#like I kept thinking that was what he’d say

[cosmicalily]

"till you tell me to leave" - a bangchan oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i found a half-written draft for this in my old google docs with my other email account and immediately knew i needed to do a rewrite.

warnings: angst (breakup, exes to lovers)

Three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes.

Four days.

Four days and one minute.

Another sleepless night. You didn’t mean to count the minutes, but your eyes remained fixated on your phone, half watching the clock, half staring at the lock screen you’d neglected to change.

Everything around you brought back floods of memories that you didn’t want to deal with. Pictures from photo booths, his arm slung around your shoulder, his hand on your cheek, his lips pressed to your forehead. The one hoodie you’d managed to hold onto, even after he’d packed all his other belongings up when he left. The pre-workout he kept in the back of your pantry. His toothbrush in your bathroom drawer. 

He’d been yours in every way, and you’d been his.

Maybe this was why you’d been so scared to love your best friend; you knew that more came with risk, chances of slamming doors, crying each other's names, and duffle bags hastily filled.

Even when you’d ended things, why were you still writing pages, when he’d been the one to close the envelope? Why were you spending hours nestled on the couch in his hoodie, staring at a black tv screen, unaware of the world around you?

new message from 'channie'

i think i left my hoodie at yours. you home?

i’m driving over.

A part of you wanted to run into the bathroom, brush your hair, remove the two-day old mascara on your eyes and change into something nice. A part of you remembered he’d seen you in every single form, and he loved you regardless. 

He used to tell you how beautiful you were every minute of the day, even when you felt anything but. Did he miss saying those things now? Or did he have another girl to call his angel, his baby, his darling? 

Just the thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

new message from 'channie'

outside.

Taking a deep breath and slipping on your sneakers, you began walking down the hallway of your apartment building. Even though the elevator wasn’t broken for once, you wanted to take the stairs. You needed time to think, and time to turn back if you felt the need.

Why were you so easily coming to him? Well, technically you weren’t, were you? He wanted his hoodie back, presumably the one you were currently wearing.

He’d broken your heart. No, not broken. Slowly tugged at it, until nothing that remained was a dull ache and your pulse.

You thought about turning back, about yelling in his face, about simply bursting into tears and curling up into a ball at the bottom of the staircase, until your neighbour came and yelled at you for disturbing everyone’s sleep at 12:29am.

You thought about these things, but you never felt like acting on them.

What was the point, anyway?

You never would have meant it.

You spotted his familiar black car, the scratch on the bottom from when he’d practised parallel parking, the Sharpie stars you’d drawn with him whilst drunk on his windscreen. You felt your heart swell a little, and even more so when the figure inside the vehicle turned his head to look directly into your eyes.

In silence, you walked over and sat down in the passenger seat, doing your best to look at everything but him. He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and started the engine. He looked down at your torso, noticing his hoodie, but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. You didn’t attempt to take it off.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audibly.

“Hm?”

“Your seatbelt isn’t on,” you replied.

“I was in a rush.”

There was a sudden quiet. The click of his seatbelt, then yours, then the gentle hum of the car as he began to drive.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I left,” Chris finally said softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.

You ignored him. You didn’t really know where he was taking you, and you honestly couldn’t care less. He almost felt like a stranger. A stranger you’d poured your heart out to, and spent hours with, pressing kisses to each other's faces whilst watching movies, watching work out in the gym, cooking food for and dancing while doing the dishes with. A stranger who had been the vast majority of your firsts, who knew your body like the back of his hand, and spent long minutes in the latest and earliest hours loving you, worshipping you.

A stranger who’d been your everything.

As you drove in silence, apart from the soft rhythm of his playlist in the background, his hand found its way to yours, and gently caressed your fingers, as if asking for permission.

You allowed your palm to open.

His fingers tucked into yours, and his thumb brushed against your hand. 

His hand felt warm, familiar. His fingertips were calloused; a result of the way he gripped his pen when he frantically wrote his lyrics late at night.

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. He’d pulled over on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. It was ghostly silent, and the trees cast shadows through the headlights.

It was oddly comforting.

“I fucked up.”

“I know you did, Chris.”

He covered his face in his hands in frustration, letting go of yours in the process. Your hand felt a sudden coldness.

“I didn’t . . . I don’t know why I left you. I nearly called you, right after I left. I thought . . . I thought you’d want space, thought I shouldn’t have to put you through anymore. And you were getting fed up with me, I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I was still in love with you.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“I still love you. I didn’t necessarily fall out of love, Chris, I just . . . I felt like I lost a part of me. Everything felt familiar and distant at the same time, and there were traces of you everywhere. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can never sleep.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been sleeping even less since I left. The bed’s cold.”

“Same with mine.”

You paused, staring at each other. Chris faced you properly.

“I’m still in love with you. And I’ll try forever if it means I can make you fall again.”

You smiled a little, letting your hand trail up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, resting your face in his warm neck. His hands moved to your waist, moving under his hoodie and settling on your bare skin.  “We should probably get some sleep,” you mumbled into him.

“Your place?”

“Our place. I still have your toothbrush, I think. And more than one of your hoodies.”

“Even if you don't, it doesn't matter,” Chris replied, clasping your hand in his again and gesturing to the backseat. His duffle bag sat there, zipped up, seemingly untouched since he’d left. “I’m coming home. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you say so.”

“So never?”

“Never.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[wendichester]

Not sure if you take requests or suggestions but I just know you’d write the sweetest and hottest Drabble of reader wearing Dean’s brown leather jacket over lingerie as a surprise for his birthday or Christmas & he can’t help but fuck you in the impala still in his jacket because he wants it to smell like sex and he’s going crazy with you in it

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏎️ ⋆ ۪ brown leather jacket,

summary. everything of dean's is intoxicating.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 1133

notes. +18, implied intimacy, nudity. mdni .ᐟ + my first ever request .ᐟ i hope i did it justice (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

The first thing you ever noticed about Dean Winchester wasn’t his smile or his impossibly green eyes. It wasn’t even the sharpness of his jawline or the way his lips quirked up like he was in on a joke only he understood. No, the first thing you noticed was his jacket.

That brown leather jacket—worn, scuffed, and perfectly molded to his broad frame—caught your eye before his face ever did. He had his back to you when you walked into the room, leaning over a table with his weight resting on his arms, the jacket pulling tight across his shoulders. It was stupid, really, how something so simple could look so damn good.

Then he turned around, and that was it. Game over.

Because his face was even better than the jacket. The most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on, rugged and charming all at once. But even as you took in those piercing green eyes and that teasing smirk, your attention kept drifting back to the jacket. The way it made his shoulders seem impossibly broader, the way it accentuated the muscles in his arms as he moved. It turned you on, plain and simple.

Over time, though, it became more than that. It wasn’t just the jacket itself—it was what he did with it. The way he’d shrug it off without a second thought and drape it over your shoulders when the air turned cold. The way he’d zip it up for you, his fingers brushing your chin as the oversized sleeves swallowed your hands. Or how he’d toss it over your legs during long drives in the Impala, grumbling something about the draft.

It wasn’t just a jacket anymore. It was Dean. A little piece of him that always felt like home.

So, whenever he couldn't find it, he'd usually assume you were wearing it.

The steady sound of water splashing over the Impala is the only noise in the garage, the cold air biting at Dean’s exposed forearms as he scrubs the hood. He’s muttering to himself about stubborn spots of dirt when the distinct click of heels echoes across the concrete floor.

He straightens, wiping his hands on a rag as he turns toward the sound. His brow furrows, expecting you to be bundled up, maybe there to tease him for spending Christmas Day with his car instead of you. But when his eyes land on you, every thought in his head screeches to a halt.

You’re standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light spilling in from the hall. Black heels, legs that seem to go on forever, and his leather jacket zipped just far enough to cover you halfway. The sleek black lingerie beneath it peeks out with every subtle movement, teasing him, taunting him.

Dean’s jaw slackens as he drags his eyes over you, from the curve of your bare legs to the smirk on your lips. “What the hell…” he mutters, the cold air suddenly irrelevant.

You step forward, your heels clicking again, and his gaze tracks every movement. “Merry Christmas, Dean,” you say softly, tugging the zipper of the jacket just an inch lower.

He exhales a shaky breath, his tongue darting over his bottom lip. “Sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice thick. “If this is how you’re celebrating, I’m thinking we should start celebrating Christmas.”

You saunter closer, fingers trailing along the edge of the car. “Well, you did say you didn’t want anything,” you tease, your voice low and playful.

His lips curve into a slow, heated smile. “Would be rude to refuse a gift.”

Dean’s lips crash against yours, all heat and desperation, as his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. The cold leather of his jacket contrasts with the searing warmth of his touch, and it’s a dizzying combination that has your knees going weak.

You don’t realize he’s steering you backward until the cool metal of the Impala’s back door presses against you. In one swift motion, he opens it and guides you down onto the seat, his broad frame hovering over you, his weight deliciously familiar.

Your fingers fumble with the zipper of the jacket, ready to peel it off, but his hand covers yours, stopping you. “Leave it,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Dean—”

“Trust me,” he cuts you off, his green eyes dark, that makes your breath hitch. His fingers trail along the edge of the jacket, pushing it open just enough to reveal the lace beneath, his gaze lingering like he’s savouring the sight.

“Looks too damn good on you,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time, like he’s savouring every second.

The Impala’s leather creaks as he shifts closer, his hands exploring your curves under the jacket. “Never thought I’d love this thing more,” he whispers against your lips, his smirk making your heart race. “But on you? It’s driving me crazy, sweetheart.”

He immediately pins you down, his body fitting between your legs like he belong there. His lips are on your neck, his hands roaming your skin, tracing the contours as he kisses a trail down to your collarbone.

Dean's eyes flutter shut at the feel of your hands on his jeans, a low moan escaping his lips. The sound is almost feral as he struggles to keep his control. “You're driving me insane,” His touch is greedy, desperate even, as he explores your body like he's never touched you before.

His breath hitches, a low moan escaping his lips as your hand glides under his boxers, making contact with his skin. For all his bravado, he's completely and utterly undone by your touch, his body responding to you on a primal level.

Dean’s breathing is ragged as he presses his forehead to yours, trying to regain a shred of composure. His fingers trail reverently down the curve of your waist, tracing the edge of the jacket as though memorizing how it clings to you.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice gravelly and raw, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

You smirk, feeling him twitch in your hand. “I might have a clue,” you reply, your voice light and teasing, though your heart pounds like a drum in your chest.

Dean chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You keep that up, we’re gonna fog up Baby’s windows,” he says, though there’s no regret in his tone—just a promise of more to come.

You laugh softly, your breath hot against his jaw. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

His grin turns wicked, but he doesn’t argue, as the Impala bears witness to yet another story written in heat and stolen moments.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11

[revelboo]

ayo, would you be able & willing to update either Rodimus or Tarn ? Am loving both of those rn!

Sure- I’ll try to get both updated today if I have time

L.G. Fuad Pt 5

Tarn x Reader

• It’s ludicrous really. Irrational. Weak. Staring up at the ceiling of his habsuite, he’s aware of the way you’re sprawled on his chassis, half out of your tangle of blankets, face against him. Almost positive you’re drooling on him. What would Megatron think? At least one of you is recharging, because he’s been kept alert by your thrashing and twisting. Your skin sometimes hot to the touch and slick with sweat, other times clammy and so cold. At some point, you’d stopped struggling. A little hand outstretched and your fingers against the mesh of his neck as you finally rest. But you survived the night. There were times he wasn’t sure what the outcome would be. Hating that he’d been almost concerned.

• Shifting as something gloriously warm slides against your spine from the back of your neck to the curve of your butt, you open your eyes but don’t move. Still too weak and just wanting to sleep. But realizing you’re sprawled on top of your guy with the lovely voice? That he’s absently petting you? You should be embarrassed, but you’re just too exhausted. Rumbling his alien gibberish at you, he touches your jaw with surprising gentleness.

• “You’re alive, then,” he mutters, cupping a hand against you and sitting up. Hearing your noise as you slide down to sprawl against his fingers, your expression uncannily Cybertronian and very obviously unhappy. “If you’re going to tag along, you’re going to learn to listen.” Tone strict, he twists and deposits you on his berth. Tugging your blanket away as you momentarily resist him. “Let’s see how clever you are,” he says as you just flop down, glaring.

• Shivering as he talks at you, attention on your blanket, it takes a moment to realize he’s repeating the same sounds. Eyes narrowing you watch him shake your blanket and say something. And he does it again. Is he trying to teach you? Not that you can hope to repeat those clicking, rumbling whirs of noise. “Blanket. That’s a blanket. I’m cold and it’s mine,” you retort knowing he can’t understand you as you point. And he hesitates. Makes his sound and shakes it again. “Blanket,” you say, refusing to attempt his alien gibberish. You’re too tired for this crap and your head is pounding.

• Optics narrowing as you point and chatter, he’s almost certain you’re saying the same thing in two different languages. Slowly enunciating he says the word in Cybertronian. Then tries to repeat your sound. “Blaaynk-it?” And your little eyes widen as you lunge to your feet only to wobble and fall back down with a grimace. Repeating the word and pointing with both hands. When he gives you the Cybertronian you just scrunch your nose at him. But finally make an attempt. A terrible, incomprehensible attempt. But still. “Good. Very good,” he says reaching to pat you on the head as you swat weakly at him and point more insistently. Ah. Draping the blanket around you, he watches you cocoon yourself. You require positive reinforcement to learn. Some kind of reward.

Previous

But I can still pretend with my memories and photographs,

I have learned to love the lie.

I wanna know what it's like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent.

I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense.. yeah

Let me in, let me in to the club, cuz I wanna belong,

And I need to get strong, and if memory serves,

I'm addicted to words and they're useless.

[hannahbarberra162]

Imagine Getting Baby Fever with Crocodile

TW: talking about children in the beginning, breeding kink

~800 words, F!Reader

First part fluff, second part smut under the cut. I have nothing to say for myself. Send me to the horny dungeons.

~

“Aw, look at that little family,” you said quietly, watching a father play with his toddler on the playground. The mother was sitting in the shade, waving with a smile to the laughing baby while she sipped on a lemonade. The toddler’s short curls and chubby cheeks were so cute you just wanted to squish them between your hands. The baby ran to its mother, the husband chasing it playfully. Shortly thereafter, the trio left with each parent holding one of the toddler’s chubby hands, laughing at something or other the child had said. The sight warmed your heart and you yearned for something you'd always wanted but hadn't the courage to ask for. You were in the city center with your husband Sir Crocodile, enjoying sitting in the shade during a short break in his day. He, of course, was smoking a cigar and idly playing with the halter strap of your sundress with his hook. One wrong move and your top would fall, but then he never made wrong moves.

