#me: hey these ones I made are much better than these others I have had to deal with ;)

[euphoria-looney]

Astro!

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader Squid Games!AU

m. list|next

"And goodness knows, The Wicked's Lives are lonely. Goodness knows, The Wicked die alone. It just shows, when you're wicked, You're left only, on your own." 'No One Mourns The Wicked' by Wicked the Musical

Divider creds: (?) and @dollywons

As a kid, all I longed for was someone to play a game with me that didn’t require some form of technology to keep both of us entertained.

Well, be careful what you wish for, because I have reached an all-time low, willing to kill people with children's games to earn money.

How much longer will I spend in this twisted game before getting killed? Maybe this is better whether I win or lose, I still gain freedom.

One choice is just the better option. 

That’d be losing winning.

Sure I would feel immense guilt, but I’d be free from debt… and then what? No longer needing to slave anyway from the amount of money I receive.

What then?

Could therapy even help? They’d probably send me off to a mental ward. 

Who's going to believe I won millions from playing some children’s games?

I looked around and saw the old man again from earlier, sitting alone in a space, I approached him, and he accepted to play with me.

“When I was little, this was one of my favorite games as a child.” The old man told us while we were walking into an open area.

“Really? I’ll be honest, I’ve never played this game before.”

As we finally found a point to play the game, we conversed.

—

“Did we do this to make a pact?”

He held out his hand, his pinkie and thumb sticking out, I laughed, wrapping my pinkie around his, pressing our thumbs together.

“Sir, no my gganbu- I think that’s what they called a really close friend right?”

—

Eventually we went all for nothing, this was the funniest game I ever played… I almost forgot the fact that I was going to die at the end.

“Ah, guess you won, betting all my marbles for your single one. Didn’t see that one coming.” I chuckled sadly.

He held my hand and placed the last marble in my palm.

“Take it, it’s yours anyway.” I looked up at him in shock, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“We are gganbu aren’t we? Remember we swore on it. And Gganbu always shares everything no matter what. You made this all possible.” My shoulder shook, as I could only stare at my shoes, my eyes felt like facets at the point. 

And then I felt these same hands embrace me, and I felt like a child all over again.

“What a great way to go.”

He pulled away, making me face him.

“Thank you. I had a good time.”

I hugged him once again, my tears overflowing on his shoulders.

He let go and I walked out of the gates.

Sniffles were all I could do before I heard the voice behind me.

“I remember my name now. My name is Il-nam. Oh Il-nam.”

I kept walking then flinched when I heard a ‘bang’ go off.

Surrounded by all these dead bodies, and these empty emotions, I pushed forward.

[Player 1, Eliminated]

—

Despite everything, I’m still having these selfish thoughts of staying alive.

We had just played ‘glass bridge’ leaving three of us here, dressed in suits, and eventually I was talking with Penelope, she’s the one that helped me out of the restraint we were in after we left for the first time.

“Hey, [name], just in case either of us can actually make it out of this hellhole, promise that we will take care of each other's loved ones, okay?” 

“Don’t say that, we’ll be okay.”

But she took more damage than any of us once the glass had shattered and was losing blood fast.

“Stay where you are, I’ll go get someone.”

I left and went to the guard or whatever they were, to beg, plead, for a doctor, maybe one that could’ve been on standby, but instead they walked past me with a coffin.

I could only stare at my once best friend standing over her bed.

I ran over there and held her body up, shaking her for some sign of hope.

“No, Penelope, please, no…”

—

Approaching the end game, we ate a feast, so fresh and nicely made, I felt the need to puke.

We place in the field shapes surrounding us, to resemble a squid, this was, Squid Game.

The rain soaking both of us, gray skies, and a single guard on the side.

Astro’s shirt still soaked in blood, his suit back on. He spoke before the game began, a knife in hand.

“I ended her suffering. You know she would have died anyway.”

The tears that once stained my face had been washed off by the rain, and now I could only feel disdain for the man I once knew in front of me.

“That’s bullshit, stop lying. She could’ve survived, they could have treated her.”

He retorted.

“I know what you’re like, you’re the reason I had to kill her. I knew you two would stop all this, so she didn’t die there. Even though we’ve gone so far, just to quit?” 

It seemed so similar to the time back at the manor.

—

“Damian had a lot happen to him as a child, are you going to blame him for this?” Dick sighed Damian behind him with no remorse for the fact I had slashes on my arm, not deep but painful. And though they wouldn’t leave scars, would that really matter?

He held a weapon against me while all I had was a stack of books now discarded and torn on the ground.

“[name]. You’re older than him, he’s still a child. You are the reason for this, it could’ve been avoided if you didn’t egg things on. Don’t blame Damian for your faults.” Egg him on? All I did was try and avoid him.

It wasn’t fair.

—

Now, if it wasn’t high before, my blood pressure had to be spiking. For that petty reason? Simply because he didn’t want all of this going to waste?

“Was that it? You killed someone because this might end?” My voice trembled.

“Yeah! You and that girl would have been the majority you needed to get out! Going home without anything! I couldn’t live with that!”

“And you think that means anything?! What?! one more life on top of the others you’ve stolen isn’t enough, and won’t be enough until you receive something?! You’d rather have one more dead than for all three of us to leave and somehow find another way to bring something, anything home?!” I shouted back at him.

I took my knife out of my pocket.

“It's over…”

“I won’t let you leave here with the money.”

3RD POV

While the VIP’s finally stood up to watch this entertaining last game.

Two people who have developed over time physically and mentally, once friends, were squabbling, fighting with very small amounts of energy, but a passion to win.

Both stabbed the other when eventually, player 456 was able to get the other on the ground and punched him over and over again.

The Waynes couldn’t help but be relieved this was it, they’d never let her go again, they would make up for everything starting with making sure she would be okay.

“Found the location heading there soon!” They heard Cassandra on the other line.

Late, but they would make it.

—

[name]’s POV

I held my knife, before stabbing it into the field, next to his face, before limping over to the goal point, it felt miles anyway, the guard had his gun loaded and aimed at Astro.

There before me was the practical finish line.

I can’t… No, I refuse to if anything, playing this game has fucked me other the head, but I refuse for one second to let this game be the last thing I ever see Astro at.

“I wanna end here.” I face the guard walking back to them.

“Clause Three of the agreement. The players are able to end the game when the majority agrees, so if we both give up,  you have to end it right?” I stumbled over.

The guard spoke on the walkie-talkie while I gazed back at Astro.

“Astro.”

“Back when we went to the same school, we’d hang out together and study before leaving chasing after our purpose that called out for us. Nothing's calling anymore.” After all this time, he still is.

I smiled at him, that once gummy smile I adorned, one that I hated so much.

“Let’s go”

I extended my hand to him. 

“Let’s go together.”

He slowly lifted his hand.

“[name], I’m sorry.” 

And before I could react, he took that hand and grabbed the knife that I put right next to him, and impaled himself in the neck with it. 

Blood gushed out and he choked out blood.

I quickly went to his side, stabilizing his head.

“Astro! Astro!”

“[name]..”

“No, no, don’t speak! Hang on!” I was panicking, this can’t be the end of us.

“M-my mother, please take care of my mom. And…”

“I love you.” That made me freeze my erratic movements, I was sure he could’ve seen my eyes widen.

“Loved you since meeting you.” With that, he closed his eyes and I could only call out his name, and held onto his body, it was getting colder fast.

[Player 218, Eliminated. Congratulations, Player456]

—

3rd POV

“Believe in Jesus or go to Hell!” A guy holding two signs chanted outside in the rain, strangers walking past each other, a white limo rolled up on the side of the street, dumping a bruised and exhausted body on the sidewalk, the same guy chanting untied the girl.

“Believe in Jesus.”

The girl was in the bank depositing 4.56 billion dollars before withdrawing some out. Her hair a mess, eyes sullen and eye bags that dragged down her face, she seemed exhausted. Walking back to the store she once worked at, a sign stated ‘SOLD’ and next to it a reef, “Rest in Peace, Conny Claire, Died too soon, old shop owner that meant so much to many people.” Flowers that surround the message.

The girl that came there for a snack could only sink to the ground in shock, hands rising to cover her face, body shaking and quivering.

Walking down a store alleyway, Astro’s mom approached the girl.

“How have you been, here take some food for the road after losing…” She sighed, and patted the girl's back, walking back to her shop.

“Have you heard from… Nevermind.” 

The girl opened her run down apartment where she once lived and went to see all the old photos in the yearbook of classes she had with Astro and in all of the group ones featuring her, her classmates, and Astro she noticed how in each one he was looking at her, with those fond eyes.

She could only fall onto her bed, her tired state crept on her before she fell asleep.

Some time later, the girl kept her promise to Penelope and helped out her family, then left them with Astro’s mom, leaving a wealthy sum of money, they became a family… somewhat of a replacement for the other's loved one, and the girl left paying off whatever debt any of them had.

The girl was sitting alone at the pond, drinking some alcohol. Before an old woman approached her, a flower basket in hand, it seemed she needed to sell them immediately before they wilted away. The girl reached into her pocket, handing her some money before the old woman went off. 

Picking up the nicely wrapped flower, a card appeared, making the girl stumble at picking up the card before reading it.

Approaching a hospital, card in hand.

It was the old man.

“What is this… Who are you?”

“Pour some water for me. Please, [name].”

And there she sat, anger rising in her, but she couldn’t do anything against the man who made the games.

She sat listening to the man talk, about the homeless guy below them, about how everything he said about himself was true, how he missed the old days, him and his friend used to have the time of their lives, and how no matter if you're homeless or rich both lives are no fun. Then a clock struck.

She looked at the machine to see that his heart was no longer beating, instead a flat line appeared. Getting up, she closed his eyes.

That’s when she finally started her life again. She got it together.

So, at the first place, her life changed at the same bus stop, well across from it, the skies were clear and the sun was glaring into the area. It had been a regular day for her, working at her own company and all.

Maybe that’s why when she unlocked her car and stared right in front of her at that same place, she was shocked to see her father, Bruce Wayne, and his family.

That’s it for this part of Astro! Did you like it?

Also, unlike Squid Game, soon after [name] left, everyone that participated in Squid Games got arrested, which made it on the news, but was looked past after a few months, [name] made gravestones for Penelope and Astro.

Ofc the Batfam got the credit and got even more famous for uncovering this incident, which is also why they hadn’t ‘visited’ [name] and now are just getting to it.

Not the update you expected, but I hope you like it.

Any comments, advice and corrections are appreciated!!!

-ILoveeeMoney

Taglist time! ❤

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek and a new addition that I'm super happy I bumped into @alilobsessive.

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento @randomlyappearingartist @beyondblissxoxo @sirairi @yhin-gg @frankie-moon3 @welpthisisboring @yokesmam @bat1212 @enchantingarcadecreation @twismare @delias-stuff @ladylupuscrow @ferchu0406 @c4xcocoa @cruzerforce4256 @anonymoushehehehe @godoreo22 @blerp-22 @facelessisnthere @sirenetheblogger @themightybee4067 @boredselkie @tiffyisme3760 @random4137 @midnightgrimoire @mybones537 @chaoticmoontimetravel @jsprien213 @crazycaoticsimp @elfollaburras3000 @czarinera @tiffyisme3760 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @gwyneveire @k-anaru @a-lurking-fae @nxdxsworld @ryuushou

I think that's everyone who wanted to be tagged, I hope I didn't spell anyone's name wrong and tag the wrong person.

[enwoso]

PLAYING FOR MORE | alessia russo

(grumpy universe)

grumpy masterlist

alessia sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she stared at the pregnancy test. two lines, they stared back at her. her heart felt as though it was lodged in her throat, her pulse louder than any cheering crowd she had ever played in front of.

she had worked hard to get were she was — unc scholarship, a starting spot on the team, become captain, achieve her first call up to the senior england squad. she was a rising star.

and now, well right now she was a twenty year old college student staring down a future she hadn't planned for.

her phone buzzed on the desk, a message from her boyfriend: harrison.

—

alessia's usual type wasn't football players, they were too loud, too cocky, too much trouble.

but yet here she was, tying her boots on the sidelines of the practice field sneaking glances across the turf at harrison reed - the wide receiver who had too much charm and a smile that made her stomach flip.

it started during her freshman year, her soccer practice had run late and alessia sweaty and exhausted from the scorching sun of north carolina had cut across the football fields to get back to her dorm quicker.

she hadn't expected anyone to be there, let alone him.

"well if it isn't the soccer team's star girl herself!" harrison's voice rang out as she passed. she's rolled her eyes — of course he'd call her that.

"hey footbal guy." she shot back, not stopping. the only thing in her mind was the cold shower she was going to have when she got back to her dorm.

he jogged over, helmet in his hand as he fell into step beside her, "you always this friendly or did i get lucky today?"

alessia just snorted, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face, "depends, are you always this annoying or am i just lucky?"

that should've been it, a quick exchange, a bit of teasing but harrison wasn't the kind of guy to leave things alone, he liked to push boundaries and push people's buttons — be annoying in simple terms.

so over the next few weeks, the end of the school year looming and they kept bumping into each other. in the corridor as alessia carried her books in her arms.

at the athletic center when harrison was nursing a sore shoulder. in the library when neither of them were studying but both of them pretended they were.

it was easy with him. too easy and that's what scared her.

they became friends at first - sort of. harrison would show up at her matches, yelling loud enough for half the  crowd to hear as alessia claimed she only went to his games for the nachos but really her heart raced every time he made a big play.

one of the last games before the big final, alessia's team lost. alessia missing a crucial goal which ultimately probably cost them the game.

harrison was the one that found her sitting alone on the bleachers showered as her wet hair sat on her jumper.

"rough game," he winced as he sat next to her as he put a arm around her pulling her into a comforting hug which he knew she needed.

alessia sighed, as she leaned into him more, "yep, i missed an open goal."

"eh, you'll get the next one" his voice was softer than usual, not the usual cocky confidence he wore like it was amour.

for a moment they just sat there, the lights from the field buzzing faintly. alessia tilting her head to loot at him, "why do you even care?"

harrison hesitated, a small smile tugging at his lips, "maybe i like you"

the words just hung in the air, heavy and warm as alessia just blinked. "maybe?" she teased, but her pulse hammered in her throat.

"okay.. definitely" he admitted after a moment of silence, a grin creeping onto his face, "so what do you say soccer star? let me take you out sometime?"

