#it seems like it should be a thing?? somewhere???

[jesuistrestriste]

nsfw (18+) cw : switch(sub leaning)!art donaldson, switch!fem!reader, art is a sensitive softie, dry humping, cumming in pants, mutual orgasms, fluff, porn with some plot

wc : 3.3 k

"Did you have fun?"

Art's words sound out softly against the background hum of his car's engine. You rub your hands together between your thighs, trying (and failing) to properly warm them up after being in an ice rink for over an hour. You look to him from the passenger seat and smile at his slightly eager-to-please tone, your cheeks burning from the cold. You should have worn a scarf.

"Yeah," you hum, "I did.. I haven't been ice skating in forever, it's been years.."

He laughs softly and nods, almost sheepishly, "yeah, same.."

-

It's the end of November, nearing the start of December, and tennis season is well over. Art still goes to the indoor courts pretty consistently, but he's decided to shift all of his focus to you now that he has the free time to spare.

The two of you met about a month and a half ago; he'd been rushing to meet Patrick at some restaurant near campus, and he had slammed right into you when he'd been looking down at his phone to text Pat back. Wide blue eyes met yours and his tender hands had come up instantly to steady you on your feet as he stuttered out at least five 'im so sorry's. Somewhere in between those apologies, he'd gotten ridiculously lost in your features. The way your lashes batted up at him, the soft smile on your lips, the way you chuckled at his idiotic carelessness.

And you had forgiven him pretty quickly, so that helped.

The whole thing was incredibly cliche; the both of you could see that now.

He'd gotten your number that day only because he had practically begged to get you a coffee sometime to make up for the whole ordeal. His wind-swept blonde curls and furrowed brow made him look just like a dumb little puppy, pleading with you to keep him and collar him, so it wasn't hard for you to rationalize giving him your digits then and there. He seemed genuinely sweet, unlike so many other guys at Stanford. You'd give it a shot.

Seven dates later, and you two were officially toeing the line between "what are we?" and "let's move in together". Art, in particular, was completely infatuated. He would always look at you like you were the only reason he was breathing and moving. It was a little bit insane how hard and fast he fell for you.

And so he resisted the urges.

The ones that would coil in his lower stomach when he held your hand, and the ones that would throb in his veins when he pressed his lips to yours. All of them. He'd move at your pace. He wasn't one to push.

-

You nod and smile, before you pull your clasped hands from your lap and attempt to blow hot air in between them. Art's car was taking longer to warm up than normal.

He watches you for a moment before he shakes his head and tugs his hands out of his coat pockets.

"I told you to bring gloves," he jokes lightly, reaching over to envelop your hands in his warm palms, his calloused fingers curling over yours.

Your face heats slightly, and you chuckle as you look down to his grasp on you. After a long beat, your eyes raise to look up to his again, and he swallows thickly before his left thumb strokes over one of your knuckles. The little touch, the gesture, is so him. Always wanting to provide and comfort, but never wanting to risk shaking the foundation.

He’s never made the first move, it was always you.

"Thanks," you breathe out, your gaze darting just momentarily down to his pink lips.

It's hard for you to ignore the way he quickly wets them while the tense silence hangs in the air.

Art's feeling a steady thrum of tightness in his chest. How is it that he still gets nervous around you? He's kissed you lots of times before now.

And yet, here he was: still shy, still tense, still nervous.

"No problem," he whispers, hearing his heartbeat pound in his ears, "is.. is this better..?"

A gentle nod from you is all he perceives before he feels the warmth of your lips press against his own, and the tension that’s been brewing all evening finally reaches its boiling point.

He melts into it instantly, into you; leaning in to breathe into your open mouth when you pull back for just a moment to tilt your head the other way. His hands leave their position around yours, and move to clutch your waist as he pivots in the driver's seat to face you more. He's never felt so on-edge in his entire life, the sensation of a familiar sort of hunger starting to ignite in his belly.

Your touch moves to the back of his head, pulling off his thick beanie and tossing it to the back of the vehicle as you kiss him with rapidly increasing passion. You feel his tongue slip out to lick over your bottom lip, and you slack your jaw to let him taste you better. He laves his soft tongue over yours, moaning into your mouth. You swallow that noise down, and the next one that comes right after; just like you always do.

He tastes faintly like sweet peppermint gum, which he had been anxiously chewing earlier on this particular date in order to self-soothe. You had just looked so pretty with the cold first nipping at your skin when he came to pick you up; it scrambled his brain on the spot.

"Ahh," he whines shakily as he feels you tug his head back, your left hand tenderly fisting his curls, "hngh.."

You hum and smirk before you lean in to lick over his neck. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop any more needy sounds from spilling out, and his hands pull at the sides of your coat. Shit, he can feel himself swelling in his jeans. For a second he thinks the zipper might pop.

Once your tongue finds his weak-spot, right below his ear, he's jerking forward in his seat and letting out a choked moan. His hips rise desperately, trying to seek out some sort of friction, but all he can feel is his cock rubbing against the inside of his briefs — not nearly enough to put out the fire in his gut.

"You okay?" you breathe out lowly between kisses to his pulse, "this okay?

He nods feverishly. A reflexive buck of his pelvis follows suit.

"Can we... I dont know-" you whisper against his skin, and Art thinks he might die. He's so keyed up right now, he'd do anything to get to feel you under all of the layers.

"Please."

And there it is. He couldn't even stop himself before the word was already out and drifting into the minimal space left in between your bodies. You pause your lips and pull back to look to his eyes.

A hand moves from his hair to his cool cheek. "I- I'm ready to do more... If you are too, I mean.."

He's nodding before you even finish; and his pupils dilate into big, black, iris-eclipsing saucers as his brows pinch up and he whispers back to you.

"I want to touch you," he trembles, "I really, really, really wanna touch you..."

You feel a sticky heat cling to the inside of your panties.

Ugh, he's always good at making you feel this way, even if in the past it was relatively unintentional. Sometimes he's been too innocent for his own good.

"Can I?" he whispers, breaking apart your thoughts, like the very syllables have been beaten out of the depths of his desires.

You let out soft sigh through parted lips, taking in the look on his face before you're crawling over the center console and into his lap. Your body settles comfortably over his thighs, and then your head bumps up against the roof of the car. You make a slight noise of surprise, ducking down with a soft giggle, and Art's right hand instinctively raises to protectively cup the spot on your head that had hit the interior. He looks up at you, letting out a breath of a laugh before lifting his brows to wordlessly ask if you're alright.

You kiss him again instead.

He gasps and swallows as he feels you further straddle him, and his hands move to start unzipping your puffer as he kisses you back. It's easier said than done when his hands are shaking, but he manages and then helps you shrug off the coat before it gets tossed into the oblivion to meet his hat from earlier.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his as you pull back, and he drinks in the sight of you above him; your thermal long-sleeve clinging to your skin so tight that he can see the outline of your bra underneath.

You lean in once more and kiss his jaw twice before letting your hands wander down to help him take off his own jacket. Once it's off and on the car floor with the other pieces of discarded clothing, your palms move up under his shirt to caress his bare skin. You feel his abdomen shudder as your nails graze the pale flesh there.

"Where do you want me?" he asks breathlessly, his eyes already glazed over with arousal and a wish to please you.

"Anywhere.."

".. Here..?"

His hands reach up to palm your breasts over your top, and he relishes in the soft moan it elicits from you. The sound of it rings out in his head and then he can't help but whimper as he leans into your body, his cheek to your jaw. Art's hands slither hastily under your shirt and then to your back before he fumbles with the clasp of your bra. You smirk softly and fondly as you feel him struggle, and you decide to maneuver your touch up to the back of his neck. Your fingertips tease the back of his hair. Teasing turns to stroking, and suddenly you're petting him to ease his nerves. If he had a tail, it'd definitely be wagging; you can feel him buzzing with eager energy all over.

Once the bra is popped open, he gently pulls back to look up to your eyes and then he's huskily whispering up at you, "can I take this off of you?"

"Yeah, take it off-"

He doesn't waste a second once he sees you raising your arms, nearly tearing the top in the process of getting it up and over your head. The bra comes off quick right after; he doesn't even notice that it's red (his favorite color). With how much is going through his head, it's a miracle he can even manage to undress you without losing it...

The moment that you're bare in front of him from the belly-button up, he sags back in his seat and takes you in. His lips parted in a gentle 'O'. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he moans lowly, his palms pressing to your lower stomach before they slide up and cover your soft tits, "you're so beautiful, oh my god.."

You moan when you feel him start to knead your breasts under his tender touch, nipples pebbling in response, and you roll your head back with pleasure.

"You're.. s-so sweet," you groan.

He squeezes your chest again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the right side, and a kiss to the left (it's only fair). He looks up to you through heavy lids before he surges forward with a renewed sense of passion and attaches his lips to one of your nipples.

"Shit-!" you gasp, and your hands tighten in his blonde locks, "ugh, don't stop, Art.. that feels nice.."

He moans around your squishy flesh and then his eyes flutter shut as he flicks his tongue over your bud and suckles. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect. His teeth brisk your sensitive skin.

A sharp moan slips from your lips in response, and then your hips jerk over his quickly. Just once; just enough. It's denim on denim, thick fabric dulling the sensations, but god- the pleasure bites perfectly at the both of you.

Art can barely process how good it feels before he's drooling around you over his tongue and rolling his own body up, trying to meet yours again. Wordlessly begging you to keep going.

Please, please, please do it again.

You breathe heavily and then rock down over his lap again, chasing the stream of electricity that it sends up your spine from your cunt. There's a mess of slick seeping from you as you push your clothed clit against Art's bulge, humping him like some sort of depraved teenager, but it's going to get you there.

Hell, it's getting you there quicker than you thought.

"Ooh, fuck," he hiccups out against your skin, releasing your breast from his mouth as his eyes fly open and then promptly roll back into his head, "ohh god, oh g-god.."

You rock a bit faster over him, a little moan escaping with each needy motion, and you move your hands to hold his shoulders for leverage. You feel him wrap his toned arms around your middle.

"Sh-Should I move too?" he gasps.

You can feel his thighs quivering.

If you really focus, you can even feel his dick throbbing in the confines of his pants.

"Yeah, ohh, yeah.. yeah, move, move.”

In an instant, Art's hips are grinding up to meet yours while his hands move urgently to hold your waist. He buries his face into your neck and tries to bounce you on his lap in his grasp. Up, down, up, down, over and over and over. Like he’s fucking you; buried deep inside your oozing pussy.

"you feel so good," he breathes out, hardly taking enough air into his lungs to get the words out, "this feels... f-feels so good.. ohhh-"

A few stuttered whines slip from your mouth and then you're working harder to press yourself further down over his erection, trying your best to relieve the scorching heat building in your core. More, more, more, you just need more.

"fuck me..!"

It tumbles from you unexpectedly, and the young man under you chokes on a guttural groan that's already halfway out. His nose crinkles with pleasure, and he swivels his hips harder to rub his boner against your crotch. He tries to speak, he really does, but all of the words get swept away on broken, strung-out whimpers that clog his throat.

You two are fogging up all four windows in his car, and anyone who's looking on from the outside will know exactly what's going on just from the shaking alone.

"Shit, you're gonna make me—“

Art cries out as he digs his heels down into the mat below the pedals; his toes curling as he registers the rapid feeling of boiling tension brewing in his balls, seeping out and pulling his limbs taut against yours. He's so close.

"—you're gonna- 'm gonna come—“

He tries to warn you, shuddering when he hears you squeal in response, and he has to force his eyes open and crane his neck back so that he can savor the sight of you falling apart on top of him when he tips over. A small part of him wishes he was being hugged by your tight, gummy walls; but this was perfect for now. It was what you wanted, so it was what he wanted too.

"Fuck, Art! I'm almost—!"

The sound of his name coming out of you like that sends him spiraling, his cock pulsing in his boxers with want.

"Me too, me too, oh god, pleasepleaseplease-"

You two are rutting and thrashing against each other like a couple of animals, breathing heavy and moaning as you both try to maintain eye contact in those split few seconds before everything fades away.

"Can I come?" he trembles, and you can see wetness glistening over his lash line, threatening to spill. He can’t say it now, but he's barely holding it all in.

For you, he'd wait.

Even if it felt impossible.

You speed up your humping, the seam of your jeans slotting perfectly against your swollen clit as the warmth of his cock sends you hurtling towards the finish line. You nod down at him, moving your hands from his shoulders to his flushed face, "yes, god, please come with me!"

It only takes three more snaps of his pelvis against yours before the both of you are gasping and crying out simultaneously as the hot coils burst loose; Art's back arching up from the seat as you curl over his chest and yelp. He's moaning, voice cracks and all, as his legs shudder under your seat over them. His hands fly up to hold you close, almost like he's scared you'll somehow slip away.

"fuckyesfuckyesfuckyes, please, god, i'm coming so hard..!”

He whimpers helpessly, feeling sticky heat bloom against his kicking length as each wave of his orgasm floods his system. It's wholly all-consuming, his vision whiting out around the edges before he has to squeeze his eyes shut and give up the sight of your face as you climax. He thinks he might legitimately pass out.

You're left wheezing over his lap, groaning pitifully as you feel a wave of slick and wetness drench your underwear while the height of your own peak ebbs, and you finish yourself off fully against his thigh as you come down. One of your hands reaches down to rub yourself over the soaked fabric, and you twitch before falling forward into his frame.

You both jolt a bit while the aftershocks keep you feeling pleasantly numb, but it's blissful.

It's completely and utterly blissful; it just feels right.

Him being so close to you, you being so close to him. Sharing something so deeply intimate and yet feeling so comfortable and so safe— it was like something clicked into place.

