#my mind might change once i get enough sleep

[tarpauline]

So I just looked through my docs and saw that one Eddie Munson fic I wrote a long time ago and i suddenly had an urge to publish it 😭

[fridayyy-13th]

y'all i'm like. so tired and overwhelmed right now. dare i even say sad.

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

��You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[jadedbirch]

Gather around, my young friends and fellow dinosaurs, let me tell you about some BULLSHIT no one ever tells you about. I'm talking about menopause and perimenopause. Now, menopause has a very stringent medical definition. You have to not have had a period for exactly 12 months and a day to be considered in menopause. All the bullshit before that day once you start going through The Change is considered perimenopause. Here's some bullshit you might experience that people actually talk about when you're in perimenopause:

- shorter time between periods

- irregular periods

- hot flashes and/or cold flashes

- fucked up sleep

- OMG NIGHT SWEATS

- Vagina as dry as the Sahara desert

- lighter periods and/or endless bleeding like it's The Flood but it's in your pants

- lack of interest in Adult Fun Times

This time of joy can last anywhere from a couple of years to a god damn decade and there's no medical way right now to predict it.

Here's some of the REAL bullshit they don't tell you about but your dinosaur aunt is here to let you know:

- You can start perimenopause in your 30s, don't listen to idiot doctors who tell you you're "too young" because they don't know your body like you do.

- Perimenopause will make you HELLA DUMB. Seriously, I'm talking Bigly broken brain. Brain fog? Check. Short term memory? Wave goodbye to it. Ability to make words form out of thoughts? Yeah, good luck to you.

- Perimenopause can cause horrible fatigue because in addition to losing estrogen, you're also losing testosterone. Oh and that also leads to muscle wasting, cool cool.

- Things might suddenly hurt more because estrogen is known to be neuroprotective.

- If you're super lucky like I am, and like to collect rare illnesses, you might even get Burning Mouth Syndrome 💀

- And meanwhile, while you're going through this bullshit, you'll be getting gaslit by doctors who are operating based on 30 year old debunked data about how HRT causes breast cancer (not really) and that they shouldn't put you on it until you're in actual menopause. (Data shows starting HRT early can potentially prevent Alzheimer's in later years.)

- There are entire online clinics right now (I use Midi Health) focused on providing care for peri and menopausal patients and they will happily prescribe you HRT even if your regular PCP or OBGYN do not (if you meet the criteria). I've been pretty impressed with how holistically they view the patient. For full disclosure, I learned about them from my integrative health doctor and they do not accept Medicare (yet).

I'm 46 years old right now and I've been symptomatic for perimenopause for the last 8 years, although it's gotten the most dramatic in the past 2 years or so, which I hope means I'm almost done, holy hell. Yeah I was on the early side, but if it can happen to me, it can happen to you, so it's never too early to think about these things. And I hope to at least spare some of you the mind-fuckery I've been through because no one told me about most of this stuff, including my own mother who just DOESN'T REMEMBER what happened to her and now I completely understand why. And because I also have a connective tissue disease, I used to just dismiss my pain and fatigue as being caused by that illness rather than the loss of hormones.

Anyways, this is why we need Elders in our lives, so they can do Grandma Story Hour like I just did and validate you when the entire medical field tries to gaslight you. I hope you've found some or all of this educational/useful. Please share with your friends because we really do NOT talk about this stuff enough. (Ewwww Moon Blood!)

Stay well, and don't let the bastards grind you down!

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.

[fastandcarlos]

Sleepless Nights : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: as your daughter cries out yet again, you can't help but feel like the problem, especially when max swoops in and saves the day again

A frustrated sigh escaped as what felt like for the thousandth time that night you heard cries coming from across your home. Beside you, Max turned onto his back, meeting your eyes as he offered a sympathetic smile, feeling exactly how you felt, exhausted and on the verge of tears. 

You’d been up and down for most of the night, unable to quite settle your daughter. With Max only home for a few days before the track called again, you’d decided to take on most of the night jobs to try and let him get some rest. 