"football. it's football."

"soccer. your in the states now less"

as she shook her head leaving the debate for another time and against her better judgement or maybe because of it — alessia smiled, "your impossible, you know that?"

"and yet your still haven't walked away."

that was the start, they started hanging out more after that. coffee dates between classes even though they'd both get a smoothie. late night calls when the pressure of school and sports became too much.

sneaking out to the quad when they should've been asleep, laughing about everything and nothing and supporting each other at the others games.

but it wasn't always easy. there were arguments, about missed plans, about the attention harrison got from other girls, about how alessia always seemed to put soccer first. the two being too stubborn for their own good.

in the end that was what made it work, the moments which weren't perfect, the times they argued they then made up and were stronger than ever. the late night cuddles and morning practices.

the way harrison would bring her a smoothie after every game, whether they won or lost.

so by the time their final year rolled around, everyone knew they were the package deal. alessia and harrison. the soccer star girl and football hero. two athletes who would do anything to win, but hopeless when it came to each other.

—

haz | 'can't wait to see you tonight, gonna get us a takeout from that taco place you love!'

her chest tightened as she looked at the message, harrison was everything she wanted in a boyfriend, charming supportive and ambitious.

but they'd never talked about kids or families or anything remotely close to this. from their late night chats they talked about their dreams of travelling the world and becoming the best at what they did.

children? that's was a word which never even entered the conversation. and she knew - she just knew this was going to be something he wasn't going to be ready for.

so she did the only thing she could think of. text her best friends: emily and lotte.

—

emily and lotte arrived within minutes, their concern palpable the moment they stepped into alessia's dorm room.

"less? what's wrong?" emily asked frantically dropping her gym bag by the door. lotte following close behind.

lotte, the over observant, noticed alessia's tear stealer face and the white stick lying on the desk. "oh less.." she said softly sitting beside her.

alessia took a shaky breath. "i'm pregnant." she said the words tasting foreign and heavy leaving her lips.

emily's jaw dropped, her expression quickly morphing into one of concern and determination. "okay, deep breath. we've got you, whatever you need. we're here for you, less."

"i don't know what to do," alessia admitted her voice quiet and shaky, "harrison's not ready for this. and my parents? there gonna be so disappointed."

lotte placed a comforting hand on alessia's knee. "first things first, you're not alone in this. no matter what you decide, we're with you. but you need to talk to harrison. you can't carry this on your own."

alessia knew they were right, no matter how strong she thought she was. she couldn't carry the weight of that on her own.

—

later that evening, harrison arrived at alessia's dorm his usual easy smile in place. he set out the takeout bags on her desk, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "what's up baby? you look like you've had a rough day."

alessia's stomach churned, rough day was certainly one way to put it. she motioned for him to sit on the bed, her hands twisting the hem of her hoodie. "haz, i need to tell you something and it's.. big."

his playful unserious demeanour faded, as his face paled, "you're scaring me less, what is it?"

she took a deep breath, looking at him with such fear as she bit her lips, "i'm pregnant."

for a moment, harrison froze, his expression unreadable. then he ran a hand though his hair, letting out a shaky laugh, "wait, are you serious?"

alessia nodded, her eyes welling up.

"wow," he muttered, standing up and pacing the small room, "this.. this wasn't supposed to happen. alessia we aren't ready for this. we barely managing school and soccer as it is."

"i know," she said quietly, "but it's happening, haz. we have to figure out what to do."

he turned to face her, his expression filled with frustration and fear, "look, i'm sorry but i can't do this. a kid? now? we are only twenty for god sake. i just started getting noticed in football. this would ruin everything - for both of us."

his words hit her like a punch to the gut, "ruin everything?" she repeated, her voice cracking.

"i'm not saying it's your fault," he said quickly, "but think about it less, we have our whole lives ahead of us. you've got the england squad, you're one of the best young players at the minute. a baby is gonna change everything, it's not the right time."

alessia just stared at him, her chest tightening with every word, she couldn't believe his words. "so what are you saying? you don't want to keep the baby?"

harrison hesitated, her silence speaking volumes. "i'm saying... i don't think we should."

alessia felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, she had known the conversation would be difficult. she had braced herself for his shock, his panic. but hearing him say it out loud 'i don't think we should' felt like a knife to the heart.

her fingers curled tighter into the fabric of her hoodie as she swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. "haz, this is our baby. my baby. i can't just pretend this isn't happening."

harrison exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "less, come on be realistic. a baby means we'd have to give everything up. football, school, our future - everything we've worked for. we aren't ready for this." his voice was desperate, like he was trying to make her see reason, but all alessia could hear was rejection.

"you think i don't know that?" she shot back, her voice trembling. "you think i haven't spent every second since i found out thinking about how this changes everything? but it's happening haz, whether we're ready or not."

harrison let out a frustrated sigh and turned away from her pacing again. his usual confidence, his easy charm - gone. now he just looked scared. "there are.. options," he said hesitantly. "we could-"

"no." her voice was quick and firm and when he looked at her, she shook her head. "i can't. i won't."

he stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tightening, "you're sure?"

tears burned at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, "i've never been more sure of anything."

harrison exhaled sharply, hands on his hips as he looked away. the silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating. when he finally turned back, his expression, again unreadable but his next words shattered her completely. in more ways that one.

"then i don't know if i can do this, less."

"what?"

her stomach dropped. he ran a hand through his hair again, exhaling shakily. "i'm not ready to be a dad. i can't be a dad." his voice cracked, but he pressed on. "and if you're keeping it... i don't know how to be part of that."

alessia felt like the floor had disappeared beneath her, her entire body felt cold, numb. "so, what? you're just going to leave?"

harrison's face twisted in anguish, but he didn't answer. that answer was enough.

alessia let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "okay," she whispered. "if that's how you feel.. then go."

"less..”

"no," she cut him off, wrapping her arms around herself. "you made your choice. i'll figure this out on my own."

harrison hesitated for a second, like he might say something else. alessia's silently hoping he would say something else. but instead, he grabbed his hoodie and moved towards the door.

he paused for a fraction of a second, then walked out, closing it softly behind him.

the moment he was gone, the first sob broke free from alessia's chest. she curled up on the bed, clutching her stomach, her heart shattering.

she had never felt so alone.

—

alessia lay on her bed, she felt numb. sitting on the bed as his words replayed in her mind.

not ready.

not the right time.

ruin everything.

alessia had managed to find the energy to message emily and lotte. so when they arrived alessia was still sitting there with tears streaming down her face.

"he doesn't want to keep it," she whispered as emily wrapped her in a tight comforting hug.

"of course he doesn't," emily said, her voice tinged with anger but also comfort, the type alessia was craving. "he's a twenty yet old boy who is scared out of his mind. but this isn't just his decision."

lotte crouched in front of alessia, her voice calm and steady. "less, what do you want? not harrison, not anyone else - you. this is your life, your body, your future."

"i don't know," alessia admitted, her voice breaking. "i feel like everything i’ve worked for is slipping away. but.. i also can't imagine just walking away for this. it's a part of me."

emily squeezed her should. "then that’s all that matters. you'll figure it out, and we'll be here every step of the way. harrison doesn't get to decide your future — you do."

alessia's breath shuddered as she leaned into emily's embrace, gripping the fabric of her friend's hoodie like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. the weight of the moment was crushing, pressing down on her chest until it felt like she could barely breathe.

she had spent years building herself into the player she was today - grueling training sessions, sacrifices, endless hours on the pitch. football had been her whole life for as long as she could remember.

and now.. everything felt uncertain.

"i don't know what to do," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "i don't even know how to begin figuring it out."

lotte, still crouched in front of her, took her hands in hers giving them a reassuring squeeze. "you don't have to figure it all out tonight, less. you just have to take it one step at a time."

"but what if i can't do it?" alessia's voice cracked, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "what if i ruin everything - for myself, for my career, for this baby."

emily pulled back slightly, her expression fierce. "listen to me. your alessia russo. destined to be one of the best footballers in the world, the hardest working, most determined person i know. if there is anyone can handle this, it's you."

"but what if he's right?" alessia asked, her voice raw, "what if this really does ruin everything?"

lotte shook her head, "it won't. it'll change things - yes. but that doesn't mean your dreams are over. your not alone in this less, we'll figure this out together."

alessia sniffled, looking between her two best friends. the unwavering support in their eyes made something shift inside of her - like a tiny sliver of hope breaking through the overwhelming fear."

she exhaled shakily. "i just.. i thought he'd be here for me. that we'd figure it out together."

emily's jaw tightened. "if he can't handle being here when things get hard, then he doesn't deserve to be here at all."

lotte nodded. "you don't have to do this alone, even if he's gone. you have us. and whatever you decide, we're with you - every step of the way."

for the first time since harrison had walked out, alessia felt the smallest bit of steadiness return to her. she was still terrified, still completely unsure of what the future held.

but at least she wasn't alone.

[sibsteria]

hi! just saw your 2025 rec list and that you write for spencer! i beg for a spence best friends/coworkers to lovers short lil sm sm (oneshot) if you're okay w that! also idk if you have a smosh/spencer series in the works but if you ever write one i can confirm I'll be your biggest fan love your fics can't wait to read more :)

@people-arelovers

Must be love on the brain...

Spencer Agnew x fem!Reader

Masterlist

a/n yes! absolutely, hello, hi, here I am- writing most of this in line for Pitbull tickets, dale (also combining two requests here, and I will absolutely be doing a series at some point fyi!)

Warnings/Content: alcohol, light angst, embarrassment, hinted pining, kissing, not proofread

Summary: A work's night out leads to drunken confessions...

''You don't have to drink to have a good time, y'know?'' Shayne shrugs at Spencer, his decision wary on joining the small group as he wasn't quite feeling up to a rager.

''There's not really a point in going to a bar if I don't drink, I'll just be surrounded by drunk people and feeling left out.'' He chuckles, he probably won't come anyway, his gaming chair is calling his name pretty loudly.

''Y/n is coming.'' Shayne throws it out there, he knew of Spencer's pining feelings towards the girl, a last ditch effort to get him to think about coming.

''Yeah, and I'll be boring and not drinking and- it's stupid.'' He runs a hand through his hair, thinking about you, how much he does in fact, love being around you.

''You know she doesn't care about that stuff?'' Shayne could almost feel himself rolling his eyes at his friend, how stubborn.

''Yeah...'' That's just one reason why he liked you so much, why you were his best friend.

Meanwhile, you were sat at your desk, having a similar conversation.

''I honestly don't think he's going to come.'' You smile, popping a piece of homemade hard candy Garrett had made.

''He might?'' Tommy smirks at you, he knew how you felt about the curly haired man.

''When has he ever, ever, come to a bar with us?'' You giggle at Tommy, shaking your head.

''There's a first time for everything.'' He brings up his hands, one forming an '0' and the other forming an 'I' before he puts them tog-

''Tommy! No!'' You whisper yell, you never know who could be around.

''Oh, come on, you want it. Live a little, Y/n, sweep that little nerd off his feet.'' He raises his eyebrows as if to say 'think about it'.

''Someone as funny and pretty and as cool as him wouldn't even think twice about me, we are just friends.'' You sigh at your own reality, how you wish it wasn't true, but beggars can't be choosers and at least you get to see his face nearly every day.

''You are so stupid.'' He saw the way he looked at you, as if you had hung the stars just for him, why are you always so stubborn? At least you and Spencer have that in common.

''Shut up!'' You squint at him, grumbling before you turn to your computer, time to get some work done before you can go home and shower.

You were sat at your vanity mirror, painstakingly applying some makeup so you look some variation of decent- the bags under your eyes telling a story of fatigue.

Your phone beeps out a message.

Message from: Spimgler

< Hey, sitting this one out, have a great time- miss you! >

Of course, but you couldn't blame him, a night in bed sounds a lot better than unwanted mingling with strangers right now but Tommy would have your head if you didn't come.

You down a glass of wine for your nerves whilst getting ready, you hate getting hit on and it’s not uncommon.

“Told you he wouldn’t come.” You grin at Tommy, you being right once again, although you wish you weren’t- maybe if he was here you wouldn’t feel so out of your depth.

“Yeah, whatever.” Tommy hands you a drink, he had been there a little while before you arrived.

The drunker you let yourself get, the more your mind wouldn’t let up on thoughts of Spencer. The smell of his shampoo as he leans into on one of the couches, the softness of his touch as hugs you when it all gets a bit too much to handle, the teasing smiles he shot at you like bullets when he tries to make you laugh. You get more and more sour as the night progresses, shooting down each potent bomb of liquor and strongly poured drinks.

As expected, just as you had unfortunately lost your group, you were approached by a man. But long gone was the slightly sober discomfort and combative attitude you would have once wore, a drunken mess of social embarrassment lies in its place.

“You know, my friend Spencer is so pretty-“ You hiccup, leaning with your elbow on the bar and cheek in your hand.

“Um, I asked if you wanted to dance with me?” The guy raises an eyebrow at you.

“I want to dance with Spencer! God, I miss him so damn much, I love him…I’m- I love him a lot-“ You frown, sniffling a little, why wasn’t he here right now.

“Okay…” He looks around the room, wondering if you were here all alone.

“Need to see him so bad, can you call Spencer?” You yawn, giggling as you imagine his adorable little voice.

“Not-not really, I don’t know this dude-“ He’s urgently scanning around now, he swore he had seen you with some people- a lanky brunette, a shorter blonde guy, a blonder girl, two dark haired ladies who were screaming at the table together where he first saw you-

“He’s so smart, y’know? So pretty and God, I wish he knew it. He’s funny…too funny for me- I love Spence-“ The man you were currently borderline harassing came into quick thanks as the lanky brunette neared you, clearly recognising you and starts to laugh at your words.

“Okay, okay. C’mon Y/n, stop professing your love for Spencer to strangers.” Tommy mouths a ‘sorry’ at the guy and he just half smiles, awkwardly- it was his choice to approach the plastered girl at the bar, anyways.

“Spencer…” You whine, dragged away by Tommy, your cheeks are flushed and you can’t even walk straight.

“Want me to call him, to come get you?” Although you harboured strong, strong feelings for the man- he knew he was also your best friend and could handle you in this state, and would also drop anything to help you. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to meddle and progress things along- a hope you would possibly spill your guts to him. It was no secret that Spencer returned your feelings, except to you.