One of Art's hands reaches to your upper back, rubbing it comfortingly as he tries to steady his breathing.

".. Woah," he whispers in awe, fingertips tracing soothing patterns on your skin, "that was.. really.. haah.."

A little shiver passes through him and he then decides to cut himself off before he lets slip something dumb and ruins everything.

You gain some semblance of consciousness back and lift your head upright slowly, gazing down to him. His hair’s a mess, his blue eyes shining with low lids, and his bottom lip looks freshly bitten.

"That was really good," you chuckle breathily, finishing his sentiment for him. You were good at that- helping him feel whole.

He just nods and you get to watch his cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.

"I... I was thinking.." he starts, only to shy away from your gaze by looking down.

"Yeah..?"

You stroke his hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead.

"Well, I just, we've been, like, 'seeing each other' or whatever," his eyes reluctantly raise again to look up into yours, "and, I just thought that.. we might..."

"We might...?" you smile as you urge him to speak up for himself.

He can only muster a soft, shy chuckle at first.

"I just thought that we might be.. together.."

Your breathing catches, only for a moment, as the word—and the weight of it—sits heavily in the dense air being kept trapped in by the car's doors. Art swallows thickly.

"You wanna be together?" you whisper, barely audible.

He seems hesitant to answer that.

But he does anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

A soft smile creeps onto your face, and then you lean in to brush your lips against his. He closes his eyes in preparation for a kiss, but it doesn't quite come. They flutter back open, and his fingers twitch idly on your lower back.

Please say something, he thinks. He's holding his breath.

You murmur against his mouth, delicate and earnest, with a shrug almost gracing your shoulders as you speak to him. You want to let him know that he doesn't have to be scared to tell you what he wants.

That it's okay.

That you want the same thing.

"Okay.. then let's be 'together'.."

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[covenofagatha]

taking requests, angel? if so...

I saw some Kathryn gifs and an idea came to me: Agatha, after a long and exhausted working week, asks female reader to have a date, but the date is on their house because Agatha is too tired to go out. Reader is happy, tho, because her love language is quality time and physical contact. Something like a dinner, maybe, idk... so they end up having a very lovely time together, cuddling on the sofa until they fall asleep. Smut or not in the end, it's up to you... but I'd love to read something cute from you:( I don't know if that's okay...

if you're not taking requests, I totally understand that! I don't want to bother you.

- 🌙

Fun fact, this is my first time writing something that's not meant to build up to sexy times! Also the fluffiest thing I've ever written so hopefully it's good!

Home is where the heart is

A change of plans in your date night with Agatha leads to a confession.

Word count: 1200

Warnings: fluff, softness

Still on for dinner and a movie tonight? 

It’s the text you sent your girlfriend, Agatha, an hour ago and she still hasn’t responded. This usually isn’t like her, but you know how busy work can get. And you know how tough the last week had been on her, but you were really looking forward to spending this Friday night with her. 

The two of you had been dating for three months now and it always seemed like the older woman wanted to do something, whether it be going to a nice restaurant or mini-golfing or painting pottery. Like tonight, Agatha is supposed to take you to the newest spot in town that just opened up and then you were going to see Corpse Bride as it was playing again in theaters. 

You would never complain about any of this, but you’re a little worried that Agatha thinks that you need all of this to hang out with her. 

A text from Agatha buzzes finally. Doll, I’m so sorry. You frown and pick your phone up, afraid she’s going to cancel. I’m so exhausted from work, how would you feel just coming over tonight for something chill? I can order pizza. 

You breathe a sigh of relief and type back. I would love that! See you later. You almost finish the text with a ‘Love you’ but neither of you had said it yet and you were sure as hell not going to say it over the phone for the first time. 

You also weren’t sure how Agatha felt. She was older and you weren’t exactly sure what she saw in you. She was beautiful and confident and wealthy and could have anyone she wanted, and yet she chose you. 

A part of you deep down is perturbed that this is just a fling for her. It would crush you if that’s what it was. 

But you bury that insecurity somewhere dark inside you and you get ready for date night. 

Since you’re not doing anything special, you opt for a comfy purple sweater and black leggings. You do put on lacy underwear just in case Agatha’s in the mood, but you are totally content if not. 

You just want to spend time with your girlfriend. 

You get to her house right at six, which was when you were supposed to meet anyway, and you only have to wait a second after ringing the doorbell for Agatha to appear. 

“Hey, baby,” she says, stepping to the side so you can enter. She’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top, hair loose, but she’s never looked more beautiful. You press a cheek to her kiss and she hums happily and follows you into the kitchen. “Sorry to cancel our plans at the last minute, I’m just so tired.” 

“No worries at all,” you reassure her, opening the pizza box that’s already on the counter. It’s your favorite kind and you put two pieces on a plate and grab a beer. She does the same and leads you over to the couch where you sit on opposite sides facing each other. “Everything okay?” You ask once you’re both settled. 

She sighs dramatically and her head flops back against the couch. You laugh and nudge her with your foot. 

Agatha looks back at you, mirth sparkling in her eyes. “It was just a rough week, hon. Lots of people bothering me, asking stupid questions they should know the answers to, following up on emails that they haven’t responded to. And I had to work late those couple nights.”

You frown. “I’m sorry. You work so hard and no one seems to give you the credit you deserve.” You take a bite of your pizza and chew it thoughtfully, wondering what else you can say. You know she’s been really busy and you’ve hardly seen her at all this week. 

But she leans forward and pats your thigh. “But this has certainly helped.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “The pizza and beer?” You ask innocently, fishing for more. She rolls her eyes fondly, knowing how much validation you like. 

“And the company, hon. You’re pretty great, you know?” 

You smile and squirm with contentment. “You are too, Aggie. I’m always happy to just sit on your couch and talk. I just want to spend time with you, no matter what we’re doing.” 

She smiles gratefully. “Me too, baby. Now, how has your week been?” You launch into an animated retelling of something that happened at work and she hangs onto every word. It takes you a bit longer to tell the story in-between bites of your pizza, but her attention never wavers. 

It makes you feel so warm inside how Agatha always pays attention to what you’re saying. She makes you feel so seen and you couldn’t be more lucky to have her. 

Once you’re done talking and with the pizza, she puts on an episode of Modern Family, your comfort show. You lay between her legs, your back to her front, while she gently strokes your hair. You trace lazy circles on her thighs through her sweatpants and it’s absolutely perfect. 

She tilts your head to the side and angles hers so she’s able to kiss you softly. It’s just a press of her lips against yours at first, but it slowly becomes more and your mouth parts for her tongue. 

It’s not a needy kiss though, not a kiss meant to lead to something more, it’s a kiss full of adoration and longing and intimacy. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Agatha murmurs against your lips.

“Not as perfect as you,” you say back and you can feel her smile against your skin. 

She lets you go back to the show and wraps her arms around you. You can feel her deep breathing and you feel so safe and warm that you start to doze off. 

Right before sleep takes you though, you feel her nuzzle your temple and whisper into your ear: “I love you, baby.” 

Your heart leaps and you suddenly feel more awake than ever. You whirl around so fast that you almost fall off the couch. Agatha’s eyes are wide and you think you see fear in them. 

“Did you just–” You start. 

At the same time, Agatha says, “I’m so sorry–”

You both cut off at the same time. You smile wider than you ever have before and you move so you’re straddling her lap. You put your arms around her neck and rest your forehead against hers. 

“Agatha Harkness,” you say. Her eyebrows raise. “I love you, too.” 

She closes the distance between you and kisses you again, this time with more passion. You whine and try to pull her as close as you can, needing to feel her body against yours as much as you can. 

“Say it again,” she says and you smirk. 

“I-” You kiss her. “Love.” Another kiss. “You.” She grins and gives you a long kiss and it eventually sizzles out and the two of you are just holding each other, your chin on top of her shoulder. 

“I’m so glad I cancelled our other date,” Agatha muses and you chuckle, squeezing her tighter. “Stay here with me forever, love?” 

You promise that you will. 

And when you both wake up in the morning in that same position, she tells you that she loves you again.

You hope she never stops saying it, because you know that you never will.

[black--sun]

Ichigo wants to argue. Fighting to keep words from coming out is like trying to swallow a rock. It feels wrong. It twists his stomach. How could he not look? That's like telling him not to care. That's not even what Shiro wants. Ichigo lowers his voice, because he’s not trying to start a fight. “You’re so full of shit. When something bad happens to someone you care about, it’s not better just because you didn’t watch. You know that.” That time Ichigo got a stomach full of glass and went missing from the city for a few days made that clear. 

He tries to look as innocent as possible in the face of that sour expression, but he’s definitely not managing it. He likes the idea of Shiro jumping him more than any smart person should. There's definitely something wrong with him. He smirks. “You’re the one that’d have to reimburse the store to pay for the damage if you want to keep shopping here. And we’d just end up screwing around on a pile of clothes somewhere anyway.” They don’t fight because Shiro doesn’t trust himself, not because Ichigo is opposed. He’s never been afraid of getting hurt. But his brain is still riding that imagination train hard enough that Shiro’s threesome idea doesn’t have any trouble sparking and flaring to life behind his eyes. He blinks and catches his toes on a table leg, knocking his knee and hip into the corner edge. He grunts at the sudden stop and hisses a curse, still nonplussed and thinking of bare skin and bloody knuckles. He’s not even sure what to say to that. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he straightens and steps around the table like it didn’t just nearly take him down. But there’s heat creeping up the back of his neck. “You think that suggestion would make him less mad or more?” Which isn’t a no, because he’s not stupid. But also, “Since when are you interested in Grimmjow?” Is that a thing now? Ichigo’s asked about it before. Shiro’s answers never made it sound like it happened, but he also never directly said it didn’t. Probably on purpose. He looks over in spite of trying to be nonchalant. “Are you and Grimmjow fucking?” 

The key’s tag has a number on it, which seems pointless since there’s only two doors, and the small lock wouldn’t stop anyone if they wanted inside. He uses the key and pushes the door open, dropping it and the stack of clothes onto a chair. He glances back to Shiro and his empty hands. “You didn’t find anything?” It’s the first time it occurs to him that he might’ve dragged Shiro here just for himself and not because Shiro wanted to shop. He closes the door, because it won’t stop Shiro if he decides to come along, but it will keep someone from unintentionally seeing his gun as the distressed sweater comes off. He doesn’t need to try on the sweatshirt, but he does.

An expression somewhere between tired and unimpressed flickers across his features and he shakes his head slightly. "Probably not." It's moments like this that he misses when his crew was smaller. Not everyone that came and went through the warehouse crew was loyal, but it sure seems like he was more respected back then.

That makes him laugh. Still smirking and a little sheepish, he says, "In your defense, I'm good at not lettin' that distract me." At least not in so far as getting his ass handed to him because of it. It was certainly a deciding factor on why Ichigo walked away from his attempted murder, that and because Shiro's opportunistic. Ichigo was strong and a good fighter and couldn't sell him out because Shiro knew his dirty secrets. It was really a win-win for Shiro. Ichigo's response to his comment about his drug use sends a flash of stung anger through him. Ichigo's not around to see anything. Hell, if Ichigo had been around, he might have had the support he needed to keep from using again to begin with. Part of him knows it's not fair to pin his relapse on Ichigo, but he's got it in his head that it wouldn't have happened if things had turned out different between them. "You don't have to look." It's muttered because any louder and he wouldn't be able to keep the hurt from his voice.

He turns a sour look in Ichigo's direction for that, but yeah ok, fine. Not only would it not be smart to get between them, but it probably would be good entertainment too. Still. "You're about to find out how well I can still fight." He arches a brow, "If I were you? I'd totally defend my friend and then make out with you. Then maybe invite Grimmjow for a threesome." Ok all of that might be true except the first part. He'd watch first too.

This store is distracting. He's not even trying to shop for himself but he finds himself idly pushing hangers aside and shuffling through stacked clothes. Every time he's ever been here he's found something he looks great in. He stops his casual perusal to follow Ichigo to the counter, not surprised when there's no real acknowledgement from the clerk. Shiro can't blame the kid, he'd hate a job like this too.

[curtins]

🌿 I LOVE YOU SO MATCHA! — gojo satoru sfw!

prologue. → green was the color of life, and gojo satoru, in all his contradictions, carried life in the way he loved recklessly, laughed shamelessly, and held you like the universe began and ended with you. 🌿 🤍 part of the cookbook (@antizenin)

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

but green is the colour of earth. of living things, of life. and of rot. — unknown.

warnings+. sweetness and established relationship, there's angst in this i genuinely couldn't help it, reader wears a dress in a scene, mentions of injury!

word count. 4k! song inspiration. luther — kendrick lamar, sza

a/n. i'm doing the sukuna shibuya bow from making another predictable twist and ending. but i actually rlly loved writing this, this fic is gonna stay with me i fear <3 gif made by me!

mp3. if it was up to me, i wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy. i'd take away the pain, i'd give you everything

most people think of gojo satoru in shades of blue.

not the soft and wistful kind that paints summer skies, or the quiet ripple of a lake at dawn. no, they think of an unearthly blue. sharp and electrifying, the kind that stings your eyes and lingers even after you look away.

the shocking azure of his cursed technique, like lightning bottled and ready to shatter the earth. or maybe it's the endless stretch of his eyes, the kind of blue that is so bright, you may burn yourself if you look too long.

to everyone else, gojo is blue. bold, and unrelenting and impossible to ignore.

but to you, gojo satoru is green.

it took time for you to notice it. green doesn't always shout or demand attention. it waits quietly in the background, sometimes content to let others take the stage.

but once you saw it, it was everywhere. it bloomed and took over your life.

the café smells like freshly brewed coffee, warm bread, and the faint sweetness of jasmine blooms sitting in a vase by the window. it's a quiet day, the kind that only seems to exist when gojo has finally managed to wrangle some rare time off.

your boyfriend sits across from you, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, grinning like he's thought of something utterly brilliant.