However, as you sat up and went to leave the bed again, two hands on your shoulders pulled you straight back down. “It’s my turn, you’ve done more than enough tonight,” Max whispered, sitting himself up instead. 

“She’s never been this bad before,” you hummed, allowing yourself to settle back down. 

Max stood up and stretched, momentarily looking back at you. “I’ll go and see if maybe a change of face will do the trick,” Max suggested, keeping his footsteps quiet as he left your bedroom, shutting the door behind him to try and not disturb you. 

As much as you knew Max needed to rest, you couldn’t help but feel thankful that he had got up this time. Your tank was empty and your frustrations were growing. Of course, you adored your daughter, but she sure knew how to give you a restless night of sleep. 

“What’s wrong baby girl?” Max whispered as he walked into your daughter’s room, peering over her cot and reaching in, scooping her up and pressing her against his bare chest.  

Max walked around the room with your daughter for a few moments, rocking her gently as her sobs began to quieten down. His eyes didn’t leave her, studying her closely with a smile on his face, walking out of the room and into your bedroom once she was quiet again. 

“I think someone might be feeling a little bit needy tonight,” Max laughed as he took a seat beside you on the bed, keeping your daughter in his hold as you shuffled to face them both. 

As you sat up, Max reached across with your daughter, offering her into your hold. As you took her though, the volume went straight back up, making you immediately flinch back and give your daughter back to Max again.  

“Love,” Max whispered as your eyes went wide, guilt filling you up. Your hands brushed through your hair as you watched her go quiet again once Max had her. “Maybe she just wants her daddy tonight.” 

Max knew you like a book, he could tell exactly what was going through your mind. It almost felt as if you were the problem, the one that kept your daughter crying because she didn’t want you, she wanted Max. He seemed to be the one that solved your daughter’s problems, whilst you just seemed to make things worse. 

And as your daughter went quiet again, it felt like the weight of the world was coming down on you. “Don’t think like that,” a voice spoke, breaking you from your thoughts, with Max knowing exactly what was going through your head. 

You smiled softly across at him, wishing it was just that easy. Motherhood was hard, but raising your baby was harder than you ever thought it would be, especially as so much of it you were having to do all alone. 

“I can’t seem to do the right thing,” you whispered, burying your head into your hands, “I’m trying to do everything I can to make her happy but it’s like I’m the problem, the reason that she’s crying so often.” 

Max sighed as you spoke, with your daughter in one arm, his other wrapped around your shoulders. He hated how hard you were being on yourself, even if you didn’t see all the good that you were doing, he absolutely did. 

“I thought having a baby was supposed to be a dream,” you admitted. 

Everyone had told you how amazing having a baby was, but for you, it felt like the opposite. Watching Max come in and save the day again and again was lovely, but at the same time, it felt like a knife in the back for you, as if to show you all the things you were doing wrong. 

Max’s hand moved up and brushed over the top of your head as he heard faint sobs coming from beside him. “What am I supposed to do when you go back to race next week? Do I just sit here and let her cry night after night?” 

“No, because that’s not what you do,” Max assured you, “you’re an amazing mum.” 

“It doesn’t feel that way, it feels like I’m messing up constantly,” you confessed, your voice a faint whisper. 

It killed Max to listen to you to hear how hard you were being on yourself. He was beyond proud of all that you were doing, if anything, he wished that he could do more instead of having to leave you and go to work all the time.  

“Love, listen to me, please,” Max asked you. “These things take time, it’s all about routine and we’re all still learning about each other. I promise that it’s going to get easier, the first few weeks are always the hardest.” 

“Do you really think we’ll get there?” You nervously asked, looking up and across at Max. “You think we’ll get through this?” 

“Absolutely,” he insisted with a smile. “I’m struggling too, I’ve never raised a baby before and I mess up too, I just do a better job of hiding it so that you don’t see,” Max joked. 