“Yes!” You scream in excitement, he walks you outside for some fresh air, you slump down on the pavement. Tommy calls Spencer from your phone, he’s more likely to pause whatever game he is playing to answer your call.

“Y/n, hey, you oka-“ His voice holds a happy tone as he answered.

“It’s Tommy, hey look, could you- stop lying down on the dirty street!” He yelps at you as you don’t feel like sitting upright anymore, “-could you come and pick her up? She’s a bit of a mess and honestly past the point of enjoying herself, just want her home safe.

“Be there in ten.” Is all he says before buttoning the phone down, Tommy sighing in relief- he just didn’t want you to end your hurt- you were actually pretty funny right now all things considered.

“Y/n, honey, he’s on his way.” He sits next to you, placing an arm around your shoulder, comforting you.

“Who?” You look at his completely quizzical.

“Spencer-“

“Spencer’s coming?!” You smile, dreamily, squealing a little, oh yeah, this was going to be a perfect disaster.

It had been just under ten minutes as he pulls up a metre or so away from the two of them, getting out of his car and heading straight for his best friend.

“Thank you, thank you! She needs a whole lotta’ rest.” Tommy stands up and tried to bring you up with him but you whine out, not wanting to move just yet. “I am so sorry for what you may be about to go through.” Although he’s smiling, indicating he is not sorry at all.

“Have a good night.” Spencer nods curtly, locking his car just in case before sitting next to you.

“When is Spencer getting here?” You mumble into your arms, head in your knees.

“Peekaboo.” An airy tone to his voice as your head shoots up.

“Oh- Spence!” You shriek, wrapping your arms around him tightly, though you had done it many times before- he still couldn’t help his heart as it beat a little faster.

“H-hey, beautiful, you doing okay?” You giggle as he talks to you, beautiful, he says.

“You’re the beautiful one, stupid.” You lay your head on his shoulder

“Oh, yeah?” He’s caught a little off guard.

“Mhm, pretty, pretty…” You sigh as you nuzzle into him, jesus, how much did you drink.

“I’m pretty to you?” He automatically goes for the teasing avenue, combatting how he feels with a joke.

“Obviously, I wouldn’t be in love with you if you weren’t.” You scoff as if it’s common knowledge, his mouth gapes open, he’s…what?

“What?” He repeats his thoughts.

“What?” You yawn, still happy as a baby on his shoulder.

“You just said- you’re in love with me?” He asks it as a question, you probably just mean a friendly ‘I love you’.

“Yeah…but you don’t like me back though, so it’s silly of me. You’re just so pretty and amazing and- I’ve loved you since I first met you…” You look as if you’re falling asleep, Spencer’s head is a flurry full of confusion- he feels like he should be hyperventilating right now.

“I…” This was definitely a talk for sober Y/n, no matter how much he wanted to tell her he loved her right now.

“It’s okay…I’m used to it.” It’s like you can’t quite recognise this is reality and not a nightly dream of yours.

“I’ll drive you home? Or-“

“Can we have a sleep over?” You blink up at him, wondering why you are seeing three Spencers.

“Sure…” He bites his lip, you were extremely cute like this, usually you would be so stubborn and nonchalant and cool.

The drive back is surprisingly uneventful, you practically passed out in the passenger seat, head against the window after he had told you you cant hug him whilst he drives.

“Your car smells good…smells like you.” You smiled at nothing, a patter of rain beginning to hits the windows, lulling you into serenity. Jesus, you can’t keep saying that shit whilst he’s driving, now all he wants to do is look at you and listen to the adoring words. Was how he smelled comforting to you?

He had managed to get you through his front door easier than expected, you were willing to follow his every word.

He gave you some privacy as you haphazardly dressed yourself up in a backup pair of pyjamas you had left at his house, he hears a few bangs and nearly opens the door to check on you but ultimately decides maybe that’s not the best idea- he wants to respect your privacy as always.

“Spence!” You shout, laying on his bed already, you were so ready to sleep.

“You ready to go to sleep? You got a brutal hangover waiting for you tomorrow.” He grins at you as your pout into the air.

“Ugh.”

“I’ll let you settle down.” He whispers, attempting to walk away. You slept in the same bed more than once before, whenever you had slept over but…he just knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep next to you tonight- repeating what you had said to him over and over again, overthinking and-

“Can you stay a little? ‘Till I fall asleep?” How can he say no as your sweet, tired voice tweets up at him.

“Till you fall asleep.” He confirms, his heard stammering as he moves to sit next to you, back against the headboard as you lay, you inch towards him touching his arm with you nose and he wants to explode. He can feel the air you breathe through your nose, hitting his arm as you slowly fell into slumber, a subtle smile on your face.

What was going to happen tomorrow?

Your head throbs as you stir, already feeling the nausea set in, your tongue sticking to your mouth due to how dehydrated you were. You smell something that you recognise, something that’s not your house…oh, fuck.

Memories from last night violently hammer at your head, or was that just the hangover? You fucked up so hard, you told him you love him? What were you thinking, clearly you weren’t at all.

Your eyes blink open, his bedside table catching your attention. There stood a big glass of water, some painkillers and…a note?

Good morning,

If you are reading this, take these pills before you leave the room, I can hear your headache from here.

-S

Was he going to be angry? Upset? Uncomfortable? Oh, god, you have ruined your whole relationship with him.

You do as he had said, slamming the pain relief in your mouth before washing the pills down with two thirds of the glass.

Maybe you could sneak out, facing your bad, bad drunk decisions seemed like a nightmare.

You creep to the pile of your stuff in the corner of the room, slowly changing into your clothes, not putting your shoes on yet just in case.

You pry open the door, peeking at the space outside, no sign of Spencer.

You quietly move towards the front door, you had gotten away with it- a loud creak sounds from a floorboard beneath you- nearly, you had nearly gotten away with it?

“Y/n?” He follows the sound to its source. “Are you…leaving?” He can’t blame you for wanting to.

“Um, sorry. It’s just-“

“Yeah, I know, you didn’t mean it- it’s okay.” Forever the respectful man he was, he never lashes out, never got angry- he just…pretended he was okay.

“Mean what?” You want to know what he thought, if you had embarrassed yourself as much as you thought.

“Look, last night, you were drunk and it’s fine- you were just being the best friend you are- you don’t need to feel sorry about it.”

“Spence….” You put down your shoes and your bag.

“You said you were in love with me, but you didn’t mean it like that, it’s okay.” The look in his eyes told you he was not okay, was he…upset?

“I-“

“Just- I’ll drive you home, okay?” He half smiles, trying to look normal, the room goes silent as you decide it’s all or nothing.

“I meant it…by the way.” You hold your breath, if you had read the situation wrong you basically just doubled down on the burning crash that was your friendship.

“You- what?” He stops putting his shoes on, looking up at you.

“I…I am, in love with you…” Your chest heaves a little faster as the tension in the room was becoming too much.

“You…are?” Shit, you had misread it.

“Okay, no, it’s fine- just drive me home, forget what I said-“

“I love you. Too, I love you too.” He can’t meet your eyes yet, everything was up in the air, a pressure on your chest.

“No, I- I love you. Like, I want to be the person you see every morning, the person you wake up to. I am so in love with you it hurts, you are gorgeous and smart and funny and-“

“Stop.” Your breath hitches, was this it now?

“Y/n…I think you are the most beautiful person I have ever had the chance to know, to be best friends with and to…fall in love with. You are the first thought I have in the morning and the last one I have before I fall asleep. All I do is think of you, what is she doing? Is she happy? I bet she looks pretty right now, like all the time. Since you spilled coffee all over Damien on your first day- both of your awkward apologies and the both of you being too kind to be angry at the situation. You…I need you.” He’s standing in front of you now, looking down at you with those deep-set eyes, it was also a perk you him that you were shorter than him- a rarity. You can’t speak as you relay everything he said, all you want to do is kiss him, and he is thinking the same.

You tentatively step closer, his head leans down, aching slow and unsure, your hands come up to cup his cheek and steady yourself on his shoulder as you lean up. Your lips meet and it’s one of the sweetest things you’ve tasted, that could just be the Kickstart, but he kisses you with such care and emotion- you have never been kissed like this. Or maybe you have but it’s never felt like this- like it was meant to happen, like you were made for him. His hands delicately find their home resting on your hips, your mouths moving together- kissing him deeper.

Neither of you seem to want to stop but eventually it gets difficult to breath through just your noses.

“So…”

He smiles at you, he had a feeling his life was just about to become beautiful.

a/n update! guess who won the ticketmaster war is seeing pitbull ft shaggy in concert? me, dale xo

[chessboredom]

Hey hey! Yeah ive noticed when it comes to actual toxic shadowvanilla (or even closer to cannon) they dont get in depth of it. It feels like theres something MISSING! Ackkkkkkk i am a beliver of them being mutually toxic to each other (especially tr) If TR did for some reason truly became a cookie of decite, it would not end well for either of them! Think about it, shadow milk wants someone who understands BUT how he wants Pure vanilla to be a cookie of decite. And and shadow milk so caught up in his joy didnt even notice the cannon betryal, then take that and up it with truthless recules. Tr would 100% be lying for his own gain, probably notice shadowmilks emotional weakness and twist it like a KNIFE! The roles would be reversed! Shadowmilk is the puppet now, yet he doesnt KNOW it! So blinded by his loneiess, and the need to have someone to understand him! That he allowed himself be used (quite ironic if you think about it) cuz PV normally is not one to show his emotions in his sprites (other than his staff and well shadowmilk meddling) AND HE ISNT A OWO MAN!!! Sick of the owo man treatment! TR is that but UPPED!! A cookie of decite who doesnt express his emotions, able to twist it however he likes. Like i can see this as a Sm thinks hes the puppet master, while being the puppet. Tr lets him think that!!! Its easier to maulipate someone if they think their in control. Its MESSY! (I cannot put into words how messed up this situation would be) shadow milk you FOOL! Youve created your own MONSTER! One who sees you as a means to a end, a PUPPET. False fluff, fapse happiness, false LOVE! What TR gives you is a LIE and even if theres truth in it YOU DONT KNOW IT, YOU COUNDNT EVEN TELL WHEN HE PULL OFF A LIE! (In cannon) YOU are now in the web of lies of your own creation, Tr is your spider!! Anyway uh thats a little bit of what this dymatic makes me go crazy over (i have more ideas....)

ANON YOU FUCKKING GET IT OH MY GOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS REAL!!!!!!! I LOVE TOXIC YAOIIII!!!!

I'm gonna fucking yap about PV characterization (AGAIN.) (I just love him so fucking much.)

Very Long LONG post. XP

I'm so happy right now because you UNDERSTAND that PV isn't just some fucking UwU bean guy. Like, this is why he's so fucking good at being a leader because of his EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE and that he DOESN'T get caught up by his emotions and focuses on the problems even if it's stressful. Like a scene in Odyssey where Dark Cacao gets MAD when Clotted Cream had the idea of wanting the powers of the Soul Jam but Pure Vanilla remained calm as ever(And all of the sprites used this scene have his eyes open. He is SERIOUS.) Out of the WHOLE Ancients, despite his youthful, brighter amd unchanging appearance (and that's why his Korean Va is a girl to convey his youthfulness) he is the nost mature because he tries to Understand the situation and not diving head first. He isn't a warrior, but he is skilled involving emotions BUT he keeps DOUBTING himself at first like "I can't believe I did that! But I'd do anything for my friends to protect them."

AND THEN SHADOW MILK COOKIE COMES IN!!!! Omg Shadow Milk Cookie, DO NOT unlock the full potential of that Skill Pure Vanilla- I man Truthless Recluse has(Emotional Intelligence😇 LEVEL UP! ➡️ Emotional Manipulation😈) that he made you look stupid by making YOU think that YOU are the one IN CONTROL!

LOOK AT HOW HE DOES IT BY MAKING SMILK THINK HE'S IN CONTROL!!

En got "You and I... were meant to be together."❌️ The shadowvanilla shippers are really feeding on this line omg.

Kr got "I guess I have to accept you... Or become a part lf you."✅️ THAT'S WHAT I WANTED TO SEE!!!! EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION AT IT FINEST BAYBEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! MAKE HIM THINK HE'S THE ONE PULLING YOUR STRINGS WHEN YOU'VE ALREADY SLITHERED YOUR WAY THROUGH HIS MASK!!!! UUUGGHH SMILK YOU MADE HIM BETTER THAN YOUUU

That's why I kept mentioning that PV is KIND, and not Nice and he is pretty much capable of incredible violence. Does anyone even REMEMBER PV having enough seeing his friends suffer when he was the last one standing that he tries TO KILL DARK ENCHANTRESS?? He does a lot of things that involves he SACRIFICING HIMSELF in the process. UGHHH!! FUCK!! PURE VANILLA COOKIE IS NOT NICE!! HE WANTED TO KILL SHADOW MILK COOKIE!!! Remember the "Crash Out" scene? That's his true emotions having throwing a suprise party. He had ENOUGH. Then the scenery changes that made him remember that he wasn't supposed to be a violent person. He's an angel! 😇🙏 Silly Vanillyyy, why would you say "I'M GOING TO DESTROY YOU!!" that isn't like you at all!! [sarcasm](He is literally holding back the rage every single fucking day of his life.)

As much as people love to draw PV hugging Smilk closing to the end of the Ep, he literally beats him up and people seem to forget that over thinking PV is nice Uwu It doesn't have to be this way Shadow Milk Cookie. Meanwhile in the Korean version, Awakened PV had a dialogue that went, "I like helping people but I had enough of your shit Shadow Milk Cookie.☺️" Pure Vanilla Cookie said calmly. (Link to the video I made with this line.) And then made shooting stars of Truth descend from the sky to attack him. He did say he wanted Smilk to be his friend, but he wouldn't back down in a fight anymore. That's why his Awakened "Compassionate" form finally showing his real role that he is a MAGIC TYPE all along who has been disguised under the role of a HEALER.

Anyway TR ♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤ SMILK. TOXIC YAOI REAL!! Two Cookies of Deceit. One emotional and one empty. Smilk may be the best at psychological warfare and torture, but he got himself an emotional manipulator. Tr easily takes advantage of his emotions because he acts like a child!! Just give him what he wants then he'll be satisfied in no time. Take it away from him, he's gonna have his tantrums again.