"okay, hear me out," he says, holding up a hand like he's about to make a groundbreaking declaration that will shatter the earth and bring world peace, "you're the oolong one for me."

you pause and scrunch your face, mid-sip in your tea, "please don't."

gojo leans forward, his grin growing wider ever still, "no? how about this? you're simply tea-rrific."

you bury your face in your hands, as an elderly couple looks at the two of you oddly, "you're unbearable."

"tea-rrific. like terrific," gojo laughs, wagging a finger like a professor lecturing his class, "get it? because -"

"oh, i get it," you cut in, shaking your head but still smiling at your entire world of a boyfriend, "i just refuse to reward bad behaviour."

but you should know better than to think you've tampered down on the relentless force that is gojo satoru. he is relentless in all things, especially when he decides to make you laugh. he's launched into an entire string of tea-related puns, each one worse than the last.

chai think you're amazing! we're a matcha made in heaven! leaf me alone, i'm on a roll!

and somehow, somewhere between the chai and matcha, you start to notice the green.

the delicate stems and leaves of the jasmine says slightly as the café door opens and closes, catching your eye. their soft green isn't loud nor is it attention-seeking. just quietly present, a backdrop to the white blooms that adorn their head.

it is the kind of colour you don't realise you've been missing until it's suddenly there.

you glance at the window, and the trees lining the street are the same, their leaves dappling the sunlight as they sway in the breeze. even the café walls, painted in a muted, sage-like shade, seem to glow just a little in the sunlight. a backdrop to gojo's charming antics.

he's still in front of you, his hair gleaming the same dewy shade as the jasmine blossoms. so animated as he explains why leaf me alone was an under appreciated pun.

there's green in him too, you think.

not in the obvious sense for gojo satoru is far too outwardly vivid to be defined by something as soft as the green akin to your matcha. but it's still there, beneath the flash of his grin and the sharpness of his humour. in the way that he leans closer to make sure you're still smiling.

in the way he somehow turns the whole world into a quiet garden on days like this.

"okay," gojo says, leaning back to cross his arms over his crisp white tee, "i'll stop. but admit it, i brewed up some great ones."

you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you, "fine. one of them was acceptable."

gojo gasps, clutching his chest like you've delivered a fatal, cleaving wound, "one? one? i give you comedy gold, and the love of my life repays me like this!"

the jasmine leaves quiver again as your knee knocks up, shaking the table, "you're impossible."

gojo smiles softer this time, tipping his head as though you've delivered the greatest compliment in the world, "yeah. but love me so matcha!"

the strongest sorcerer in modern history is cracking himself up again, and you can feel the warmth of the colour green around you. in the leaves, in the dappled light, and the man across from you who somehow makes the world softer, and sweeter. and full of life.

there's a matcha-green hoodie in gojo's closest. it's oversized, cozy and worn just enough at the cuffs to feel like a bit of a secret. something loved so well that it holds pieces of him in the quilted fabric.

it's nothing like the sharp navy and indigo of his uniform that he wears on duty, where every line is a untouchable warning. no, these clothes are the opposite for you. it's familar. it's gojo's off-duty self, the one that the rest of the world doesn't get to see.

gojo only really wears it at home, when he's padding around barefoot with tousled, snowy hair brushing over his forehead as he pretends to tiptoe (and fails spectacularly) to let you sleep in. it's the kind of green that somehow makes the mornings softer, as if the day dances quietly around you too.

it's also the green of the evenings when he drapes himself over the couch in your apartment, long legs dangling over the armrest while he beckons you with a lazy smile.

the fabric is impossibly soft against your cheek as you settle into his broad chest, and his arms loop around you like they were always meant to belong there. it smells like him too, a little like cedar and a little like pine. and you think it might be your favourite place in the world.

one time, you stole it.

you hadn't planned it. you had been cold, and it had been right there. before you knew it, you had been walking around the house in its oversized embrace.

when gojo had caught you for the first, his grin stretched wide, playful and wicked.

"hey, well," gojo had drawled, leaning against a doorframe like a cartoon cat that had finally cornered the mouse, "look who's going through other people's closets."

you tugged the sleeves further over your hands, "it's comfortable. you take my shit all the time."

"it's cute on you," gojo says, sauntering closer and placing his large hands on either side of your face, "but you know...no one looks cuter than me."

you snort and turn your back on him, which only encourages for the six-foot-three man to chase after you. and even though he claimed he needed it back, he didn't get it for a week.

maybe because you refused to give it up, or maybe because every time he saw you in it, he just shook his head, grinning as if he’d been caught in the middle of something he didn’t mind losing.

when gojo invited you back to the family estate, you had braced yourself for grandeur. looming gates, and endless halls. the suffocating weight of tradition.

and yes, the grandeur had been there. but what lingered most in your memory wasn't the vastness or the architecture. it was how beautiful it was.

there were several shrines that lay nestled among the estate, hidden away on plots of land. this one had been worn soft by time, covered in moss and nestled among the larger stones.

spring had woven itself into every corner of the estate, from the blossoms swaying overhead to the long grass brushing against your ankles as you walked.

gojo stood a few steps ahead of you, glancing back as if to make sure that you hadn't disappeared, hadn't been swallowed up by the earth. he was dressed in far more traditional robes for once, navy linen lowing and rippling as he moved.

but there was something endearingly out of place about him here, like a bird perched on the wrong branch.

"spring makes it look nicer than it is," he said, running his fingers over the soft, white edges of his undercut. you can hear the underlying vulnerable note in his seemingly casual voice.

you didn’t reply right away, too caught up in the way the sunlight filtered through the cherry blossoms, scattering dappled green shadows across the worn stone steps. when you reached the base of the shrine, you paused, taking it all in: the moss, the blossoms, the breeze, and him.

"it's beautiful," you said finally, and he gave you a lopsided smile that felt more honest than any grandeur could ever be.

he waited for you at the top of the steps, his gaze steady and warm as the spring air. for a moment, he looked like he belonged here, a part of the ancient garden itself. like a carven statue created by loving hands, forever memorialised as something not quite human. but you knew better.

he didn't like this place — this house that felt more like a museum than a home, this estate heavy with the weight of a family name he wore like armour. since arriving, he’d been quieter than usual, his usual spark dimmed by old memories and expectations, and constantly bowing servants who called him lord and master gojo.

but now, as gojo watched you walk through the long grass, something shifted. his shoulders have relaxed, his hands hung loose at his sides. and then, so softly you almost missed it, he says, "i want to marry you."

you froze, the words catching in the breeze between you.

he wasn’t looking at the shrine anymore, or the blossoms, or the sky. gojo satoru was looking at you, his blue eyes calm and unwavering, like he’d found his answer in the very place he’d been avoiding.

"i know it's not much right now," he added, his voice low and rough around the edges, as though he wasn’t used to baring this part of himself, "and i don't care what the elders say. but you're the only person i want."

at the edge of the jujutsu high campus, there's a vending machine of incredible drinks. its green paint had faded, and chipped from the years of stubborn sun and countless coins clinking into its slot.

it hums faintly, blending into the scenery like a reliable friend that carried you through your own years of high school.

somehow, it's become your spot. not officially, no. there was no grand declaration, no conscious agreement and treaty. but after his classes, he always ends up here.

and so do you.

it starts the same way each time. gojo satoru saunters up to his fiancé with that unmistakable grin, white hair catching the light as if he was trying outshine the sun itself.

you watch as he slides a coin into the slot with theatrical position, with his finger hovering dramatically over the buttons. like he's choosing between life and death, instead of commercial canned drinks.

"one iced matcha," gojo announces in a tone meant for a training arena, and not a quiet campus corner. his hand arcs in an exaggerated flourish as he offers you the drink, "for the love of my life."

you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you, "flattery won’t get you anywhere," you reply, accepting the can and cracking it open with practiced ease.

it's a dance you've done a hundred times, but somehow it never gets old. he leans against the vending machine, towering and smug, watching you take a sip like he’s waiting for something.

"don't even think about it, satoru" you warn, holding the can just out of his reach.

but it’s gojo, so of course he thinks about it. he grins wider — how is that possible? and in one fluid motion, he leans in and steals a sip before you can react.

"i will get revenge, always so difficult," you weakly huff, but your fond smile gives you away.

"difficult to resist," he counters, winking like it’s a challenge, "besides," gojo adds, holding the can up to the light as if inspecting its soul, "it tastes better when it’s yours."

you snatch it back, pretending to glare at him, but he’s already leaning closer, his hand brushing yours as he reaches to press another button.

"second round?" he asks, as if this isn’t already part of his plan.

the vending machine hums again, green and steady and familiar, as it delivers another drink with a satisfying clunk.

green had grown to be more than just a colour. it had been a thread that stitched its way through your love story. quiet and constant.

so when the day came, when your heart thudded heavier than ever before and your hands shook just slightly as you smoothed down the expensive fabric, it only made sense that the colour of vitality and new beginnings was everywhere.

the first ceremony itself had been steeped in tradition, from the elegant folds of your formal robes to the rhythmic chants that seemed to echo on in your head. you were grateful for its beauty, but it was the dinner afterwards that felt like yours truly.

the reception was tucked away in a corner of the sprawling grounds, where the tables were adorned with white lilies so luminous they seemed to carry their own light. they sat in vases of muted jade, the colour rich and soft, like the grass after a spring rain. the candles flickered in delicate green holders, casting shadows that waltzed across the tablecloths.

gojo was, of course, the first thing you noticed when you stepped into the space. he wasn’t wearing robes anymore; he’d swapped them for a sleek black suit that fit him perfectly, save for the ever-so-slightly loosened tie (because he couldn't help himself). his hair, as untameable as always, gleamed in the low light.

and then there was you, in a flowing green dress that felt like you’d stepped out of a dream and into his orbit. the soft fabric caught the candlelight, shifting from deep emerald to pale sage as you moved, shimmering. you thought about how this colour, the one that reminded you of leaves and tea and moss-covered shrines — had always meant life to you.

gojo's grin when he saw you was wide enough to rival the moon, and he made a show of adjusting his tie like a movie star spotting their co-star for the first time, with an awfully cliché wink.

"you clean up nice," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief, and then something more love-struck, "my beautiful wife. i must be the luckiest man on earth."

"and you’re just realising this now?" you teased, the soft fabric of your dress whispering as you stepped closer.

dinner wasn’t a grand banquet, but it was perfect — just your closest friends, a table overflowing with warmth, and gojo stealing glances at you as if you’d disappear if he looked away for too long. between bites of food and sips of something sweet, he leaned over to whisper ridiculous commentary in your ear about your guests: how much wine nanami had thrown back, or how shoko had situated herself perfectly near the food.

but then, in quieter moments, he’d reach for your hand beneath the table, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on your skin.

the night blurred into laughter and soft music, of digital cameras and drunk speeches. the green hues around you shifting like memories folding into themselves. you caught sight of the lilies swaying gently in the breeze and thought about how gojo had insisted on them when you’d been indecisive.

"white lilies mean devotion," he'd said, smirking like he knew something you didn’t.

"and green?" you'd asked.

"green's for us," he replied, "or for you. i know you like it so much. an' it's cute when you're sentimental."

by the end of the night, gojo's tie was completely undone, and his jacket hung over the back of a chair. he pulled you onto the dance floor despite your protests that your feet hurt, practically yelling in their strapped heels.

"then i'll carry you," he said dramatically, dipping you halfway before breaking into laughter when you yelped.

the two of you swayed there, in the gentle green glow of the reception, his arms wrapped around you and the world falling into place. your husband smelled faintly of the lilies and something warm you couldn’t name. you're sure if you put pen to paper, like a poet of old, you might be able to name that feeling.

"you know," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, "i've been to a lot of ceremonies, but this one’s definitely my favourite."

"oh? why's that?" you asked, resting your cheek against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"because this time, i got to marry you."

you used to love the colour white. it had been the colour everything pure. everything soft that made you feel safe. the brightness of it had brought a clarity to the world.

it was the colour gojo's unruly hair, glistening in the sun like a crown. you had been so enamoured, watching him run slender fingers through soft strands. to you, white had always been perfect and radiant in all of gojo's unbridled glory.

but the winds of the snow storm must have shifted.

you still remember that day so vividly, as if your mind could never forget it no matter how much you wished it could. the white falling on the streets of shinjuku, covered with layers of freshly fallen snow. pristine and untouched.

but there had been a sickening crack of flesh against pavement, the wet thud that only those who've known death too closely can identify.

you had seen it before you'd even registered the horror of it all. the red, the bright crimson that bled into the snow. staining it, warping it. turning it into something so vile. the ministrations of ryomen sukuna.

gojo's body, cleaven and unmoving. the garnet staining his snow-white hair as it pulled from under his spine. the quiet calm that had settled over his face, as if he had seen something so wondrous in his last moments.

that snow, once so untouched and pure, was suffocated by the iron scent of blood. and at that moment, when you had lost him forever, was the moment you knew that white would never mean purity again.

the colour of white, the colour of christmas eve — no longer held any softness for you. it wasn’t the gentle lightness of his hair; it was the cold, hard truth of loss. it was the memory of blood seeping into that pure snow, the last thing he saw before his life was ripped away.

now, you avoid it. you avoid white whenever you can, as if by doing so, you can erase that moment from your mind. you keep your house warm and cozy, perhaps almost unhealthily so, with shades of warm and soft earth tones, and you dress your daughter in colours that remind you of life, of what was still worth living for. but white? it's a shadow, a reminder. so, you avoid it.

but then, one afternoon, a few months later, your daughter tugs at your hand, small and warm, a soft giggle escaping her as she skips ahead of you. you can’t help but smile at her, at how much of gojo satoru is in her — the way she laughs without hesitation, the way her energy fills up every room, every corner.

you're walking down the street, the air still crisp from the tail-end of winter. it's one of those moments when the world feels ordinary, but in the best way possible. sunlight filtering down between reconstructed buildings, the bustle of the city in the background, your daughter's little chirp bubbling in the space between. you're lost in her, in the joy she brings.

but then, you stop.

you don't mean to. you didn't even notice where your feet were taking you until it happens. your gaze drops to the ground, and there it is.

that spot. the place where it all happened. the very spot where the white had been stained with merlot, the place where gojo's life was stolen from you. the pavement looks the same, the cracks just as they were before, but there's something different now.

a tiny green plant, barely noticeable, growing through the crack in the concrete. the leaves are soft, a rich shade of green that seems to pulse with life. it's small, fragile, but determined, its roots pushing through the cold, unforgiving pavement.

you swallow, the lump in your throat almost choking you.