“You make mistakes?” You queried, surprised by Max’s sudden confession. “You always just seem to have everything under control, I’m in awe of you most of the time.” 

Rather than reply, Max held your daughter out to you again. Your hands nervously held out as she placed her down, a smile gracing your face as Max let go and the room remained silent, exactly what you had been hoping for. 

“There you go,” Max proudly grinned, nudging against your side. “You’ve got to stop being so hard on yourself, you’re doing the most amazing job.” 

Your smile softened as you glanced down at your daughter, relieved to see her settle in your hold. Max was right, you had placed a lot of pressure on yourself, perhaps a little too much. You knew with time you would figure things out, you just needed to be more confident that you could achieve it. 

Max’s eyes remained on you both, feeling his heart swell with pride. “When you feel like you’re struggling I want you to talk to me love, even if I might be thousands of miles away on the other side of the world.” 

You hummed as Max spoke, silently promising that you wouldn’t bottle things up like you had been doing, refusing to suffer in silence any longer. 

“Every day is going to be different, some days it will go well, others it won’t, but that’s all part of the fun of raising a family,” Max reminded you, “I’m not going to let you sit back and feel like you’re not doing enough, because you are.” 

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” You quizzed. 

Max chuckled in reply to you, “you didn’t get lucky with me, I’m the one who got lucky with you. We’re a team, that’s what’s always made us so successful.” 

“I know, but you always just happen to know the right thing to say.” 

“And so do you, that’s why I love you so much,” Max reminded you, “it’s why you’re my best friend.” 

“I love you so much too.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[totalswag]

midnight adventures — RAFE CAMERON

authors note here's a little something sweet for you guys. soft!rafe will forever have my heart. happy reading lovies.

— taglist if you want to be notified whenever i post leave a comment and you’ll be added.

summary having trouble sleeping throughout the night and text rafe if you can go on a drive to relax your mind

warning(s) trouble sleeping and rafe being the best boyfriend.

"Please sleep," you say to yourself, on the verge of tears, staring at the ceiling and running your hands through your hair with frustration.

It was three in the morning.

You've recently struggled to sleep at night, falling asleep around four in the morning, getting five hours of sleep, and yet feeling exhausted during the day.

Rolling over on your side, a huff escapes your lips as you reach your arm up to the nightstand, where your phones are plugged in. You take it off the charger and call your boyfriend, Rafe.

He responded within five seconds, sounding sleepy and worried. After you've finished stating your sleeping problems, he says he'll be there in ten minutes.

Rafe's truck can be heard from around the corner; a smile forms on your face. You put your slides on and one of Rafe's sweatshirt on then walk downstairs to the front door.

You snuck out of the house quietly and hopped into the passenger seat, greeted by the familiar perfume of Rafe's cologne combined with the subtle aroma of leather.

"Hey," he whispered softly, reaching over to offer your hand a comforting squeeze. "Ready?"

"Yeah," you replied, beaming warmly at him. "Thank you for this."

"Anything for you," he said, turning the truck into gear and driving away from your home turning out of the neighborhood.

He hands you his unlocked phone for music; you're usually on aux in his car. You pick the first song you liked and would set the mood.

You feel his right hand on your thigh, the thumb gently caressing. You let yourself relax under his touch.

"You want to grab something to eat?" He asks out of the blue, checking his shoulder before changing lanes and glancing at you for a response.

"Can we go to the store?" You recommended pointing to the store across the street. 

"Of sure, Baby.”

After getting some snacks, Rafe drove to your favorite spot, the beach. Generally this is your favorite spot to go whenever you want to get away from everything.

Rafe backed into the parking area so you could face the water in the dim light. You took the two blankets he keeps in the second row as he moved around to open your door.

Rafe drew you closer to him once the two of you had settled in. You looked up at him, admiring how blessed you were to have him.

"If you want to kiss me, just tell me," he quips, his eyes fixed on the water. You hit him in the chest, making him laugh, then kissed him.