“Dear, have you ever thought about having children?” you asked quietly. Crocodile glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Hm,” was all he replied to you. But not his disinterested hum, you'd learned enough to know that was him allowing you the space to talk without disagreeing outright. He puffed smoke out of his cigar, tipping the ash off with his hand to the pavement below.

“I just - we could try? If you don’t want to, I won’t ask again,” you said, testing the waters. 

“Alright,” Sir Crocodile agreed easily, resuming playing with your dress.

“That’s it? I - I must admit I am surprised, Love. I thought you’d be harder to convince.”

“I’ve given the idea thought before. It has merit.” 

“”I didn’t know you’d thought about it before,” you replied, your eyebrows hiked high. Crocodile shrugged before placing his hand across your back, cupping your neck with his hand. Pulling your head towards his large body, he kissed you gently on the temple.

“Before you, I didn’t think about marriage either,” was all Crocodile said before removing his hand from your neck. Standing up, he extended his hand towards you, giving you a life off the bench. He reached into his pocket for his Baby Den Den.

“Daz, please clear my schedule for the afternoon. I will be otherwise occupied,” he said, giving you a once over.

“Go eat a nutritious lunch, Tesoro. I will need a few minutes to prepare,” he said enigmatically, kissing your hand.

“I told you not to waste a single drop, and yet here you are, leaking all over me. What do you have to say for yourself?” Crocodile tutted at you, dragging the dull middle of his hook through the slit of your dripping pussy. You could feel the cold metal through your folds, gathering some of the copious come he’d already left there, making you shiver. 

“I thought you wanted me to breed you but you waste my gifts. I suppose I’ll have to start all over again,” he said with a heavy sigh. In reality, you knew he wasn’t put out at all. Crocodile had been fucking you raw since the early afternoon and didn’t have any intention of stopping. You’d come more times than you could count, your pussy taking pounding after pounding. He treated each round like a separate event, often enjoying a cigar and scotch afterwards while you remained in position to better accept his cum inside you. He kept you well hydrated, taking the gag out of your mouth and giving you sips of water for as long as you needed. But as soon as you were done drinking, the gag went back in and Crocodile went back in you.

At the very beginning he had you in a mating press with your legs hiked high over his muscular arms.

“You want my seed? You want me to make you a mother?” he’d  said, holding your legs in place with his bulky frame.

“I n-need it, I ah ah need it,” you’d mewled into him. He’d come shortly thereafter, using his fingers to fuck his come back into you as he stared at your messy pussy.

“This will never do, my Love. You’re spilling,” he tsked at you. Shortly thereafter, he’d manhandled you into a breeding stand. You weren’t sure if he’d had it made in the hour you were eating lunch or he had it prepared beforehand. The stand was simple in design, a metal frame keeping you positioned on all fours with an attached collar around your neck and another around your waist. Crocodile had thoughtfully placed it on top of a comfortable rug on the floor which kept your knees from hurting too much. The height of the neck collar kept you lowered onto your forearms and your ass high in the air.

He’d been fucking you ever since, filling your sopping pussy with load after load of his come. After each time he would examine your cunt to determine if you’d sufficiently kept his come inside. You had yet to pass his examinations. He often used a vibrator to tease you in between sessions, leaving you wanting until he determined it was time for the next round.

“You’ll need to learn this lesson a few more times today. And of course, we try again tomorrow,” Crocodile said, licking his hook.

[frogaroundandfindout]

I used to give the 'lazarus pit madness' trope for jason so much shit unless it was a REALLY good fic that did something interesting with the idea. But the more I read of pre52 red hood the more I'm just like "yeah no I have absolutely no idea how I'd reconcile all this heinous shit he's done without finding a way to make it not his fault actually"

I hate the 'jason was always a monster and bruce couldn't save him' nonsense so much, he was literally just a homeless little boy. MY BUDDY LITERALLY WILLINGLY WENT BACK TO BEING HOMELESS BECAUSE HE DIDN'T WANT TO HURT PEOPLE FOR MA GUNN EVEN THOUGH IT MEANT GIVING UP FOOD AND SHELTER AND DECENT TREATMENT

jason sweetheart I'm so sorry dc butchered you like this my god

When the characterization is so inconsistent the fandom has to resort to literal magic to explain it.

But seriously, I haven’t read a whole lot of Jason as Robin but from what I did read he was so tiny and just wanted to do good. It’s a disservice to every character involved for Bruce to adopt him because he thought he’d be a criminal otherwise. It implies Bruce thinks of every kid living in poverty as a shoe in for crime and not as some of the most vulnerable individuals in low SE areas. Which is just…so bad considering he’s 1) a rich white man stereotyping a large group of people and 2) someone that fights crime because of an act of violence commited in front of him as a little boy. A Batman that doesn’t believe in the goodness of a child (especially one like Jason who, like you said, gave up basic necessities for the sake of his morals) and protecting it in a way he wasn’t protected is a very very weird Batman to me. So it turns Bruce into a white knight and redhood into confirmation of Bruce’s stereotyping and paranoia.

If it was just Jason thinking that’s why Bruce took him in it would be a completely different animal. I might have even enjoyed reading about how Jason rationalized their changed relationship after he came back swinging (literally) and thinking that it’s some innate characteristic about him that drove the wedge between him and Bruce before he even realized it was there. But it’s very much not just Jason. EVERYONE. FUCKING. SAYS. IT. And tbh that kinda ruins everyone just a bit in my eyes. If not agreement and support for Bruce’s bs, they’re at least silently complicit in perpetuating it.

But beyond that, it also makes me think of Devin Grayson’s run where she kept talking about how dick was “meant for crime” or would have obviously been a criminal if it wasn’t for Bruce. This was built on frankly awful stereotypes regarding Romani people. I bring this one up because the combination of the two does not make Bruce look as good as the writers seemed to think.

But if we ignore the bs involved and take the reason for Jason’s adoption at face value, I think it offers an interesting comparison between him and Damian. Jason is presented a child destined for a life of crime who eventually became one of The Villains despite Batman’s efforts. Damian was an heir destined for crime who eventually became one of The Heroes because of Batman’s efforts. Idk it’s just interesting to me.

[capquinn]

I was just thinking about bf!Quinn meeting your parents for the first time and being nervous about it beforehand lmao

god idk about you guys but my parents are neurotic so he’d be right to be a wreck 😅😭 ANYWAY nervous quinny coming right up

Quinn had been pacing the living room for nearly fifteen minutes, the soles of his shoes scuffing softly against the floor as he moved in restless, looping strides. His hands couldn’t seem to settle anywhere — shoving into his pockets, tugging at the collar of his button-up, dragging through his hair so often that a few strands were starting to stick up stubbornly. The brand new button up, the nice jeans, even the shoes you picked out for him were all perfect. But judging by the way he kept adjusting and pulling at them, they felt anything but. He looked like he was gearing up to take the ice in overtime during Playoffs, except this wasn’t about hockey. It was about meeting your parents for the first time.

And he was nervous. Really nervous.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the living room.

He stopped mid-step like he’d only just realised what he was doing, like he'd remembered he wasn't alone. His gaze flicked toward you, wide and a little uncertain, and for a second, he looked almost boyish, like a kid caught red-handed.

“I just...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. His fingers tugged at his collar next, as though it had suddenly shrunk two sizes. “What if they don’t like me?” he finally said, the words quiet but heavy, like he’d been carrying them around for a while.

You stepped toward him, closing the space with a softness you knew he needed right now. “Quinn, they’re going to love you,” you said, smoothing your hands over the front of his shirt. Your touch lingered on his chest, steady and grounding.

He shook his head slightly, looking unconvinced, the crease between his brows deepening. “What if I say something stupid? Or they think I’m boring? Or—”

“Or they realise how lucky I am to have you and try to steal you away?” you interrupted gently, a small smile playing on your lips.

His brows furrowed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. “I’m serious,” he said, though the nervous energy in his voice softened just a little.

“And so am I,” you countered, your tone warm and steady. “You’re sweet, thoughtful and incredibly kind. They're going to see all of that and love you for it."

He exhaled a slow breath, some of the tension in his shoulders melting as he leaned into your touch. “I just really want to make a good impression,” he admitted, his voice quiet but honest.

“And you will,” you promised, rising up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Just be yourself. That’s more than enough.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken, like he was trying to anchor himself in your confidence. Your fingers found the ends of his hair, curling around them playfully, his shoulders sagging slightly, the tension easing a little more, and then he let out a quiet laugh — the kind that felt more like a release than amusement. It was progress, but you could still see the storm of thoughts swirling behind his eyes, his brows furrowing as another worry surfaced.

“But what if I run out of things to say?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, almost sheepish, like he already knew how you’d react but couldn’t stop himself from asking. There was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips, like he was bracing for you to tease him.

You didn’t disappoint. The laugh that bubbled out of you was soft, affectionate, and just a little exasperated. “You? Run out of things to say?” you repeated, your head tilting as you gave him a pointed look, the kind that always made him squirm in the most endearing way. “Not possible,” you said, your voice light but full of certainty.

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile breaking through, but he still managed to look unconvinced. “It’s different, though,” he murmured, his gaze dropping briefly before flicking back to yours. “Talking to your parents isn’t the same as talking to you or the guys. I can’t just…say whatever.”

“You’re overthinking it,” you said gently, your fingers slipping from his hair to brush over his shoulders soothingly, like you could knead the tension out of him. "I mean it, baby. Just be yourself. That’s all they’re going to want. And trust me — once my dad gets going on golf or my mom starts asking you a million questions, you won’t even have to try.”

He let out a slow breath, the kind that made you feel like he was letting go of some of that tension. “Okay,” he said, nodding slightly. But then he paused, tilting his head at you with a faintly teasing glint in his eye. “And if I do run out of things to say?”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Then you smile, nod, and let them do all the talking.”

He laughed again, this time louder and easier, his hands settling on your waist as he looked at you like you’d just handed him the answer to every problem in the world. “Alright,” he said, a little steadier now. “I can do that.”

So when you arrive at your parent's house, Quinn’s still a little stiff, shaking your dad’s hand with a firm grip and offering your mom a bouquet of flowers, his voice polite and quiet. You can see him trying, making the effort to seem calm, but the way his shoulders creep up toward his ears tells you otherwise.

It doesn’t take long for the ice to break, though. Your dad starts talking about golf — just as you predicted — and Quinn leans into the conversation, his face lighting up as they swap stories about their best (and worst) games. There’s a genuine ease in the way they laugh together, and you can tell Quinn’s nerves start to melt away with each passing moment. Your mom, meanwhile, peppers him with questions. Everything from his family, to his favourite meals, to what it’s like playing in the NHL, and even down to how he likes his coffee. Though he stumbles over a few answers, glancing at you for reassurance more than once, he’s so earnest and thoughtful in his responses that she’s absolutely beaming by the time dinner is served, like she’s already planning the next time he’ll be invited over.

By the end of the night, Quinn’s walking out with your mom’s Tupperware full of leftovers balanced carefully in his hands and your dad clapping him on the shoulder as he glances your way with a hearty, “good kid, this one.” The approval in his tone is unmistakable, and when you look over at Quinn, his cheeks are tinged pink, his eyes bright with a mix of relief and quiet pride, his lips curved in that boyish smile you love so much.

“Told you they’d love you,” you tease once you’re in the car, nudging him lightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, his tone aiming for dismissive but falling short, the warmth in his eyes betraying him. He shifts slightly, leaning back into the seat, his fingers reaching out to find yours, threading together as he exhales a long, steady breath. You can feel the tension leaving his body, the last remnants of his nerves melting away. “Thanks for… you know, making it easier.”

You grin, squeezing his hand as you lean over, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. “You didn’t need my help,” you murmur, your voice warm and sure. “You’re a natural.”

[imagineiwrotesomethingwell]

Cold

Jegulus drabble. wc: 1389

It’s cold here. James is warm, but the room is cold, so Regulus doesn’t want to move. He just tucks his head under James’ chin, breathing in their scent with a dreamy sigh. It smells like it rained last night, too, which explains the cold, because Merlin knows neither him nor James remembered to close the window. 

“Papa,” a little voice says, and Reg sighs, lifting his head from his husband’s shoulder.

“Harry, come here,” he says quietly, lifting the blanket for the little boy to climb into. He giggles as he does, little hands clenching in the sheets as he pulls himself up under the comforter. He snuggles right up between his two dads, his head replacing Reg’s spot under James’ jaw. Regulus doesn’t mind, though, because now he can bury his face in Harry’s curls.

Harry smells like sunshine and milk and honey, which Regulus always thought was strange. He’s a kid; shouldn’t he smell like glue and mud and diapers? He’s meant to be sticky and smelly and weird. But no. The little one always smells like sweet things, safety and comfort, just like his dad. James always smells like wood and cinnamon and vanilla, and there’s nothing Reggie loves more than holding his son and his husband at once, breathing them in and feeling them. Here and real and loved and safe and warm. 

Harry’s already asleep again, his chubby brown hands fisted in Regulus’ shirt. His lips are parted in a soft ‘o’ as he snores, the perfect picture of beautiful innocence. James is drooling into their own curls as they snore, their glasses discarded beside their pillow, because god forbid they take their glasses off before they fall asleep. 

So Regulus just watches.

He props his head on his hand and his elbow on his pillow, staring down at the two people he loves most in the world. The sun is painting their skin gold and their curls seem to glow against their pillows, and Reg knows that when one of them opens their eyes, those’ll glow, too, turning that honeyed shade that takes his breath away every time he sees it. And as he watches them sleep, occasionally brushing his fingers through Harry or James’ curls, he thinks.

He thinks about Hogwarts, when he’d accidentally ran into James as he rushed off the train because he was chasing Barty. He thinks about James’ outstretched hand, their dazzling smile as they asked if he was okay as they pulled him off the damp cobblestone. He thinks about Barty and Evan teasing him mercilessly in the dorm because someone had said the words “James Potter” at dinner and Reg had blushed.