Noe I couldn't add more tbh. You explained it well and all I could do is smash the TRUE over and over.

Even with my interpretation of canon that Tr won't last long with Smilk because of the Friendship Gang and "the universe couldn't allow this! One of you turn "good" now!", I like to think the toxicity still lives through Awakened PV since he's both Truth AND Deceit. Like a bright star from light years away that's actually dead, he could still act as of he were still TR to make Smilk more paranoid and obsessed with him in a more fucked up secretive way that other people wouldn't even notice because PV is already good! He wouldn't do evil things again, right? Hehe.

Also sharing this twt post of Tr ripping Smilk's eye as well. 🥰🥰🥰

https://x.com/41n4v15/status/1896085874628087843

[finchyclarkemd]

Between Us

~Angst/Smut~

You had known George since university. He had been your anchor—your best friend through years of exams, late-night study sessions, and questionable life choices. You had been through everything together, no one knew you better than he did. When he introduced you to his friend group after graduation, you didn’t think much of it at first. But then you met Chris.

Chris was the kind of guy who walked into a room and made it feel smaller, like gravity bent toward him. He was confident, always teasing, always flashing that easy smile. You liked him immediately—which was exactly why you had spent the last few months doing everything possible to bury those feelings. There was no way he’d ever feel the same. George, on the other hand, had always been by your side. He was warm, steady, dependable. It never once crossed your mind that he might look at you differently than you looked at him—until lately.  

Lately, there had been a shift. A weight in his glances, a hesitation in his words. You couldn’t quite place it, and honestly, you didn’t want to. Not when every time Chris so much as brushed past you, your heart went into cardiac arrest.  

It was supposed to be a casual night out—a group hangout at a bar, nothing unusual. But something in the air felt off. George was quieter than usual, and Chris… well, Chris had been watching you. Not in an obvious way, but in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness.  

At some point, you slipped away from the group, stepping outside for fresh air. The cool night breeze helped steady your heartbeat. That was, until you heard footsteps behind you.  

Chris.  

"You okay?" His voice was softer than usual, lacking the teasing edge he so often carried.  

You swallowed. "Yeah. Just needed some air."  

He nodded, but he didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets, his body close.  

"You’ve been quiet tonight," he observed.  

You laughed nervously. "So have you."  

"Yeah, well…" He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "Maybe I was waiting for you to say something first."  

Your breath hitched. "Say what?"  

Chris studied you for a long moment. It was the kind of look that made you feel like he could read everything—every hidden thought, every unspoken feeling. And maybe he could. Before he could say anything else, the door swung open behind you.  

George.  

His eyes flicked between the two of you, and suddenly, the tension thickened into something unbearable.  

"Hey," George said, voice carefully even. "You okay?"  

You nodded quickly, stepping back from Chris. You weren’t sure why.  

Chris let out a low chuckle. "You sent George to come check on me?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.  

George’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I sent myself."  

Chris’s jaw twitched, something unreadable passing between them. Oh.

You weren’t imagining it, were you? The way George was standing, the way Chris’s shoulders squared ever so slightly—like two opponents stepping into a ring.  

"You should come back inside," George said, but his gaze wasn’t on you. It was on Chris.

And that’s when it hit you. George wasn’t just being protective. Chris wasn’t just acting strange.  

They both—  

Oh, God.

You felt your stomach drop, realisation slamming into you like a freight train. They both had feelings for you. And you… you only had feelings for one of them.  

Chris.  

But you had never imagined it would be this complicated.  

Chris let out a breath, pushing off the wall. "Yeah, we should go back," he said, but his voice was tight.

George lingered for a second before he reached for your hand—just a small touch on your wrist, the kind that might have gone unnoticed if you weren’t already drowning in the weight of everything unsaid. When you looked at him, there was something in his eyes. Please choose me.

But when you glanced back at Chris, his gaze burned just as fiercely. Please tell me you feel the same. And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe at all. You could still feel George’s touch on your wrist. Gentle, hesitant. A silent plea. But your heart wasn’t hesitating. It was already pulling in one direction.  

Chris.  

It always had been. The moment stretched between the three of you, unbearably tense. The unspoken words, the lingering looks, the unacknowledged feelings that had been brewing for months—it was all coming to a head now, whether you were ready for it or not.  Chris’s jaw was clenched, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless. His eyes burned into yours, searching, waiting.  

George exhaled sharply. "Let’s go back inside," he repeated, but his voice had lost its steadiness. It was raw now. Vulnerable.   

Your chest tightened. You knew what he wasn’t saying. Please don’t do this. Chris must have sensed it too, because he took a step forward—closer to you. Close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, close enough that the air between you felt electric.

"Or," Chris said, voice low, dangerous, "she doesn’t have to."  

You swallowed hard.  

George stiffened. "What the hell does that mean?"  

Chris’s gaze never left yours. "It means if she wants to stay, she stays."  

The weight of the moment crushed down on you. This was it. The moment you had to choose. And maybe, deep down, you had already made your decision a long time ago. You took a slow breath, gathering every ounce of courage you had. Then, with your heart pounding, you stepped toward Chris. Not George.  

Chris’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t actually expected you to choose him. And George—oh God, George—his breath hitched, pain flickering across his face for the briefest moment before he masked it. But you saw it. You felt it. Chris must have felt it too, because his jaw clenched, his body tensed. But then you reached for his hand. And that was all it took. Chris’s hand tightened around yours—possessive, certain. Like he had been waiting for this. For you.

George let out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Right," he murmured. "Got it." His voice was calm, but his eyes—his eyes—were full of something that made your stomach twist.  

He nodded, once, then turned and walked away. You almost called out to him. Almost. But then Chris pulled you back to reality. He tugged you closer, until you were right there—his forehead nearly resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips.  

"You sure about this?" he murmured. His voice was different now. No teasing. No playfulness. Just real.

You let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."  

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t slow, or careful, or hesitant. It was intense. Like he had been holding back for months and just couldn’t anymore. Like he didn’t care that you were standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp outside the bar, or that anyone could walk out and see. Like he was claiming you. And when you kissed him back, you poured every ounce of feeling you had into it. Because finally, finally, you had stopped running from what you wanted. And Chris wasn’t about to let you go.  

It wasn’t regret. No, you knew deep down you had made the right choice. But the moment George walked away that night, something inside you fractured. And it hadn’t healed since.  

For the next few days, George didn’t answer your texts. Calls went straight to voicemail. It was as if he had vanished. Avoiding you. Avoiding this. Chris, on the other hand, was different.  He didn’t talk about what happened. He didn’t say George’s name. But he was there—calling, texting, making sure you were okay. And when you were together, he kissed you like he wanted to erase everything else. Like he wanted you to focus on him, not the pieces of your friendship that were shattering.  

But it didn’t work. Because every time you kissed him, you thought of George. Not because you wanted him instead, but because you had hurt him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even fought for you. He had just… walked away.  

You finally saw him again two weeks later. It wasn’t planned. You had just left Chris’s place—his scent still lingering on your skin, your lips still swollen from his kiss—when you ran into George at the coffee shop near your apartment. The moment your eyes met, he froze. For a second, you thought he might turn and walk out. But then, with a sigh, he stepped forward and pulled out the chair across from you, sitting down like it was a chore.

You swallowed hard. "George—"  

"Don’t." His voice was flat.  

The barista set a coffee down in front of him. He didn’t touch it. He just stared at you, eyes unreadable.

"You’ve been ignoring me," you said softly.  

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Yeah. Funny how that happens."  

You winced. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."  

"You didn’t mean to choose him either?" He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, wait—don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear it."  

Your stomach twisted. "George…"  

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, I get it. It was never me. It was always Chris."  

You flinched. Not because he was wrong, but because hearing it like that, so definite, made it feel worse.  

"And you know what?" He exhaled sharply, finally meeting your eyes. "That’s fine. I can deal with that. But you could’ve at least told me."  

Your breath caught. "What?"  

"You knew," he said bitterly. "You had to have known. Maybe not at first, but eventually. You felt it, right?" His voice was quieter now. "You felt the way I looked at you, the way I…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "And if you didn’t, then I was a fucking idiot."  

Your throat tightened. "George, I—"  

He let out another sharp laugh. "God, I must’ve looked so stupid standing there that night, watching you pick him. Watching you look at him the way I wanted you to look at me."  

The words hit like a slap. You had spent so long drowning in your own feelings that you had never stopped to think about what it must have been like for him. Watching you choose someone else. Watching you slip away. You reached out, fingers brushing his hand. He pulled away. That hurt more than anything.  

"I don’t hate you," George said after a moment. "I just… I can’t be around you right now." His voice cracked slightly. "Not when you’re with him."  

Your stomach dropped. "George, please—"  

"Don’t," he said again, shaking his head. "You made your choice. And I’m making mine."  

He stood up, coffee untouched, hands shoved deep in his pockets. And then, with one last glance—one final, unreadable look—he walked away.  Again. And this time. You weren’t sure if he was ever coming back.  You should’ve been happy. You were happy, right?

Chris was everything you had wanted—everything you had spent months trying to deny. And now that he was yours, he made sure you knew it. Every kiss, every touch, every look—he didn’t hold back anymore. But no matter how many times he kissed you breathless, no matter how tightly he held you at night, there was a weight pressing against your chest.  

George. 

The last time you saw him replayed in your mind like a broken record. The sharpness in his voice. The way he pulled his hand away. The way he left. And the worst part? You hadn’t heard from him since. Until now.  

Chris was asleep, his arm slung over your waist, his breaths slow and steady against your neck. The warmth of his body wrapped around you, grounding you. And yet, when your phone buzzed in the darkness, a shiver ran down your spine.  

George.

You stared at the screen, your heart hammering. For a second, you thought about ignoring it. But then—you slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Chris, and stepped into the hallway before answering.  

“…George?”  

A long silence. Then, his voice—low, rough, like he hadn’t slept.  

“I need to see you.”  

Your stomach twisted. “George, I—”  

“Please.”  

You closed your eyes. The way he said it—like he was breaking.

“…Where?”  

You found him at the park, sitting on the same bench where you used to meet after long days. But this time, there was distance. He barely looked at you when you sat down, staring ahead like he was afraid to face you.  

“I wasn’t going to call,” he admitted.  

You swallowed. “So why did you?”  

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought I could let you go.” His voice was raw. “I tried. I really fucking tried.”  

Your breath hitched.  

He turned to you then, eyes dark with something unreadable. “But every time I see you with him, it feels like I’m suffocating.”  

You looked away, guilt creeping in. “George—”  

“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad,” he interrupted. “I just… I need you to know”  

Silence stretched between you.  And then—softly, brokenly—  

“I love you.”  

Your heart stopped. You had known. Of course you had known. But hearing him say it out loud? It was different.  Dangerous.  

“I don’t expect anything,” he continued, his voice hoarse. “I just couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”  

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “George, I—”  

But before you could say anything, a voice cut through the air like a blade. Chris. Standing just a few feet away. Watching. His expression was unreadable, but his fists were clenched. And in that moment, you realised— this wasn’t over. Not even close.  

Chris didn’t say a word. Not when his eyes locked onto yours. Not when his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. Not even when George stood up, ready for a fight. But Chris didn’t fight. He didn’t need to. Instead, he looked at you—just you. His expression unreadable, his shoulders tense, like he was waiting to see if you’d follow. And you did.  

The silence in the car was thick. Charged. Chris gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white, his jaw locked, his eyes dark. You wanted to say something, but you didn’t know what. Because the way he was acting? The way his whole body radiated tension? You had never seen him like this before. 

The second you walked into his apartment, the door slammed shut behind you. Before you could react, Chris was on you. His hands found your waist, his body pressing you back against the door, his breath hot against your skin.  

“You went to him.” His voice was low, rough—dangerous.

Your breath hitched. “Chris, I—”  

“Tell me,” he demanded, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Tell me you don’t still think about him.”  

Your stomach twisted. “Chris, I chose you.”  

He let out a sharp breath—half a laugh, half frustration. “Yeah? Then say it.”  

Your heart pounded. “Say what?”  

His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “That you’re mine.”  

Your breath stalled. Because it wasn’t just a question. It was a challenge. The air between you was electric, charged with everything unsaid. And then—before you could even think—your lips crashed together. It was nothing like the first time. It was raw. Desperate. Possessive.  

Chris kissed you like he was trying to erase any trace of George from your mind. Like he needed to remind you exactly who you belonged to. And you let him.  You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing against him like you’d never get enough. Chris groaned, deep and low, as he lifted you—effortlessly—and carried you straight to his bedroom.  

And when he laid you down, his lips never left yours. Because this wasn’t just about desire. This was about claiming. And tonight, Chris was going to make sure you knew exactly who you had chosen. Chris wasn’t gentle.  

He wasn’t soft, or slow, or careful. Because this wasn’t about romance. This was about possession. About claiming you. About making damn sure that every thought of George was burned from your body, your mind—until the only name you could say, the only person you could think about, was him. And God, you let him. You let him devour you.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, demanding, sliding over your skin like he had something to prove. Like he needed to mark you, brand you, ruin you for anyone else. Your back arched under him as his lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping, biting—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who was in control.  

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with need. “Say it.”  

Your breath hitched. “Chris—”  

But that wasn’t enough.  

His hand tightened around your waist, pinning you in place. “Say it.”  

A shiver ran through you, your nails digging into his shoulders as you gasped, “I’m yours.”  

Chris cursed under his breath, his lips crashing back against yours. And from that moment on, there was no going back. No restraint. No hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered want.  

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the sharp edge of his name falling from your lips, the deep, guttural sounds he made when you pulled him closer, closer— and when it was over, when you were left wrecked beneath him, he didn’t let you go. He stayed. His arms wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still wasn’t done.  Like he never would be.  

Chris brushed his lips against your ear, voice low and dangerous.  

“If he ever tries to take you from me again…”  

A pause. A slow, dark chuckle.  

“He won’t.”  

You swallowed hard. Because it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. Without hesitation, Chris takes your hand, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. 

Chris breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, nuzzling and biting gently. His hands tug at your clothing, desperately trying to remove them. He removes your hoodie and joggers before he eagerly removes his jeans and t-shirt, leaving you both in your underwear. He lifts you up and wraps your legs around your waist. 

“Chris…please.” You plead, as desire runs through your veins. 