"What's keeping you up all night princess?" He asks quietly, gently pushing your hair away from your face and examining your expression.

Rafe loathes witnessing you struggle to fall asleep or feel this way. Regardless of the circumstance, he has always been there for you in an instant. You find him most admirable in that regard. You are very fortunate to have him.

"I honestly don't know what's causing it," you shrugged, "stress might be the main factor or something else" was the only response you could give him right now. I'm not sure what is causing you to stay up late and never get enough sleep.

Rafe furrows his brows.

"You know I'd come sleep with you if you had problems falling asleep, and I don't want you to lose sleep. You value your sleep, I know that." You laugh at how much you value your sleep—you really do.

After a while, a few subjects are discussed. A cold breeze blows through the night, and the sound of the waves is calming. You can sense your own body becoming more at ease.

In silence, Rafe and you lay together covered by blankets. It seemed like the ideal moment. You drew closer to him— he also smells good.

"You almost ready to go?" Rafe asks curiously, "I don't want your parents waking up to you not in your bed" you stopped yourself after he finished his sentence, nodding. 

"Yeah we couldn't have that" you joke.

He turned on the ignition after the two of you got comfortable in the truck, allowing it to warm up for five minutes as you had been sitting on the bed with the truck turned off for an hour. 

It took ten minutes to make the drive back to your home. You didn't want to spend the remainder of the night apart from Rafe. Compared to before you saw him, you felt calmer and more content. 

"Can you stay?" If you think about it, what you're asking kindly amounts to pleading.

He replies sarcastically, "How can I refuse?" and then leans in to give you a kiss on the lips before turning off his truck.

Quitely entering your house with Rafe closely behind you. You turned your phone flashlight on incase of running into stuff and waking everyone up.

When you got to your room you took your slides and socks off your feet then flopping on your bed. Rafe took his shirt off along with shoes and socks. You opened your arms waiting for Rafe to get into bed with you.

"Don't worry, I'm coming," he says, placing his shirt on the desk chair across the room.

"Oh, that's what she said," you laugh.

Fake laughing, Rafe says, "Haha so funny" as he slides under the covers.

Snuggling closer to Rafe, you let out a sigh of relief as you kissed his naked chest several times and drew invisible hearts before feeling your eyes close.

You yawn with exhaustion, "Thank you for keeping me company tonight, baby, it means a lot, I love you."

"I love you too princess and that's what I'm supposed to do, take care of my beautiful girlfriend when she's in times like this."

You shared a final kiss with Rafe and then dozed out in each other's arms.

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[paarksunghoon]

part two for this (https://www.tumblr.com/paarksunghoon/764887604741210112/heeseung-with-a-corruption-kink-and-maybe-size?source=share) please…Heeseung corrupting her into fucking 🤤

part 2 to this drabble

warnings: subtle (?) manipulation but not really because she wants it, she’s just shy

***

Heeseung’s got you on your back with the pillows situated underneath your head for support while he leans down to kiss your lips once before pulling back. He’s bare from the waist down and all you’re wearing is sheer tank top. His breath touches your lips. Paired with the way his dick is sliding between your folds, it almost makes you feel like you’re losing your mind.

“Let me stick it in,” he whispers, pushing his lips to kiss your neck softly. His feather-like touches make you shiver.

You don’t say anything yet. The boy on top of you keeps his ear close to your mouth and your soft whimpers make him hornier by the second. You hear the wet splashes and how it sounds as he glides right against your wet pussy, and it almost convinced you to give in.

“It’ll feel so good,” he says against your neck. “Are you scared, baby?”

“A little…”

Heeseung brings his head up and pushes your bottom lip with his thumb as his dick catches your clit. “Are you a virgin?”

You shake your head. “It’s just…it’s been a while.” Heeseung grunts from above you. His warm cock feels alright against you. You’d probably be really tight, tighter than the girls he sleeps with.

“I’ll make it feel like the first time.” He grinds even slower, letting his dick make its way up to nudge your clit at its own pace. “I’ll make you come as many times as you want, I swear.”