He thinks about the first time they ever kissed, when Reg was in 4th year and James was in 5th, when Reg had caught a snitch and utterly destroyed Gryffindor, but James had gay panicked too much to care and had grabbed Regulus by the waist the second they’d hit the ground. He thinks about how their lips tasted, about the way he’d melted so perfectly against them, how he’d never kissed anyone before that and he didn’t know what he was doing, but James didn’t seem to care. He thinks about their goofy grin when they pulled away, how they’d pecked his nose before running off to join the rest of the Gryffindor and get cleaned up. He thinks about how he’d found them again after dinner and crashed his lips to theirs, just kissing them as he kept his back against a wall so his knees wouldn’t give out, about how they never really stopped kissing after that.

He thinks about when James proposed, the day Regulus had graduated Hogwarts. In front of Sirius and his parents and everyone they’d ever known, James had gotten down on one knee and asked Regulus to marry them, to make them the happiest man alive. He thinks about how he’d cried and held James tighter than he thought he ever could, just whispering, “yes, I love you, I love you, yes,” over and over again for Merlin knows how long. He thinks about the wedding, small and kind and gentle, filled with the people who loved them and 80s punk rock, courtesy of Sirius and Remus deejaying. 

He thinks about the times when he and James had danced in the rain, stopped on drives to collect flowers from the side of the road, about the countless times they’d woken up tangled together. He thinks about the way James had sobbed when Lily had shown up with a sign that said, “your baby on board!” after their first try with implanted embryos. Regulus had cried, too, of course, but he liked to remember the look on James’ face when they realized they were about to be a father.

He thinks about the nights spent pouring over baby books when Lily was pregnant with Harry. He thinks about his brother crying when he and Remus had met Harry for the first time, holding and rocking him and telling him stories he’d repeat a thousand more times before Harry remembered any of them. He thinks about Remus sitting on the bed by Lily for hours as she recovered, how they’d all camped in her room for as long as the hospital would let them to talk and be there for her and Harry as she recovered from labor and he recovered from being born (such a horrific practice, from what Reg saw). 

He thinks about the childhood he never had, about how grateful he is to give Harry this comfort, this safety he never had. About how Harry’s never acted afraid of him, or of James, how he’s always said he loved them before bed and how he’s always been comfortable with hugs and cuddles. He thinks about how incredible it is to be a father, to be in charge of a whole human, to just exist in the same time as this exquisite creature who called him Papa.

He thinks a lot. Too much, probably. Because he almost doesn’t notice when James’ eyes flutter open, eyes gold in the morning sun. They smile gently, their eyes locking onto Regulus’.

“You’re so beautiful,” Regulus whispers, leaning forward to kiss his husband, careful not to jostle the child against his chest. It’s a sweet, gentle kiss, one that has Reggie’s eyes fluttering shut and his heart welling in his chest. But he pulls away and smiles down at James, brushing a curl off of his forehead.

“Reg,” James whispers, nuzzling into their love’s hand. “Wake up, Reg.”

Regulus’ smile falters. “What was that, cheri?” he asks softly, leaning closer to James, trying to hear. Man, it’s really cold in here. He needs to pull his blanket back up, it must have slipped down when Harry-

“Wake up,” James says again, their voice forceful and firm. “Wake up now.”

Regulus flinches at the cold tone, one he’s never heard before, not from James. His eyes close briefly, but once they open again, James is gone. Harry is gone. Everything’s cold, and everything burns, and he can’t breathe.

As Regulus feels the Inferi gripping his legs, clawing at him, dragging him down under the water, he stops thinking; he remembers. He remembers everything.

He remembers fighting with James his last year at Hogwarts, when he should have been studying and being a child for a little while longer, but his parents had different plans. He remembers James leaving him, saying they couldn’t be with someone who would take the dark mark, telling him they’d thought he was different. He remembers seeing them with their head in Evans’ lap not three weeks later, how that had hurt more than any ‘Crucio’ his mother had ever used on him. He remembers finding out about the Horcruxes. He remembers hunting down the locket. He remembers finding the cave and drinking the poison.

And as he stops thrashing, stops fighting, lets the water and the monsters take him, he remembers the way James had looked when they backed away from him in the astronomy tower that night, heartbreak and tears in their eyes. The way their voice had cracked when they whispered, “I can’t love a monster, Regulus.”

That’s okay, Regulus thinks as he lets the air escape his lungs. I’ll love you anyway.

thank you @calamitoustide for the idea with this post. i hate you /affectionate

[leftoverghosts]

in the valley of shadow

hades!art x persephone!reader. past art x tashi.

"I'd rather hurt with you than be happy with anyone else."

warnings: dark obsessive art ala hades. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. not beta read.

nori says: sfw—i know i said blurbs would be nsfw, but obsessive art takes a lot of me!! crazy to get this same quote for him twice, but i had so much fun!!! as always, xoxo.

word count: 2,000?~

You were twenty three, freshly graduated and just beginning to dip your toes into the world of professional tennis. The bright lights, the buzzing crowds, the endless possibilities—all of it felt like a dream. But among all the faces and all the players, one stood out to you like no other.

Art Donaldson.

Seven years your senior, he was a legend amongst Stanford Alumni and seemed to embody everything you strived to become. His confidence on the court seemed unshakable. Yet, there was something about him that held a shadow, a darkness that made you wonder if there was more beneath that perfection his wife demanded of him.

You first crossed paths with him at a Donaldson Foundation event—an annual gathering where up-and-coming talents like yourself were invited to volunteer with children who had an interest in tennis.

You’d always admired him from afar, reading about his triumphs, watching his old matches, and marveling at how effortlessly he dominated the game. But meeting him face-to-face left you speechless. His gaze was penetrating, as if he could see right through you.

"How’s it feel to be the next big thing?" he asked with a knowing smile, his warm voice enveloping you.

It was a simple question, one you could have easily answered thanks to your media training in college. But as you looked into his eyes, something inside you stirred.

“I’m just starting out. Still have a long way to go,” you gesticulated wildly, trying to appear humble.

He chuckled, a sound that was full of harrowing amusement. “We all start somewhere, but not all of us get to where we want to go.”

You smiled nervously, but the words stuck in your throat. He was magnetic. Something about him made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt before.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

From then on, whenever you found yourself in the same vicinity as the Donaldsons, Art would make a point to seek you out. Your discussions were never long, but they always left you feeling exhilarated.

When you won, his compliments were overflowing. But when you lost, his analysis of your gameplay felt like a puzzle, filled with subtle warnings. You told yourself it was just his love for the game and his drive to push those around him to be their best.

It would have been easy to romanticize his intensity, to make excuses for the way his eyes lingered a bit too long or how his questions about your career felt overly personal, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He was married, you knew that.

Tashi was always by his side, a constant presence that kept him grounded in the public eye. But there were moments when you could see the cracks in their united front. They manifested in the way he looked at you during the press events, or how he’d make a point of saying goodnight to you in crowded rooms when the evening grew late.

You convinced yourself that it was all harmless. That Art saw something in you, as a fan and a mentor of sorts. A fellow athlete who could understand the sacrifices, the pressures of the game.

He had a way of making you feel desired, whether it was a fleeting touch on your arm or a lingering look that made your heart race. You wanted his attention, and he gave it to you. But you were naive enough to believe it was just admiration.

It wasn't until later that you realized Art wasn't someone who admired from afar— he wanted to consume you.

There was a moment—a turning point—that you would look back on, your heart in your throat, wondering what you’d been thinking.

You were alone in a back hallway of a hotel during a tournament. Tashi was elsewhere, surrounded by other players and the media, and Art had found you, waiting for you just outside the elevator.

“I saw you play today,” he said softly, tenderly moving away the hair from your face. He was too close for this to be considered friendly, but you didn’t push at him. “You have something, you know. Something special.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks flush under his touch.

"With the right team behind you, you could be more than just a player," he continued, pressing you against the wall as his voice dropped even lower. "You could be everything. Let me help you."

It wasn’t the words that alarmed you. It was the way he said them, as if he had already planned your future for you. The weight of his gaze felt like chains.

“I don't need anyone's help," you blurted out before pausing to think. “I’m doing this on my own.”

Something shifted in Art's expression, for just a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. He wasn't just the fierce and intense athlete you idolized; he was human. “You don’t have to be alone.” He brushed his lips against yours softly, “I can show you how much more you can be. How much more you can have.”

And that was when it hit you—the real reason you were drawn to him. It wasn’t the tennis. It wasn’t the accolades or the fame. It was that, for the first time, someone powerful had noticed you. Someone who could offer you everything— success, the world, and something darker and more alluring than you ever imagined.

But before you could respond, before you could step closer to the edge of that precipice, a voice called from down the hall, pulling you back to reality.

It was Tashi, her tone commanding, and when Art turned to look at her, there was a fleeting trace of annoyance on his face.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he offered you a small, almost sad smile, and then turned to walk away.

You stood there, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

You had slipped from his grasp. For now.

But you knew that Art was a man who didn’t let go easily.

And sooner or later, he would come for you again.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The locker room was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Another win on the court meant nothing to you, as the weight of failure in your personal life pressed against your bones. Your racket bag sat slumped against the bench, abandoned like a forgotten piece of yourself. You rubbed at your temples, exhaustion and frustration clawing at you in equal measure.

“You played well,” came a voice from the doorway, warm and unmistakable.

Frightened, you looked up.

Art stood there, leaning casually against the inside frame of the only exit. He was dressed impeccably, as always—dark slacks and a perfectly tailored dress shirt you had given him, made him look more like a businessman than a retired athlete. His piercing blue eyes, with that gorgeous speck of brown, were locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

In one hand, he held a bottle of pomegranate juice— your favorite drink.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice clipped, though you already knew the answer. Art was not one to listen to mortal things like court orders.

“I’m your coach, remember?” he shrugged, stepping inside as the door swung shut behind him. “It’s my job to be here for you.”

You stood up, putting the bench between you and the man who you hoped would soon be your ex-husband. “I told you I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you anymore.”

If anything, your words seemed to amuse him. “You’re upset,” he said calmly, as though addressing a child. “You’re not thinking clearly. I’ve done everything to help you—your sponsorship, your career, your success. That’s all because of me.”

Your stomach turned, upset that you were unable to deny those words in their entirety. “You manipulated me. You isolated me from everyone who mattered. I didn’t ask for any of this!”

“Those distractions?“ Art’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady, one of his eyebrows raised in question. “You think they cared about you the way I do? No one else would go to these lengths for you. No one else could understand you like I do.”

“This isn’t understanding, Art. This is control.”

“Control?” he echoed softly, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. He was a man full of contradictions—each calculated move wrapped in a smile. For every decision made without your knowledge, there had been a kiss or a whisper to try and soothe your apprehension. It had worked before, and there was no reason to believe it wouldn't work now. To him, this was a tantrum that he was tired of waiting for you to finish. “Is that what you think this is? No. This is love. Love that no one else will ever be capable of giving you.”

“I’ve heard this before, Art. You’re hurting me like she hurt you.” You did not have to say Tashi’s name to be understood by him. She had been the one before you, the one who had owned him, in a way that still haunted him, even now. The thought of her, the reminder that Art’s heart had belonged to someone else, made a bitter knot tighten in your chest. It wasn’t just about jealousy—it was about the fear that he would never truly be yours the way he had been hers. “You still think about her,” you accused, your voice trembling with inadequacy.

“It’s not her, it’s you,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m always thinking of you. I’d rather hurt with you than be happy with anyone else.” You sucked in a breath, upset that his declaration excited you and he knew—he knew the power he held over you, and he would never relinquish it.

He had already decided your fate. He was your captor, and you were his prize.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice fearful but resolute. “You can’t stop me.”

Art’s gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw something crack beneath his calm facade. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a chilling certainty.

“Try,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice, low and laced with menace, seemed to echo in the space around you. “You don’t understand, do you? This isn’t something you can just walk away from. Not anymore. We’re married.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap, the truth of them shattering the last vestiges of resistance in your chest. Art wasn’t just a man obsessed with you. He was a man willing to destroy everything in his path to keep you by his side. The world you thought you could escape to was gone. You were his wife, bound to him in ways you hadn't yet fully understood until now.

You frozen in place as he took a slow step forward, and watched as his gaze was drawn to the small but noticeable tan left behind by the missing wedding ring on your finger. His brand.

You could sense his anger just by the way his lips slightly parted as he reached for the bottle of juice and unscrewed the cap, taking a slow, deliberate sip before offering it to you. You gaped at the bottle in his hand.

A rush of panic flooded your chest, but before you could speak, Art closed the distance between you. His fingertips brushed against your cheek as he forcefully pulled you towards him, crushing his lips onto yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, as if he were pulling your very soul from your body. His tongue slipped past your lips, and you whimpered, caught in the web of his obsession.

The taste of pomegranate juice lingered on your palate, sweet but tainted, just like everything else Art had ever given you.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, his breath warm against your skin. "We are one. As we were always meant to be."

Your pulse raced, heart pounding, as you tried to regain some semblance of control, but his grip on you was relentless. He wasn’t letting you slip away again, not after everything he’d done to claim you.

And with every second you stood there, you could feel the walls closing in, just like the dark, silent underworld that had already begun to welcome you home.

[777heavengirl]

the one with the walk home

sirius black x reader ! - 1,272 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: no one say anything about how this is a few hours late- also i am scoring close to what i need on my practice exams and i am ECSTATIC

“I love you too,” Sirius looked up at you, as you answered his statement from hours ago. The walk from the hospital had been a silent one until now. After you bid your goodbyes to the new parents, the two of you decided to take the tube back to your flat, his hand finding yours as you walked under the mellow hue of the streetlights. His hand was enough to make you forget any embarrassment from wearing an oversized suit jacket on top of your pajamas through the streets. “just by the way-”

Sirius broke into laughter, brief and fleeting but it left a smile in its place. 

“D’you really?” He shoved you with his shoulder, your arms extending before he pulled you back to his side. ���Couldn’t tell,”

“I bloody hope so Black, I’m walking in the middle of the night for you- we might even be too late for the tube by now,” 

“Oh please- Like I’d let anything happen to you,” He said with a wink, a smirk curling on his lips. He let go of your hand, his arm easily taking its place across your shoulders.

“Me and my wand would be just fine without you though-” 

“Ah yes- I forget, you’re quite the bright witch,” You hummed in agreement, a giggle breaking from your lips “Don’t know if Professor McCormack would agree- you nearly blew his head off in defense against the dark arts our last year-”

You tskd in annoyance at the mention of your… small, incident.

