fingers.

you watch him from the passenger seat, the engine humming beneath the weight of silence. his knuckles are tight against the steering wheel, pale from pressure. he’s always holding on too hard, to everything, to nothing. a boy who doesn’t know how to let go without breaking something in the process.

"you’re quiet," you say, just to fill the space. to remind him you’re still here.

his jaw flexes, a brief movement, barely anything at all. then a chuckle, low and humourless. "that’s a first."

it’s a dance, this thing between you—if you can even call it that. he keeps his distance, but it’s not apathy. it’s something else. something tangled up in the way his hands tighten around whatever’s in his grasp, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long when he thinks you won’t notice.

you do notice. you always do.

you see it now, in the way he shifts gears with more force than necessary. in the way his hands tremble when he runs them through his hair. in the way he looks at you, like he wants to say something but won’t, like it’s locked behind his teeth, rusted shut with years of unsaid things.

and you—what are you to him? a distraction? a reminder? a tether to something softer, something he doesn’t think he deserves?

"you don’t have to do that," you say, softer this time.

he glances at you, brow furrowed. "do what?"

"pretend like you don’t care."

his lips part, but no words come out. just a sharp inhale, a slow exhale. and then he laughs again—quieter, this time. almost bitter.

"maybe i don’t."

but he does. you know he does. it’s in the way he says your name, in the way he always finds you first in a crowded room, in the way his fingers brush against yours but never stay long enough. it’s in the way he pulls away just before he gets too close, like he’s afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t.

rafe cameron is a hurricane dressed as a boy. all storm and sharp edges, all lightning that never quite touches the ground. people talk about him like he’s reckless, like he’s all impulse and violence, but you know better. you see what they don’t—the hesitation, the flicker of something softer just beneath the surface. you see the way he clenches his jaw when he’s trying not to feel. the way he swallows words before they can make it past his lips. the way his hands shake when he thinks no one’s looking.

he is not empty, not hollow like he wants the world to believe. he is full of things he will never say, full of rage and grief and longing. full of a love he will never let himself hold.

and you—maybe you are just another thing he cannot let himself have.

you could reach for him, could close the space between you, could press your palm against the warmth of his arm and wait for him to lean in instead of pull away. but you already know how this ends.

he’ll let you get close. close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

and then he’ll slip away—just like always.

( no taglist bcs its wayyy to old um i'll be redoing that too so look out for a post - sorry guys ! )

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think leona ever asked his parents why he was even born? When he wasn't even destined to rule a kingdom and only exist in the background as a "prince", whose title meant nothing anymore when cheka was born.

(I want me some angst)

-anon

Possibly? I think that Leona probably had to come to terms with a lot of not-so-nice truths about the world and his place in it as he was growing up. He's a smart guy, he'd put two and two together eventually.

Coincidentally, Leona asks a similar question (“How can I become king?”) to a butler in the second volume of the light novel (during his post-OB flashback sequence). The butler becomes deeply uncomfortable and cannot seem to muster a response. In that moment, Leona states that he knew it was considered inappropriate for him to covet the throne. And then he praises himself for being such a clever child LMAO—

Maybe there was no particular reason for his birth. On royal money, they can have as many children as they want and still have the means to support them. Family planning isn't as necessary. If you really want to go the angst route though, maybe the Kingscholar parents had a second child as a "failsafe" in case something happened to Falena or he wasn't able to sire an heir. If that's the case, the parents probably weren't thinking about how this might affect Leona's mental or emotional wellbeing; they were preoccupied with cementing their rule into the next generation and might have figured Leona would be happy serving in some other governmental position instead of taking up the throne (which now belongs to Cheka by birthright).

It's sad to think about little Leona working so hard in order to get recognized. He must have been so full of hope and joy back then, before he realized his efforts were futile and he would never get what he wanted most of all. Not just the crown, but the love and admiration that comes with having your skill and merit recognized. I wonder if Leona got his UM before or after he had his dreams crushed...? If it's before, it feels like a bad omen and a reason for others to hate him. If it's after, it only feels like confirming what people believe about him... That he's only capable of taking and destroying, never building or growing. That has got to do some damage to your psyche.