You bite your lip and look up at the ceiling. “You already do.”

“Mm, yeah I do. But I’ll make you come with my dick inside of you. Don’t you want to feel good too?”

“I don’t know…”

“I love grinding, don’t get me wrong, but…” Heeseung lifts his hips just high enough to rest the tip of his dick against your hole. “Grinding only does so much, ya know? Fucking though…your pussy’s gonna love it.” He pushes the head inside and loves the way you gasp and clench his biceps.

Ever since that might a few weeks ago, Heeseung hasn’t been able to get you anywhere farther than grinding, sometimes with or without clothes. He has his share of girls to hookup with when he needs hard and fast sex, but he can’t deny that the slow pace you set keeps him on his toes. He loves that lovey dovey shit in between his rough hookups but he won’t admit that to you. You’re a pallet cleanser for him.

He thinks he might be addicted to the change in pace when he’s with you because you don’t really expect him to be anything or anyone when you’re both together. You let yourself be pleasured in a way other girls don’t. Heeseung enjoys the high intensity he gets with other people but, mostly, he likes that he doesn’t have to think too hard when he’s with you. It’s probably why he keeps coming back even though you haven’t let him fuck you yet. So far, you’re the only person who can get him to stop what he’s doing or leave whoever he’s with for the chance to actually hook up.

“See?” Heeseung says when you clench around his tip. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…” His tongue licks against yours and captures another moan from you when he starts to thrust only his cock head into you.

“You’d love the way I fuck.” Something about your silence and compliance underneath him makes him crazy. Heeseung seems to let go of his demanding person when he’s got you in his bed and finds himself talking you through it.

“Oh yeah?”

Heeseung smirks against you. Hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah. I know you want that kind of sex, baby. I feel it every time you sit on my lap and get yourself off.” You feel him push another inch in when he speeds up his hips. “I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I promise.”

“Do you…do this? With other girls?”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “Do what? Fuck?”

You look always. “N-No…do you make them cream?” He pushes even more of himself inside you just thinking about it.

“All the time,” he moans. “Love it when my girls get all wet like that. It’ll be hot when you do it too.” You clench again. “Ohhh. That felt good. Do you like it when I talk about how I fuck?”

You suck even more of him inside of you. He grins wickedly. “You’re so dirty, aren’t you? My shy little thing, have you been hiding?” Heeseung laughs. “I prep them all nice so they’re sopping wet. Some like it when I fuck them dry at first. Others like it when I show no mercy and make them all creamy.

“Everyone loves it when I come inside, though. They always tell me it feels so good. It’s good for me, too. Love watching it drip out of their pussies.”

Your legs wrap around his body as his hand comes to grip one of yours. Heeseung pushes the rest of himself all the way in and drinks in the way you moan into his mouth. His pelvis touches yours and he grunts right into you.

“I like the slow sex with you, though,” he says honestly. There’s a lot of truth behind it, even if he can’t figure out why. “I don’t do the whole kissing thing, you know. Just with you.”

You snort. “Sure.”

“It’s true.” He bends down to kiss you and mumbles against your lips. “I’ve wanted your pussy around me more than anything.”

You barely speak above a whisper. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung picks up the pace and feels your chest bounce against him. “Want my dick?” He moves like he’s on autopilot when you nod, keeping the slower pace until you give him a signal to go faster. “We’ll get you up there soon.”

“To where?”

He chuckles. “Rough sex, sweetheart. I know you want it. You clench every time I talk about it.”

“Mm, yeah…”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He kisses your lips again. “It’ll take some time but that’s okay, right? I’ll have you get used to me until you’re ready. We can practice until you get there.”

“We can?”

His cock slides in and out of you like some kind of physical prayer. “As much as you want, sweetheart. All day and all night. Whenever you want.”

You don’t say anything. He feels your arms encircling his shoulders and that tells him everything he needs to know. Speeding up his hips, Heeseung fucks you well into the night and you lose count of how many times he makes you come.