“That was an isolated incident- We both know I got better scores than you on all my NEWTs-”

“Only because I ditched like half of them-” You rolled your eyes at him, the only one he had bothered to even show up for was Transfiguration out of respect for McGonagall. Not that he’d ever admit such a thing. “How's mum by the way?”

 You smiled softly at the mention of your mom. Sirius loved the woman. She loved him too, maybe too much. You were thankful for it regardless.

“She’s alright- quite tired, I reckon my dad has been driving her a bit nuts these days-” He hummed in acknowledgment, you kicked a small rock on your bath “Not that he hasn't been driving all of us crazy for years…” you sighed “Sorry-”

“For what?” He looked down at you, and you kept looking forward, leaning your head against his side. 

“I really shouldn’t be complaining about him- It could be worse, he just wants what's best for me I guess-”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn't drive you nuts love- parents are tricky that way”

“It's more than just driving me crazy- nothing’s good enough for the man,” you sighed, rubbing your temple with the pads of your fingers. You went down the stairs onto the tube’s platform “It’s exhausting- I got a job like he wanted, not in magic like he asked me to” You shook your head, fighting the wobble of your lip and the hot tears behind your eyes. “I am trying so hard to please him, the other day he had the audacity to call and tell me that he-” The voice over the intercom announced the last train of the night as you both stopped right before the yellow line. You wrapped his suit jacket tighter around your shoulders. 

“He had the nerve to tell me that he thinks I should go back to school… go to some muggle Uni- to do something useful” you mocked his voice, annoyance ripping through you as your fingers air quoted his words. The train rushed through the platform, cutting you off. The doors opened and you instinctively grabbed a hold of his hand again. “I think- Well, I know- that he wishes I hadn't been a witch at all,” you said as you went inside.

The tube’s doors closed, and you went silent. Sirius wrapped his arm around you as you sat down, the emptiness and silence of the cart hanging over the both of you. 

You thought of your parents. Your mother who had been nothing short of ecstatic when you received your letter at age 11. She even wrote a letter back to Dumbledore, a million questions on the tip of her tongue- thrilled at how exciting everything sounded. He answered every one of her questions diligently. Her daughter was a witch. 

Who would’ve thought?

Your father was another story. You thought of him, the way he never answered your letters from school, it was only your mother. But, of course, he loved you.

You hoped. 

He always said he only wanted what was best for you because he loved you. 

You thought of Walburga Black. A woman who, despite the abuse, still had the audacity to say she loved her sons. 

It took Sirius years to stop saying her torture came from a place of love. 

The train car stopped briefly at the next stop. Neither of you stood to get off. You hoped Sirius was paying attention to the stops as you rested your head against his shoulder. He squeezed your shoulder. 

Your father had never been happy about the turn your life took. Wouldn’t let you do magic in the house even when you were of age. He hated it. He wanted you to go to University. Get a muggle career, a normal career. A normal life.

That wasn’t even mentioning how infuriated he was once he found out you were moving in with Sirius. You could still hear his words in your head, even years later. 

“He’s a good-for-nothing rich kid- he hasn’t lifted a finger in his life and you’re attaching yourself to him like this? With his stupid tattoos and his stupid bike- you’re going to get yourself killed- you’re not even bloody together” Sirius squeezed you tighter to him, you didn’t think he knew what you thought about. “What happens when he gets bored of you? Ditches you for some woman- you are so stupid-”

You didn’t know if you were stupid for it. Your mom was basically planning you and Sirius’s wedding while your father cursed his presence in your life.

You thought of his unpacked bags. 

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at the map of the train lanes. 

3 More stops.

He tried ignoring the way you went silent, he tried for a second to forget the fact that you just implied you never wanted the job in the first place. Was he being crazy? No, well you just said it was what your father wanted. What about what you wanted? 

He knew the man wasn’t the fondest of him. He assumed it was the motorcycle and the tattoos, the pack of smokes in his pocket. Maybe even the smirk on his face. 

Maybe even the way his wife fawned over him.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

He hadn't even considered, that your non-magical father would hate the fact that you were magical. He thought of his mother, the brief flash of her words about how muggles were undesirables reverberating through his head. 

Who would’ve thought? 

So he held you tighter, in silence, because Sirius Black did not know what else to do but hold you tight in his arms and hope that you’d know. 

Hope that you’d know he loved you. Magic or not. Unconditionally, he thought. Jobless or employed. Sick or healthy. Young and stupid or old and wise. 

He loved you. 

He hoped you could hear his thoughts, so you’d know he was in love with you.

Because Godric knows he didn't dare to say out loud. 

taglist ; @thatlittlered @giuli-in-earth @notsolong-pause @niceonejames7 @caspiankingofnarnia @ilovejamespottersomuch @bmyva1entine @lanadelreykt @froggiedragon @stanzie @theendofthematerialgworl @featherlightfairysworld @plk-18 @coldthinghairdobakery

Let me know if i missed you or if you wanna be added!! I'm thinking doing a google doc for it? idk if it would be easier to sign up that way....

[himbodruid]

Taking a break from Sylus fics to give yall some Zayne!

Zayne x Reader

Intended for 18+ readers. MINORS DNI.

Desperate -:- clothed sex -:- angst -:- possessive Zayne (kinda) -:- Zayne loses control (but not of his evol)

Desperation in Yearning

There was a certain excitement that came with danger, an addictive rush of adrenaline. Maybe that was why you kept throwing yourself into missions that could end in your death. Or maybe it was some sort of misguided sense of survivor’s guilt, seeing as you’d been quite literally throwing yourself into your work for the last 14 years. Since the explosion. Since your world came raining down in a rain of ash and embers.

Your bags were almost packed, even though the shuttle wasn’t leaving for another several days. Captain Jenna had given you and the rest of the deployment team a few days off in order to prepare for the arduous journey, but you felt unsettled. You needed to move. To do something other than hurry up and wait.

Cooking was a nice way to distract yourself, even if you weren’t very good at it. What you made was edible at least, if not very creative.

A hurried knock on your door returned you to reality on that first night, and you looked up with brows drawn down. You weren’t expecting any visitors, and the stirfry you’d been disassociating over was almost done (note: probably burnt actually). Shaking your head, you removed the pan from the heat and killed the stove so you wouldn’t start a fire in your distraction.

Zayne was there on the other side of the door. He was out of breath, as if he’d run straight from Akso Hospital. He also looked…angry, and you ushered him inside.

“Doctor Zayne? What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

He took a moment to compose himself. It was almost disturbing to see the usually unflappable Doctor Zayne in such a state, and you feared the worst.

“When were you going to tell me,” he demanded. His usually even voice held the slightest of tremors, and you didn’t understand why. His eyes held an intensity to them that made you look anywhere but his face.

“What do you mean? Tell you about what?” He sat heavily in a stool at your breakfast bar and you put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under your touch.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re leaving?”

“Oh. That.” You still didn’t understand why it was such a big deal to him. It was just like any other away mission before. You always texted him when you were heading out and he wished you a safe return. And then when you returned, the two of you would go out to dinner together. You always celebrated your wins with him, mourned the losses with him.

“Were you just going to send me some off-hand text again? Letting me know you’d be leaving and then leave me in radio silence for weeks on end? Leave me wondering if everything was going okay, if you were safe- alive, even?”

He stood and punctuated his words by crowding you against the counter. His hazel eyes held a predatory glint to them, a look you were so unused to in his regularly smooth expression. He wasn’t one to wear his emotions easily, and you always struggled to read him. Even now, when he had you pinned at your counter, you couldn’t figure out what he was so upset over.

“Doctor Zayne, it’s fine. I do stuff like this all the time, it’s part of my job.”

His hand slammed down on the counter, making you jump. “Purposefully throwing yourself in harm’s way is not part of the job, not when you constantly do it to the point of self-destruction!”

You stared up at him, eyes wide in wonder. His face was flush and you thought you could read despair in his expression. This was a man that was always calm, cool, and collected, and yet here he was losing his temper at you.

“I…didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say to him, trying to appease him so he would relax. But your words only seemed to fuel his frustration even more.

“That’s the problem. You never seem to think,” he whispered, the tremble in his voice more prominent now.

“Zayne,” you say, dropping his title in favour of your friendship. “What’s all this about? I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this. Please, help me understand.”

He blew out a shaky breath and let his head drop to your shoulder. You froze. It’s not that you didn’t see Zayne as a man, it’s that you always thought he never saw you as a woman. You thought maybe he only ever saw you as a trouble-making younger sibling, seeing as you had been friends with him since childhood. But here he was, face buried in your neck while he struggled to maintain his composure.

“I’m tired of watching the woman I love run head-long into danger,” he said quietly. “And not knowing if you’re safe is a special kind of torture I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

You felt your heart shudder at his admission. Oh how you’ve been so stupid, so blind to his true feelings. The only credit you could give yourself is that Zayne wasn’t the best at portraying what he felt, and you were even worse at picking up social cues.

Your mind dug through all of your memories with him. How he would always seem to hug you a little longer than necessary when you came home. How he would always use one excuse or another to call and check up on you. How his demeanor went from cold and distant to warm and welcoming as time passed. The clues were there all along, you just never picked up on them. Or you assumed they were just a natural progression of friendship.

“Zayne, I-“ you didn’t know what to say. How to finish that sentence. You felt like you were in shock and you didn’t know what to do. He lifted his head from your shoulder slowly, bringing those damnably beautiful eyes up to bore into your very soul.

“I hate not knowing if you’ll survive the next mission that takes you away from me. I hate not being able to clear my schedule fast enough to go alongside you as a medic. And I hate the very idea of losing you to your own stubbornness.”

With that, he leaned forward and his lips captured yours. It was hesitant at first, testing, but the last remnants of his control snapped when you returned the kiss in equal measure. He coaxed your mouth open with ease and plunged his tongue in to tangle with yours. He poured all his desperation into you in that single point of contact, his hand coming up to grasp the back of your head to hold you in place.

When he finally broke away to let you have some air, his face was flush with all that was left unsaid. His eyes pleaded with you, his breath mingled with yours. He searched you for the same kind of yearning he bore to you. And when your gaze flicked to his mouth and back to his eyes with a soft sigh, he knew he had his answer.

He hauled you up against him, holding you as close as he possibly could as if that act alone could prevent you from leaving him. As if that alone would keep you by his side and out of danger forever. But it was that threat of danger that made desperation all the more prominent, all the more sweeter.

Zayne carried you to your bedroom without hesitation and without trouble, as though you weighed nothing more than the pen he carried in his lab coat every day at work. Your legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his broad shoulders on instinct, hiking up the skirt you wore and exposing yourself to his chill touch. He plopped down on the corner of your mattress with you straddling his lap, not even taking a moment to break the kiss. You rocked your hips against him, lost to his every touch that drove you deeper into a needy mess.

You hated admitting it, but you knew that this is what you’ve been craving for so long. The realization that you were waiting for him to make a move so that your passion wouldn’t scare the normally reserved doctor away. Zayne was letting go of all those reservations and it was the single most attractive thing you ever experienced.

He devoured you. Touched you. The noises he made shot right to your core and your own noises rose to respond to him. The chill of his hands sent shivers dancing through you. You could feel the length of him hardening beneath you, responding resolutely to the grind of your core against him. One of his large hands found your thigh, smoothing along your skin until he was at your hip and his thumb ran along the edge of your underwear. You were subconsciously glad you wore lace, but it didn’t really matter when you were lost to him. And, gods, the cold metal of his watch pressing into your hot skin did something unspeakable to you.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, making lazy circles as his tongue continued to battle with yours. You couldn’t stop the moan you released into his mouth, but the noise only seemed to goad him further. He absorbed the sounds you made and became drunk off you.

And then you were suddenly pinned underneath him. One hand held your wrists above your head while those elegant fingers of the other dipped into your slicked folds. When he found you wet and wanting, he groaned into your neck. He curled those fingers inside you, eliciting a gasp as he put pressure in the perfect place. You bucked your hips against his hand, chasing the release he was so graciously gifting you.

And when you fell over the edge, you breathed his name into the air like a chanting prayer. Your body arched into him involuntarily and your hands grasped at whatever they could while still restrained.

But Zayne wasn’t done with you. He was far from it.

He removed his fingers from you, bringing them up to inspect the result of your climax still slicked between them. And then he looked you in the eye, muttering ‘beautiful’ before he stuck those fingers in his mouth and savored the taste of you with a moan. And something about that damn watch on his wrist while he did it.

And, fuck, he still wasn’t done torturing you.

The buckle of his belt was loosened and his cock freed from his pants with hardly an effort. He did it all with one hand while still pinning your wrists together above your head. You wanted so badly to touch him, but all you could do was wrap your legs around his hips as his narrow hips nestled between your thighs. And then your underwear was brushed aside and his cock slicked against your folds, a gentle, testing nudge at first. Then pushing further at your moaned pleas.

You all but begged him to fuck you roughly like you wanted, and still he took the time to make sure your petite body could accommodate his size without hurting you. And, oh how he filled you. It was more than you could have ever dreamed, and still he remained infuriatingly still inside you while his mouth worked at yours with promises of what was to come.

You flexed your walls on him in silent revenge, and he hissed a moan into your mouth with an involuntary forward jerk of his hips. And that’s all it took for the dam to break on his control.

Before you knew it, he was slamming into you with reckless abandon, so hard you swore you could feel yourself being moved across your bed. His hand finally released yours and all you could do was cling to him while he basically folded you in half, trying to somehow get even deeper than he already was. His grunts, moans, whimpers were diffused by him burying his face in your neck. You chanted his name into the open air, punctuating it by kisses and bites against whatever skin of his neck and chest you could access.

He hooked his arms underneath your knees, giving himself the most access he could while he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. Every thrust slammed against that sweet spot in your core and you came undone around him more times than you could count before he’d even gotten close to his end. Each climax that swept through you was more intense than the last until you were all but screaming his name.

“So damn…good,” he grunted, his pace increasing as his own orgasm finally neared. His sounds were no longer muffled by your neck or mouth. He let his own pleasured cries rise with yours as he continued making a mess of the both of you. His words became incoherent as he lost himself to the rapture.

Zayne slammed so, so impossibly deep into you with a sound that came out like a mix between a shout and a moan. His climax steamrolled through him so thoroughly that all he could do was jerk his hips while trembling in your hold. Your walls quivered around his cock once more, milking him as he flooded you with his cum.