Leona may not have even asked his parents The Question directly, honestly. His mother is scarcely mentioned and his father is ill... and Falena is busy ruling in their father's place, which makes me think that it was mostly Kifaji raising and taking care of Leona. Maybe Leona pipes up one day and asks the Grand Chamberlain why was he born if he has no purpose? And that startles Kifaji, who tries to reassure him, only for Leona to grow increasingly frustrated and accuse him of being evasive or lying to avoid telling him the ugly truth. If they're playing chess at the time, I can picture little Leona knocking all the pieces off the board with an arm and then storming off somewhere to sulk.

We still don't have the origins of his scar. Leona talks about it very casually in his Dorm Uniform voice lines, stating that scars are seen as marks of bravery in his home country, but never explaining how he got his. It could be that there's no grand story or meaning behind it--but I've also seen fan theories that the scar was the result of Leona doing something dangerous at a young age in a desperate attempt to be seen and praised by others. That detail could fit very well into this angst hypothetical.

[ijenoyou]

Ojos lindos.

Joaquín Torres x StarkF!Reader

WARNINGS: none rlly i think it’s just some nice fluff strangers to friends :3

note: helllowwwww it’s been a while since i’ve written sum for marvel lol anywayssss i rlly enjoyed the new cap movie!! and def did enjoy danny ramirez as the new falcon :3 so yeah i hope yall like this ohhh and if i like this storyline enough i’ll probably make it into a series ;) OH also the reader is supposed to be iron heart !!

Since Sam needed a new team for the Avengers the very first person that came to his mind, aside from Joaquín, was you. You definitely had Tony Stark’s brilliant mind and that helped you build your own suit not wanting to use the one your father made you while you were stuck in the Blip.

And Sam needs someone like that, smart, strong and brave. So when you offered to help him rebuild the team he was more than happy that you did. And he even was more happier to the fact that he got to see you. Since the passing of Tony Stark you disappeared leaving him with the wonder of where you went.

But you had to. Thanos had blasted you with the power of all the stones the moment he saw you get ahold of the gauntlet not knowing that the mixture of the power would cause your body to absorbe it.

So you had new powers, one’s that are quite hard to control, so you did what was safe to the people you care for which was disappear.

But now all was good, your powers are more than safe to use now that you know your way around them. And when Sam found out about the things you could do he knew in his heart he should take you under his wing just like he did with Joaquín Torres.

“She told we could have any room we want.” Sam told Joaquín when they arrived to the old Avengers base.

The both of them grabbed their own baggage and began walking inside the building.

Joaquín’s eyes were shining like crazy. He always thought being an Avenger wasn’t something in his path.

“Uncle Sam!” You said as soon as you saw them walking to the area that had all the old rooms the old team used. You arrived earlier since you wanted to clean up the area for the new arrivals.

Sam smiled and left his things on the floor, he then extended his arms signaling for you to hug him. Since you were quite far holding a broom you decided to teleport.

Joaquín hadn’t seen something like that. The pink glow that appeared in front of him when you appeared of the blue was something that surprised him and it made him lift the right corner of his lip, amused to the fact you were clearly too lazy to walk a few steps to greet Sam.

“So, this is my new child, also known as the new Falcon, Joaquín Torres.” Sam said while grabbing Joaquín’s shoulder.

Your eyes traveled towards him and smiled. You looked different from what he was used to. One of your eyes had a pink glow and the other didn’t, he tried not to let his thoughts show on his face after seeing your new appearance.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sam’s been talking a lot about you since we were on our way.” Joaquín said while reaching his hand out for you to shake. “I’m a big fan of your work, I was a volunteer on the charity you created a few months ago.”

Your smile became even bigger at the mention of the charity you created in honor of the fallen Avengers.

“Really? Thank you so much! I thought I recognized your face from somewhere else.” You said with a sweet tone. “People usually tell me about my father’s work and not mine so thank you, really.” You shook his hand.

Warm.

That’s what he felt inside him when he touched you. He noticed how small your hand was compared to his and how soft your skin felt against his calloused palm.