Despite himself, he stays the night.

***

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. pretty brown eyes.

about. gojo might be the one with the six eyes, but there’s nothing special about those. your brown eyes are real weapon, here.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! sfw, fluff, hurt comfort. slight hints to insomnia, idk how infinity works sorry, reader has brown eyes, afab!reader.

“you could kill me if you wanted to.”

it’s the dead of night when he whispers your name. though low in volume, his tongue curls around each syllable loud enough for you to hear him. “

“‘toru, what are you on about—” digging the heal of your palm into your eyes, you dislodge the crust from your lash line and groan. the red lines on your digital clock read sometime between three and four am— but the digits blur as your mind swims with sleep.

“your eyes. they’re so perfect.” a loving grin etches itself onto his face when you crack one open to look at him, masking over the exhaustion seeping from his pores and the anxiety that spikes in the sapphire pools of his own eyes. “you should be able to get away with anything because of them.”

“baby,” you reiterate and roll over to face him fully. gojo gets like this when he’s overworked and worried, when there’s something big on his mind you’re not quite sure you’d understand. you move to jab a thumb into his forehead, right between his brows to alleviate the ache in his skull but you don’t let your disappointment show when rough skin meets the dull buzz of his infinity.

you forget that his six eyes flow in the dark — that his blue eyes are not as blue as they seem. “you’re talking nonsense, it’s late. get some sleep.”

“my eyes. they could kill me if i worked too hard.”

satoru’s eyes are a lot stormier than most would expect, they can be dark and cold. like an angry ocean tired of tournament. they can be bright, full of hope and loving — you notice that change whenever he’s with your students. they hide behind the frame of his ability, the one that hardly ever turns off despite how it really could kill him.

his mind is always running, his body almost always on empty.

in the moonlight, you see a faint sliver of silver between the flecks of diamond and stormy skies.

he swipes a gentle thumb just over cheek yours to catch a fallen lash. “but yours,” gojo continues, voice thoughtful and low. tired above all else. “those pretty brown eyes…baby, they’re dangerous in a different way. beautiful in another that makes me feel safe. puts my mind at ease or somethin’. one look ‘nd I’d be doing anything for you,”

there the two of you are, face to face in the dark — cheeks pressed to pillows and heads under the covers as if you’re children shielding yourself from the world. creating the safe space to let satoru confess.

“if those pretty brown eyes were the last thing i got to see before i died. then i think i’d be okay.”

“don’t say that.” your face crumples and his infinity falls away as if gojo had been anticipating your touch, the buzz just shocking through your skin as you wrap your arms around his larger frame, pull his head down to your heart beating in your chest. “you’re not allowed to die, satoru. not yet.”

“i know.” for once he’s grateful he can’t see your eyes — he hates the way they shine when you cry.

“i need you.”

“i know.” he’s quiet. “i need you too.”

“then rest, you don’t have to keep watch.” gojo feels the shake in your lungs as you speak. you worry too much about him. but with your hand cascading through his soft locks, and the other squeezing him close he’s finding it hard to resist.

usually when he lays next to you, he’s stiff as a board, always anticipating whatever danger might come next. but the biggest threat to him of all is you, and those big brown bambi eyes of yours — the way they’re wet with love, shiny with tears because you adore satoru gojo. you care about him way too much for your own good.

those eyes of yours are convincingly treacherous , he can’t help but let his body sag and let go of his cursed technique while you rub his back and soothe him.

“you’re dangerous, yanno,” satoru grunts, lips dragging along your skin with every word. “especially when you look at me like that, with those puppy dog eyes…can’t say no to you.”

but you smile as he drifts off, his tall frame heavy against you — your lashes blinking soft against his forehead as you curl around him protectively. “i’d rather use them to get you to rest, rather than kill you. ‘toru.”

your words are wasted on deaf ears — his deep snore indicating that gojo is finally asleep, doing himself a favour and locking his pretty blue eyes away.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[jophiel-extras]

summary :: All Might NSFW alphabet

warning :: nsfw

note :: All Might my beloved, reqs open

A = Aftercare

Toshinori becomes The Thinker after sex. He’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, but once you’re out he’ll leave. Usually, he will go on a run or sit outside for a few hours with himself. Once he’s done, he’ll come back and slip into bed with your or put together a breakfast.