Chris can feel your begging whisper and it drives him mad with desire. “Shh… Shh…” He murmurs as he carries you to the bed and tossing you onto it. He crawls between your legs, looking up at you with lust-glazed eyes.

Chris spreads your legs wider, moving the side of your panties and revealing your wetness. He groans at the sight, and he leans down- burying his face between your legs. His tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your juices and savouring the flavour. He sucks on your clit gently, which makes you arch your back and groan in pleasure. 

“Chris…” You moan, as you grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling it tight.

He hears his name leave your lips in a breathy plea, and it sends him over the edge. He pulls back, wiping the wetness from his face as he sits up and stares at you with a fierce desire. “You want my dick inside of you, huh?” He says cockily. 

He doesn’t wait for you to reply. He immediately removes your panties and his boxers then aligns himself with your entrance. With one swift thrust, he enters you- earning a loud moan from both of you. He starts moving slowly at first, savouring the feeling of finally being inside you. His best friend. His lover. “Fuck.” He groans.

Chris picks up the pace, diving into you harder with each thrust, his hips slapping against yours. He leans down to capture your lips, kissing you messily as he continues to fill you- his thick cock hitting depths no one else ever has. 

His hands grip your ass, squeezing and spreading you. His kiss becomes more urgent, more passionate as you both continue to move in sync. Your bodies press together in a desperate need for contact. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with love and desire. “I love you.” He groans out. 

“I love you too.” You reply between moans. He swallows your reply with another deep kiss, his body covering yours possessively. His movements become uncoordinated and sloppy with love and lust. He pushes your legs higher up, going even deeper and hitting that magical spot inside you that makes you cry out. 

You moan loudly as your high washes over you, moaning Chris’ name repeatedly as if it was a prayer. Your legs shake as Chris continues to thrust into you, riding out your high. He growls in satisfaction at your cries, his own release also building. He pushes into you one last time, holding himself deep inside you as he comes hard, filling you with his hot seed. “Mine.” He pants, collapsing on top of you. “Mine, fucking mine.” 

The room was silent, except for the sound of your still-unsteady breathing.  Chris was lying beside you, his arm draped over your waist, his body still pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand the thought of space between you. But there was no mistaking it—something had shifted. Because even though he had kissed you breathless, even though he had left you wrecked and marked and his, there was something in the air that felt unfinished. Like a storm waiting to break.  

You swallowed hard, fingers tracing along the sheets. "Chris…"  

His grip on you tightened.  

"Don’t," he muttered, his voice rough, still thick with the last remnants of heat.  

Your heart clenched. "Don’t what?"  

"Don’t say his name."  

You froze.  

Chris exhaled sharply, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, unreadable. But his jaw was clenched, his fingers still gripping your skin like he was afraid to let go.  

"You went to him," he said, voice low. "You met up with him, you sat with him, and you listened to him."  

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. Because he wasn’t wrong.  

Chris’s jaw tightened. "What did he say?"  

Your throat was dry. "Chris, it doesn’t—"  

"What did he say?" His voice was sharp now. Demanding.  

You hesitated. And that hesitation was enough. Chris cursed under his breath, sitting up, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He was pissed. And not just because of George. Because of you.  

"He told you he loves you, didn’t he?" Chris scoffed, shaking his head. "And let me guess—you didn’t tell him to fuck off. You just sat there, feeling sorry for him."  

Your chest tightened. "Chris, it’s not that simple—"  

"It is that simple," he snapped, turning to you. His eyes were burning. "You chose me, didn’t you?"  

"Of course I did."  

"Then why the hell are you still thinking about him?"  

Your breath hitched. "I’m not—"  

Chris let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don’t lie to me."  

The room suffocated with silence. Because he was right. You had chosen Chris. You had let him pull you under, let him claim you in every possible way. And yet, George’s voice still echoed in your mind. I love you.

Chris sighed, his frustration visible, but then—he did something unexpected. He softened. His hand came up to your jaw, his thumb tracing over your lips, his touch gentler than it had been all night.  

"You’re mine," he murmured. But this time, it wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.  

A raw, vulnerable thing. And that’s when you realised— Chris was afraid. Afraid that no matter how much he had taken from you tonight, there were still pieces of you that weren’t his. And you had to decide if you were going to fix that, or let the cracks grow wider.  

Chris’s fingers were still against your jaw, his touch softer now—but his eyes? His eyes were dark, burning with something between frustration and fear. You had never seen him like this before. Chris never doubted himself. Never second-guessed. He was cocky, confident, the kind of guy who never let anything shake him. But right now? He was afraid he was losing you. And you couldn’t let him think that.  So you reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the edge of his jaw. He stilled under your touch, his breath uneven, his muscles still tense.

"It’s you," you murmured, voice softer now. "It’s always been you."  

Chris swallowed hard, his lips parting like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to remind you of the other man’s words. But you didn’t let him. You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, forcing him to focus on you.

"I chose you," you whispered. "Not him."  

Chris’s breath hitched. But you weren’t done.  

"I don’t want him," you murmured, each word slow, deliberate. "I want you."  

That’s when he finally exhaled. The tension in his shoulders melted just a little, his fingers tightening against your skin—but not like before. Not with anger. With need. Chris shifted, moving so quickly you barely had time to react before he was on top of you again, his lips crashing against yours, his grip desperate, almost fragile.

"Say it again," he demanded against your lips.  

You gasped. "I want you.”  

His hands slid down your sides, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorise every inch of you.  

"Only me," he rasped.  

You nodded, breathless. "Only you."  

Chris groaned, his grip tightening, his lips trailing down your neck, claiming you all over again. And this time? It wasn’t about possession. It wasn’t about proving something. It was about you and him. Nothing else. No one else. And for once, there was no doubt left between you.  

For a little while, things felt… right. Chris wasn’t holding back anymore—not his touches, not his words, not the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. And for the first time since everything started, you let yourself believe it was over.  That George had finally let go.  

You should’ve known better.  

It was late when it happened. Chris was in the kitchen, shirtless, barefoot, the glow of the fridge light illuminating his sharp features as he poured himself a drink. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in the scent of him, wearing his hoodie, content in a way you hadn’t been in a long time. And then—  

BANG. BANG. BANG.  

A sharp, relentless pounding against the door. Chris froze. You sat up, the sudden weight in your chest making it hard to breathe. You knew who it was before you even heard his voice.  

"Open the fucking door, Chris."  

Chris set his glass down slowly. Deliberately. His entire body went rigid, his jaw clenching so tightly it looked painful.  

You swallowed hard. "Chris, maybe we shouldn’t—"  

But he was already moving. And when he yanked the door open, George was standing there, rage simmering beneath the surface. His eyes flicked past Chris—to you. And that’s when you knew. This wasn’t just anger. This was a man on the edge. A man who wasn’t done fighting for you.

"You’re fucking kidding me," George laughed bitterly, shaking his head. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling too quickly.  

Chris didn’t react. Not at first. He just stood there, body tense, solid, like he was waiting for George to make a move. But George wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you.

"You just ran straight to him, huh?" George’s voice was sharp, cutting, but you could hear the hurt beneath it. "No hesitation. No second thoughts."  

Your stomach twisted. "George—"  

"Do you even fucking care?" His voice cracked, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "Do you even care what this is doing to me?"  

You stood up. "Of course I do—"  

"Then why are you here?" He stepped forward. Chris immediately blocked his path.

"Back up." Chris’s voice was dangerously low.  

George ignored him. His eyes were locked onto you. "Say it."  

Your breath hitched. "Say what?"  

"That you don’t love me."  

Your chest tightened.  

George let out a shaky breath, his voice dropping. "Say it, and I’ll walk away. Right now. Forever."  

Chris stiffened. You felt the weight of both of them in the room—George, desperate and breaking, and Chris, tense and waiting. And suddenly, you realised— this was the moment. The final line. Whatever you said next would change everything. The room was suffocating. Chris stood between you and George, his entire body coiled like a predator, ready to snap the second George stepped out of line. But George wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you. And he was waiting.

“Say it, and I’ll walk away. Right now. Forever."

You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself. Because there was no room left for hesitation. No room for second-guessing. So you looked George in the eyes, voice firm—unshakable.

"I don’t love you."  

The words cut through the air like a blade. George’s breath stilled. His jaw clenched. His entire body locked up. But you weren’t done.  

"I never did."  

Chris exhaled. George? George just… froze. Like his brain refused to process what you had just said. Like some part of him had still been holding onto the hope that you’d change your mind. But now? Now, there was nothing left. You watched it happen—the exact moment his hope died. The exact second he realised that no matter how hard he fought, he had already lost. George took a slow step back. Then another. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Hollow.

"...Right."  

He swallowed hard, nodding to himself, eyes flicking between you and Chris one last time. Then—without another word—he turned around and walked away. And this time? He didn’t look back. The door clicked shut. Silence. Chris’s shoulders stayed tense for a long moment, like he was still waiting for the fight to continue.  

But when nothing happened—when George was really, truly gone—Chris let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair before turning to face you.  

"...You okay?"  

Your throat felt dry. "Yeah."  

Chris studied you for a second, searching your face.  

Then, his hand reached out, his fingers curling around your wrist, his grip steady. Like he was still afraid you might disappear, too.  

"You’re mine now," he murmured. Not a question. Not a demand. Just a fact.

Your chest tightened—but not with fear. With certainty. You leaned in, pressing your lips softly against his, letting your fingers tangle in his hair as you whispered against his skin—  

"I always was."

And for the first time in a long time, there were no doubts left between you. No ghosts of the past. No unfinished business. Just you and Chris. Exactly how it was always meant to be.

——————————————————————————————————

This took me so long to write but I LOVED it! Also feeding you all with another Chris and George fic. This also feeds one of my friends requests for a Chris smut 👀

I am aiming to get a George one out at some point next week too so look out for that!

Tags-

@themdera

[moomie-mooger]

Hey guys!

I’ve decided to cave into my urge to share things I’ve made and decided to share a small portion of the fic I’m slooowly writing for, thought I’d draw a visual for it too <3

Writing under the image

[ ‘Rodger the Magnifying Glass… A male, around 4ft with a noir suit coat, a white suit shirt neatly tucked under. He donned a light purple neck ruff bearing a deeper indigo gem in the middle being held by a golden ring, with a band the same color as his suits' accents wrapped around his handle. Keen eye and enough persistence to put our handlers out of a job if he really tried hard enough— Lord knows they get tired having to manage over 20 Toons. Yet he manages to deal with his cases with ease, almost as if he doesn’t need to put in any effort to figure out the problem and come to a conclusion. He’s a good Toon, maybe even a great one. An A-class detective’.

…

‘And an A-class pain in my ass.’

‘It was a run day, I had been on the list of Toons that'd be sent down into the stomach of Gardenview. A cold, relentless, and unforgiving place that threatened to swallow the minds and matter of any Toon who dared plunge its depths for ichor and intel. Innocence simply couldn’t thrive in a place like that, neither would naivety nor ignorance. …At least that’s what Rodger had described it as. Now I know I’m not one who can call others dramatic, but he was SERIOUSLY overdoing the whole “dark and dangerous place” thing, I almost feel as though I have competition. Oh well, it was in the back of my mind…’

‘However, what was really burning a hole in the back of my head was Rodger. Tch, that nosy detective. He’d been staring at me this entire run and I’m not just exaggerating either. It’s creepy— It’s seriously starting to freak me out.. Now I know I’m gorgeous, I know I tend to steal the spotlight of every room I’m in and- let’s just face it, I’m simply the best looking Toon, an objective fact really. But… C’mon. 15 floors. It’s been FIFTEEN Floors and you haven’t found anything else of interest to look at..? If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re in love with me! Though it’s not like I’d blame you, if I was anyone else I’d fall in love with me too, heh. I mean.. it’s just the most natural reaction anyone could have!’ Glisten couldn’t hold back the satisfied chuckle and smug grin that crept up his face as he stood tall in the middle of the elevator, his posture straight up and head bent slightly down as he checked his nails. But seriously, the staring was starting to get a bit much for the mirror. Sure, he loved attention, but this was starting to cross a boundary he didn’t know he had.

The sudden halt of the elevator and the sounds of quieted chatter pulled the mirror out of his thoughts as the large door to the elevator hauled its heavy weight and pulled itself upwards releasing the toons from their temporary “safe zone”. There were a good handful of toons in the elevator since they’d be going on a longer run than usual. Looey was quick to immediately throw himself out of the elevator with a jump and bounce, scanning the floor for the three Twisteds that were aimlessly stumbling about. Tisha just barely being able to boost his speed with her ability, an exasperated huff sounding from her as she trailed behind him, clearly unhappy with the balloon’s impulsive behavior. He was their primary distractor this time around since Goob had been too injured to accompany them on the run, having a bad run in with twisted Toodles and even worse luck when he’d realized he had run inside of Twisted Razzle and Dazzle’s death trap. Glisten could still hear the angry hissing and yowling of Scraps when the other team had returned from their daunting trip in the back of his mind, he was glad he wasn’t assigned to that team. Scraps may be made of flimsy paper but make NO mistake, her words are just as sharp as her claws! Though if he.. WAS there… he was sure they would’ve finished extracting all the machines before that would’ve happened. ]

[nephilimeq]

Like A Kid Again

Prompt: Banter

@bucktommyfluffebruary

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62721625/chapters/162682855

Buck followed after his boyfriend, trying to figure out what had gotten into him.

With his fingers tightly gripping his, he practically dragged him further up the hill, looking as though he was going to be taking them all the way up to the crest, and Buck shook his head and attempted to pull out of his grip, saying, “Hey, I said we could have a picnic and I already did all the hiking up here, I’m not doing more of that,” and was thrilled when he escaped from his grip and moved out of reach, skipping backwards, grinning as Tommy reached out to grab at his waist, but missing by a mile.

“Ha! Nice try!” he teased, being careful of his footing, making sure that he didn’t slip on the slick grass at the same time he dodged his boyfriend’s attempts to recapture him—and then was suddenly taken aback when Tommy caught up to him and managed to get his fingers around the back of his shirt, pulling him towards him.

“Got you,” he muttered, sounding far too smug.

Buck twisted and managed to get out his grasp a second time and tried to run off a second time.

“Gotta catch me!” he shouted over his shoulder, smiling wide when he saw Tommy trying to catch up to him, for once his long legs coming in handy as he ran from him, not quite going full speed, but going just fast enough to make him work for it.