The both of you didn’t notice how Sam walked out the scene and began searching for a specific room. He wanted the one Steve used since he heard amazing stories about the incredible shower head pressure.

“Want help finding a room?” You said while taking one of this bags from the floor.

“Oh don’t worry I’ll take it!” He tried to take the bag from you.

Too late. You had already teleported a few feet away from him with a playful smile.

“Come! I think you might like this room.”

He smiled and nodded.

He walked behind you for a few moments when you stopped in front of a door that had the number 10 on it. You pushed a few numbers on the pad that was next to the door and the door opened by sliding.

“This one used to be one of my favorite rooms. “ You said with a soft tone.

You left Joaquín’s bag on an old chair and turned to him with your hand on your hips.

“You like it? The view here is amazing, my favorite out of all the rooms.”

He couldn’t believe his eyes. This room had a perfect view to the forest that connected to the base, he couldn’t help but notice how big the room is. Way bigger than he ever imagined with huge windows and a balcony that already had some furniture on it.

“I really do.” He left his things on the floor next to the old chair and walked to stand next to you. Admiring the view.

“My father built quite a lot of rooms for everyone.” You said. “He wanted everyone living under the same roof.” You smiled at the memory of the old team fighting to get the nicest rooms over the base.

Joaquín turned to see you.

You not noticing that he much preferred to have you as the increíble view you mentioned instead of the forest.

“Que ojos tan lindos.” He didn’t realized what he said until you turned towards him with a lifted eyebrow and small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“You think? I’m still getting used to the new color but it’s quite cool.” He didn’t know you understood spanish. A blush began spreading to his face and his right hand scratched the back of his neck with a bashful smile.

“Sorry I just..” He tried to speak but being caught red handed specially by you made him lose control of his words.

“It’s fine!” Your shoulder pushed his. “I don’t mind people looking at my eye, I mean, the staring was bound to happen.” You explained and began walking away from him. “I’ll let you get settled okay? Dinner’s at 8! I’m cooking enchiladas, hope that’s okay.”

Joaquín nodded. “I love enchiladas.” You gave him a thumbs up and walked out the room.

He turned again and stared at the windows for a few seconds until he registered what you said about the staring. He quickly turned on his heel and sprinted to the hall. “For the record I wasn’t staring at your eye! I was just admiring them!” He shouted for you to hear.

A big laugh was all he hear from down the hall. He smiled and turned which caused him to have a mini heart attack at the sight of Sam behind him.

“Dude! Make some noise the next time you stand behind me.” Joaquín said while putting a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat at a fast pace.

Sam made a face at him. That damn look Sam had almost all of the time when he found something cheeky. Like he knew a secret about you.

“You and little Stark became friends really fast uh?” Was all he said while crossing his arms over his chest.

[ ]

A plate of enchiladas appeared in front of Joaquín and Sam’s eyes.

“Here you go!” You said while sitting in front of them at the aisle of the kitchen instead of the big dinning room. You had said it felt way bigger with just the three of you, but Sam reassured you that with time and effort that would soon change.

“So, do you know when Bucky’s coming?” Sam asked while cutting his enchiladas.

You nodded, your hand reaching for a napkin. “Yes! He told me he’s coming next week after he visits the wakandians for a new update on his arm.” You explained after taking a big gulp of your iced coca cola. “He’s been staying up here with me for a while so his room is already set up.”

That caught Joaquín’s full attention and Sam noticed. Sam decided to play a little game with the knowledge he now has. His new child had a crush on little Stark. Oh my, how small the world is.

“Really? And what do you guys do? I’m assuming is just the two of you.” Sam told you with a cheeky sneer.

Your cheeks became flushed and that made Joaquín furrow his eyebrows, just a little.

“Well we just spend time next to one another you know? Sometimes I’ll be reading and he would be sitting next to me while he learns how to share a TikTok.” You explained with your eyes locked on your food.

Sam lifted an eyebrows and began asking more things to get a rise out of Joaquín. “How nice of him, right Joaquín?” Sam elbowed him causing him to cough.

“Oh? Yeah…”

“He doesn’t stay a lot.” You explained sensing the weird tension in the air. “He sometimes comes when I tell him I miss my father.”