Zayne collapsed atop you, a sweating panting mess. You realized that the both of you were still fully clothed, so caught up in your frenzied coupling that you didn’t even take time to undress. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the madness that’d taken over the both of you. Especially when he was still shifting his hips in micro-thrusts that made you realize that he was still hard inside you.

Everything about this encounter sent a thrill through you, and it was something you would never forget. Though, your mind went blank when he suddenly rode you through overstimulation only to jolt you both through an unexpected mutual orgasm. His cock twitched and pulsed inside you as another deluge of cum filled you. And your body was all too eager to take him in. If it weren’t the sensations of his cock inside you, you were almost certain the sounds he was making would have sent you over the edge again. Or even the contrast of his cold hands on your heated skin.

It felt all too soon, but he pulled from you with a long moan. He kissed you and put his forehead against yours in an action so tender that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to you with an embarrassed smile. “That’s not exactly how I imagined that would go.”

“Yeah?” You chuckled. “How was it supposed to go?”

“Slow and sweet. Definitely not horny and wild while clothed,” he grumbled. You couldn't help but look down and grinned when you saw the mess the both of you had made against his nice black trousers.

“Why not show me how it was meant to be?” You ventured. That soft smile of his played across his face as he leaned in and kissed you.

He proceeded to demonstrate what his first idea had been. Soft, slow, and sweet, bringing the both of you to climax over and over. He worshipped your body in a multitude of ways and you were grateful, then, for the days off that Jenna had given you. Because, aside from going home for a change of clothes and picking up some take out, Zayne hardly left your bed until it was time for you to go.

He walked you to the shuttle while trying to stoically hide the devastation in his eyes. Other hunters were already boarding the vehicle, but you turned to face him while your luggage was loaded, drawing him into a tight hug.

“I promise to be more mindful of missions in the future,” you say to him. You lean up in his embrace and kiss him in full view of anyone that cared to look. You knew there would be relentless teasing from Tara, but you didn’t care.

“After all, I have someone at home to look forward to now.”

[gibberishfangirl]

WINDBREAKER | twinzies

Synopsis ✰ being a couple consists of matching doesn’t it?

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Toma Hiragi, Mitsuki Kiryu, Jo Togame, Choji Tomiyama

Contains ✰ sfw!, established relationship, matching accessories/items, teasing, couple goals tbh, fluff, literally just cutest couple stuff

when matching with Sakura ᡣ𐭩 it had to be kept simple and light. if you suggested anything too much or something too obvious he might have a heart attack. in all honesty the fact that you two had matching phone charms didn’t even register all that much in his head. he’d notice a cute mini miffy charm that you had connected to your phone and stare at it. he wouldn’t even realize the amount of the times you caught him looking at it. you thought it was cute to see your boyfriend be intrigued by the same things you liked. it inspired you to get him the same one you had for his. you surprised him with it and he’d blush while saying “thanks… whyd you get me one?” “no reason, just thought it would look cute on your phone too.” your smile would make him even more flustered as he was quick to put it on. a few days went past and sakura was slightly memorized by the gift, he’d play with it when he had free time or spend him time just looking at it. one time when he was fidgeting with it Nirei distracted him by saying “hey that’s a cute phone charm sakura! doesn’t your girlfriend have the same one?” “oh yeah… she does.” another blush was found creeping up his face as he realized you two have the same exact charm.

Umemiya ᡣ𐭩 wasn’t by any means a shy guy so whenever it came to matching or expressing any sort of affection he had no issue with it. he would want to do anything that would make you happy and he also liked the idea of showing off your relationship even more. you were all his and he’d let the entire world know if he could. no amount of teasing or comments could ever make him retract his feelings. even if it meant the teasing would leak into his meetings and personal conversations. “you’re not a dog y’know, wearing a chain with their name on it? just buy yourself a collar at that point.” Hiragi would tease, not meaning his words but just trying to get a reaction out of Ume. not that it worked, Ume knew exactly what he was trying to do. “no need to be so bitter Hiragi, i still care about you. don’t feel like you’re getting replaced.” Ume would pat Hiragi’s back sympathetically as if he were consoling him to which Hiragi would just roll his eyes at. it was impossible to make Ume feel any ounce of shame. especially when it was about his personal relationship with you.

when you mentioned matching couple’s clothing Suo ᡣ𐭩 was a bit caught off guard. not that he was against it by any means, it’s just that he didn’t think you’d be the type to suggest it. the matching essence was more minimalist than anything since the two of you would coordinate the outfits to go together. you two would have matching shoes and simple jewelry. you would wear a black skirt while he wore black pants and then have matching colored shirts (different styles, same color). anyone who saw you two apart wouldn’t assume you’d have a matching twin but it made sense whenever you two were reunited. you loved to do this whenever the two of you went on dates and Suo loved the way your eyes lit up when you planned out the outfits. it was a win win situation for everyone. most people would compliment your outfits or stare in awe at how adorable the two of you were. even if the date was interrupted by running into some of his friends it would still be fun. All of them would typically compliment the two of you and comment on how well you two look together. Sakura was a bit more on the shy side so he would blush at the sight of your relationship in general. he might have to stop staring at you guys after realizing that you’re matching, the cuteness would be too much of him. he would secretly wish he had someone to do that with.

it was Nirei ᡣ𐭩‘s idea to match. not that it was surprising to hear that he wanted to have matching accessories. he absolutely adores you and it’s hard for him to purchase only one thing for himself when he knows you would also love it just as much. he was for sure a little cheesy with some of the accessories such as the matching necklaces that were a heart and a key. SO CHEESY AND CLICHE but you can’t bring yourself to even cringe at the sweet boy as he was excited to show you it. you eventually settled with the heart while he got the key. you know since he had the key to your heart. pained you to stay out loud but his bright smile made it worth it. he literally never takes it off he doesn’t even bother to shove the necklace into his shirt he always has it out on display. the necklaces were actually somewhat subtle whenever the two of you were apart but whenever anyone saw the two of you it finally made sense. you could never tell your sweet boy no whenever he brought something new and cheesy to match. …even if it meant wearing ridiculous tee shirts.

honestly… Hiragi ᡣ𐭩 didn’t see the point in matching. not that he’d ever say that out loud. he does whatever you want but he genuinely didn’t understand why couples would match or what it’s supposed to signify… if it even has a meaning? he definitely isn’t too experienced in the dating department let alone in a relationship that actually shows a lot of affection. no matter how silly the item was or how out of character it was in comparison to him he would never reject any gift of yours. he also sure as hell would never even let anyone dare to make a funny comment about it either. especially not in front of you. he most likely has hit the boys a couple of times for trying to tease him about it in front of you. they would quickly get shut down by catching an elbow to their gut. nonetheless, as much as he tried to avoid it from happening he caught himself also starting to like the concept of it little by little as the days went on.

matching with Kiryu ᡣ𐭩 had a more sentimental effect to it. especially since you two were quite picky about it. it wasn’t something you two did often or really planned out. that’s what made the matching heart lockets you got on your anniversary so special. when you opened them up they were customized with a special message you two secretly made for one another on one side and the other side had a photo. Kiryu was a romantic he couldn’t help fidgeting with the locket in his spare time and glancing at the photo of you in it every couple hours. your cheesy smile in it would bring a subtle blush to his cheeks and he would remember the exact moment he first had taken that photo. not to mention it was a huge pick me up booster whenever he felt the tiniest bit down. all he had to do was look in his locket and he would find the motivation to go on with his day with ease.

Togame ᡣ𐭩 found it cute whenever he noticed you begun to copy his style. he found it funny how you began to look like a mini him by stealing his hoodies and shirts. soon enough he started to learn more about what looks good on you and flatters you. he loves how you look in the oversized streetwear style, he thinks you look cool but will never say it to your face in order to keep you humbled. last thing he wants is for your ego to skyrocket and for you to rub it in his face that you look better in his style than he does. even though he knows it’s the truth. anyway if you really think about it, you only look cool because you’re wearing his stuff so he should take the credit for it. however, now whenever he shops he tends to buy two of the same item since he can’t help but imagine how much cooler you’d look with him on your side. so in the end matching was technically his idea and you never caught on to the fact that you two were matching a lot until you started to receive compliments about how cute it was.

matching with Choji ᡣ𐭩 was subtle in a way that no one really even knows or realizes the two of you have matching items. the only ones who know about it are you two and you both don’t mind that. you both have matching items such as plushies, random items, or room decor. you both had a lot of the same interests and would accidentally buy each other the same items for the holidays or as gifts. it was funny as it was never intentional. there were so many times where the two of you would purchase something for one another and had to fight back the urge to keep it for yourself. only to find out that the other got you the exact same thing anyway. you both know each other so well sometimes it felt like you were the same person. it’s surprising how no one has even noticed that you two constantly wear the exact same pair of headphones everyday. yes. you both gifted each other the same style headphones in the exact same color.

[winchesterwild78]

Broken pt 4

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (wife)

Warnings: grief, very light Smut, and a surprise

A/N:  Idea given to me by @cheekygirl2309. This one is a little different than what I usually write. It has angst, lots of angst to start, and infertility issues. It's going to be a short series.

Minors DNI 18+

The next week Jensen and I reconnected and my love for him deepened. I was so wrapped up in being there with him and the time we spent together I felt a little better, lighter even. 

Tonight was no different than any other night we’d spent there. Jensen and I cooked dinner together. Jensen carried in enough firewood for the night and I picked a movie for us. 

The opening credits started and Jensen chuckled, “Really?” I looked at him and laughed, “Yes, really. Everyone needs an Olaf in their lives.” Jensen laughed and rolled his eyes. 

“Okay fine, but don’t expect me to sing.” I placed my hand on his chest and giggled, “Okay, Jens. I don’t expect you to, but I know you still will.” He smirked because he knew I was right. 

When we finished the movie we went to bed. Crawling into bed Jensen pulled me close to his side. He kissed my lips softly, “Baby I love you so much.” I smiled against his lips, “I love you too, Jens.” 

I bit my lip. I wanted to talk to him about trying for a baby, but I didn’t know how to start the conversation. Things have been so  up in the air since my father died, I wasn’t sure if he’d be open to trying right now. 

My grief was still raw, but being with Jensen, being here everything seemed perfect. 

Jensen sensed something was wrong because I had gotten so quiet. “Sweetheart, you okay?” “Yeah, um, well I was thinking, and you can say no if you think it’s not a good idea. I won’t be upset, I just think, no, well I..” I just kept rambling and Jensen placed his hand on my cheek, “Honey, take a breath. What is it?” 

I took a deep breath and let it out, “I think I want to try for a baby now.” Jensen leaned up, “Really?”

“Yes, daddy wouldn’t want us to put our lives on hold, and before this we were trying. So what do you say?” Jensen smiled, still holding my face, “Yes. If you’re ready, then I’m ready.” Then he placed a kiss on my lips. Soft at first and then full of want and need. 

He took his time with me, exploring every inch of my body. When we both reached our final climax my body felt like it did the first time we made love. So satisfied, wanted and completely his. I drifted off to sleep feeling safe in his arms. 

Around 2am Jensen woke up to the sounds of me whimpering and crying in my sleep. He tried to gently wake me up, but I didn’t wake. He sat up, turned the light on and saw the pain etched across my face as the tears fell from my closed eyes. My cries and moans broke his heart. 

He grabbed my shoulders and shook, “Baby, wake up. Come on Y/N, wake up baby. You’re having a nightmare.” 

I finally woke up and saw Jensen. “Shh, baby I’ve got you. It’s okay, you’re okay.” I sobbed into his chest as he held me, rubbing my head and back. 

“I’m sorry, Jensen. I’m so sorry.” “No, honey. You have nothing to be sorry for. This is completely normal.” 

Jensen held me close the rest of the night. I finally drifted off to sleep again, but it wasn’t restful. Jensen stayed awake holding me until the sun came up. Around dawn he drifted off to sleep once he was sure I was okay. 

We both woke up around noon. Jensen went outside to gather some more firewood and I went to take a shower. When Jensen came inside he heard the shower running so he decided to get the fire going and make some lunch. 

I got in the shower and let the hot water envelop my body. My muscles ached, my head hurt and my heart was still broken. I was mentally exhausted. Emotionally I was torn, my heart was broken because I missed my father, but my heart was also full of so much love for Jensen and the possibility of us having a baby. 

The emotions I tried to keep inside finally broke and like a damn the tears and sobs came rushing out. The weight of the past week was finally crashing down around me. I leaned back against the cold shower tile, slid down and sobbed. Hitting the floor of the tub I pulled my legs up to my chest and held on tightly. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My body shook with the sobs and grief that I bottled up.

Jensen finished making lunch and realized I was still in the shower. He thought it was strange because I had been in there for almost 40 minutes. 

Jensen walked to the bathroom door and knocked. “Honey, lunch is ready, are you okay? You’ve been in there awhile.” He listened but there was no answer. Then he heard the slightest sound, a whimper. 

He opened the door and found me in the shower on the floor crying. “Y/N, baby. I’ve got you honey.” He climbed in the shower and lifted me up holding on to me. The water, now cold, ran down his clothed body as he held me in his protective embrace. 

“Come on baby, let’s get you out of here.” My hands clinged to him as he held me tight. 

Jensen grabbed a towel and wrapped me in it. He carried me to the bed and laid me down gently. Grabbing one of his shirts he put it on me as he put a blanket over me. 

He quickly changed clothes and crawled in the bed next to me. As soon as I felt him beside me I collapsed in his arms. I felt like I was losing my mind. I was so numb and felt so hollow. 

Jensen was really starting to worry about me. He had no idea how to help me, but he was determined to figure it out. 

“Sweetheart, I’m here if you want to talk. Whenever you’re ready.” I just nodded. I wasn’t ready to talk yet. I just laid in his arms for a little bit longer. 

Jensen’s phone rang, piercing the silence that filled the cabin. He didn’t move. I looked up at him, “Jens, go ahead and answer it.” 

“No, whoever it is will leave a message and I’ll call them back.” “Jens, it could be important.” I didn’t want him to miss anything important because of me. “Please.” 

He reluctantly got up and grabbed his phone. It was his mom. “It was mom.” “Call her back Jens. Please.” He nodded, “I’ll be right out here. If you need me, holler.” I nodded.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” “Hey Jensen. How’s Y/N doing?” His mom asked. 