"satoru..." you whisper to yourself, but your daughter’s voice pulls you from your morbid, breaking thoughts.

"look!"

you glance down, seeing her kneeling beside the plant, her tiny hands reaching out to touch it with wonder in her eyes.

"it's pretty, isn’t it? can i pick it?" she asks, her voice light and innocent.

you nod, tears welling up in your eyes that you refuse to let fall. you hold your breath, trying to steady your heart. it's absurd, you think, how something so small, so simple, could make you feel so much. how something as insignificant as a sprout could make the weight of the world feel just a little bit lighter.

nitrogen, iron and phosphorus are all found in human blood. and hey! they're also needed for plants to grow!

you hear the voice of teenage shoko, kicking her legs back as you tried to finish your homework, right before yaga assigned you another detention. but now the memory comes back to you, sickens you. tears at your heart.

you crouch down beside her, your fingers gently brushing against the plant’s leaves.

"yeah, it's pretty," you whisper, voice barely audible. “best let it rest where it is, yeah?"

you've taken a deep breath and stand up, your daughter tugging you along as she continues on her path, unknowing, innocent. entirely unaware of the memory of her father, lauded as a hero and as a sharp weapon by all those who knew him.

most of those who knew him.

but you glance back at the little plant, the green leaves waving in the soft breeze, and for the first time in months, you don’t feel the crushing weight of grief.

you just feel… a little less lost. and for the first time, the colour green feels like something more than a memory of gojo satoru.

more of a promise for the future, for those who lived on.

[sagesturns]

Maybe In Another Life

Summary: One night, you call Chris, drunk and missing him. The two of you talk, and he softly admits that sometimes love just fades, no matter how hard you try to hold on. In a quiet, painful moment, he says goodbye, leaving you with nothing but the echo of what once was.

contains: angst, weed, alcohol

One night, while you were both watching the stars, Chris noticed a moth circling a light. He said, “You’re like a moth. You’re drawn to the things you love, even if it means flying through darkness. But you always find your way back.”

The thing about you and Chris was that it always felt perfect. You were a team. A unit. Everything about the way you two fit together felt so natural, so easy. You'd talk for hours, finish each other's sentences, share stupid jokes that no one else understood. When he kissed you, it was like time stopped.

When he held you, everything felt right in the world. You were convinced it would never end.In the beginning, you never questioned it. It was just you and him, navigating the world together. This was destined to be eternal. You once had that kind of love; the kind that everyone trumpets about yet hardly understands until they live it. And at some point when you think about the future, there is no denying that he was included in it.

But somewhere along the way, you started noticing the little cracks. The things that used to matter to him—to both of you—no longer seemed to spark joy. The way he looked at you started to change. But that warmth of his touch would now be replaced by distance. And no matter how hard the effort was to bridge that distance, it only seemed to get wide…

It wasn't just like that; rather, it was a long, slow, painful awareness. He’d become distant. There were late nights, missed texts, and a growing silence between you two. But you refused to believe it. You fought it. You told yourself it was just a phase. You tried harder to make it work, to keep things the same, but he kept pulling away. The breakup came unexpectedly.

One night, when you were sitting together, trying to make sense of everything, he said the words you dreaded to hear.

“I think we should break up.”The words became the ceiling of the room, and it looked like the room started to spin You could not catch your breath. You could not move. You wanted to do something, anything—say something, do something—to make it stop. But in the end, only the silence remained. He left and you had only the whispers of the love you had thought to be never fading in return.

It was a few months later, but a dull ache remained. And it was tonight, sitting in your room by yourself, that the heaviness of it all felt more unbearable than it ever had. You’d been out with friends earlier, did what you could to distract yourself, and now you were alone. With the fog that accompanies both drunkenness and a high, you retrieved your phone seeking a escape of relief.

You scrolled mindlessly through your contacts. And your finger hovered over his name—Chris—and for a second, you paused. He hadn’t been in your life for a long time, but the idea of him acted like a magnet, a force you felt powerless against. You didn’t even think about it, just tapped his name and called. The phone rang and rang and rang until finally it was his voice on the other end, familiar and distant.

“Hello?”For a second, you didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t expected him to answer. But there he was, sounding so… normal. So far away.

“Heyyy, Chris,” you said, your voice slurring slightly. “It’s me…” He didn’t speak right away. You could practically hear the confusion in his silence. “Uh, hey. What’s going on?”

You let out a shaky laugh, trying to make it sound like everything was fine. “I’m… drunk and high,” you slurred, a small chuckle escaping your lips. “Just… missed you, you know?” “Oh… uh, okay,” Chris said, his voice quiet, trying to make sense of the situation. But there was a certain softness in his tone now. “Yeah, I figured you were… a little out of it.”

You closed your eyes, letting your head rest against the wall. You fell silent, and there was an expectant pause, which you broke with a quieter voice: “I miss you,” you said, the words spilling out ungracefully. “I miss us… I miss how we were. Why did it have to happen, Chris?”

On the other end, there was this long silence and one could almost hear him fitting together the pieces. "I don't know," he said softly. “It’s been a minute now… a year, at least.” His voice was even, but there was an inescapable sadness. A year. A whole year. It was as if it had happened the day before. How do so many years pass and you remain, its lingering echo? The memory of you two. “I just…” The weight of it all seemed to hit you all at once. “I thought that was forever, you know? We had everything. I thought we had it all.” Your voice had a small crack as you talked. "I can't figure out where I messed up." "I don't think it's about pinpointing a mistake," Chris said speaking but with confidence. "Sometimes things just… lose their spark. You can't cling to something that's no longer there even if you try your hardest. I… I believe that's what happened" You took a deep unsteady breath. "I still can't wrap my head around it" I thought we were happy. Was it just me? Did I mess up?"

“No,” he answered quickly. “It wasn’t you. But sometimes… sometimes things change. People change. And it’s not anyone’s fault.” His voice dropped slightly. “It just is.” You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to spill again. It hurt more than you thought it would. “I hate it. I hate that we’re like this. I hate that I lost you.” Chris didn’t say anything for a moment, and you could feel the space between you growing, more distant with every passing second. And then, quietly, almost like an afterthought, he said, “It’s just the high talking, you know? It’s the drunk talking.” “I know,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes. But the sadness was still there. The hole inside you was still there.

There was another long pause before Chris sighed softly, a deep, almost mournful sound. “Maybe in another life, huh?” You froze at his words. The weight of them felt like a stone sinking to the bottom of your chest. “Maybe in another life?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”

The tears finally fell, but you tried to keep them in check, your breath hitching. "Why not this one?" you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Chris’s response was soft, final. “Bye, Moth.”

The call ended , and in an instant, the chat came to a close. You remained seated clutching your phone, your eyes fixed on the display as if you thought he might ring again. But the call never came. Of course, he wouldn’t. And of course he calls me my nickname… because that’s all I am now. Just a memory.

word count: 1.3k

tags: @sweetshuga @m00nl1ghts1vt

a/n: so basicallyyyy this something that happened with me..not the exact situation but smth like thatt so i decided to make it a short lil something! i wrote this half asleep, pls bare w me. anyways love you all soso much.

@sagesturns

[tinylilacbun]

Hello!! I’m loving the babysitter JJ, I was wondering if you could do one where he gets into an accident and ends up in the hospital (nothing too serious) but the ask if he has anyone to call and he calls the toddlers parents and they go and pick him up with toddler!reader and she brings him a balloon and teddy bear.

Maybe he should have just minded his business when some kooks made snarky comments about him, maybe he shouldn't have started a fight with one of them that resulted in the group chasing after him and him jumping over every obstacle until he climbed over a fence and braced the ground wrong causing him to twist his ankle.

After he found he somewhere to hide and took deep breaths he winces the second he tried to put pressure on his foot, knowing it couldn't be just a simple sprain.

JJ would usually never go to a hospital, given the fact he had never the money for it and because he couldn't stand the scent of disinfectant, but ever since he works as your babysitter he had a bit more budget than he ever had in his life.

That's how he's now sitting on a hospital bed, his ankle already in a brace and morphine in his system to help with the pain as he's waiting for the nurse to bring him the discharge papers.

He's looking down at his phone, hesitating to do what the nurse suggested to him earlier, that he should call someone to pick him up since the way home would be taking too long for him to manage alone.

His thought of calling his father dismisses he the second it enters his mind, knowing he would just end up sitting here for another reason after doing so, the Twinkie is having some issues right now so not even John b can pick him up right now.

With a sigh he sends a text to your mother, making sure to say that it's not necessary if they're busy, instantly regretting his decision and about to delete it again until he notices that she already read the message.

He curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Since then he hasn't gotten a reply, sitting there for another half hour the door opens and he thinks it's the nurse with the papers but his eyes widen a tad when he sees your parents.

Your father is holding you securely on his hip, setting you down the moment you start to squirm in his hold, quickly running towards JJ to hug his waist, standing between his legs.

"Hey, there, princess..." He chuckles, patting your back before he looks up at your parents, seeing the clear concern on their faces.

"Are you okay? Did they give you proper care? Because if not I'll-" Your mother starts but JJ nods, reaching down to pick you up and sit you down next to him as you keep clinging onto him.

"I'm fine...I shouldn't have bothered you 'cause of this." He mumbles, glancing at the things you're holding. "Watcha got there, huh?"

"Oh! Dis for you jay! To makes you happy." You smile at him, holding the blue balloon and a small teddy bear out to him.

JJ doesn't know how he deserves all this, seeing you in the country club that one day was the best thing that ever happened to him and he will forever be grateful.

"Thanks, cupcake..." He says quietly, booping your nose with the paw of the teddy bear to hear you giggle. "He's just as adorable as you."

Soon the discharge papers were signed and JJ made his way outside with crutches, not really protesting when his father asked if he wanted to stay over, just for the night.

Your parents know that it's hard for JJ to let people help him, even more if they're kooks, but your parents seem to be the only exception. He would never admit that though.

You hold his hand the whole car ride back to your house, wanting to comfort him like he always does when you're hurt or sad, rambling about your day and he listens to every word you say, smiling at you the whole time.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu @mylettterstoyou @sunf1ower16 @sweetstars-posts @rafecameronsloverrrrr @rafenroostersgirl

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

[colorquest]

~☆~

D: Hey, hey, how much you wanna bet I can jump from the ladder to that chest without getting hurt? D: I'll land on all fours. M: I'm not sure I really want to bet anything on that, D... S: If there's anyone who could do that, it'd be you Debbie. D: Okay both of those answers are useless to me. D: Vilmr can you at least pretend you don't believe I'll make it so I can rub it in your face when I do? V: ... 🔆 D: Vilmr? S: You look deep in thought Vilmr, what's on your mind? V: I am just starting to wonder... V: If maybe we should ask Maja, if we should be streaming this. D: Are you serious. M: Do you mean from a legal standpoint, or...? V: I am thinking more about our karma. V: What if we are attracting bad company, observing this as skeptics? D: Well then you shouldn't have to worry because you're not the one seeing it. V: I can worry for your safety too, you know. S: It's nice of you to worry for us Vilmr, but I think it's alright. D: Yeah a million jillion people have seen eclipses before and ended up okay. D: Probably. D: I mean how else would we be here right now. V: Mmh... V: Maybe...

S: Oh hey, I know we can't tonight, but... S: You know what'd be fun tomorrow night? D: What? S: We should play night tag again! 🔆 S: Since the moon's so new it'll still be extra dark out. S: I know how much you like night tag Vilmr! V: Only if it's not in the woods this time! V: I hate it when Debbie hides in the trees. V: We can never find her! D: Hey okay, nobody ever said it was against the rules. V: Well I want it to be against the rules now. D: Pssh. D: Not my fault I'm super smart and think like, five steps ahead. S: Well, we could fly down somewhere more wide open if Yuan is around tomorrow night? D: Fuuuuuuuck yes, I'd be so down. M: Oh, I don't think I can tomorrow. S: *gasp* S: Oh my gosh right, tomorrow is your first night at the comic shop isn't it? M: Yeah, but I don't mind if you guys go ahead without me! D: Excuses, excuses... D: If you're scared of getting owned just say so. M: You got me, D. M: My job is just an elaborate ploy to avoid losing at tag. S: Well maybe we could save it for another day and go comic shopping instead? :> D: What the heck, are we gonna be shopping for like, hours? D: We could still play night tag, like, we can do both-- OH! D: Ohhhhh, if we do go though, Michael you BETTER remember to bring that hat. M: Haha, of course D.