The strings of Joaquín’s heart were pulled. He couldn’t imagine what you felt. From what Sam told him, it was just you and Tony Stark. He then met Pepper and became partners but for a while it was just the two of you, against everything.

He knew your father was your rock, he was all you had since your mother died while giving birth, the doctors not noticing she was having an internal bleeding causing her to slip away without too much fuss. The info being shared by Sam.

“But now, you two are here so I won’t be feeling as lonely as before.” Sam nodded as the same time Joaquín did.

After dinner Sam had to take a call from the White House, leaving you with Joaquín to wash all of the dirty dishes you used.

It was nice. Joaquín felt a cozy vibe coming from the moment, soft jazz music playing on the background, you next to him drying the plates with a cloth he would give you after he scrubbed them.

“I totally think he faked that call because he didn’t want to help wash the dishes.” You said playfully.

A laughed erupted from Joaquín’s chest and nodded. “For sure! I mean did you see the look he gave us when he stood up?”

Now it was your time to laugh. “That damn look he has! It’s like he knows something about you, isn’t it?” The both of you exploded of laughter. Making fun of Sam was one of your favorite hobbies now that he was more present in your life.

“Thank you for the compliment by the way.” He heard you say while putting the last plate on its designated place. “Yo también pienso que tienes unos ojos muy lindos.”

He almost choked when he heard those words coming past your lips.

“I didn’t know you spoke spanish.” He explained bashful.

“Tony made me learn quite a handful of languages when I was a kid.” You told him. “Spanish was my favorite by far, I think it’s a very romantic language, don’t you think?”

“It sure is.” Was all he said while turning his body to you.

The both of you didn’t notice how close your bodies were. He could feel the warmth coming from your body, that’s how close he was to you. He could see with clear perfection every lash and every beauty mark on your face. His eyes stopping their path on yours. Joaquín could see the pink glow with perfection and it felt like time stopped.

He wasn’t attracted to your eyes just because of the pink color but because he felt really seen under your gaze. It felt like you were going under every inch and corner of his mind, leaving your mark in it.

And you felt the same thing.

“I-I think it’s quite late, isn’t it?” Your voice brought him back to reality.

He stepped back, instantly missing the warmth of your body. He cleared his throat and sighed.

“Oh right.” He spoke. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Your lips curled and nodded. “Of course.” Your voice came out almost as a whisper. “I’m off to sleep, if you need anything my room is next to yours actually.”

He bit his bottom lip and smiled. “Okay then, sleep well mini Stark.” That damned nickname Thor gave you years ago made your skin tickle. A funny feeling forming inside your chest.

**

Que ojos tan lindos - what beautiful eyes

Yo también pienso que tienes unos ojos muy lindos - I also think you have beautiful eyes

[mylovesstuffs]

Habits OT13 picked up from being with their s/o

Request: Hello can i request: habits svt got from being with their partners?pls����🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Seungcheol – Checking in more often

Before dating you, he wasn’t the type to text much. But now, “Did you eat?” “Did you get home safe?” “Feeling okay today?” He started doing it because you always checked on him, and now it’s second nature.

Jeonghan – Saying “I love you” more often

He always showed love through actions but because you’re someone who expresses affection verbally, he started doing it too. Now, he randomly whispers “I love you” when you least expect it, even in the middle of teasing you.

Joshua – Mimicking your slang & speech patterns

If you have specific phrases or a certain way of talking, he 100% picks it up. One day, the members hear him say something like “Oh, slay” and immediately know that’s from you lol (reminds me of, very demure very mindful video of Joshua).

Jun – Adopting your little happy dances

If you do a little wiggle or jump when you’re excited, guess what? Jun does it now too. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until someone points it out.

Hoshi – Subconsciously leaning in for forehead kisses

Since you always give him forehead kisses, he now leans his head forward whenever he’s near you—whether he’s sitting next to you, hugging you, or even just standing around. It's muscle memory at this point.

Wonwoo – Laughing more openly

He’s always had a quiet, subtle laugh, but after dating you, he’s more open with it. You make him so happy that now he laughs more freely, even throwing his head back sometimes.