--

Tommy did his best to catch his breath as he tried to catch up to Evan, his boyfriend suddenly in a mood, and he prayed that the gazelle-legged idiot didn’t ruin his plans. The ring was in his pocket, zipped up tightly, but as it bounced against his side as he jogged after his boyfriend, he felt a flutter of nerves.

He loved Evan, that much was certain…but was it too soon?

Was it too soon to ask him to spend the rest of his life with him and wake up every morning next to the same person without ever letting him have the chance to experience anything else outside of his first queer relationship?

Wait, no. He shook his head as he picked up his speed, trying to catch up to his boyfriend, reminding himself that he was doing Evan a disservice by thinking that just because he was his first relationship with a guy that he didn’t know what he was getting himself into—hell, that had been one of the things they’d talked about when they got back together, about how he had made assumptions and made decisions for the two of them instead of talking it over with him.

Tommy’s hand caught the edge of his boyfriend’s shirt a second time, and he did his best to shove the thought to the side—

—but then Evan slipped away again, saying, “You gotta do better than that!” and he narrowed his eyes and refocused on trying to catch the thirty-four year old man who had suddenly turned into a child playing a game of tag or keep-away.

The item in question being kept? His heart.

As hokey as it was, there was something freeing in the way he chased after him over the wide expanse of grass, both of them being careful to avoid the edges where there were trees, knowing that there was a dangerous drop-off on the other side, and Tommy smirked as he realized how he could catch him and yelled, “Don’t go over the edge! I don’t have a helicopter to catch you, and our cell service is spotty, at best!” and Evan almost immediately slowed down.

…and Tommy lunged forward, thrilled when he got both of his hands around his waist.

--

“Got you,” the airman whispered into Buck’s ear, and he shivered, but at the same time tried to pull out of his grip. When he found he couldn’t, he did his best to wriggle against him in an attempt to distract him, but Tommy merely said, “Nice try, but even your perfect ass isn’t gonna distract me…”

He moved one hand and reached down and lightly slapped it.

Buck grunted.

“Ugh, babe…don’t start something you can’t finish,” he lowly said, and his boyfriend chuckled and breathed into his ear, “Who says I can’t finish?” and Buck rolled his eyes and swiftly turned around and gave him a look, no longer trying to get away from him, and said as he levelled his eyes at him, “We are in a public space, I don’t care that we are isolated in the middle of nature, I am not letting you dick me down here in the grass,” and was thrilled when that earned him a full body laugh, Tommy’s eyes crinkling up, his nose scrunching in the process, one of his favorite things to see on him.

While laughing, Tommy managed to gasp out, “Dick…dick you down? You…you thought that was…was the right…right phrase to use?” and Buck nodded, not budging one bit, moving his hand around his hip to pull him close.

“Oh, I’m sorry, what would you have me use? Laying me low? Having grassy congress? Logging my—?”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I beg of you,” he softly pleaded, his eyes wide, and Buck snorted and shook his head and got closer to him and said, “Okay, but only because you asked so nicely,” feeling the way his boyfriend’s fingers slipped into his back pocket and gently groped him.

“By the way, what’s gotten into you?” he asked the airman, curious as to his mood. “First you take over my picnic, and, you know, I was chill with that. It’s a good spot, nice and romantic, don’t think I could’ve picked a better place. Second, you start taking pictures of the food…and then third, you decided to drag me further up the hill to the very edge of what I think is reasonable. So…let me ask my question again: what’s gotten into you?”

Tommy’s expression turned soft.

“I dunno. Just…follow me, will you?”

He slowly unwound himself from him and instead gently held his head and gave him a beckoning look with his eyes, and Buck felt a flutter in his chest and he nodded, following his boyfriend up the hill, closer to the edge, putting his trust in him…

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: I wish we could sleep

pairing: dean redding x cassie hobbes

synopsis: nightmares aren’t unusual for dean and cassie, in fact they’ve been come a very normal part of going to sleep, but surely they couldn’t get any worse… could they??

warnings: trauma, PTSD

a/n: sorry I haven’t been posting a lot 💖💖 thank you so much for reading

taglist: @inmyheaddd @midiosaamor @lyrakanefanatic @aleatorio1234 @maybe-dj124 @book-nerd-emi @maybxlle @foreverwinter22 @sweetreveriee @hermesenthusiast @shattered-glass-roses @gandergaal @sheisntyou @arias-archive @lila-77 @downrightbooks @never-enough-novels @off-to-the-r4ces @bubbleteaandboba @peppapigsposts

They say sharing a bed with someone you love is meant to be something beautiful. Sleepy compliments, early morning kisses, feeling safe in someone’s arms. But for Dean and I sharing a bed with someone you love meant alternating between having nightmares and comforting each other. Some days we even got the pleasure of both experiencing a horror on the same night.

No one could control the subconscious.

Though as of late, mine had been getting easier. My therapist said maybe it was me subconsciously accepting my mother’s fate, I disagreed but wouldn’t tell her that. I would nod and smile and unpack some more unresolved trauma. Apparently I had a lot of it.

In my opinion, my lack of nightmares was from not dreaming at all, my body was so physically exhausted from constant interruptions of my sleep that it had just given up. No doubt as soon as I’d got a required rest to function the nightmares will creep back in, I estimated less than a week.

But Dean’s nightmares had not been getting better. In fact they’d been getting worse, much much worse. He went to see his dad the other week, it was a choice, for the first time. It had nothing to do with a case, no necessity in the action. He just went. I didn’t ask him why, if he’d wanted to tell me he would’ve and if he still wanted to he knew he could.

That didn’t stop the curious girl inside of me from being desperate to know why so I just suppressed her. I had a feeling that the visit was fuelling these ugly dreams.

The first few nights of these new forms of torture, Dean woke up on his own and walked around until he could will himself back to sleep but last couple it’d been worse and he hadn’t been able to sleep at all.

It annoyed me because I was the deep sleeper and he was the light sleeper. It was hard enough for me to wake up from my own troubles let alone be awoken by his. Dean nearly always woke himself up with nightmares and he’d lay there alone, not wanting to wake me because he thought I needed the rest.

No matter how many times I told him, I knew secretly that it’d make no difference. He wouldn’t wake me up. It hurt me to think he’d brace things alone to protect me.

But this night, this night he didn’t have to wake me up. I heard his screams. Jolted upright at the sheer sound.

“Dean?”

My eyes pinned themselves to him. He was drenched in sweat, hair slicked to his forehead, pale faced and fear penetrated. The sight of him made me feel sick.

He shook his head at me breathing heavily. Panic seized my throat and constricted my vocal cords and for a second I didn’t know what to do. His chest rose and fell so aggressively it hurt to look at.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said, scrambling to sit in front of him, my instincts finally kicking in, “look at me.”

I didn’t touch him, not yet. If he was feeling trapped by something or someone in his mind, my hands wouldn’t be of much help now so instead I let him physically see that I was there.

Instinctively I leant to turn the bedside lamp on, only to stop myself mid-movement. I liked the light on after a nightmare but he couldn’t bear it, he didn’t want to see himself in such a mess. The dark offered him comfort after the storm, so I reeled my hand back.

He was sat, head in his hands, body tight and curled, not wanting to let anyone in.

“Dean?” I said again.

He pressed his forehead further into his palms and exhaled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, “he’s in my head Cassie, he’s in my head and I can’t get him out.”

I didn’t have to ask who.

At the sound of the discord of notes in his voice alone, my heart screamed. It was rough and laced with pain that I felt aching in my bones. I couldn’t imagine how it felt for him, I didn’t want to.

It was a warped mess of a sentence. The words only killed me further, probably mutilating him from the inside out.

‘He’s in my head Cassie.’

Fury courses through my blood like a flame licking the inner walls of my veins and arteries. I wanted the man sat in that cell to pay for what he knew he had done here. To his son. His child. But what good was my anger to Dean? So instead, I drove the raw emotion into the deep love I have for him.

“He’s not real,” I murmured, slowly, evenly, “it was just a dream, he’s not here.”

I was scared for him and scared of the state he was in. I wanted to take it all away, remove everything that was making him feel like this. I couldn’t bear it. But he didn’t need my fear to deal with right now, he needed a constant and that had to be me.

He was panting, sharp untamed intakes of breath. I gently put a hand on his knee, testing the waters to see if he wanted my touch. He leaned into it and I shuffled closer, now intertwining my fingers with his.

“I’ve got you,” I squeezed his hand, “I’ve got you, breathe.”

I tried to mirror what he’d do for me in this situation. I was too used to being on the receiving end.

“I’m here Dean,” I said softly, “look at me, I’m right here.”

He was still breathing loud enough for me to hear and see the staccato rise and fall of his rib cage.

It wasn’t fair. Someone like Dean didn’t deserve something like this. He was too good, too pure, too sweet. He’d been through so much already, why was the world still on his back? Why was he still weighted by problems he didn’t ever deserve to have? He was a child. A child.

“It’s not real,” I murmured, moving my hands gently up his chest and neck to cup his face in my hands, he’s hot under my touch, dampness still clinging to his skin, “it’s not real I promise you, it’s just a nightmare,” I said quietly, “look at me. I’m real. I’m here. Not what’s going on in your mind.”

“Cassie,” he gasped, clutching his chest with on hand and grabbing my arm with the other.

His knuckles went white.

“Breathe with me Dean,” I said, my voice shaking more than I intended, “please you have to breathe with me.”

“Can’t,” he choked out.

He looked like he was suffocating. Like he was being strangled by invisible hands that had haunted his childhood.

“Focus on me,” I replied more firmly, more desperately, “just me.”

He did. He stopped. He stared at me, enveloped in the darkness.

“Listen to my voice,” I said softly, “feel your fingers in mine,” I interlocked other my hand with his, so I was holding onto both, “look at the colour of my eyes, anything that will help.”

He was silent for a long time and I watched as his eyes roamed my face, as his fingers drew illegible words and confusing images on my arms. I watched as he played with the dried out ends of my hair desperate for a cut and as his fingers trailed down the soft cotton of my pyjama shorts. I watched as he felt my pulse and analysed the rise and fall of my own chest to match it with his own.

The silence went on for a long time but neither of us noticed. His breathing eventually calmed and there was less panic paralysing him. The knot in my own chest was beginning to slowly loosen.

He slipped from my fingertips, away from my touch and into his own. His face retreated to his own hands, head bowed down in some sort of shame.

“Dean,” I said, my voice low but urgent, “Dean.”

Though his breaths were now even, they were also hard and disjointed. He looked as if he were having a silent argument with himself. I wanted to help him through the battle, be by his side when he won the war.

“Why am I like this?” he asked, venom on his tongue all directed to himself.

My heart shattered, as if it had been shot with a machine gun over and over, a thousand tiny holes in the vital organ. Of course he would blame himself. Sweet Dean, kind Dean, gentle Dean would pile the fault as his.

“It’s not you,” I tell him, praying he could hear the way my voice was being ripped in pain.

Dean wouldn’t meet my eye, “why do I let him in?”

“You’re not the problem Dean,” I said tenderly.

“No,” he snapped back, “if I was stronger, if I was better-“

I hated it. I despised that man who felt he had the power to not only hurt his son in the moment but cause him to self-destruct for the rest of his life Dean didn’t deserve that, he would never deserve that. And I couldn’t do anything to change it.

“Listen to me,” I said, a little more firmly, “listen.”

“Cassie…” he trailed off as my hands cupped his cheeks again.

“Your dad isn’t coming back,” I told him, “he never will.”

“But he’ll forever be here, in my mind,” he said, “hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

He tapped his skull.

“Don’t quote him,” I murmured, “it gives him the power Dean.”

He recoiled from my touch looking disgusted in himself, “I’m pathetic.”

“That’s him talking, not you, never you,” I whispered, my voice wobbling, “don’t let him win Dean, you are stronger, you are better.”

Ghosts of feeling danced in his eyes as he stared through me numbly. Something in my chest stung harshly and bled hard and I took him into my arms.

He crumbled.

He let himself crumble into me. Something in a sudden moment all snapped and every tie that was ever tied unravelled into the pile of red ribbon stringing him together. Every time his body shook with a sob a piece of my heart tore away so I only held him tighter. I cradled his broken body into my chest and tried to keep my own tears at bay. I wanted him to feel that I was there, that I wasn’t going anywhere, ever. That his life was now different, that he could now be free.

After a long while he pulled away slowly and sat up. His face looked different, tear stained and red eyed. I wasn’t used to it but it didn’t make it any less beautiful.

“I want it to stop,” he said, his voice rough and ragged, almost gravelly, “I’m driving myself insane Cassie, I need to sleep.”

“I know,” I whispered slowly, brushing the hair from his eyes, “…I know.”

And I did. There’s been many times where I’d been the one breaking down over the same thing in his arms.

“This will get better,” I tell him, still playing with his hair, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now but it will.”

“How can you be sure?” he winced.

“Well think of where my sleep was three months ago and where it is now,” I replied, “I mean it’s not good but it’s better, even you’ve said that.”

He paused for a long while, playing with his thumbnail, before he looked up at me seriously, “do you think it’s something I’m doing wrong?”

“God no Dean,” I exhaled, “the things you’ve seen are not your fault, the experiences, the people, you had no control over it and I know you think you do have control over it but trust me, trust me Dean,” desperation crept to the back of my throat, making my voice all funny, “when I tell you you didn’t, do you trust me?”

“I do, but Cass I can’t…” he trailed off, the words not right, his emotions too conflicted. For someone so hard to read to others, he was my open book.

“Then let me help you,” I murmured.

He met my eyes and that was all that was needed, no words. The longing, the hope, the craving to be seen, to be heard, to be looked after, to be helped-

“You will never understand your own worth because your nature is too good, too pure,” I began, “but if you could see yourself through my eyes you’d know what I’m talking about. Sometimes I wish you could because Dean you’re such a beautiful human being, in every sense of the word you care so much about the people around you, you’re passionate about the things you love, the people you love. You’re one of the smartest people I know, you’ll happily sacrifice your own happiness for someone else and you have the biggest heart of any person I’ve ever met.”

“Cassie,” he whispered, glossy-eyed.

“I mean would you tell me I was stupid or weak or pathetic if I woke up like this?” I asked him.

Dean shook his head sucking in a shaky breath, “but you’re not me Cassie.”