S: *yawwwwwn* S: Vilmr, you still seem pretty agitated, are you that worried? V: What do you think? D: I'm not even gonna get innnnnnto this anymore! D: Honestly I think it's just so stupid silly. D: If you don't even believe in this stuff for real, what is even your reasoning this time? V: Debbie, just because I do not worship a moon god does not mean I do not believe in bad karma. V: With or without gods, things are always at play in this universe. V: It is not stupid, not to me. V: What happens if it really is a bad omen? V: What if we're doing something really dumb right now? V: Just to say you got to see it? D: Jeez Vilmr, you gave me your cell so you could avoid talking like this! D: I might as well be replaying Maja's voicemail, you two sound so similar. V: You are impossible! M: Vilmr, we're not the only ones watching this livestream.🔆 M: I'm seeing there's at least another fifty on the same page. M: Do you think they're in trouble too? V: Yes, I do. V: I'm really starting to think this stream shouldn't be up in the first place. V: There is a reason why this eclipse is in such a remote part of the planet. V: Think about it. V: The only places this can even be observed at all are either in the middle of the emptiest ocean in the whole world, or on the furthest edge of all of Halvma. V: Nobody even lives there. V: It's almost like nobody's meant to be seeing this one. S: What do you think is going to happen, Vilmr?

V: I! V: I do not know. V: But it feels like something bad. V: The air is biting all around me, I can feel it. S: Vilmr, I don't mean this in any sort of judgemental way or anything, but... S: You tend to say these kinds of things about a lot of things. S: And things usually end up alright. V: Ah, but see you fail to realise, you use the keyword: "usually." V: As in, not always. V: Sometimes, things still go bad. M: ...you do seem to have some pretty impressive foresight from time to time, I have to give it to you. V: Thank you. D: Okay well nothing's gonna stop me from watching this, sorry not sorry. D: If it means I'll die, at least I did it watching something cool, right Samantha? S: ... D: .........Smumantha...... S: Well now I'm nervous! V: And there is good reason for this! D: Well duh, you scared her into feeling that way! D: -_-!!! M: Okay, I know I complimented your foresight just now Vilmr but I really do think it's... a bit of a stretch? M: This time, I mean. M: Like, uh, aside from the fact that this might be legally dubious, D: enough with that already we gettttt it we get it. M: I think we'll be okay. M: It's not like we're actually seeing it in real life, you know? M: It's just a projection of it, after all. S: Oh, I guess that's a good point. D: Literally such a good point, probably the best point you've ever made actually Michael. V: Blughghhhhhh...

D: It's already about to start anyways, huhuhuhUAHAH!!! S: Ahhh no okay I'm still scared! M: It's just a video Samantha, nothing divine about that! V: Maja förlåt miggggggg... D: No turning back now, scaredyturds!

<[Last] || [Next]>

[klausysworld]

Apart of the Family

Loving Elijah Mikaelson wasn't an easy thing.

He pushed me away the entirety of the start of our relationship, he wouldn't talk about his feelings or his thoughts. Sometimes he thought breaking up would protect me from him and his family.

If I hadn't loved him so much then I would have left but I couldn't help but stay. We met in Mystic Falls when he was there to deal with Klaus and avenge his family. I had thought he'd left when Klaus daggered him so I was so happy when Damon woke him back up.

He came to my house even before getting his haircut to see me and he ended up staying the night before having to leave with plans to wake his family.

Rebekah didn't like me much to start out, none of them trusted me or wanted me in their house but that didn't stop Elijah from coming to mine. But if he wasn't with them, looking after them 24/7 like a father figure then they all started to fall apart.

He started to pull away again, so I had to confront the Mikaelsons myself, which was admittedly terrifying but overall worth it when Klaus's eyes shimmered with respect and I got to shove past Rebekah and up the stairs of the mansion. Elijah was practically feral after listening to me stand up to his siblings.

His mother liked me, although I'm not really sure if that should be taken as a compliment or an insult. Elijah liked it though. I think he's always sought approval from his parents.

He was distraught when he found out his mother planned to kill them. More broken then any of his siblings could ever know. He made me promise not to tell them that he'd been sobbing into my chest for over two hours that night.

We left for a little while, Elijah needed some time and I jumped at the chance of having him alone for a little while before he was inevitably called back.

We'd been living such a domesticated life We had our own house, yard, stupid white-picket fence.

Even though I knew it was impossible, I started to dream of having his child. I knew he'd been the perfect father, he had a thousand years worth of practice.

I could imagine if we had a son, he'd be all dressed in his little suit with his hair combed neatly. Elijah was just perfect, but he couldn't have children so I wouldn’t either.

I thought I was happy with that, until I found out that Klaus was having a baby.

It wasn't fair. He didn't even want a child and neither did Hayley. Elijah was the only reason the child stayed alive and Klaus still daggered him.

"I promise you, I'll bring him home." He told me when I'd found out he wasn't even in the house somewhere but under Marcels mercy.

"Klaus." I whispered, I could feel my eyes getting wet with tears and he sighed.

"I wouldn't let him get hurt. I know you think I'm selfish and I use my brother...to an extent that's true, but I do love him and I know that you do. He'll come back and I'll undagger him before the baby is even born." He promised and I didn't have much room to argue. Instead I just went back upstairs.

Even Rebekah came which was a nightmare. I don't know what her problem was for me but somehow my favourite Mikaelson in that house was Klaus.

Until Klaus finally brought him back.

I didn't care that Rebekah was pissed that I got to hug him first, I refused to let him go and he didn't seem to be budging much either. I could feel his face nuzzling my neck as I breathed in his scent.

"He made us stop at a suit shop on the way over, he refused for you to see him all dusty and-"

"That's enough, Niklaus. Just leave us be." Elijah muttered and I sighed in relief at the sound of his voice.

By evening I was snuggled up to his bare chest, his hands on my back as he pressed a series of kisses to the top of my head.

"I love you." He mumbled and I smiled, he didn't like saying it often. He worried it would lose it's meaning.

"I love you too." I whispered, wanting nothing more than to lay with him forever.

Things got better and worse from then.

Everything was Klaus centred again of course. When wasn't it?

But I did feel bad for him, to have to go as far to fake his child's death. It was the first time I'd ever hugged him, I could feel his tears on my neck as he tried to sniff them back. Elijah was looking at me from across the room, a slight nod to his head as he finished the phone call with Rebekah.

Things were quiet after that.

But then everything went wrong again, Esther and Mikael came back. Elijah's 'Red Door' opened and he almost suffocated me in his sleep.

He wouldn't touch be for almost a month, not even hold my hand, it was torture. It took a very hash breakdown and a really long cry for him to finally wrap his arms around me and apologise.

It was really hard for a while, but seeing him with Hope in his arms did something to me. It broke me.

That was when Rebekah finally realised we weren't that different. She sat with me on the bathroom floor whilst I sobbed over not being able to have his child and we stayed there until Elijah came in and found us. I wouldn't tell him what was wrong and ended up leaving for a a few hours but it was obvious that Rebekah had spoken to him about it by the time I got home.

He welcomed be back into his arms and he held me tight, caressing my arms and my back before finally breaking the silence.

"I truly refuse to believe that with the amount of magic in this world, that there is no possible chance of me being able to give you a baby." He whispered and I sniffed.

"You're dead Elijah, your sperm is dead." I mumbled and he ran his fingers through my hair.

"Witches bring people back from the dead, I think they can revive a couple of my swimmers." He chuckled and I let out a half cry/half laugh.

"You really think that?" I whispered and he kissed the side of my face.

"I'm at least going to try." He murmured.

It wasn't really mentioned again for a while so I assumed that it had just been a fleeting idea to calm me down.

That was until I walked into our room and found it covered in candles and rose petals. Elijah was stood in a fresh suit, his hands clasped together with a rose between them.

"What..." I mumbled and he let out a shaky breath.

"I found a witch." He stated and my brows pulled together for a second before the realisation washed over me.

"You did?" I whispered and he nodded. I dropped my bag down and made my way inside, standing in front of him and taking the rose from his hands, placing it down on the vanity. "Are you sure that it'll work?" I asked and his lips twitched.

"There's only one way to find that out." He murmured lowly, his umber eyes bleeding into obsidian.

I reached up to carefully undo his tie, my fingers unloosing the fabric in the way he liked to do it so that it wouldn't stretch or 'fold funny'. I pushed his blazer down his shoulders and rest it over the chair before reaching up to undo each button one by one. I made sure my fingertips brushed over the firm muscle of his chest before pulling the shirt off his arms and onto the chair as well.

My eyes glanced up to his as I loosened his belt, slipping it away from his hips and popping the button on his trousers. He let out a soft sigh through his nose as they dropped down to his ankles and he stepped out of them. I let him take his boxers off whilst I unbuttoned my dress all the way down and slipped my panties off and reached back to get my bra off.

His hand was round my waist, pulling me to bed in a second making me smile and lean back into the mattress as he hovered over me.

"I promise I'll give you a baby, Y/N." He uttered and I felt my heart and lower stomach flutter.

His hands stroked down the length of my body before my thighs were gripped and pushed open. I bit my lip to hold back my grin as his lips worked their way down from the top of my neck to my navel.

"Does this help make the baby?" I whispered with a breathy laugh as his hot breath stimulated my clitoris.

"It might." He murmured with a grin before his tongue licked a strip through my folds before focusing on my clit. My head went back, resting against the pillows and my legs fell open against his hands that gripped my thighs firmly. I looked up at the ceiling through heavy eyes as his tongue swirled perfectly. Heat stroked me so precisely that I was a trembling mess in a matter of seconds. It always amazed me how easily he broke me.

It never took long before my fingers were latched into his hair, ruining the neat appearance he always held and forcing groans to vibrate through my lower body and set fire to my core.

I never received any time to recover before he was cupping my face and lifting my legs, hushing my whine as my leg was stretched over his shoulder.

"Look at me, darling." He murmured but his voice was somehow always clear. I did as he said, my eyes locking with his as I felt him push inside me; stretching and filling me inch my inch until all the air was gone from my lungs.

His lips pushed to mine, filling my mouth with his tongue and teasing mine. "Elijah..." I moaned quietly against him and he pulled away with a groan, looking down at me and kissing my forehead as his hips drew back before pushing forward with force. I let out a sharp breath as he did so, my hands cupping his neck and my nails scratching the back of his head. "Gods..." I whispered and he let out a low hum as he build a steady rhythm to move against me.

"I can't wait to pump you full of my child." He uttered, his eyes swirling with that familiar darkness. I panted with a smile on my lips, feeling my leg strain as he pushed be deeper into the bed and moved quicker. "Feel you milk me of my last drop." He breathed out as his mouth now hovered back over mine, making my skin hotter and hotter. "See you round and swollen..." He grunted, his body stuttering before getting a little rougher.

His grip started to get tighter, his fingertips pressing bruises into the skin of my thigh and hip. The veins starting to scatter beneath his eyes and down his stubbled cheeks. My hands slid round from his neck to feel how they raised against the pads of my thumbs.

"I need you." I whispered and his brows furrowed.

"You have me." He muttered, thrusting particularly hard as if to make a point. "All of me."

"Prove it." I breathed and his blunt nails dug in a little before one of his hands let go and slid down my body to massage my clit so well that I knew that was it for me.

His other hand was round my throat, forcing me to look back at him as his warmth started to fill more and more, one thrust at a time until he stayed completely still above me. His forehead rest against mine, his skin warm on mine as he shifted to kiss my lips.

"I promise you, by the end of the year, you'll be carrying our child and I'll be massaging you until you're perfectly sated." He smiled and I mirrored it as he shifted so that I was laid on top of his firm body. "We should lay for a while...so that it can take." He whispered and I hummed.

"I'd lay with you forever."

"Always, and forever." He corrected softly.

[frogsmulder]

The Ring

Sometime after Mulder and Scully Meet The Weremonster, they both get a little handsy and are embarrassed that they have worn their wedding rings as a necklace the entire time they have been separated; 1.3k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic

Part 1: The Ring

The ring is a symbol of unity, eternity, constancy, and hope. They had always had that in excess, there was no doubt, or at least Mulder had thought. He considers each of these things as he thumbs the gold band Scully had placed on his fourth finger almost a decade ago. The wedding ring, once placed, shouldn’t be removed, not for poverty, not for sickness, not even in death. It should have tied them together forever. The cold overhead office lights catch and glimmer on the ring as Mulder twists it between his fingers and swivels in his chair. He still considers himself a married man, even through his failings. It has been over for a while between them, but hope is a hard thing to kill, especially when he again gets to see her smile everyday.

The distinctive click of Scully’s heels gets louder as she walks towards the office door. An involuntary grin, pulls at the corners of his mouth. Quickly, he drops the ring behind his shirt, where it hangs out of sight on a chain he wears around his neck. She saunters in with two steaming coffee cups in her hands and a new file tucked under her arm. “Skinner has sent us another case–one to get your paranormal juices flowing.” 

Seeing Scully in good form, beautiful as always, his grin turns coy as his heart beats allegro presto. He stands and swoops around her, taking his coffee and talking closely in her ear, “Paranormal juices?” he delights in her smirk– “Is that a quote from Skinner or have you got more creative juice in that coffee than you are letting on?”

He may have pushed her away, she may have moved out–called the end to their relationship–but he is still a married man and hope is a hard thing to kill.

Part 2: The Unity

...Some time later...