Woozi – Saying “hmm?” whenever he doesn’t hear something

You always go “hmm?” instead of “what?” when you don’t catch something, and now he does it too. The members were so confused when he started doing it because he never used to.

Dokyeom – Holding onto your sleeve or hand while talking

Since you have the habit of lightly grabbing his sleeve or hand while chatting, he unconsciously started doing it back. Now, when he’s excitedly telling a story, his fingers find your wrist without thinking.

Mingyu – Making your favorite drink/snack without thinking

It started when he would see you make the same drink/snack every day. Now, before you even ask, he’s already preparing it for you. Muscle memory kicked in hard.

Minghao – Subconsciously mirroring your habits

If you tilt your head when thinking, he does it too. If you rub your thumb against your lip when focused, he’s caught himself doing the same. He mirrors you a lot without even realizing.

Seungkwan – Complaining about things exactly like you do

You have a very specific way of ranting, and now, whenever he complains, he sounds just like you. The members immediately clock it when he says something in your exact tone and phrasing.

Vernon – Listening to your favorite songs on his own

Since you always play certain songs, he started liking them too. Now, you’ll catch him humming your favorite song while doing random things, and when you ask, he’s just like “Oh yeah, it’s good.”

Dino – Copying your way of texting

If you use a lot of emojis, type a certain way, or have a texting quirk, he now does too. The members were so confused when he suddenly started sending hearts or using cute speech.

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny had promised the movie was kid-friendly but also said the previous movie "Her Melody" was technically kid-friendly too. So the better question was if it was emotion-friendly because this family was full of sensitive people.

"It's based on my puppy Cujo." Danny said holding up the movie case called "Echo & Ash"

It was hard to say no to Danny. He looked hopeful and sad. So movie night would happen.

Damian was not giving a proper memo. Last time Danny brought a movie Damian slept in Dick's room and everyone was super clingy. It was....new. Not a bad feeling but it was pathetic how a single film did this. It was actually Alfred's favorite as well.

***

Movie: "It's your new friend Eddy. She's a girl so give her a good name." "She barks everytime I talk so her names going to be Echo." "That's a wonderful name"

The movie started with a feel-good story of a boy named Everest and his first pet. A puppy named Echo. Echo followed him everywhere and loved running in the woods with Everest. The family sighed collectively that nothing sad had happened.

But this was a Danny movie so emotional trauma will be had.

One clear day the two were playing when the camera suddenly shifted to the woods. Nothing could be seen other than trees. The camera shifted like it was being held by someone and you realize. The threat isn't out there...there was someone there and they are currently holding a camera as they watch the boy.

Uncertainty builds as Echo suddenly stops. Her ears stand at attention as she zeros in on the camera, her eyes laser-focused.

Then she begins pulling Everest away. She makes him chase her out of the woods. But the camera stays stationary and not moving to follow.

The scene lingers a little too long before the view shifts upwards and in another direction as heavy footsteps follow.

Stephanie: Oh god, I hated that.

Barbara: I don't think I remembered to breathe.

Movie: One afternoon as Everest walks home alone after running from a group of bullies a car races down the road. As the car rears closer a series of barks rang out. Echo chased the car like a mad dog. Everest felt a shove on his side as the dog's body pushed him aside.

There was sharp bark, a thud, and a whimper.

Then the scene shifts to a vet office. There is no sound other than a soft piano. Everest cries with Echo in his arms as a vet kneels next to him, probably explaining what's going to happen. Echo pants heavily before she slowly stops and closes his eyes. Then she is gone.

Damian: *bitting his lip and trying to hold back emotions* Nightingale...What. Is. This.

Danny:*smiles gently and shrugs*

Damian: Daniel! No!

Danny: It'll be okay.

Bruce: It's okay Damian. Come sit next to me.

Movie: Echo wondered around the endless woods for what felt like forever until a voice called put.

"Hey, puppy! What are you doing here?" The boy asked.

Echo sniffed around searching.

"You looking for someone?"

Echo whimpered as she turned in every direction searching for her family.

Duke: Ah, nooo. She's so cute.

Movie: "Well, I'm Ash."

Echo sniffs the boy briefly before turning to keep looking elsewhere.