“You’re right,” I nodded, “you’re better,”

“No, no Cassie-“

“Shhhh,” I smiled, putting my finger to his lips, “you’re good Dean inside and out, you’re kind and you’re gentle and you’re brave and god this list goes on forever.”

A final tear traced the lines of his face, I barely saw it in the dim lighting.

“What did I do,” his voice was low, “to deserve a woman like you.”

“Oh my love,” I murmured, pressing my forehead to his, “you deserve so much more.”

“Never,” he whispered, his breath tickling my face, “never in a million years.”

I locked my fingers into his, our noses almost touching.

“Kiss me,” he begged, in such a low, husky sound I barely heard it, “make me forget it all.”

Make him forget he’s in my head. The unspoken words hung in the empty air.

I gently pressed my lips onto his, a sweet, soft comfort kiss that made my lips tingle for something more. But this wasn’t about me. I pulled away slowly, my eyes lingering on his face but Dean was already looking at me. Staring like I was the moon and stars and all the galaxies combined.

His hand was pressed flat against my back, pushing my body closer into him. He gave the subtlest of nods. I obliged, taking his mouth back into mine. It tasted like the salt of sweat and tears combined, but I didn’t care and nor did he because it was sweetened by the love the licked both our lips from just locking eyes.

His mouth brushed into the corner of my lips, pressing a gentle kiss down that sent a shiver down my spine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and his hand climbing up my waist and pulled me into his lap until my thighs were either side of his hips. I deepened the kiss, moving further into his face, my hands unapologetically grabbing chunks his hair. He made a small sound of pleasure, a low hum from the back of his throat that made butterflies dance in my stomach.

Breathlessly, I pulled away before it could escalate any further. I didn’t want him to get lost in the need for comfort and regret it later. Instead I took him deep into my arms, burying his face into the shallow heat of my own body.

“I love you Dean, every part of you,” I whispered into his hair, “and I’ll never stop, not when the world ends, or if we fall apart, or when you need me for once. I love you, that bit doesn’t go away.”

He didn’t reply and I suspected he may be asleep so I rolled backwards until my head hit the pillow taking him with me. His head pressed up against my chest still and I felt his more even breath.

I ran my finger through his hair, gently coiling around every wave. It was soft and light, making me all the more sleepy.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” he mumbled into me, making me jump. He clearly hadn’t been asleep, “I didn’t want to.”

“I’d rather be awake with you than asleep,” I said gently, “and it’s okay to need me too you know?”

“You’re just getting a sleep routine back,” he replied sluggishly, exhaustion finally catching up on him.

“And you think it won’t be destroyed in a few weeks time by my own nightmares?” I scoffed lightly, letting my head fall deeper into my pillow.

“Still…”

“Dean, you matter more to me than anything else, sleep included,” I said, “I don’t want you to face this alone like you wouldn’t want me to.”

There was a beat of silence. Maybe the realisation that he couldn’t argue with that.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Do you want to try and sleep now?” I asked, “just for a bit.”

He shifted, looking up at me with those dark irises that left me tongue tied, “the nightmares will come back,” he murmured, face so innocent it reminded me of a scared child, the scared child he probably once was.

“That’s okay,” I told him gently, “we’ll face them together if they do.”

I trailed my fingers softly up and down the back of his neck, like he had done for me when I’d been hysterical. I felt my eyes begin to close and my movements slow down, I was desperately trying to fight sleep but control was slipping easily through my fingers.

“Don’t leave,” Dean mumbled, sounding half asleep himself.

“When have I ever,” I whispered back, before sleep took us both in his arms and we slept through the rest of the night.

a/n: as soon as I finished I realised should’ve written it in dean’s pov 😭😭 but rgwudjhejd oh well

hope you enjoyed 🤭🤭

the naturals masterlist

[lxxnour]

dad!Satoru during Shinjuku Showdown Arc preview hey everyone, i was re-reading the shinjuku arc again and since i have an OC for JJK, i suddenly thought of a fanfic series - where said OC is Satoru's daughter, but we're talking a lot of angst since everything is happening after the Shibuya Incident. this is kinda what the series would start off like, with more plot in future chapters if i do turn this into a series. lmk in the comments!

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" "Kind."

As I stood among shackles of something that once was Shinjuku, those moments replayed again and again. Yes, I wanted to be kind. Kind as in - protect the weak and my loved ones. But in truth, only the strongest people can be kind. The weak use others to their advantage. Right now, I felt as if I were weak. Had I not accepted fighting Sukuna in my father's stance, none of this pandemonium would've happened.

Maybe, just maybe, if I had begged harder, argued louder, or done something more than just stand there and accept it, I wouldn't be staring at the ruins of a battlefield where my friends once stood.

But I hadn’t.

And now, everything felt wrong.

One thing I couldn't understand was, how my dad had always been larger than life. A force of nature. He had made the impossible look effortless, as if the concept of loss simply didn’t apply to him. Always too fast and too complex for me to understand. Though, his leadership and the warmth of his hand on my shoulder as he pushed me to my limits - just so I could unlock that potential residing deep within me - they were understandable. Wisted for, even. Had it not been him leading me, I never would've been as strong as I am currently. Even though I feel empty inside-out, because, what even is all this power one possesses when it can't save or protect one's friends? I have no use of it, save for surviving only to help the weak. Save for keeping my heart beating, only to fuel my body that will be used as a weapon.

Just like dad's.

But what was that one stupidly-annoying thing he ingraved into my memory as if it were concieved within me? "Don't let them use you as a weapon. Resist. Push back, scream, hit, cry, anything. But don't let them take you down and manipulate that pretty head of yours into believing your whole being was made solely for the purpose of protecting and killing. Because, no, it wasn't. You - your being, your whole self - was made to be loved and cared for. To be fed with knowledge and happy things, to be taught how to turn this upside-down world into something better, even if slightly." That stuck with me my whole short life. I was being bullied by some shitheads? "Don't let them get to you. Resist." The higher-ups were being jerks as per usual? "Tone them out. Think of ways to improve yourself, because they downgrade you to make themselves feel better." Anything in the world goes against me? He goes against the world, with me. I remembered how he always believed that true strength was not measured solely by power, but by one's capacity to protect and care for others. I couldn't just ignore the fact that even the purest intentions came with a heavy price, having witnessed... whatever this destruction shall be named. And I hate it. I'm sure he'd hate it too, if he were unsealed. “I wanted to be kind,” I thought, clinging to the simple yet profound truth my father instilled in me. Although, after all of this, I think I finally understood that kindness required a foundation of strength; the weak often fell prey to those who exploited their compassion. In a twisted way, accepting Satoru's path had made me a witness to both the triumph and the pain of wielding such power. I shall continue and honor his legacy - even if he is still alive, still here - not by mimicking his strength alone, but by blending it with the compassion he cherished. By making sure young people such as myself got to enjoy their youth as much as possible. By fullfilling my dreams, too.

[frogsinflannel]

twirling my hair kicking my feet what WIP are you thinking about workin on if you're feeling up for writing? (also I hope you feel better soon!!!)

Hello! Thank you, I am feeling a bit better, mostly because I finally remembered to eat something so. Note to self on that one, food good ??? Apparently ???

But I am working on a continuation of this (a part before that actually)

working title: until I wrap myself inside your arms i cannot rest

Things have been going so well it’s almost too good to be true. But it is true. And things aren’t just good, they’re great. 

That’s not to say that things have been easy. Both of them have put in the work. They’ve talked things out, exposed their vulnerable underbellies, made a concerted effort to be equal, committed partners. He’s got open and honest communication marked down on his to-do list right under getting his back blown out.

Take now, for instance.  He’s killing two birds with one stone and checking everything off his list.

“Mmm, stop that,” Tommy says, batting his hand away where Buck had been rubbing idly at his pec.  He flicks the nipple and Tommy grunts, pushing him off his chest.  “Brat.”

Buck laughs and presses himself closer into Tommy’s side.  “I don’t care,” he says, “I’ll own it.  I’m a brat.”  He nuzzles into the juncture of Tommy’s neck and shoulder and then snaps at the skin with careful teeth.  “It’s not my fault you like it, old man.”

“Hey.”  Tommy’s hand sinks into the hair on the back of his head and tugs, just enough to let him feel it.  He likely means it as a punishment but joke’s on him, Buck likes it.  “Watch it, kid.”

Buck grins, big and wide, and shimmies up a little to kiss Tommy firmly on the mouth.  Their teasing is derailed for a minute by some making out, but it never gets heated, staying slow and soft and sweet as they trade slick, tender kisses.  Buck teases at Tommy’s lips, licking gently into his mouth, and then sucks at the wet muscle of his tongue.  Things de-escalate into lazy pecks, and then they separate, no longer so tangled up together but still close and warm.

“This is good,” Buck tells him. “Feels nice.” He drapes one arm across Tommy’s abdomen and burrows into his side as much as he can. “I know you have to go to work, but other than that?” Tommy smells like sweat and Buck’s laundry detergent, and he breathes in, his nose pressed to Tommy’s skin. “You’re staying here. In my bed, where you belong.” His grip tightens. “I’m not letting you go again.”

Soft breath fans across his temple. “I’m sorry,” Tommy says.

“Hey, no, it’s—“ Buck shifts up so he can meet Tommy’s eyes. “It’s okay, we’re good.” A crooked smile opens up his face. They can joke about the break-up now, they can tease. “I should have, uh, blocked the door or something.  Forced you to say.  We could have got all this talking out of the way then.”

“Hmm.”  Tommy smiles at him, but the expression fades after a moment.  He looks up to the ceiling and shifts his hand under his head.  His elbow sticks out and it shows off the strength of his arms. Buck wants to bite them.  His mouth waters at the thought and his hips twitch, but he ignores it, tries to keep himself under control.  There’s something thoughtful in Tommy’s face.  Something that, before, would have meant he was about to shut down and close up.  Buck watches as he takes a deep breath and decides to let him in instead.

Tommy’s head turns a little, rustling the pillow and he looks at Buck with eyes shot through with something like regret.

“You know,” he starts.  Then he huffs, a little curl of breath through his nose.  He licks his lips.  He looks back up to the ceiling and his lips quirk up, a wrinkle in the corner of a self-effacing smile.  When he speaks, his voice is quiet.  Low, even for the close, intimate setting they’re in.  “I think I wanted you to chase me.”

[thefriendlydragonx]

Minthara x Karlach, Minthara realising being soft doesn't make you weak and seeing how strong Karlach must be for still being capable of being soft after 10 years in the hells. Then Minthara learning to be soft with snuggles with Karlach, a bit of processing how fucked up menzoberranzan was. Mainly Minthara snuggling with Karlach when Karlach doesn't expect it.

I love this prompt so much thank you anon!!! It gave me brainworms I had so many ideas. Karlach x Minthara soft moments make me so happyyy 💜

~~~~

The party had made camp for the night, deep within the shadow cursed lands. They had just recently gained a new member, Minthara. Not many took an immediate liking to her, and the feeling was mutual. However, there was Karlach, who Minthara seemed to respect. They were sat next to each other on a log in camp, the rest of the party a noticeable distance away from the drow.

Minthara didn't say much, instead carefully eating the food that had been provided to her- she had filled her own bowl, of course, and only began to eat a few minutes after everyone else- and listened to the conversations being had. She learned much about her companions through light banter and quips, things she would never share openly around a stranger so soon. She learned of Shar worship, explosive orbs, vampiric tendencies… What caught her attention most, however, was Karlach regaling the camp with a story of her time in the Hells.

“You are strong to have faced the Hells and still come back.”

It was the first thing Minthara had said all night and everyone's gazes shifted uncomfortably to her. Well, almost everyone's. Karlach looked at her with a smile.

“Thanks, soldier! It was rough, but hey- If I didn't survive, I wouldn't have met all of you!”

This reply surprised Minthara. Even after so much time in the Hells, Karlach was still able to trust, to appreciate friendship, to feel her emotions freely. These were luxuries Minthara herself could not afford.

The companions finished their food and the chatter died down as they all retreated to their bunks for the night. Minthara sat by the fire still, feeling safe from a point where she could see anyone coming.

“You can't sleep either?” Karlach was still next to her, the only one remaining.

“I do not sleep easily around those I do not know.”

Karlach frowned. “You know us!”

“Hardly. I know you rescued me from Moonrise, and I know that you openly share information that you should not. Beyond that, I do not know your plans with me. It is likely you will leave me after the defeat of the Absolute- if not before.” This to say, she was not going to get close. Everyone in the camp would be held at arm’s length, including Tav, even though they asked so many questions about her.

“Aw, c’mon, Minthy!” Karlach moved closer. Minthara wrinkled her nose at the nickname, but the tiefling did not seem to care. She was already insisting to tell Minthara another tale from the Hells, saying it would help them get to know each other. The drow relented.

As Karlach spoke of her time in war, Minthara found her appreciation growing. She was strong, fearless in battle, and had been through things Minthara could not imagine. Yet, despite all this, she was here. Talking with Minthara as though they were old friends, regaling her with a story of killing demons. She was here, an endlessly loyal friend to people she had only met less than a month ago. A friend to Minthara, whom she had only met a few days ago. Friend… Those didn't come easily to her. What was so different about this tiefling?

“How are you so kind, after all you have been through?” Minthara questioned as Karlach finished her tale.

“I'm kind because of all I've been through. When you've seen what I have, you know it's better to have friends and people to rely on. Like this camp. We're your people now, Minthara.”

Her response made something within the drow flicker, a part of her stone-cold resolve melting away. Karlach was so formidable in battle, yet here she was, wearing her heart on her sleeve outside of it. In fact, her softness made her stronger. In the Underdark, such displays of emotion were a ticket to death.

“I do not think the others believe they can trust me.”

Before Minthara could react, Karlach pulled her into a one armed side hug. From this position, they were both vulnerable to one another. Yet something about it felt comforting. The drow told herself it was simply the warmth of the other woman against the chill of the night air.

“Well, I trust you.”

Minthara wrapped her arms around Karlach’s torso, much to the tiefling’s surprise, and rested her head against her shoulder. How one could trust so easily was not something she would pretend to understand, not yet. It meant she had a safety net, however, and she felt comfortable to rest for the first time in days. Had she been home, being this close to someone she barely knew would have meant a dagger in the back. Yet, she felt at ease here, comfortable in the knowledge that Karlach would fight for her should a problem arise. Comfortable that she would do the same for Karlach.