Mulder pauses for a moment, appreciating the beauty sitting in his lap before him, how she seems to grow finer with each passing year, like a wine he can’t afford to taste, but can’t help thirsting for. The lights of the lamps in the living room are dim, giving Scully an ethereal glow as he brushes his fingers through her hair. It falls like the red curtain at the end of the final act around her face, tasting him with a hunger that reminds him that the story is never over. She had been off the menu for so long and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her desire again but he doesn’t question it as her tongue seeks his, falling to her will so comfortably. 

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he remembers that she took him up on his open invitation for dinner at their once shared home; she was the one that suggested a film when the case reports got too tiring; she snuggled up to him on the old familiar couch, thighs touching side by side and then a head resting on his shoulder. He had embraced her brazen physical contact like catching an individual cherry blossom falling from the sky: admiring its wonder and cautious of its fragility. Scully had taken the worry of that blossom and thrown it aside the moment she had turned her lips against the pulse point of his neck.

Her tongue drags along that point now, drawing out an appreciative groan from him. His hands settle on her hips and rock her closer, appreciating how her body, still strong, has softened with the years. 

He keeps his eyes open, afraid that this is a cruel dream, that if he blinks she will drift away like smoke as she did many years ago. He watches as her perfect blue eyes roll back and her eyelashes flutter when she grinds herself against the bulge in his jeans. It’s a vision he’s witnessed many times but never tires of. His thumb trails up her body to rest on her chin, gently coaxing her lips apart, replacing her need for air with his own lips. He can feel her smile against them.

He’s afraid to ask but he has to know, so on a shallow breath he murmurs, “What are we doing?”

“Reconnecting.” Scully lets her forehead rest against his. “Is this okay?”

“God, yes, I just…”

It’s her turn to run her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

With a wicked grin, she starts slowly rolling against him again and he lets her play this slow dance, basking in the waves of pleasure she creates. Her fingers wander down from playing with the fuzzy hair at the nape of his neck to laying her palms flat against his chest, mooring herself at his harbour. 

Mulder stiffens and his blood heats, his heart beating erratically against the walls of his chest. Under his shirt, between the frame of her hands, lies a chain that’s tied him for so long, its presence had become a second skin. It wasn’t a secret, but it was hidden out of sight: a symbol of unity and eternity he could not part with even when Scully had parted with him.

“Mulder?” Her sweet voice cuts through his embarrassment, her worry bringing him back to the moment.

“I’m alright. I just…” He sighs. There shouldn’t be shame in carrying that part of her close to his chest in a gold band. He couldn’t have let her see it on his finger–their marriage through, or so he had thought–but he couldn’t part with it either. Despite his failings and her forced distance, he still considered himself a married man. He couldn’t let her know he had never kept his promise of letting her go. Gently, he moves her hands away from his chest. He couldn’t let her feel the ring.

“Mulder��” Her bright blue eyes pierce his soul as she searches for an answer to his hesitation. “Talk to me.”

He chews his lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

Crestfallen, she whispers, “What do you mean?”

“We were doing so well, keeping on friendly terms, not complicating this relationship… I–” The gold burns into his chest. Hanging his head, he mumbles, “I don’t want to lose you again. Not over a stupid mistake.”

He can hear the slight tremble in her voice and can picture the tears unspilled in the corner of her eyes. “Do you think this is a mistake?”

“No! That’s what I mean. I–”

Scully interrupts him this time, bringing his hand to lie flat over her chest. He can feel the thrumming of her heart so lively directly beneath his palm. Curious, he looks up to her.

She closes her hand over his, sealing a sacred truth. “You never lost me.”

Something cold tickles thumb just underneath her shirt. He tries to move his hand to find the source of it, suspicious that she has kept him close by too all this time, yet her grip tightens around his, holding him in place. Her face is painted with the same shock and instinctive worry that he had felt earlier. Slowly, trusting, she loosens her grip.

Mulder places a chaste kiss to her cheek, not reaching for her shirt but instead unbuttoning his own. “You never lost me,” he repeats almost with a chuckle. Reaching beneath his shirt he pulls out his wedding ring and places it in her upturned hand, watching the chain spool in her palm. “I was afraid that you would uh think… less of me if you saw this.”

With his index finger, he caresses down the opening of her shirt, tickling her flushed skin. He smiles when she pushes her chest into him despite herself. Hooking his finger around the second hidden chain, he pulls out her wedding ring, the cool diamond he had felt earlier glistening in the light.

She dips her head to hide her laugh like she used to in her youth. “I guess I should have seen this coming.”

He drops her ring into her hand and wraps his arms around her, chuckling as he kisses her, “We both should have.”

Between their bodies, Scully clutches her fist, holding their rings together, unified at last.

[estrellami-1]

Lavender Letters

To those of you who celebrate, who have something worth celebrating… happy Thanksgiving. To everyone else, happy random Thursday!

Part 8

“S-something else?” Steve parrots.

“That’s right. I’m going to put my hand on your body.” He grabs Steve’s wrist, grins at the gasp that gets him. “And you tell me if you like it there. Okay?”

“O-okay.”

“So how about here?” He tightens his grip, smiles at the whine Steve lets out.

“Y-yeah.”

“Oh, I know you do, sweet boy. You’re so expressive.”

“Eddie-”

“Mhm?” He pulls back a little, enough to see Steve’s face. Steve just gasps, little breaths in and out. “You like sayin’ my name, sweet thing?” He pulls Steve’s hand behind his back and nudges forward, causing them to brush together. He inhales shakily as Steve moans quietly. “You got an upstairs we can go to, sweetheart? Somewhere I can take you apart?”

Steve sways forward, catching himself just before their lips brush. “I’ve- I’ve got a room upstairs,” he says. “But I’m not- I can’t-”

Eddie pulls his hand to his side again, locks their fingers together. “You can’t?”

“They’re gonna hear.”

“How do you feel about gags?”

Steve shakes his head. Even the thought seems to clear his head some. “No gags. Or- or blindfolds. Or restraints.”

“But my hand around your wrist?”

“That’s fine. You’re touching me. But- but no restraints that aren’t you. Or, um. I could try? If you want me to grab the headboard and not move. I could try.”

Eddie hums. “Nah, I think I like you touching me too much. But we’re out of luck until the party’s over, huh?”

Steve turns sad eyes up at him, nods.

Eddie smiles, touches his finger to Steve’s chin. “That’s alright. We can take it slow for a couple of hours. Get to know each other even better.”

Steve smiles. “Like what?”

Eddie hums exaggeratedly, tapping his finger on his chin. “Favorite sound?”

Steve laughs. “I have two. First is rain. I love hearing rain, especially as I’m falling asleep.”

“Nothing better,” Eddie agrees. “And your second?”

Steve colors. “When Robin sleeps over she talks in her sleep sometimes, and I’ll wake up to hear it. And it reminds me that I’m safe.”

Eddie smiles. “My favorite sound is Wayne’s snoring. It’s not overly loud, but sometimes I’ll sit just behind my door and listen to him sleep until I’m close enough to get back into bed and drift off. I think it’s sweet that Robin’s yours.”

Steve looks down. “Would it bother you if I could never listen to your music? Or never learned how to play DnD?”

“Would you let me rant to you about it? You wouldn’t even have to pay attention, really, or remember anything. Just let me talk at you about it, and don’t get annoyed when I want to talk about it.”

“Of course.”

Eddie grabs his hands, smiles. “Then I promise to do the same about whatever you want.”

Steve grins. “Even if it’s sports?”

“I’ll even watch it with you,” Eddie promises.

“You will?”

“I mean, I’ll at least sit in the same room. No promises that I’ll remember anything.”

“That’s okay. Robin’s the same way. Lucas—did I tell you about him? L?”

Eddie hums. “I think so… most polite? Wicked sharp tongue? Is that him?”

Steve beams. “Yeah, exactly! He likes sports, basketball, and sometimes we’ll play together.” He angles a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got a hoop in the back. He’s getting really good.”

“I should hope so, if he’s playing with you. How about football?”

Steve hums. “I like watching it, but playing it wouldn’t be a good idea. Not with the concussions I have.”

“Wayne likes watching it, too. Maybe you could come over, watch a game with him. I know he’d appreciate it.”

Steve’s eyes shine. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He leans sideways against the counter, facing Steve. “Can I ask about the concussions? Or NDAs?”

Steve deflates. “I want to tell you.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

“Besides the fact that I fully believe the government’s got ears here? I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

Eddie hums, leans closer. “Well either way, I’d like to take you out one day in my van. Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, where you can be as loud as you want.” He leans in and whispers, “or say whatever you want.” He pulls back with a smirk. “What do you think?”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “I think I want to kick everyone out,” he murmurs, “but I also think Robin would never let me live it down if I did.”

Eddie chuckles, pulls away. “Drink your water,” he suggests. “Let’s take some time, dance a little. Socialize. Let Robin know I’m here for a good time and a long time.”

Steve takes a few big gulps of water. “I think you’re going to ruin me,” he says slowly. “In the best way possible.”

Eddie grins sharply at him. “That’s the plan, big boy.”

He winks.

Steve gulps.

This is going to be fun.

[lanaroff]

Unwanted- Part 3

Paring: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N is an enhanced SHIELD agent who is forced to work with the Avengers. What happens when they discover that she’s not alone?

A/N: Sooo I´m back. After a year I came back with the next parto. Sorry for taking so so long. Hope you like it!!!

The flight back home was one big awkward silence, where no single team member dare to asked what had happened. Not only the mission had failed, but also two members of the team were missing, if not dead. Being that the last thing that they saw was you and Wanda standing on a rooftop that seconds later became ashes.

"Can someone explain me what the fuck just happened?" Tony finally broke the silence. But no one said anything, no one had a complete answer to explain the events that ended with the missing girls. "Rogers?"

"Um... After Sam gave us Rumblow's location Y/N went after him. And I order Wanda to follow her to the rooftop as backup. If it is anyone's fault is mine. It should have been me out there." Steve answered in a apologetic way.

"What was she doing there on the first place?" Tony asked again. But this time Steve didn't answer as he didn't know.

The room once again fell into silence. Tony was angry with the outcome of the mission.  As he should be, at the end it was his reputation on the line.

"Tony, Y/N is a really competent agent. I'm sure they are fine, all we can do is wait. Going back there is only going to make things worse." Natasha said trying to defend her friend. She was well aware of Y/N's reputation of being reckless regarding Hydra.

"12 hours. I'm giving them 12 hours and after that we are going after them." Tony said ending the conversation and leaving the room.

The truth was that Natasha wasn't fully sure if her friends were alive. She knew that both Wanda and Y/N we're powerful agents, but she also knew that Y/N had a tendency to act impulsively. So all she could do was hope that the girls were somewhere safe waiting to return home.

And they were. 4 hours had went by since the duo had settled into an abandoned house. Wanda was next to the fireplace, which Y/N turned on for her so she wouldn't be cold, and the girl would close her eyes resting next to the heat of the fire. Y/N, on the other hand, was sitting next to a window across the room. Wishing that if she stared long enough at the rain it would stop.

"You are going to catch a cold. You can sit with me if you want." Wanda suggested trying to lighten the mood.

"No, I'm good here." She replied quickly. However, she immediately felt guilty for her harsh behavior as Wanda was only trying to be nice."Um Venom... it doesn't like fire" Y/N continued.

While looking from across the room, Wanda couldn't stop thinking about Y/N. How she seemed so strong but yet so broken. She knew that Y/N wasn't a person that would open to others easily. Let alone talk to a stranger about herself. But she thought that it was worth the shot since none of them had nothing better to do.

"Can I ask you a question Y/N?" She continued.

"Sure. I won't guarantee you an answer tho." Y/N replied. She could have perfectly said no. But deep down she was curious as for what Wanda wanted to know.

"Why do you want to kill Rumblow so bad? What did he do to you?" Wanda asked the girl.

"He's a traitor." She replied slowly letting herself think about her feelings. "Um... I met him when I first got to SHIELD. I guess that over the years I started to trust him. Turns out he was lying the hole time."

"Is that why you find so difficult to trust people?" Wanda asked again.

"I trust people. Just not you guys."

"Right... Do you trust Nat?" The witch asked again making Y/N nervous.

"Ye-No... Just forget about it. I don't even know why I'm talking to you about it." The truth was that that Y/N didn't knew If she trusted the spy. Sure, they were friends, weren't they? But she couldn't let Wanda know that. She wasn't going to talk about feeling with a stranger.

Y/N started to grew impatient with Wanda's questions. So she did the thing that she did best. Pretend that nothing had happened. She stood up and stared to walk towards the injured girl. She placed her left hand on Wanda's lap, and with the other one she stared to unwrap the wound to check it.

"It hurts a little less, but I don't think I can walk." Wanda said as she saw Y/N eyes staring at the open leg. 

Wanda studied every interaction that the girl made. To her, Y/N was a face with a question mark on it, she couldn't quite understand her actions nor her decisions. Every time she looked at Y/N she was able to see the girl's internal fight. Between having to be strong, and being fragile, and to the girl's fortune her eyes didn't lied.

"You are staring. Stop it, It's creepy." Y/N told Wanda feeling her eyes placed on her as she looked at the wound.

"Can I see it?" She asked. However, all she got on return was a confused look on Y/N face. "Venom- Can I see Venom?"

Y/N locked her eyes on Wanda's. And for a few seconds that was all they did. Y/N wanted to know the girl's intention, she couldn't understand why the redhead would want to do such thing. While Wanda just sat there waiting for an answer.

However, all the answered that she got from Y/N was a sight. The girl moved a few steps away from Wanda and closed her eyes.

"If you hurt her I swear to god that I will kill you." She said before letting the creature out. Venom's head emerged from behind the girl's body leaving a thin thread of materia connecting the both of them.