Echo wondered for a long time. Night and day passed but she wasn't getting tired or hungry.

"Only other spirits pass through here. No one stays like you do. Did you come to keep me company?"

The boy was very talkative but Echo didn't seem to mind. Slowly she warmed up to him and spent time playing with him. Her ghost friend was happy to have her.

But she would still think about her family.

In the real world, Everest couldn't stop thinking about Echo. He was all alone now.

"She probably hated me."

But he didn't feel like she was gone. Sometimes he felt a brush against his leg or strangely a push on the swing. A ball rolling on the ground towards them alerted him one afternoon. He had been hiding in the backyard again from the neighborhood boys when he felt it.

"Echo?"

The wind blew against his face and somehow he knew for sure she wasn't alone.

Damian: Daniel, tell me now that they see each other.

Dick: Damian, be nice. Just watch the movie.

Movie: "Is that your friend doggy? That human?" *bark* "Why is he crying like that?"

Ash hovered near the boy making a cold wind brush past.

"Hey, you shouldn't cry. Your dog is right here. She's been badgering me to help her visit so the least you can do I put on a smile." Ash said. "Come on! Get up!"

Evening he couldn't see Everest heard something in the back of his mind. He knew he wasn't alone.

Dick: He kind of reminds me of Jason.

Jason: What's that supposed to mean?

Dick: nothing bad...not good either.

Movie: Over time Everest learned to see and not just hear the spirits. Playing with them after school. He was able to run with Echo again and have a friend like Ash. Ash also played tricks on his bullies.

However, Ash would always look over his shoulder, and when it got late Ash said it was time to go.

"Can't you just stay a little longer? The sun still up." Everest complained.

"But it's still winter. It'll be gone in minutes. Besides we can't stay on this side for long. We have to go." Ash's eyes didn't leave the horizon as he scanned it.

Duke: Calling it now. Ash died after the sun went down.

Stephanie: No shit, Sherlock.

Bruce: Language.

Movie: "Ash? I've been wondering. How did you die?"

Echo whined pawing at Ash.

"Don't worry Echo it's fine. I don't remember. Most ghost I've met do but I don't really know."

"The other ghosts?"

"Yeah, they come over from the other side sometimes to visit but they have to go back. They are all older so they take care of me. I can't go there with them though."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. They said that I couldn't move on until I get what I needed and let go. But I don't know what that is. I'm scared though, of leaving the woods."

"Oh...is these something you want now?"

"I wanted a friend and then Echo showed up and now I can visit you. So I think I'm happy now."

Barbara: Am I insane or does Ash look like a slightly younger Phantom.

Cassie: (in sign) I thought so too. But I'm not sure. That guy rarely shows up.

Movie: "It's dark! You need to leave! Hurry!"

"Not until you tell me the truth! You're hiding something! You've been hanging around looking for something! You won't tell me anything! Then when I found that burnt-up shack you yelled at me to leave and not come back! I thought you were my friend!" Everest screamed at the ghost.

"Ever, please! Go home! It's not safe here." Ash pleaded with tears in his eyes.

But it was too late. That monster came. The same one from Everest's nightmares. The visions he had gotten after seeing Ash. Instead of just a black shadow, it was a man.

Bruce: *takes a sharp breath*

Jason: No. God damn it. Don't do this.

Tim: Danny. Tell me this isn't-

Danny: *holds Tim's hand* It'll be okay.

Movie: The man who lurked in the shadows had waited look enough. He had always been there in those woods just out of frame watching and hidden in the tree line. You couldn't see him but you felt him every time the camera panned around the woods. The barren leafless trees giving the illusion of safety since you could see more than in the summer and the noisy leaf litter on the ground would warn you. But not when it was dark and certainly not now that the noisy dog wasn't around.

Everest had forgotten that even with ghosts he was still alone.

Everest was taken to that shack deep in the woods as Ash screamed unheard to the ears of the living and knowing very well what would happen next.

But spirits like Ash can't say after nightfall. Not when they feared the dark. But Ash persisted, fading but still hanging on. His ghost form flickering like a flame. Echo was dead but her mission and life were the same in death. She would protect her boy.