~~~~

I hope y'all like it!! :) I thought this one was a really cute prompt, I hope I did it justice ahah 💜

[captain-bubble-wrap]

soooo babe, what do we think about a little fic where auston facetimes you before every game because you are his lucky charm?🤭💚🤞🏼

*bing, bing, bing, bing*

You had been waiting with your phone next to you for the last hour, anticipating Auston's call. You were sitting on the sofa, leaning with your back against the arm, knees pulled up and wrapped in a large blanket. When his video call invitation took over your screen, you wasted no time answering. You were so excited that you had to be careful not to spill the hot tea you had been sipping when you heard it.

"Hey, mami," Auston said with an instant smile, seeing you on the other end.

"Hey, sweetheart! How are you feeling?"

His brown eyes looked like caramel against the sunlight streaming in through the windows he was seated by. You could tell he had just gotten up from his post-practice nap, and obviously couldn't wait to call you. A man of many pre-game rituals, Auston had his habits and one of them included giving you a call --either on video or by phone as he drove to the arena-- before every single game, since the two of you had become an item. The first time he had done it, the Leafs had won, and he just felt like keeping the habit going, in the hopes that maybe it would happen again. Not to mention, he just really liked talking to you.

"I'm pretty good, still waking up. What about you? I hope you're feeling better." You watched as his eyes wandered over you slightly. "I'd love to be there with you. You look pretty comfy."

"You know you're welcome anytime! And I'm okay, doing better than yesterday, so I can't complain." After dealing with the flu for the past week, you were thankful to finally be feeling like yourself. That had been the reason you weren't going to the game tonight.

Auston smiled at you while you spoke, just in love with the sound of your voice much as you were with his. Everything about him made your heart flutter: from his smile, his laugh, his little gestures, all of it.

"I wish you could be there, but I understand why you can't. You've got three days to get better," he laughed lightly. "Need my lucky charm sitting next to the bench with me."

You could feel your face grow hot. Why had that made you blush? Was it the fact that Auston was confessing how much he meant to you --calling you his good luck charm-- and honestly meaning it? Was it him making you the center of his world whenever he could, especially during busy game days? Why were you so surprised?

He caught the change in your face, "Are you alright? Your face looks flushed."

You tried to hide it by taking a sip of your tea, peering at him over the rim of the cup, but it was no good. "Mhm, yeah, I'm-- fine!"

Auston raised an eyebrow suspiciously, smiling. "Are you blushing?"

"No! Well-- maybe!"

"You're adorable."

"See, it's stuff like that that does it!"

His whole face lit up as he smiled wider, looking down. Was he blushing now? It was hard to tell against his tanned skin tone, but it made you feel better thinking that he was just as flustered as you were.

"It's good to see you smile," he added, finally returning his face to look at you. "I was worried about you."

You appreciated his concern, and moved quickly to reassure him that everything was alright, "It was just the flu, baby! I'm okay now!"

"I didn't know you could sleep that much," he teased. "I missed you."

Playfully, you rolled your eyes, "I'm sure you were just fine~"

"I was lost without you," Auston replied, giving you his best puppy dog eyed pout. "You left me all alone...for days!"

You had to laugh at his dramatic display. Even though he was just hamming it up for you, to make you smile, you had wished that you could have given him a little more attention --check-ins-- during that span of time, but being sick had taken more from you than you had realized.

"I'm sorry~ Forgive me?"

"Only because you're so damn cute."

Both of you shared a laugh followed by a quiet moment after. You knew he couldn't stay on the call too much longer, and neither of you were ready to let the other go.

"I'll call you on my way home, okay? Well, I'll text you first, make sure you're awake."

"I'll be up! I'm going to watch the game!"

Auston smiled, "I know, but that post-game stuff takes a bit. You still need to rest. I can always call you in the morning."

"But--," you tried to interject, but failed.

"Mami-- you need your rest. I'll still text you good night. Don't make me feel bad because I woke you up," he frowned slightly. "Be kind to your body."

His protective nature had your heart fluttering. He was so kind, so considerate. "If I get tired, I'll go to bed. I promise."

"Thank you," he winked, before catching sight of the time. "Hey, I've gotta get Felix out and get around. Like I said, I'll text you, okay?"

"Mhm," you nodded, sad that he had to go, but understanding why. "Be careful tonight, and good luck!"

"I will," he promised. "I love you."

"I love you more!"

Before Auston ended the call, he left you with one more reason to blush, "Next goal is for you."

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I remember that oni in fact will eventually have more lore added and I get so excited and scared for a moment and then I remember that it could take months until we see any of that and I proceed to forget abt it again and the cycle repeats

[inbabylontheywept]

she was dead silent on the drive home, but that was okay. sometimes, after band practice, she was just out of words. it was a short drive to her house. the only part where it actually felt weird was after i pulled up her parent’s driveway. 

after that, the silence stretched so far it smeared and left a weird residue. she kept looking at the car door like she wanted to leave, so i looked at the door too, then she looked at me, and i looked at her, and my first thought was that she was going to tell me that the door was stuck. i was used to that car always doing some damn thing. it was the car me and all my siblings had learned to drive in, and it was really beat to hell. there were dents all over the body, which we’d unsuccessfully tried fixing up with spackle. it had looked nice for maybe a week, but then the sun wrecked it - the spackle cracked up like the mud on the bottom of a dry riverbed and turned a sort of off yellow-white that made the car looked like it had been molded out of chicken shit. it also had a bullet hole it through the cabin that whistled like a toothless old man whenever the car went above 40, so loud it could drown out the radio, and a cabin that smelled so strongly of bugspray that even the arizona summer we drove everywhere we could with the windows down.

(if you have kids one day, you will maybe, possibly, begin to understand how much i loved that car.)

anyway, i was thinking about what else could possibly be wrong with the chickenshitmobile, and she just kept looking at me, and then i wondered if there was something on my face, and she just kept looking at me, and then the penny dropped and i realized she was trying to work up the nerve to break up with me. 

now, i’d seen her work up the nerve to do things like this before – it could take quite a while. and knowing it was about to happen made the waiting immediately unbearable. 

so i said hey. 

and she looked at me, very startled, and said hey back real small. like she’d been caught. and in a way, i suppose she had. 

and i said it’s okay. you can just say it. i’ll be okay.

i’m always okay. 

and she said: i’m really sorry. 

i loved her, you know? it was highschool, but teenagers are capable of love. the way people love changes over time just as much as the way they stand, or the way they talk, but things don’t stop existing just because they're different. opposite really – a thing only stops changing when it's fully gone.

and i said, nothing to be sorry for, and i meant it. she looked a little relived, and i was happy to give her that peace. then she left. i watched her make it through the front door, because that was just habit at that point, and then i sat there a while afterwards, checking how i felt. and the answer was not good, but good enough to make it home. good enough to limp on. 

so i put my car in reverse, took my last look goodbye, and immediately backed into her neighbor’s car. 

crunch. 

air bags didn't go off, which was good. i left a decent dent in the bumper of the other car. genuinely couldn’t tell if i did anything to my car – anything wrong with it just kind of blended together into the general ecosystem of hand mottled, sun cracked, chickenshit spackle. 

i checked my glove box, and my car insurance info was, of course, out of date. my phone was dead too. as a teenager, my phone was less my lifeline to my friends, and more my tether to my parents, so i wasn’t particularly conscious of keeping it charged. both my fault.

i sat there a few minutes, trying to think of the best way to handle things, and there was only one answer i could think of, and i hated that answer, so i spent a few more minutes trying and failing to think of a better one, and then a few more coming to peace with what had to be done. 

then i went back to knock on my now ex’s front door. 

her dad opened, which i was very relieved over, even if he seemed less than thrilled. he looked me over, and in a firm, but slightly apologetic way said: she does not want to see you right now. 

(i think he assumed i was going to try and talk her out of the break up?)

and i said not here for her. i just backed into your neighbor’s car, and i need to call my dad, but my phone’s dead. could i borrow yours?

and he looked at me, then back at his neighbors car, which sure enough was dented, then he looked at the chickenshitmobile, and if there was something wrong with it, it just kind of blended into the general Wrongness of the car, then back to me, and i could see him imagining the last ten minutes from my pov: getting broken up with, backing into a car, having to walk up to your exes door and borrow a phone, calling my dad to tell him that i just reversed into someone.  

and his expression shifted from stern and apologetic to truly sad, which felt more kind that i deserved. things only got here because i kept fucking up - forgot to look behind me, forgot to replace the insurance forms, forgot to charge my phone. it was my mess, but his sympathy meant the world to me. i probably would’ve cried if he said sorry, or patted me on the back or called me sport, but instead he said

stay out here – i’ll bring you a phone.

and then he left.  

i found a nice spot on the lawn in the shade under a sycamore, then settled into his grass.i was trying not to freak out, and was doing an okay job. he came out a minute or so later, not just with a phone, but a juicebox and a jar of green olives, which really threw a wrench in the whole try not to cry thing. soon as i saw those, a few tears squoze out. i was still hoping i could pass them off as Manly Tears but then he told me that he’d gotten the olives a few weeks before and had been meaning to hand them off to me, and that this was his last chance for that. then i made a sound like a horse drowning in a bog, and he patted my back pretty rough, four solid thumps, like he wasn't sure if i was crying or choking on an olive, and was trying to cover both bases at once.

then he went back inside, and i made a few more bog horse noises while finishing off the rest of the entire jar of green olives, and then i called my dad.

he was about ten minutes away that day, and luckily was home. he drove over, and we went to the neighbor’s house, and from there things actually went quite nice. the neighbor was a retired man who actually said he could fix the dent himself, no need for insurance. he said he appreciated that i didn't just drive off, and i said i was really sorry about his car, and he said he was really sorry about my car, and then he gestured to the chickenshitmobile and i laughed because it really was a disaster on wheels.

then we left.

i thought we were going to head straight home, but instead we went to a gas station, and we both got several slim jims that we folded into thick enough coils that we could put them on a hotdog bun because the growing up mormon equivalent of having a sad brewski with your dad is just choosing to make bad decisions sober. then he took me to the canals and we watched the sun turn all orange and pink, and he looked over at me and said:

brains are good at remembering bad days. so you gotta make sure that a bad day has a good part in it, so you can remember that too. remember that when you have a kid. try to do a good job on days like that - they're going to be a big part of how they remember you.

and then he gave me a big hug and said he was never going to eat another slim jim again.

---

the year after that i went to college, which kicked my butt in new and exciting ways. and on a lot of those bad days, after a test that went sour, or a faux paus that was particularly embarrassing, or some other hardship of my new adult life, i’d stop by the gas station and pick up leathery, half jerkied hotdog before heading to the canals to watch the sun set. i’d take a bite and imagine my dad next to me, grimacing through the slim-jim wad, asking what good thing i was going use that time to remember. 

and in my head, i’d say you, dad. 

i’m going to remember you.

[doestarkey]

summary: sneaking onto drew’s phone after a gnawing suspicion of him cheating on you

the age gap between you and drew had always lingered in the back of your mind, quietly eroding your confidence in the relationship. no matter how much you tried to push the thought aside, it left you questioning—doubting. if it was a concern for you, surely it was for him too… right?

at twenty one, you were still navigating life—balancing college, exploring career paths, meeting new people, and experiencing things for the first time. drew, on the other hand, was in an entirely different chapter.

he had everything already figured out—a thriving career as the ceo of a globally recognized company, financial security, a beautiful home, and the kind of life experience that only comes with time. and, of course, there was the attention.

women—his age—throwing themselves at him, drawn to his success, his confidence, and the effortless charm that came with being an attractive man in his late thirties. women who seemed like they belonged in his world more than you ever could.

so what made you any different?

late nights at the office became a routine for him. he explained it all—overtime, project deadlines, the occasional presence of a coworker or two in the building. you never questioned it.

until one night.

maybe it was real, or maybe it was just your own insecurities manifesting into something tangible. but as you washed his suit, you could have sworn you caught the faintest trace of perfume that didn’t belong to you.

it gnawed at you. the doubt, the fear. until, finally, you caved to the one thing you had sworn to yourself you wouldn’t do.

as he slept beside you, you carefully reached for his phone on the nightstand, your fingers hesitant but determined. the screen lit up, illuminating your face in the dark. you tried once. twice. a third time—

“it’s your birthday.”

his voice was soft, laced with sleep, yet fully aware. he lay on his side, head propped up on one hand as he watched you, offering the password without hesitation. a quiet reminder of the trust you were on the verge of betraying.

a lump formed in your throat, but you pressed forward. as the phone unlocked, you combed through everything—messages, photos, calls—desperate for proof of something that didn’t exist.

and there it was.

nothing. no betrayal. no late-night secrets. just the overwhelming weight of guilt settling in your stomach.

silently, you turned off the phone and handed it back to him, unable to meet his gaze.

drew chuckled, taking the phone and placing it back on the nightstand before reaching out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“feel better now?” he asked, voice calm, understanding.

you didn’t answer, just stared at him with a deep frown, the shame too heavy to put into words.

“it’s okay,” he reassured you softly, though there was a hint of hurt in his voice. “but talk to me, baby. why’d you do that? what did i do that made you go through my phone?”

“you didn’t do anything, i just—” you hesitated, frustration bubbling up. how could you explain this without sounding irrational?

his head tilted slightly, reading you with ease. “been in your head too much, thinking things you shouldn’t?”

you nodded, exhaling shakily. “i just got scared… you’re always working late, and there are so many women—women your age—”

drew let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that’s what you’re worried about? women my age?”

you pouted, not finding the humor in it, but his smile only grew.

“baby, if i wanted someone my age, i’d have them. but i don’t. i want you. age doesn’t change that.”

the sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. “i’m sorry, drew,” you murmured, burying your face in your hands as embarrassment burned tears into your eyes.

“hey, none of that,” he whispered, pulling your hands away before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest. “c’mere.”

you clung to him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, your sniffles the only sound in the quiet room.

“m’not upset with you, sweetheart,” he promised, one hand threading through your hair as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“why not?” you mumbled into his skin, the warmth of him grounding you.

he chuckled. “because i know you didn’t mean any harm. just promise me that next time, you’ll talk to me instead, yeah?”

you nodded against him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “i promise.”

“good.” he sighed, his arms tightening around you. “now, let’s get some sleep.”

“i love you,” you whispered.

“i love you too, baby.”