“She’s doing about as good as expected. One minute she’s okay, and the next it all comes crashing back. I don’t know how to help her.” 

“Just be there for her. During the highs and the lows. Especially the lows. Hold her and remind her just how much she’s loved. She has to work through this in her time, and we have to be patient with her.” 

“I am, mom. I just don’t want to push her, and I hate to see her in so much pain.” “Jensen, I know you well enough to know you’re not going to push her. You love her hard, and when it gets hard, you double down. She needs you now more than ever and she needs to know that the other man in her life isn’t going anywhere.” 

“I understand. Thanks Mom. I love you.” “You’re welcome, Jensen. Now go take care of our girl. I love you too, son.” 

By the time Jensen hung up with his mom I was out of the bed and walking towards the kitchen. He went through all the trouble of fixing something to eat, so I needed to eat. 

We sat together at the table to eat. Jensen watched me and carefully chose his words. “Mom said hello and she loves you and if you need anything to let her know.” I nodded. 

We sat in silence while eating. Jensen’s eyes flicked to mine. He saw the pain in my eyes and it broke his heart. “Thank you for eating, baby.” Again I just nodded. I couldn’t trust my voice. 

My heart beat fast in my chest. “Jens, I’m scared.” My voice barely audible, almost a whisper. 

Jensen stopped eating and looked up at me, “What? Why are you scared, baby?” I nervously picked at my fingers and bit my lip, “I lost my daddy, my one anchor to the world. Now I’m scared I’m going to lose you too. I can’t lose you. I wouldn’t survive that.” 

Jensen stood, pulled me into his arms, and held me tightly, “Baby, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me forever. You and I are going to be with each other until we’re 100. I’m going to be chasing you around in my wheelchair and we are going to sit on the front porch swing holding hands watching the sunset.” 

A small smile tugged on my lips. He always knew how to make my heart a little better. One of the things I loved about him. 

“100, huh?” I asked as he smiled and nodded. He gently kissed my lips and whispered, “100”.

We finished our meal and I walked over to the large floor to ceiling window in the living room and looked out at the fresh white snow. It truly was breathtaking. 

Jensen walked up behind me and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and then snaked his arms around my waist. I leaned back into him. 

Jensen rested his chin on my shoulder, I could feel his hot breath on my neck and it sent a shiver down my spine. 

Turning my head towards him I looked into his eyes. So beautiful and filled with so much love, it took my breath away. I turned and faced him, “Jensen, I’m so sorry I can’t move past this. You’ve been so patient with me and I feel like a damn yoyo. One minute I’m good and the next I’m on the floor sobbing.”

He cupped my face, “Baby I wouldn’t expect you to move past this. This isn’t the kind of thing in life you just get over. It’s going to take time, lots of time to be okay, and even if you’re not okay, that’s okay too. You talking about things, remembering him, hell even crying is helping you heal. You’re never going to get over this, but it will get a little easier every day.”

Placing a gentle kiss on my forehead I leaned into him more. “I love you so much, Jensen.” “I love you too, Y/N. We will work on this together. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A few hours later Jensen and I were sitting together on the couch just talking. The conversation was mostly light. He was talking about the filming and how Karl almost accidentally broke Antony’s nose. He was excited about the new series and he was a little nervous too. 

I sat listening to him and watching his face light up. When he looked down at me I saw his face falter a little. “Jens, what’s wrong?” He ran his fingers through his hair, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’ve been rambling on about stupid stuff and haven’t given you a chance to talk.” 

I smiled, “I love listening to you talk about your projects. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve done and are doing. Please don’t dampen your light for me. I’m proud of you and so proud to be your wife.” 

He nodded, smiled and kissed me, “I’m so proud to be your husband. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” 

Our conversation continued and I felt myself finding a little more peace. My heart still ached for my father, but it was at peace with Jensen too. I looked over at Jensen, ready to tell him more about the turmoil inside me. “Jens, did I ever tell you my parents split for a little bit when I was a teenager?”

He looked at me with wide eyes, “No. I didn’t know that.” “Yeah, I was about 15 and I remember they got into a huge fight. Mom told dad to leave, so he, being the respectful man he was, packed up and left. My heart was broken. I barely spoke to my mom and finally decided to move in with my dad. My mom had me and Abby, and my dad had nobody. I couldn’t do that to him. Moving in with him was one of the best decisions of my life. We became super close. Dad taught me how to defend myself against “handsy boys” as he put it, he taught me how and when to plant a garden, he also taught me how to be strong. His heart was broken from the split with mom, but every day he got up, went to work and then spent the evening trying to repair the marriage. Eventually they worked it out and had a stronger marriage after, but I’ll never forget how much effort he put in even when his heart was broken.”

“Wow, sweetheart. I didn’t know that. I knew he was an incredible man, but that was amazing. I’m so glad you got to spend time with him, and that you shared that story with me.” Jensen kissed my lips softly. His hands tangled in my hair as he deepened the kiss. 

We started making out like a couple of teenagers. My giggles and his chuckles filled the air. He had me laid back on the couch and he hovered over me, “God I love your laugh, Y/N. You’re so beautiful.” I bit my lip, “I love you so much, Jensen. I can’t wait to have your baby.” 

He kissed my lips, “Why wait, let’s see if we can practice now.” He scooped me up and carried me to the bedroom. I giggled all the way down the hallway, “Jensen Ross, put me down.” “I will, once I get you in the room.” He laughed. 

He gently put me down and started peppering kissing down my neck and to my chest. Lifting my shirt off and removing my bra he exposed my breasts. His lips and fingers touching them and teasing them. 

Jensen laid me back on the bed and removed the rest of my clothes, then his. There was no urgency in the moment, just the connection of being together and in each other’s arms. Jensen’s touch was tender, like I was a porcelain doll that could break at any moment. 

He made me feel loved, worshipped, wanted. Our bodies tangled with each other for a few hours. Every second a little piece of my heart healed. Laying in his arms in the stillness of the room I knew I would be okay. I drifted off into a peaceful sleep. The first one in a while and dreamed of my dad.

*Dream*

“Daddy, what are you doing here?” “Hey peanut, I just wanted to check in on you. How ya doing?” “Oh daddy, I miss you so much. It hurts.” 

My dad pulled me into a hug, “Oh sweetie, I know it does, but you’re going to be just fine. You’re stronger than you think, and you’ve got yourself an amazing husband.” I nodded as the tears fell, “I know daddy. He’s been so incredible. You were right, daddy, he’s definitely a keeper.” 

My dad nodded, “Hey peanut, I have something for you. I know you’re going to be great and you’re going to be okay. I want you to have this.” As my dad turned back towards me he handed me a baby wrapped in a blanket.

I looked confused, “Daddy, I don’t understand.” He kissed my forehead and looked at me and down at the baby in my arms, “Don’t worry, you will.” 

Before I could ask him anything else I woke up. Jensen wasn’t beside me, and the room was dark. 

I couldn’t get the dream out of my head. I got dressed and found Jensen sitting by the fire reading a book. I smiled and walked over to him, “Hey baby.” He looked up and smiled, “Hey sweetheart, how’d you sleep?” Placing a soft kiss on his lips I whispered, “Better than I have in a long time, thank you.” 

The next morning after we showered and got dressed Jensen and I decided to take a trip into town. I felt better than I had in a few days, but I couldn’t shake the dream I had. 

Since that dream I felt so much better, more at peace, but I didn’t tell Jensen about it. I wasn’t sure how to tell him I dreamed about my dad and right before I woke up he handed me a baby. 

We went to the grocery store to grab some food and I found myself down the feminine product aisle. With everything going on I lost track of my cycle, so I grabbed some pads just in case. I glanced over and saw the pregnancy tests too. I grabbed one and tossed it in the cart with the pads. 

I have no idea what possessed me to buy one, maybe it was a habit, but I don’t know. 

Arriving back home I helped Jensen put away the groceries. I grabbed the bag with the pads and test in it and took it to the bathroom. I decided to go ahead and take the test, so I closed the bathroom door. 

I took the test, set the timer and sat on the side of the tub. The dream replayed in my head. When the timer went off I took a deep breath, stood and walked over to the sink. 

I closed my eyes, let out the breath and looked down. There it was, the results staring me back in the face. I swallowed hard and took in a shaky breath. 

Tears fell from my eyes. With shaky hands I grabbed the test and looked at it again. Jensen knocked on the door and it startled me, “Babe, you okay?”

I couldn’t speak. I opened the door and he saw the tears and immediately wrapped me in a hug. 

“Shh it’s okay baby. I know.” I pulled back. Even though I had tears streaming down my face I was smiling. He looked confused. “Jens, I…” I couldn’t speak. I just handed him the test. He looked at it, his green eyes flicked to mine and with a smile on his face he whispered, “Really?” 

I nodded, “Yes. Jensen. We’re pregnant.” 

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[precupid]

like a fool ─── (eight.)

NOW THAT HEESEUNG KNOWS WHO SUNGHOON PARK IS AND WHAT ROLE HE PLAYS IN YOUR LIFE, HE’S A LITTLE NERVOUS TO BE EATING WITH HIM.

Two days ago, he was just the super hot, super sexy boba barista guy, and now he happens to be your childhood friend. The childhood friend who also just happened to pay for Heeseung’s ramen lunch today.

Heeseung can’t even look up at you or Sunghoon, so he fiddles with his water bottle. He takes a quick glance at you and isn’t surprised to see that you’re already looking at him. In fact, you’re the one who’s surprised to see Heeseung looking at you, and you’re so surprised that you snort mid noodle slurp and start choking.

Since Heeseung is sitting beside you, he gives your back a few hard smacks. Thankfully, this is all you need to settle down and grumble, looking at Heeseung with a pout and glazed over eyes once again. Your expression is all too familiar to Heeseung and he feels his ears growing hot.

“Sorry, that was so embarrassing,” you mumble, chuckling softly. “I was just surprised.”

“Are you okay?” both Heeseung and Sunghoon ask you simultaneously.

Oh yeah, Sunghoon is here too. Heeseung forgot because he was too busy looking at you. He makes eye contact with the male in front of him, only to notice that Sunghoon is frowning at him.

Okay. So much for thinking that he and Sunghoon would get married one day.

“Yeah,” you nod, “I’m okay! I was just, uhh, abitflusteredisall.” Sunghoon’s frown leaves his face and is replaced with a smile instantly the moment he looks at you. But you turn and gesture to Heeseung. “Sunghoon, this is my roommate Heeseung.” Then you gesture to Sunghoon. “Heeseung, this is Sunghoon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Heeseung chirps. Sunghoon just nods.

Ouch.

“So what did you do this morning?” you ask Heeseung. You’re fumbling with your chopsticks, eyes trained on the bowl in front of you.

Even though you can’t make eye contact with him when you speak, Heeseung likes to look at you when he answers, so you know that you have his full attention.

But right now, as much as he’d like to honestly say what he was doing, he has to make a good impression. He can’t let Sunghoon think you’re living with a complete loser.

Which is why he lies, “I stayed up last night working on the assignment I have for my math elective.”

You hum and Sunghoon is the one to reply. “That’s really cool, Heeseung. Now how long have you two been living together?”

You take a quick glance at Heeseung, which he returns, and bite back a smile, “We’ve been living together for three years now! Originally, Chaer was supposed to be my roommate, but she chose Montreal over UBC. Luckily her cousin needed a place to stay that’s not all the way on the island.”

As you talk, you constantly look over to Heeseung, who nods in agreement. “When we first met, she said her own name wrong and hid from me for two weeks.”

Heeseung feels a light smack on his shoulder, a light grip, and suddenly the contact is gone, but his shoulder tingles. You’re laughing and it’s all Heeseung can hear. “I was shy! You were a new person to me and you’re extremely cute! What was I supposed to do!”

Heeseung’s heart does a flip suddenly. He doesn’t know why. But hearing you say that so openly makes him smile. It somewhat feels like he’s soaring.

Sunghoon clears his throat, “That’s nice.”

He makes intense eye contact with Heeseung, the customer service smile plastered on his features evident, “Y/N and I were best friends since birth because our mothers are best friends. Even when her parents divorced when Y/N was two, her mother kept custody so our mothers could raise us together. I went to all of her gymnastics competitions and she came to all of my figure skating competitions and we went to prom together. Her family loves me and her older brother even calls me his in law.”

Heeseung just kind of looks at the male in front of him blankly. Is he supposed to be jealous of him?

Because he isn’t.

At least, that’s what he tells himself and the little green feeling that’s settled in his stomach.

“Oh, speaking of parents,” you pipe up, “my dad really likes Heeseung.”

Sunghoon perks up at this. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” you exclaim. “He’s ordered Heeseung a birthday cake for the past three years and gets him holiday gifts as well.”

“That’s interesting.” Sunghoon replies. If Heeseung looked a little closer, he could see Sunghoon’s eyebrow twitch a little bit. “What else?”

“Well, sometimes Heeseung buys my dad his favourite gummies from the store when he comes to visit and sometimes they just sit and watch basketball on the TV. They like the same team,” you explain. “My dad said that it’s nice because my brother likes the team my dad hates.”

There’s a certain little green feeling that’s painted on Sunghoon’s face. Heeseung doesn’t know why, but it makes him want to smile.

Maybe this beta male will take the L today.

(seven.) / masterlist / (nine.)

summary. who cares if you’re desperate? who cares if you’re pathetic? who cares if you’re a loser? pay them haters no mind, because your roommate, lee heeseung, is gonna fall for you one day! fortunately for you, that day may be sooner than later.

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[lau219]

Intuition

Part 2

Previous part here

*No disrespect is meant toward anyone with a PhD. The way it’s discussed in this chapter is just a point of view of the characters.*

…………………………………………………………………………….

Forty-five minutes later, and Tom had concluded the little tour of the lab he’d given Y/N, getting her familiar with the layout of the place and the general organization of where all the equipment was kept.

She’d remained pretty quiet, letting Tom talk as he showed her around, and she’d smiled to herself multiple times when it was obvious he was slightly nervous. Not in a shy way, but just in that it was clear he wasn’t used to having anyone to work with other than Margaret.

With every stop they made around the room, he kept realizing there were additional things he forgot to mention, and so Tom would stutter an apology of interjection for himself to Y/N as he remembered something and then backtracked to show it to her. She’d never heard someone interrupt themselves so many times before in her life.