Wanda stood there patiently waiting for the girl. She was a little bit scared and anxious, but mostly curious to meet the creature. Her eyes features every detail of Venom. Sure, she had met the alien before, but this time Wanda didn't see it as a threat.

"I'm Wanda Maximoff, nice to finally meet you." She said. Y/N's eyes traveled from Venom to Wanda. She found hard to believe that someone would see the alien inside of her as something worth meeting. But she couldn't denied that Wanda's small action made her feel as she wasn't the monster that she thought she was. Maybe she was worth caring. Maybe there was someone who was willing to love her despite having Venom. But her thoughts were cut off by the creature's voice.

"Wanda... We are Venom" It replied. Venom was curious. Why the woman in front of it wasn't terrified? Why wasn't she running already? So it moved with precaution around the girl.

"Hi Venom, May I touch you?" She asked again. This time Y/N was not entirely sure if it was a good idea. No one before had dare to talk to the creature let alone touch it.

"I don't know Wanda. I don't think that Venom would lik..." And her words were cut off again, by the events happening right in front of her. With one hand touching Venom, Wanda let a small grin came out of her.

Suddenly, the alien's and Wanda's interaction were interrupted by the sound of a car getting closer. Y/N quickly made her way to the closet window and, as she feared, they had been found by Hydra.

"We need to leave now." She whispered. Wanda immediately tried to get up, but due to her wounds, she tripped. "Yeah, it's clear that you can't walk"

"Just leave me here. I can protect myself. You leave" Wanda said.

"Do you really think that I'm going to leave you here?" She rhetorically asked de redhead. In a matter of seconds Y/N had carried Wanda outside of the abandoned house. And with her still in her arms, she begin to walk through the woods.

"Do you at least know were you going?" Wanda complained.

"No." Y/N harshly replied.

Both girls made their way to a small town. However, before entering the area, gently, Y/N placed Wanda next to a tree. She checked the girl's leg, and without saying anything she begin to walk towards the town.

"Where are you going?" Wanda asked. She knew that Y/N would not leave without her. However, she didn't want to be left alone.

"I'm going to get a car." She replied. Y/N could see Wanda's worrying in eyes. "I will come back. I promise."

And without further ado, she made her way to the nearest gas station. Right before setting foot inside the market, she gazed a small car parked right next to the building. Y/N walked to the nearest fridge and picked a bottle of water. She placed it on the counter, and waited for the man to tell her it's price.

"Would be 85 cents, anything else?" The man asked.

"Yeah, do you happen to know were the closest route to go to NY is?" She replied. She immediately realized that the employee was starring at her shirt covered in Wanda's blood. "Uhm... My wife and I, we were hiking and she tripped. I would love to take her to the hospital."

"Oh right... Uhm, take the rout that goes south. Please take the bottle, it's on me." He said. The truth was that Y/N had no money to pay the guy. So, with a small grin she left the place. Ones outside, she broke the car's window and ripped some wires to turn on the engine.

"Who's car is that?" Wanda asked as she saw Y/N pulling down next to her.

"Does it matter?" She said and carried Wanda to the car. "Here, I got you a bottle of water in case you were thirsty."

"Thanks." She replied with a smile.

Hours had passed since they had abandoned the town. Once Y/N pulled the car down next to the compound she made her way to Wanda's door, who was fast asleep. For a moment all that the girl did was look at the redhead sleep. The one thing that she feared was happening, and she couldn't stop it. She had begin to like Wanda's company.

Without waking her up she carried Wanda inside the compound. However, Tony's shouting did interrupted Wanda's sleeping "Where were you two? Do you have any idea how worried we were Y/N?

"No, and I don't care. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to take Wanda to the medby." She said and walked her way to the room, where she placed Wanda on a stretcher.

The rest of the team followed the pair in search for answers. Non of them knew why Wanda was injured. Or why Y/N had abandoned her position previously on the mission.

"Let me check on that" Bruce said as he walked next to Wanda.

"So you are not going to say anything?" Tony asked again stopping Y/N from leaving the room.

"What is left to say? The mission failed, and Wanda is alive." She said with a cocky grin.

"Why were you after Rumblow on the first place? That was not the mission." He asked again.

"No Stark, that was not you mission. It surely was mine." She said making Tony anger grew inside of him.

"You are going to get someone kill, or worse, yourself."

"Do you really think that I care If one of you die? Or If I die? I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of this." And with her last statement Y/N left the room.

The rest of the team shared looks, Tony was angry, while Wanda was worried. Y/N last words were on loop on Wanda's head. Why didn't she care for her life? What was the thing she didn't ask for? Wanda was determined to find out why the agent was so cold and distant.

[bullet-prooflove]

Baggage: Mike Franks x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @clarasmoon @saturnsdevilz

Ties into GIbb's Ice Queen storyline:

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted - Mike reflects on the aftermath of Violet's death.

Mike doesn’t realise he’s saying another woman’s name in his sleep, not until he wakes up to an empty bed at fuck knows what time on a Saturday morning. Things have been going well between the two of you since he put his cards on the table, you’ve been staying over, keeping stuff at his place. He thinks you’d move in if he asked you to and he’s been thinking about it, he just needs to bury this case first.

Once that’s over he can start looking to the future, one that starts with mornings going down on you and nights wrapped up in you.  

He finds you in the kitchen, hunched over the sink scrubbing the shit out of last night’s skillet. He leans in the doorway, appreciating you for a minute, drinking you in. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, it barely covers your ass. Your hair is pulled up into a messy bun revealing that hickey he left on the back of your neck because he’d gotten a little carried away when he was fucking you from behind against the headboard. His gaze comes to rest back on that skillet, the ferocity of your cleaning and he knows that somewhere between making love to you last night and waking up this morning he's fucked up bad.

“What did I do?” He asks you, fiddling with the buttons of his open shirt.

You pause then, dropping the skillet back into the sink before you incline your head towards him. He can see the profile of your face in the light from the kitchen window and it almost takes his breath away. He has moments like this sometimes, ones where he gets a fierce rush of emotion when he sees you. He’s forgotten how intense it can be, falling in love again, the power you give the other person when you give them a part of yourself. Mike, he would walk through fire for you if you asked him to but you never will because love is about trust, about knowing the other person has your best interests at heart even when you lose sight of your own.

“Who is Violet?” You ask and the bottom just falls out of his entire world. “You’ve been saying her name in your sleep so she must be someone important.”

 “That’s a complicated answer.” He says finally because Mike he doesn’t like to go back to that place, not if he can help it.

“Oh.” You say, picking up a cloth to dry your hands as you turn to face him. There’s a hurt in your features, an anguish he feels deep down in the depths of this bones. “Well if it’s complicated, then let me uncomplicate it for you.”

You toss the cloth at him before you head towards the bedroom. He knows what you’re doing, you’re going to pack up your stuff, leave and part of him thinks he should let you because his baggage, it’s too fucking heavy to share with anyone else.

But then he remembers Maeve’s words from the night she patched him up back then and he realises maybe it's time to start talking about this shit.

“She died.” He says as you throw your holdall onto the bed. “Violet was my fiancée and she died.”

You freeze then and Mike waits for the words to filter through, his palm rubbing over the nape of his neck as you slowly sit down on the bed.

“It was a while back...” He tells you, tilting his head away because it’s easier to tell this story if he doesn’t have to look at you. “She was…”

He can’t quite find the words to describe Violet.

Vivacious, bubbly, the life and soul of the party.

None of them seem enough.

“I loved her, I loved who I was when I was with her.”

He’d been brighter back then, less cynical. The world, it hadn’t seemed like such a dark place. He comes to sit beside you on the bed, his palms rubbing over each other as he continues his story.

“One night she went for a run, didn’t come home. I was working a shift, didn’t realise until the military police turned up looking for me.” He looks up then, his eyes meeting yours. “He hadn’t just killed her, he brutalised her too. He took something from her that even if she had lived, she would never have been able to get back.”

He sees your understanding. As a female detective in the SDPD, cases that involve sex crimes usually get delegated to you. The consensus is it’s a woman crime therefore the women are better equipped to handle it. The illusion is the victim is the only one destroyed by the crime, but rape, it has a ripple effect, it invades everyone connected to that person, it changes them.

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.” You say into the silence, your hand clasping his. Your touch, it’s a lifeline in that moment, it gives him the strength to push on, to divulge the rest of the sordid story.

“It broke me.” He reveals, his voice raw with emotion. “I was a mess for long time after that, drinking, fighting, I just had to much fucking rage and I had nowhere to focus it.”

“They didn’t catch the guy?”

“No.” Mike says as he rubs the back of his hand across his eyes. “But the probie decided to go digging through the file recently and it’s generated some leads, I think we’re close, real fucking close.”

You squeeze his hand gently.

“That’s what the life lessons are about aren’t they?” You say softly. “You’re trying to make sure if anything happens…”

You trail off then and Mike nods his agreement.

“Leigh.” He says, his calloused hands encompassing your face, cradling it between them. “You are the most important thing in this world to me. When we started, it was like something inside just sparked and the part of me that had died, it came back to life. I could laugh again, breath again and that’s because of you, because of the way that you loved me.”

His forehead comes to rest upon yours, his thumbs stroking tenderly over your cheeks.

“If something happened to you I wouldn’t survive.” He murmurs against your mouth. “If I lost you like that…”

He’d follow you right into the grave, he can guarantee it.

“You won’t.” You promise him, your lips brushing over his. “With everything you’ve taught me, you’ve made sure of that.”

Love Mike? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kandadze]

FoF rewatch ep 2: or, Heroes, assemble! (gifs and loose thoughts)

(The 30 images limit is annoying lol I have way more gifs I wanted to use but oh well.)

Having a spotty short-term memory really works in my favor lol I get to rediscover moments that I somehow forgot existed, like ZYZ fake-gagging at WX's endearment for ZYC (activating ZYC's Annoyed Cat mode). Just how the turntables, oh Great Demon...

(The way ZYC grabs his sword at the second sneeze...)

The vow scene establishes that not only is ZYC's Cloud Light Sword the only weapon that can truly kill ZYZ *dead*, killing ZYZ with it is also the only way to prevent a new malicious energy vessel from being born. Absolutely no pressure, ZYC.

It's fascinating that even at this very early stage, ZYC's hate is not *blinding*. It's intense, enough to squeeze tears out of his eyes (also can we just appreciate how openly ZYC expresses his emotions? He seems so closed off and stiff otherwise, and at the same time ... ::gestures at his tears::) but it's not all-consuming. ZYC asks questions and listens attentively when the demon responds, even seems affected somewhat when ZYC mentions being a vessel for the malicious energy. At the same time, he won't hesitate to swear an oath on his very soul to avenge the deaths of his family. And ZYZ looks at him, his would-be executioner, as if he was his savior... Right from the get-go, we're being alerted that nothing is quite as it seems at the first glance.

There's a certain smugness to WX in her early dealings with ZYZ that grates on me just as much on the rewatch. Sure, there's the fact that she's smart and can hold her own against him, and watching them banter and call each other's bluffs is pretty delightful...

And then there's her threatening to kill herself just to get a piece of information that he already refused to provide and is not vital to the issue at hand. I can just imagine how utterly stupid and wasteful that must've looked like to him, even if he didn't already have a vested interest in her wellbeing. You're lucky that he does care (and that this particular cell wasn't blocking his powers, or at least not enough), girlie!

On the first watch, the scene with ZYC sitting at The Table of Brooding and looking at the tokens for the remaining members of the team with a clear apprehension was, at least to me, just pretty (look at that view! Look at his eyelashes! Ahem.). On the second watch you go, foreshadowinggggg!

The Table of Brooding *and* Poignant Conversations:

Our second glimpse at baby!YiChen and I realize that most of the memories we get to see of him are set in winter. It's a great touch, visually placing that sad, broken kid in a season that appears as dead, cold, and empty as his heart used to be; at the same time it seems to imply that even years later, a part of ZYC is still frozen and alone in that snowy landscape. ::hugs baby!YiChen::

This is such a great shot:

I unironically love how some things did not get any clearer on the rewatch, like the whole Ying Long prophecy/ curse is still confusing to me. If ZYZ is over 30,000 years old then that would mean that for just as long there was only one "evilest demon" to kill; if there was any other demon that was killed by a Bing Yi descendant *after* Ying Long, it should be recorded somewhere, but there's no mention of it ever (correct me if I missed something). Soooo the only "evil demon" killed by the Cloud Light Sword that we know of was Ying Long, literally in prehistoric times when the world was still being formed. And Fan daren is not of Bing Yi lineage... how does he of all people know about the prophecy in the first place? (did humans even have speech that far back? How was the prophecy even heard/ understood, not to mention recorded?) How does he know that it's accurate, and that it's a curse?

Even our swordsman appears confused, but at the same time what he mostly cares about is that, curse or no, it means he'll get to avenge his brother and father. Even if he finds it odd that the demon *wants* to die so much he goes as far as to extract an oath from him. (This surely is not a set-up for a tragedy of Greek proportions, nothing to worry about ZYC)

Another moment that I forgot about, which once again proves that this whole show is like getting lost in a gallery - there's stunning portraits, landscapes, and still nature wherever you look.

To continue with the foreshadowing, once we get to meet PSJ for the first time, she's, as someone already rightfully pointed out, *blindfolded*. It's an absolutely brilliant, if small, detail that means so much more once you get to know this character.

Case in point for Bai Jiu and his silver needle...

(Also, it just hit me that they show him seeing patients at the Jixin Clinic... can we say more foreshadowing???