The ghost dog sprinted into the night back to her old home. She bumped into anything she could to cause a ruckus and catch the adults' attention. Knocking over family photos until they noticed Everest wasn't home. Making the worry enough to look for him.

All the while a pyre was built for another soul.

Damian: Come on...

Movie: The climax rushed by as the fire burnt and a search party was launched. But when it was over all the sound stopped and a body was zipped into a bag. A family held eachother and cried. A serial child killer was put in handcuffs.

The worst part was how believable it was. Even Ina story of talking to ghosts and pranks the reality of these cases still exist.

But there are small blessings. As Ash cried in the dark a pair of arms wrapped around him and a wet nose pressed against his cheek. His two best friends were here and they all felt ready. It was time to see the other side now that they were together and not alone.

Dick: I am..not okay.

Barbra: I hate that I actually enjoyed that.

Bruce: *brooding*

Damian: I'm going to bed.(he didn't and went to check on his pets)

Jason: ...

Tim: I trusted you.

Danny: But it's a beautiful ending.

Tim: Okay yes but...still sad. They died!

Danny: But they are together. That's a happy ended. Not the happiest but it's not the end for them. Death is just a new chapter not a bad one.

Tim: You optimism scares me and it is unneeded in this family.

Danny: I'm family now~

Tim: You're mine at least.

A continuation of this

Danny: I got another movie for us!

Tim: Danny, I love you so much...but I can't take another sad movie.

Danny: But it's really good and it has a good ending.

Tim: Really?

Danny: It's about a boy and his dog. You see his dog dies-

Tim: Danny no.

Danny: Let me finish! The dog dies but meets another boy who's a ghost on the other side. It beautiful story about a dog who goes back and forth to keep his friend safe. The two boys become friends and unravel the truth behind the ghost boy's death. Come on Tim...I worked hard on this one.

Tim: Fine, but only if I can sucker everyone else to watch it with us.

(Danny doesn't consider death to be a sad part of a movie or a bad ending.)

[vaneshifts]

Someone just said that some LOA shifters are pissing them off and I think we need to talk about it, because it's really important.

Personally, I fully believe in LOA. It all makes sound sense to me; your subconscious can't see, so it assumes whatever you tell it into reality, and if you consistently do not believe that you are in your DR then that's all your subconscious is learning from the experience.

That being said, I am wrong.

I bet you weren't expecting that. But that's really all there is to it. I can give advice till the day I die and tell people what works for me and what I believe and if I really, really wanted, I could even tell them step by step how to shift. But at the end of the day, I am WRONG.

There will always be someone out there who my methods don't work for. There will always be people who can shift purely with LOA, and people who shift very capably while also believing that LOA is a crock of shit.

LOA shifters? Listen up. You are WRONG. To someone out there, you are WRONG, and your methods and assumptions WILL NOT WORK. Period. Better to accept it now than continue on looking like an idiot. You cannot sit there and say that everyone's shifting journey is individual and diverse and then, in the same breath, claim that your method is foolproof and that people will not shift if they don't believe in it. You cannot SHAME people into believing that you are right and their methods are wrong. We all know that the multiverse is infinite, and that means that somewhere, for someone else's intents and purposes, we will always be wrong, no matter how confidently we do it.

I want to make it clear that I'm not trying to attack anyone. But I've also seen too many of those posts of people saying 'this is why you're not shifting, and if you do this and still don't shift, you're doing it wrong.' I just think that it's very harmful and demotivating, and that's not what any of us came here for.

For those of you who already know this stuff and are accepting of it; thank you, you are an absolute gift.

Please just be respectful and be aware. We're all here to help each other, not to be 'the person who is always right'.

Now go shift to your own crazy-ass unique DR in your own crazy-ass unique way, and be proud as fuck if you happened to be able to help out somebody else along the way. I love you guys. Happy shifting.

XO

Note: as the person whose post inspired this one said, look how many people shifted constantly with limiting beliefs and misinformation up the wazoo during 2020 shifttok. Let's not pretend that that didn't or can't happen, because that is also misinformation AND a limiting belief. <3

@i-shift-your-pants