“Oh, uh, and this…”, “Sorry, uh, I forgot, there’s also…”, “Oh, yeah, uh, and then…”

It was so cute, and while she was nervous herself, Y/N just kept thinking how amusing it was that this poor man wouldn’t ever win any contests for being smooth or suave, despite the fact that he’d definitely win in the looks category. But this was the most she’d ever heard him talk, and the most enthusiastic she’d ever seen him get about something, and it was surprising yet nice to see him like this. Every time he showed her something, Y/N nodded quietly and smiled, softly asking the occasional question and carefully following where he led her.

When they’d eventually made it back to the table Tom had been sitting at when Y/N had first arrived, he stopped next to it and met her eyes once more. They’d met eyes multiple times as he’d shown her around, and despite how moronic he knew he’d probably sounded (since when did he become so forgetful or unable to say a single sentence without inserting “uh” a million times?), she’d smiled at him sweetly each time, just as she was doing right now. It was obvious she was nervous, too, clearly feeling timid and staying pretty quiet, trying not to talk too much and stepping carefully through the room, but she was still somehow emanating her warm charm and listening to Tom with interest.

“That’s pretty much it,” Tom concluded as he laid a hand along the back of the chair at the table. “We just, uh, ya’ know, grab whatever stuff we think we’re gonna need for any given, uh…situation, and then take it from there.”

Nodding, Y/N replied.

“How often do you and Dr. Matheson go out to look into these…situations?” she asked, smiling as she used the term he’d used, since she had no idea how else to label what they did.

Tom gave a small exhale of a laugh and another half smile as he answered, giving a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“It just depends on how many people reach out to Margaret at any given time, but we’re usually always working on at least one case. But with her most recent interview on TV last month, we’ve gotten a big surge of requests, with people asking that we come and investigate either something or someone.”

There were certainly more questions Y/N had about Dr. Matheson and her work that she wanted to ask Tom, but she knew that right now wasn’t the time. She had a lot of questions for Tom about his own involvement in all this as well, but seeing as this was the first time he’d ever even spoken to her, Y/N wasn’t going to push it. Instead, after nodding again, Y/N’s eyes drifted over Tom’s shoulder to the table behind him, and she nodded her head towards the remaining stuff he’d left out before he’d begun showing her around.

“What were you working on over there earlier?” she asked, her eyes traveling back from the table to Tom. “Those track spools look like they’re from one of those huge tape recorder things.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tom replied, raising his brows momentarily as he quickly looked over his shoulder at the table and then back to Y/N. “They are. I took them off the machine to make some adjustments to it.”

“Can I see?” Y/N asked cautiously, her brows raising in shy curiosity.

“What?” Tom replied. “You mean the machine?”

“Yeah,” Y/N blushed. “I mean, sorry, you don’t have to show me. I was just curious.”

Again, Tom quickly reacted, as he didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t willing to show her.

“No, no,” he replied. “It’s fine.”

He really needed to stop being such an idiot, he thought to himself.

Turning, he reached for the piece of the machine he’d removed to work on. Grabbing it, he turned back around toward Y/N and held it out as he spoke.

“This is the part of the machine that’s supposed to pick up sound waves that are undetectable to human ears. But we’re looking to make it even more sensitive, and so I’m adding a small amplifier to it.”

“Wow, that’s so cool,” Y/N said as she reached out and took the piece Tom was offering her. Carefully, she turned it over in her hand, and then laughed to herself as she saw all the little microchips and wires on it.

Tom nearly smiled and raised his own brows in question as Y/N looked up at met his eyes.

“I don’t know how anyone even understands how this kind of thing works, let alone is knowledgeable enough to make adjustments to it,” she gave another little self-deprecating laugh. “I can’t even figure out the right cords to plug into which ports between my TV and my DVD player.”

At that, Tom fully smiled and released a laugh himself, and it only had Y/N smiling even bigger. So this man was capable of laughing? She never thought she’d see the day.

“It’s really not that complicated,” Tom said, still smiling.

“Oh sure, that’s easy for you to say,” Y/N lightly joked. “But didn’t Dr. Matheson say on the first day that one of your degrees is in computer engineering?”

Surprised that Y/N had remembered that fact about him, Tom replied with another half-smile.

“Most physicists have two degrees,” he reasoned with a shrug of his shoulders.

Smiling again, Y/N began to shake her head, but then realization clearly dawned on her as her eyes suddenly widened and then just as quickly, she furrowed her brow in questioning.

“Wait, you’re a physicist? Dr. Matheson never mentioned that. So you must…” she held Tom’s eyes. “So you have a PhD then, don’t you?”

Tom had an almost guilty expression on his face as he replied.

“Uhh…yeah.”

Y/N shook her head again.

“Why haven’t you ever mentioned that in class? And why don’t you have people call you ‘doctor’? Even Dr. Matheson refers to you as ‘Mr. Buckley.’ Why?”

Even though Y/N was looking at him in awe and not judgement, Tom still suddenly felt guilty.

“It’s just…it’s really not a big deal,” he replied with another shake of his head and shrug of his shoulders. “I never really felt like the degree warranted that title for me. I just know physics, ya’ know? But the ‘doctor’ title isn’t really anything that matters.”

After hearing Tom’s explanation, Y/N smiled a smile of awed disbelief and scoffed, shaking her head.

“You’re too modest,” she said. “Most anyone with any kind of degree that earned them the title of ‘doctor’ would be milking that for all it’s worth.”

Releasing another laugh, Tom shrugged his shoulders yet again, and he took the machine piece back from Y/N that she had held back out to him.

“It’s just not a big deal, ya’ know?” he repeated.

Y/N shook her head again.

“Well, I hope I’ll still be helpful to you and Dr. Matheson without any knowledge on this kind of thing,” she said as she gestured to the machine piece.

Tom smiled again.

“Don’t worry, there’s a lot of stuff we do that doesn’t involve any of this,” he held up the piece.

“Ok, good,” Y/N grinned, “because, like I said, I can’t even get my DVD player to work.”

“Did you try just turning it off and on again?” Tom joked, surprising himself. Where had that come from?

Y/N giggled at his joke, very pleasantly surprised to see that he perhaps had a personality after all.

Enjoying the sound of her laugh, Tom just looked at her for a moment, her pretty smile incredibly distracting. Y/N was looking back at him, admiring those eyes of his briefly before they each realized what they were doing and things suddenly became awkward.

As Y/N blushed, Tom shifted and cleared his throat, but they were both saved from anymore nervous awkwardness when Tom’s phone suddenly dinged again.

“Uh…” turning to retrieve his phone off the table, Tom quickly looked to read the newest text Margaret had sent him, and after reading it, he looked at Y/N once more.

“Margaret’s wondering if you can come by again on Thursday at the same time,” he said. “Then she’ll fill us in on what she has lined up for the next case.”

“Oh, um, I think that should be fine, let me just check…”

Pulling her bag from her back to over her shoulder, Y/N opened it and pulled out her calendar, quickly glancing at it.

“Yeah, that should be just fine,” she nodded, looking back up at Tom. “Should I just meet you here again?”

“Yeah,” Tom replied. “Margaret will be coming from across campus, so she may be a few minutes late, but I’ll be here.”

“Ok, great,” Y/N replied. Then she shifted her bag over her shoulder again before continuing. “Well, thanks for showing me around today. It was really interesting.”

Tom nodded and gave her that half smile.

“Of course, no problem.”

“Ok, well...I guess I’ll see you on Thursday then?”

Tom nodded.

“I’ll be here,” he confirmed.

They looked at each other once more, and Y/N spoke a final time on her way out of the lab.

“See you then…doctor,” she gently teased. And when Tom heard her, his smile was suddenly as wide as her own, which Y/N caught a glimpse of just before she fully turned around and then walked out of sight.

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[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Part 12

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

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Chapter summary: Past. Dolly tells it all. Present. Has Logan really changed?

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religious trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Before

With your hair fixed and dressed smoothed, there was no sign of the passion you and Logan had shared, save for a smudge of tinted lip palm. Logan reached out, hated how you flinched even if just so slightly, and wiped it clean. He resisted the urge to lick his thumb, just to taste another trace of you, so he settled with his tongue darting out to his own lips, just for a remainder of your essence.

You and Logan sat on the couch. You faced the ladder that stood against the tall book shelf; Logan faced you.

Killed people? You? You, who cried when he was about to kill a spider, begging him to take it outside. You, who were the shining beacon to mutant kids that they could be loved by humans. You, who were so innocent you shuttered at the brush of his hand on yours.

“It wasn’t in self defense. I don’t have an excuse.”

“Was it Mark?” God, he hoped it was.

You nod.

“Sounds like self defense to me.”

Your hair flies out of its pristine condition with how aggressively you shake your head, brows knitted together in anguish and frustration. Logan didn’t understand, he could tell. He wasn’t sure he could ever understand you, really.

“He was asleep, Lo-”

“Dolly, he beat you bloody, he almost killed you-”

“He wasn’t the only one I killed.”

The silence hung in the air for a few moments as Logan waited. Waited for you to elaborate. Waited for it to make sense in his head. Waited for his anger at your secrets to subside.

“Listen doll,” He stated, clear and assertive. “Just tell me. I can handle it. You want me to tell you the awful things I’ve done? I will, if it’s gonna make you be honest with me. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for you.”

A little nod, then you swallowed. It began. “My sister was getting married. Grace. She was 14… her proposed husband was 29.”

“Jesus christ…” Logan didn’t exactly think he was the most morally superior man out there, but he thought any grown man attracted to a teenager was disgusting.

The hem of your long sleeve makes for a good fidget; the weather was getting colder. “I couldn’t do it, Lo. I couldn’t sit by and just- just allow my baby sister to go through what I’d gone through!” You still weren’t looking at him, but you didn’t stop. “I thought about calling the police, but what would it do? Our parents consented, and at the time she wasn’t going to say she didn’t want to, he was a handsome older man, of COURSE she wanted to be with him! I wanted Mark, and look where that landed me!” Finally, you turned to Logan, tears welling up your red eyes, but a look of determination on your face. You didn’t look sorry. “She was 14, Logan. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

“I understand.” And he did. If he thought Rogue was getting herself into a situation like that, he’d have stepped in. Hell, sometimes he was ready to beat Remy’s ass. If he had actually thought Remy did anything to that girl, he’d be dead. “She was just a kid.”

A deep breath. “My parents, Grace, her fiance and his parents came to our house one night, we lived in town and they were wedding planning. I took Mark’s gun…” You give a dry laugh. “He pistol whipped me with it more than once, so I knew where he kept it. That was his mistake. I put the silencer on and… I guess just… I dunno. I don’t really remember it. I shot Mark, my parents, the fiance… the fiance's parents. I- sometimes I feel bad about that…”

“Don’t.” His hand reaches for yours. “They were enabling their kid to rape a teenager. Did they have daughters?”

“Yeah… a few younger girls in high school.”

“You probably saved them from getting sold off too.”

“But now they’re in foster care! And my siblings! Our families are torn apart and it’s my fault!”

“Dolly!” Logan pulls you into him, and for a minute you freak out, you hit him and shout, but soon you fall into his strong arms, sobbing. “Your parent’s did this, not you! You did everything to protect your family, this is not. Your. Fault.” He felt you cry into his arms. He never really thought about your brothers and sisters, but he realizes now how much you must miss them. How much you must think and worry about them… Charles knows your story, has he told you how they- Charles knows. Of course he does, he saved you, he took you in… who else knows?

“Does Remy know?”

He feels you nod against him, and jealousy spirals in his chest. “Yeah, I- he and I were up after a nightmare and it… came out.”

He rubs your back. He tries to turn it around, to make sure you didn’t know how much it was eating him up that Remy knew you better than him. “He agrees with me, doesn’t he? And he still loves you. We don’t think you’re a bad person.” A sick part of him was mad you opened up to remy, that you found comfort in him, not Logan. That you didn’t need Logan as long as you had Remy. He takes your chin in his hand, gentle and uncalloused from his healing, touching your soft, wet face as he guides it to his own. “I still love you, Dolly. I love you, and this only makes me love you more.”

Your eyes shone, sadness there but also a glint of love. “I- I love you, Logan, but… I can’t do this right now. I need a little time… just to get myself straight. Is- Is that okay?”

“Dolly…” He kissed your lips, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry lip balm, trying to force his tongue in your mouth.

“Lo-” You were cut off by his kiss, your hands gripping his flannel shirt began to press flat against his chest.

“Just love me, doll face. Just love me, and it’s gonna be okay.”

“I do!” He could smell the adrenalin and sweat on you, but also the arousal dripping from between your legs when his hand dipped down to the curve of your ass. “I just -mmph- Lo, I need time.”

He ground you down, feeling his erection between your closed thighs as you try to squire away. He just needed you to see, to see how much he loved you, to see how happy you could be together and how good he could make you feel. “Everything is gonna be okay, I promise.”

He needed to be what Remy wasn’t, what he hoped Remy wasn’t, and if he was, he was gonna be it better.

Then he felt a tear drop on his collarbone, and he stopped. He stopped despite the urge to fuck you open right here on this couch, to make you scream loud enough everyone knew who you belonged to. To claim you and fill you so publicly that Scott knew he couldn’t take you from him. Not you. Not you because you were different.

But he didn’t want you crying. He didn’t want you like that.

“Shhh, shhhhhhh it’s okay Dolly, it’s okay. We’ll wait. We’ll wait until you're ready.” He kissed your forehead, cuddling you to his warm chest. “Ain’t doing nothing until ya ready, baby girl.”

After

You liked Wade. A lot.

He was a little out of pocket sometimes, way more overtly sexual at first than you were comfortable with. He made some comment about some sex toy you didn’t understand, and when he tried to explain your face was burning up. Logan proceeds to smack him and drag him out of the room. There was a snikt, and a brief shriek from Wade, then quiet as they muttered back and forth. A minute later, Logan came into the room again, looking sheepish as he got a wet washcloth and said ‘don’t ask.’ Remy told you he probably stabbed Wade, and upon seeing the horrified look on your face explain Wade’s healing that the guy, honestly, liked it.

When Wade and Logan returned, Wade was wearing Logan’s school sweater.

Anyway, after that, Wade apologized and was more careful with how he spoke. He was still strange, a little gremlin at times, but an overall nice guy. You liked how much he made Logan laugh, even when he tried to pretend he was annoyed.

You liked Rogue too. She was a nice girl, sweet, and had a strength you admired. Logan loved her too, it was clear. 

And God, so did Remy.