Which actually begs another question... how has ZYZ *not* recognized the place??? Did he literally erase all of his memory of it - together with what happened here - from his mind?)

Even the way WX and ZYZ went about recruiting PSJ and Bai Jiu foreshadows what their respective dynamics will be - WX will flirt like whoa and PSJ might be a grump, but she'll be there to catch WX whenever the goddess needs her; and ZYZ, as much as he seems to enjoy teasing Bai Jiu, will remain endlessly patient and gentle with him at the same time.

(Bai Jiu could've had another, more mischievous elder brother in ZYZ is all I'm saying, had it not been for we all know what(s), as well as his hero-worship/ fixation on ZYC...)

Case in point, the whole scene of Bai Jiu arriving at the Demon Hunting Bureau:

Then we have this - hilarious to me - moment when we get reintroduced to ZYC via Bai Jiu's admiring eyes, but all ZYC seems to notice is ZYZ:

ZYC had Bai Jiu at 你好 (not that I blame him lol)

(On the rewatch, this totally reads as hero-worship/ teenage crush, and I love love the found brothers story we get with these two, and *also* can you imagine how much the shipping potential would've increased had we gotten an older Bai Jiu, as was supposedly planned? I guess even GJM was not able to make *that* happen...)

How fast does WX go from snickering at Bai Jiu to running to PSJ's side once the archer arrives?

(Love this outfit on PSJ, it's one of my favorite color combinations)

Our heroes, assembled!

ZYC and ZYZ, doing what they do best (lol, or at least one of the things they do best):

We also get introduced to ZYC's third mode, Petty Little Bitch:

And finally, sorry WX, but you're supposed to be the one with book smarts in this ensemble... Even on the first watch I knew that the way they were made to "sign" that martial order was sus af, but she didn't even blink, or look at the damn thing again till the hidden message started appearing?

Anyway, this is long enough as it is lol The first two eps were definitely building blocks of our squad. Time to raise the stakes in ep 3!

[alwaysthefool]

House of Horrors (x Xavier)

Tags: Comfort, action, MC Reader, GN Reader

Warnings: scary, long, violence mention

Synopsis: You see just how much Xavier tries to keep you safe during and after a mission.

Happy late Halloween 🎃?

This one was meant to be a solo mission, and Xavier, though he would always come with you if he knew, was deployed elsewhere. The circumstances surrounding the mission were odd; firstly, Jenna was on a break so it was handed to you by the robots in charge, and secondly, this was unlike any mission you’d had before.

Some tourists went missing after booking a house for their stay, and the investigation team reported strange happenings in the house, outside the gambit of police as it seemed to have something to do with Wanderers. Things weren’t too busy in Linkon either so it was confusing as to why you had to handle it alone. Nonetheless, you didn’t want to bother Xavier, so you informed Nero and Tara that you’d be going alone.

Although, as you parked your car in the driveway of the western-style , secluded from the bustling city and dark already at 6PM, you felt an urge to text Xavier, frowning when you noticed there was no service in the area, and even your hunter’s watch wasn’t functioning. That should have been your first cue to leave, but you were informed this was typical— which is where your evol would come in handy in checking for metaflux fluctuations.

Plus, in the house’s and probably your defense, it was well maintained from the outside and there were functioning CCTVs, just secluded. The tourists wouldn’t have suspected anything wrong, it was just the knowledge and silence thereafter that scared you.

You turned to open the electronic lock with the code given to you, but the door creaked open by itself.

I have a gun, you reminded yourself, heading inside.

The living room was covered in police tapes, the vintage furniture covered in plastic. You felt around the dark room for the light switch, but upon turning it off and on, it seemed to be non-working. You expected that too, so you relied on your torch.

It almost felt like ghost-hunting as you walked around the eerie house feeling for any hint of metaflux, your heart rate increasing for no apparent reason. Although your watch couldn’t sense Metaflux or send any signals, it depicted your blood pressure as ‘extremely high’, advising you to sit down. Given your syndrome, you should have, but you only had the basement left.

You climbed down the first floor, back to the living room, feeling something amiss, as if something had moved, or was different from before. You were also certain you left the front door open, but it was now shut. You chalked it off, pulling out your gun, as you found the door to the basement.

You knew it’d be dark, but even with the torch, you could barely see the stairs. You carefully took your first step down when the door behind you slammed shut.

Fuck.

The only way now was further down.

And with what you could hear, there was definitely something else there.

You gulped, every step a screeching creak, the scent of rot hijacking your nose. You didn’t dare use your peripheral vision, or look behind you for you were sure something was surrounding you. When you reached the floor and shone your flashlight, there was nothing to be seen. Quite literally, no light penetrated the basement, from where, amidst the terrorising feelings of fear and dizziness, you sensed it.

A Wanderer.

You couldn’t shoot shots into the dark, neither could you go back up, so you took a single step into the dark, trying to rely on your other senses.

Terrible idea. The logical voice in your head spoke.

You felt something grab your ankle in the pitch dark, dragging you at high speed. You let out a scream, hastily reaching for your gun which was knocked out of your hand by something sharp.

“Let me go!” You screamed, pushing at whatever held you. It lifted you up by the foot but you managed to land a shot somewhere on it, making it let you go. You fell face first, terrified, scrambling, reaching for where you dropped your torch, the only hint of light in the room. You managed to reach the basement steps, before being tripped and pulled back.

“Xavier!” You cried, your hand holding on the floorboard with dear life. You didn’t know why you called for him of all people, at the darkest moment of your life too. Your heart pleaded for him to be somewhere close by, regretting not taking him with you, hoping he’d be his stubborn self and look for you anyway.

“I’m here.” He replied, his strong hand taking yours and drawing you into the light. He pulled you safely behind him, his evol lighting up the basement. The Wanderer howled at the light, trying to hide in corners, behind the dryer, but Xavier was onto him within seconds, blazing sword slicing him into dust. With a final screech, the being fell, leaving only a Protocore behind.

Xavier let it fall to the floor, rushing back to you, holding you tightly in a protective hug. You held him back, scared, crying on his chest, letting down how brave you had tried to be.

“You’re here.” You sobbed, and he stroked your hair, shushing you gently, kissing the top of your head.

“You’re hurt.” He pulled away to look at your face in concern. You noticed his white coat covered in blood, and wondered what a mess you must have been looking like. Xavier carried you in his arms, outside, to the car, and although the Wanderer was gone, you did not dare look at the house, choosing to bury your head in his neck instead.

You were taken to the nearest hospital, doctors taking you to a bed to examine the wounds. Xavier decided to give you privacy, but you held his hand, not able to say you needed him with you. He sat beside you, squeezing your hand back, silently reassuring you he’d stay with you. His face never left yours as you were covered in small bandages. Your ankle was also dislocated, but luckily you didn’t sustain any other major injuries.

Xavier took you home, listening to the doctors and buying your medicines on the way back, and it broke your heart as you reached your front door, where you knew his hand would finally leave yours.

“I’ll be up if you need anything.” He spoke softly. You could tell he wanted to scold you for not informing him where you were going before, but you were already visibly traumatised to the point you let go of all shame and almost pleaded to him, your face a sure mess with puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Xavier looked at you with care and love, giving you a gentle nod. “Then I’ll stay with you for as long as you need.”

You nodded, allowing him to go get his things while you showered and got rid of the blood on your face. You were right, you did look filthy. If it was anyone else, would they have put up with your clinginess? Maybe Xavier just had a lot of patience.

Showering felt like a terrifying task, you having to constantly watch for any sounds or discrepancies, even looking into the mirror afterwards feeling difficult.

Thankfully, Xavier was already outside, with dinner on the coffee table. You practically ran to him, and he was more than happy to pull you into a hug. Although he’d never done it before, he kept you on his lap, turning on the TV to your favourite comfort movie.

“Thank you.” You rested your head on his chest, accepting when he fed you popcorn with his hand. He laughed at that.

“This is the first time you’re the one being clingy to me.”

“I’m being clingy?” You lifted your head up, eyes droopy. Xavier pulled you in his embrace again immediately. “But I like it.”

“Get used to it,” you leaned into him more, snuggling as he wrapped a blanket around the two of you. “Because I’m never going on a mission without you again.”

[loweffortopinions]

Holy Maker, the dialogue in Veilguard is even worse when you look closer at it. Just look at this:

Rook: "I'm guessing you're the reason we're here." Lucanis: "Who are you? Who sent you?" Rook: "My name is Rook. Caterina sent me." Lucanis: "Caterina… But you're not a Crow." Rook: "I'm breaking you out of here, but… what are you?" Neve: "Rook. He's possessed by a demon. "Lucanis: "It's complicated." Rook: "Caterina promised us a mage killer if we broke you out of here." Lucanis: "I can still work." Rook: "Good. Because I'm pretty sure more Venetori are on their way. We have to get moving." Lucanis: "They have a vial of my blood. They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And… I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here—Calivan. Crows don't break contracts." Rook: "All right, we'll help. But in return, I want help killing some things." Lucanis: "I'll owe you." Rook: "I'm sure we'll owe each other before this is all over. Let's go."

Just a few problems off the top of my head:

Caterina already promised that Lucanis would help us if we break him out. So… he double owes us already I guess?

I honestly didn’t realize he was possessed until Neve beat me over the head with it. At most I figured he was a mage, but with how the classes are designed, there was no guarantee for that since all classes look like mages now. Nothing clueing you in slowly... just BAM: THISMANISPOSSESSEDDIDYOUKNOW?

So you find out he’s buddy-buddy with a demon and no one’s freaking out? Why is everyone acting like this is normal? “Oh, hey, it’s Abomination Tuesday. Moving on.”

And I swear he repeats the whole “Crows don’t break contracts” thing in the very next scene with Calivan. I just… can’t.

There is probably more: Feel free to add your own thoughts. There is more scenes under the cut if anyone is interested in looking at the dialoge with Calivan, and the reunion in Treviso. Feel free to use it however you want (It should be word for word but I might've missed something).

Meeting and fighting Calivan

Calivan (target): "Ugh, this was entirely unnecessary. Zara and her little jests. 'He's already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won't this be ironic?'" (Lucanis smiles bitterly at the comment.)

Calivan: "Hilarious. And now look at the mess you've made of my facility. She always leaves me to clean up."

Rook: "So this is Calivan."

Lucanis: "He is. The target I was sent for a year ago. A Crow never abandons a contract."

(Note: *snort* Did both of them just ignore Calivans entire monloge?)

(Fight ensues. Calivan is cocky at first but grows desperate, talking about not wanting to be a victim or something similar.)

Lucanis: (Exhales) "The Crows send their regards." (He seems pleased that the contract is finished.)

Rook: "So we got your target."

Lucanis: "Yes. The job's done."

Spite: (Inhales) "Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet."

Rook: "Lucanis... Are you all right? Lucanis? What are you looking at?"

Spite: "Careful. They know. We're not right."

Lucanis: "You cannot see him. I wondered."

Rook: "We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else."

Lucanis: "Agreed. I think... it's time I got some air. Shall we go?"

Rook: "I'm ready to get out of this place."

Lucanis: "Imagine how I feel."

1. The Spite reveal is so goofy, and unimmersive: The player can see Spite, but Rook can't. I just find this to be an extremly lazy way of doing things. Further, the "reveal" was ruined in the previous scene since Neve has already told us exactly what's wrong with Lucanis.

2. So... nobody really gives a shit about Calivan? I thought there might be a bit more... relief, killing the dude that's responsible for the hellhole you've been "living" in for the past year. I mean, the monologue was awful, but to just ignore him entirely...?

3. There are many unneccesary lines like "We got your target". Yes, yes we did. He's lying right there, on the floor. Dead. The pacing suffers.

Reunion in Treviso

You walk into the Diamond, there are dead Crows on the floor.)

Teia: "Maker..."

Viago: "Lucanis?"

Lucanis: "What happened here?"

Illario: (Bangs table) "A message. From Zara Renata."

Illario: "I can't believe it. You're home." (Approaches and touches Lucanis' shoulder.)

Lucanis: "Zara... her people got this close?"

Rook: "The woman who runs the prison?"

Lucanis: "The Venetori witch who captured me."

Rook: "Revenge for the breakout, maybe?"

Lucanis: "Where's Caterina?"

Teia: "She's..."

Viago: (Comforts her) "The Venetori got her in the confusion."

Illario: "I get one of you back, only to lose the other."

Rook: "Lucanis... I'm so sorry."

Lucanis: "I need to work."

Teia: "Are you sure? You should take some time."

Lucanis: "I don't need time. I need a target."

Illario: "You just got here, and already you want to leave again?"

Lucanis: "Caterina gave me a contract. I'm not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that's done... I'll come home."

Rook: "I'll return him in one piece."

Illario: "Thank you. Illlario: Cousin. When you find Zara, I want—I need—to be there."

Viago: "We're under attack. Antaam on one side, and now Venetori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you—"

Teia: "No. Viago. Zara came for us here. In my house. She took Caterina from my house."

Teia: "You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. Vi and I will hold down the fort."

Lucanis: "I'll give her your regards, Teia."

Teia: "For Caterina."

This last one is so very... disjointed. It feels like they're talking past each other half the time. And suddenly they remember; right EXPOSITION. It feels very random that they bring up the Antaam here.

Rook could've been silent this entire conversation, and it wouldn't make a difference; nothing they say contribute to the conversation. The only one that really reacts to them is Illario, barley.

So Lucanis is tasked with taking care of two Gods, AND to take care of Zara? The guy who just got out of prison, and is possessed? Fucking hell, the guy doesn't get a break. Sure, he says he wants to work... But just maybe someone else could deal with Zara, considering the contract he just undertook?