Remy treated Rogue like a goddess, worshipping her every move and his black and red eyes following her with adoration. It made you happy to see. Remy was a good friend, a good person, and a good man; you knew he’d treat her well, and you liked seeing him happy. Maybe in a few years your baby boy would have a friend. Your hand goes to your stomach, feeling a kick. You like that idea?

Wade gasps loudly, looking at you. “Is he kicking??” Wade loved kids. Apparently, he and Vanessa had been talking about having kids. Something about naming them Cher? But that was before it went south.

“You wanna feel?”

Wade eyes lit up, but he hesitated still, blue frosting on his face. Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty planned a surprise party for you after you let Rogue have the card saying the gender. The party was going nicely, Logan was talking to Jean about something you couldn’t hear, and Scott was scowling at them from across the room, ignoring whatever Kitty was talking about. When Jean laughed, you mirrored Scotts glare with a sad look of your own. You didn’t dislike Jean; she was nice. She had been handling your pregnancy and was nothing but kind and gentle. Still, you were only human, and she had sex with your fiance. Your eyes meet Scotts visor, his face unreadable. There was something similar in your positions.

You want to be distracted.

“C’mon, Logans busy.”

When Wade glances at the former couple, he makes a face you can’t quite decipher, then comes over to you. Taking his hand in yours, you guide him to where your son is kicking. It’s over your dress of course, but it still feels strange to have a man touching you, even with Wade being respectful.

He’s absolutely beaming. With a slight, breathy laugh, “Guard dog isn’t gonna bite my hand off, is he?”

“No, I promise.” You laugh back. After feeling the kick a few times, Wade pulls back. For all his unserious bravado, you noticed he’s particularly careful not to touch you or not touch longer than needed. Logan told you he’s secretly insecure about his skin, he thinks it freaks people out. You will admit, it took a little getting used to. Of course it did, just like Remy’s eyes or Kurt’s blue fur. But you didn’t think he was gross, and you didn’t mind his hand reaching to help you up or steading you when you trip. You were beginning to trust Wade like you trusted Remy.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You smile warmly. “You and Rogue. I like seeing Logan so happy.”

“Yeah,” Wade laughs, “He’s like a teenager finding pornhub for the first time, damn near giddy.”

You weren’t sure what pornhub was, but you could guess. “Actually, we wanted to talk to you about something… Logan feels to awkward, but we were thinking baby names-”

“Oh I love baby names! Got a fuck ton picked out. Cher was number one of course but considering Remy’s absolutely incomprehensible cajun it might get mixed up with the whole ‘chere, cherie, mon cherie’ bit,” he mocks the accent. “Might not be the best. For boys, I hope you stay away from the god awful braxtyn, brayden, etc names, but DONT fall into the trap of those grandfather names. Theres 1000 baby Henry’s right now, i can’t keep doing it-”

“Wade.”

“Yes?”

“We picked out a name already.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Go on. But I’m warning you, I will be honest.”

You giggle, and see Logan glance over at you. He gives a warm smile, and you give a little wave before turning back to Wade. “First name is gonna be Steven.”

“Oh course, like the bible guy.”

“The ‘bible guy’ is a respected figure in the church, Wade.”

“And which church is that again? I missed that part- never mind, go on.”

You shoot the man a pointed semi-glare, but in good humor. “The biblical figure is a factor, but also Remy’s middle name is Étienne, which is a french version of Steven.”

Wade sighs dreamily. “Oh, that beautiful hunk of a man is going to absolutely adore that.”

“And for the middle name, we were thinking… Winston. Well, actually, I wanted Winston for the first name but Logan said other kids would make fun of him for having the name of a cigarette brand-” you were nearly knocked over with the hug. “Ah!”

“FUCK! I LOVE YOU GUYS SO FUCKING MUCH RIGHT NOW!” 

Logan was over between you in a second, steadying you from the force of his hug. “Watch it, bu-” Wade did actually knock over Logan this time.

“I”M SO FUCKING HARD RIGHT NOW!”

*

The rest of the party went wonderfully. You told everyone the name you had chosen, bringing Remy to tears as he hugged you.

“None of this would be possible without you, Remy.” You try not to think about ‘this’ including what Logan had done to you, but Remy didn’t know about that. Remy had gotten you guys together, and helped along the way, he was the reason you were having Stevie. 

The only thing wrong was later in the night. Wade rambled to you and Logan about how things were going to get real confusing if Stevie was a mutant, because it was already confusing enough with the amount of Steven heroes. Apparently there was a Steve Rogers, Stephan Strange, and a Steven grant already. You didn’t know what he was talking about, but you let him go off. 

Logan was not paying attention. As Wade happily rambled away, switching topics to the wedding in two months, you notice Logan clutching the beer bottle tightly and glaring hard in the corner. There stood Remy between Rogue’s legs as she sat up on the counter. Most guests had filed out by this point, leaving only you, Wade, Logan, Remy and Rogue, and then Kurt and Emma talking at the table.

*

“Oh come on.” You laugh, washing up dishes. Jubilee had promised they’d take care of the clean up in the morning but you didn’t want to leave a big mess so you and Logan were getting the worst of it done. “It’s Remy, you like him, remember? We’re naming our son after him.”

Logan was throwing all the trash away. “I like him as your friend, doll face. But he’s a whore.”

With a small gasp, you turn around. “Please don’t call my friend that, Logan.”

He softens just a bit before sighing an throwing a beer bottle in the trash. It shatters. “I’m sorry, baby, but you know it’s true. He’s slept with half the mansion.”

 “He hasn’t slept with anyone all year. You know Rogue left him heart broken.”

“She didn’t do anything to him!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me!” You point at him with a wet hand. “I’m not blaming her. I like her, and I know you’re protective of her, but don’t act like Remy beat and assaulted her.” It was a pointed remark, a little reminder that you hadn’t, in fact, forgotten. Logan’s face is angry, something that has rarely, if ever, been directly at you. It makes you nervous. You go back to the dishes. “It’s just Remy. He’ll be good to her.”

“He’s so much older than her! She’s just a kid, dolly!”

You scoff. “They have a smaller age gap than we do.”

“Don’t fucking talk back to me.”

You hated this, the way he spoke to you like you dad, like Mark did. What had happened? Why was he acting like this all of a sudden? The alcohol?

“I don’t think you get a say in what she does when you disappeared on her without a work just because Jean-”

The hit was so hard your forehead slammed into the cabinet.

Before you could even react, before you had a chance to walk through the steps that Logan had hit you, you were in his arms, sitting on the kitchen floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry baby, oh my god, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t…” He stroked your hair, your body shaking a bit but too in shock to cry. 

He hit you. Logan hit you. And now your head throbbed from hitting the wood cabinet and fuck, did it ache

“It wasn’t supposed to be hard, I just wanted your attention. You know that right? I wouldn’t hurt you?”

Logan wouldn’t hurt you. Logan wouldn’t hurt you. You flash back to months ago in this very kitchen, breaking down crying to Scott that he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t… He was going to know now, he would know he hit you, Logan couldn’t hide it. Everything that you’d built together would fall apart.

The team would fall apart, people picking sides.

Surely you’d lose Rogue, Wade, and Kurt, they’d take Logan’s side.

Would you lose Remy too? Would he chose keeping Rogue over you?

Stevie would be raised without a father once Charles saw into your mind… but Logan’s voice echo’d in your head from that day. ‘Not gonna tell Charles or anyone, not when you got as wet as you did, right?’. Charles would know. He’d know you were wet, that’d you’d gotten turned on… that’d know that before, the times you and Logan kissed even way back to the dressing room incident. He’d know you told Logan you loved him… so what right did you have to call it rape?

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Bobby walked into the kitchen to see you two together, you crying in Logan’s lap.

“Yeah.” logan grumbled, an edge to his voice giving away he felt at least the slightest bit nervous. “She hit her head. Slipped on water at the sink.”

Bobby kneels down, ice frosting his hands he puts where the goose egg is forming. It feels good, like an ice pack. “I’m gonna get Jean, here-” He reached up to grab a dry rag, wets and then freezes it. 

Logan tries to protest. “No, I think she’s fine.”

But Bobby was already heading out. “I’ll bring her here.”

“Wait! Just- I’ll carry her to the med bay, meet us there.”

Bobby shouts something in confirmation, and Logan scoops you up. “Poor baby, slipping on the water…”

Your head was spinning and throbbing, trying to make sense of what was happening. Did you slip? That had to be it. That had to be it. You had to have slipped.

Your head hurt.

LOGAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNN

Come on brother

Okay, one step closer! Someone on ao3 said this series was like a puzzle, and that made me so happy bc thats what i wanted it to be.

We got one big piece now; What dolly was hiding.

The next big piece is why did Logan go from sweet, soft logan to raping her? It does not excuse him at all, in fact it might make logan look worse.

thank you so much for all your love an support!

Unfortunetly it might be a min before the next chapter. i fell behind of writing bc holidays are BUSY at olive garden!!!! I gotta get the final chapter of rooms on fire out!!! its in my triple frontier list if you are interested!!! its a cult au, lots of twists and turns.

poll time!

happy hanukkah everyone!!!! If you celebrate like me, please check out this companion guide for rabbis for ceasefire, praying for a ceasefire, the safety of innocent palistinians the return of the hostages. You all should know where I stand on this, but supporting a ceasefire is bipartisan.

I will be making a donation to Doctors without borders this Hanukkah, and I greatly encourage you to do the same.

If you celebrate christmas, MERRY CHRISTMAS! Remember that the land jesus was born in is being torn apart by bombs, rape, guns, starvation and lack of shelter. Look through this prayer guide to pray for peace, and consider backing your prayers with monitary donation. Peace on earth means civilians not being bombs and the return of innocent hostages, both of which is supported by a ceasefire. Here is one specifically for catholics, the religion i was raised in.

Thank you for all your love and constant support here!

I had a rough holiday few weeks bc i work in a restraunt, and then saturday i got into a minor car accident. ran into a light pole. it was literally all my fault i have 0 excuses, it wasnt even icy. I hit my head and got whiplash by my car is drivable thank you g-d.

life goes on!

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia a @new-genesis100 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight @nonamevenus

[lulublack90]

Prompt 26 - Champagne

@wolfstarmicrofic December 26, word count 944

Remus readjusted his bow tie for the tenth time. He hated the bloody things, but they were a requirement for these types of events, and the money was too good to say no to because of a slight discomfort. 

Usually, he was tasked with refilling empty trays with the delicate canapés, but tonight, they were short-staffed, and he’d been given a tray laden with tall, narrow glasses of champagne. He’d questioned the manager’s thinking as he’d never served from a tray, and giving him the hardest job on his first go hardly seemed like a good idea. The man had just glowered at him and told him either he could get on with it, or he would go home without pay. Remus had wanted to tear the guy a new one, but he needed the money, so he plastered his widest fake smile on his face and picked up the heavy tray. 

So far he was doing alright. It took some skill to keep the tray level when people grabbed the glasses from it. Sometimes they waited until he’d nearly walked past them before they took them and the tray had threatened to topple off his hand a few times, but he’d managed to rebalance it and carried on serving the guests. 

He was low on glasses now, he realised and made to loop back around to go reload when he spotted the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. He was all long, dark, curly hair, high cheekbones, skin that rivalled a porcelain doll and eyes so blue they froze him to the spot. He gasped before he could stop himself, and the man looked over. A cheeky, lopsided smile spread across his face and mischief played in those vibrant blue eyes. He stood up and sauntered towards Remus. Remus stood completely still. The man reached up and took the last glass of champagne off his tray and brought it to his lips, tipping the glass until the liquid spilt into his mouth. Remus watched in awe as the man's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. 

The man finished the glass and carefully placed it back on Remus’s empty tray. 

“Thanks,” He purred. “I needed that,” The man left, his hand brushing against Remus’s backside as he crossed behind him. Remus shuddered and blinked a few times before he came back to his senses and returned to the bar. 

“I hope you weren’t annoying Mr Black,” Karl the manager grunted at him as he filled more glasses with champagne for Remus to distribute. 

“Who?” Remus asked. He had no idea who Karl was talking about. 

“Sirius Black, the son of the people throwing this party. Heir to the Black family empire,” Karl continued when Remus looked at him blankly. Karl shook his head. “Whatever. Get back to work and don’t go near him again,” Remus rolled his eyes and set off around the room again, but he didn’t see Sirius again for the rest of the party.  

After the party, all the staff had to help clean up. By the end, Remus’s arms were killing him. The trays he’d been carrying all night had been heavy. He walked out of the back door into the alleyway behind the hotel where the bins were kept, rolling his sore shoulder, feeling the joint pop and crack beneath his hand. He let out a groan as he felt a bit of relief. He’d have to soak it in a bath. It was going to be agony tomorrow. He reached up and yanked the stupis bow tie from around his neck and stuffed it into his pocket. Glad he no longer had to wear it. 

He’d nearly got to the end of the alleyway and out onto the street when a voice in his ear made him jump. He spun around ready to defend himself, but dropped his fists when he saw who it was. 

“Oh, sorry, Mr Black, I didn’t realise it was you,” Sirius’s face fell. Had he said something wrong? “Sorry, did you need something? I can go back inside and get you another drink or some food?” Sirius’s face fell even further, and Remus had no idea what to do. “Mr Black?”

“Stop calling me that!” Sirius snapped. Remus flinched. “Sorry,” Sirius winced. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just… Well, it doesn’t matter. Please call me Sirius,” Remus nodded and smiled shyly at him. 

“Sirius, is there something I can do for you?” He didn’t have to ask. His shift was over, and he wasn’t getting paid, but something about Sirius made him want to do anything to please him. 

“A drink?” Sirius asked. Remus immediately started walking back to the door he’d just come out of. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant,” Sirius chucked as he sped down the alley after him. “I meant, would you like to come out for a drink with me?” Remus was stunned. This was the last thing he’d expected. When Sirius had brushed his arse he’d thought it was all teasing. A rich guy trying to get a reaction. It wouldn’t be the first time, but here he was asking Remus out. 

“Er, yeah, sure, sounds great,” He stammered. Sirius’s crooked grin spread across his face again, and he held his arm out to Remus. Remus didn’t let himself think and took the proffered arm. Sirius drew him in close, and they walked out onto the street. Remus had no idea where Sirius was taking him, but the man had enchanted him, and he felt oddly safe even though he knew nothing about him, that, and he had no intentions of going home just yet. 

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