B = Body part

He never really considers any of his own body parts, especially when he’s in his skinny form. If he had to pick, it would be his hands. For you, Toshi likes your face the most.

C = Cum

He always pulls out, it’s a habit. He’ll finish either on your tummy or ass.

D = Dirty secret

He’s thought about going from his skinny form to muscle whilst inside you.

E = Experience

He’s rusty but knows what’s going on. It takes a while for him to truely ease into it and not overthink his actions.

F = Favorite position

Missionary, a classic for a reason. When things get pretty heated, he’s known to enjoy taking you against a wall especially in his muscle form.

G = Goofy

Usually pretty serious and sensual. Sex with him is almost always love making and Toshi takes it seriously. There’s been moments where you’ve both had a laugh but it’s rare.

H = Hair

The carpets do match the drapes, he’s blonde through and through.

I = Intimacy

He’s quite intense about sex; deep eye contact, squeezing your hand, holding you close. It’s always special and drawn out.

J = Jack off

Since the two of you started having sex it was like a switch in Toshi’s mind was turned on. He’s horny. Often. He’s had to excuse himself from teaching to rub one out just because he can’t stop thinking of you.

K = Kink

Size difference. Even if he doesn’t know it Toshi loves being taller and generally bigger than you. He especially loves to grab your waist in his muscle form, it’s a massive thing for him. I also suspect he might enjoy the thrill of public spaces, he’d never admit it or initiate but it’s there.

L = Location

The bedroom. He’s a private man.

M = Motivation

He’s a little dense when it comes to hints, so the best way Toshi gets turned on is when you openly flirt with him and whisper dirty things in his ear.

N = No

Never ever would he hurt you. He won’t compromise on it either.

O = Oral

Enjoys giving for sure. He’s pretty good with his mouth. The way he looks at you through his dark eyes as he eats you out is something else. Also, the way he acts when getting head is insane. His hands snake through your hair and he curls up, grunting and whispering profanities.

P = Pace

Slow and sensual. Unless it’s a special occasion of course! Then he’ll poof into his muscle form and fuck you like a sex symbol.

Q = Quickie

Not the usual, but it’s happened before. Quickies are whenever he’s in a rush to do something or when you’re in a semi public setting.

R = Risk

Yes, he can be a risk taker but it makes the sex anxious. He’s got a lot of eyes on him at all time so he needs to be wary.

S = Stamina

Oh honey, he’s not done until you’re done. You think all that stamina training from his early days wouldn’t translate into sex? You’re in for a surprise.

T = Toys

He’s not a massive fan.

U = Unfair

Toshinori is not one to tease you during sex, really it’s the opposite. He’s a giver and always follows through with pleasure.

V = Volume

Lots of grunting and heavy breathing. He’s not particularly loud, but just enough to get you going.

W = Wild card

Once you gave him under the table head whilst at U.A. and it was the best blowjob ever. He thinks about it often and can’t help but get hard.

X = X-ray

Both forms he’s packing a nice 9 inches. However the girth changes slightly between forms.

Y = Yearning

If he wasn’t so busy, he’d want to sleep with you every day but alas there aren’t enough hours in the day.

Z = Zzz

He’s not good at sleeping but after a particularly tiring session, he’ll pass out.

[court-jobi]

Hi! What are headcannons for izuku and wife reader in bed?

Oooo more headcanons for anon, comin' right up~ 18+ only, babes-- SFW here if you fancy!

A/N: Y'all are sending me the most darling asks! Due to board meetings and theatre prep I'm still working through this week's requests, on top of some long-awaited fics I can't wait to share... but I have a three day weekend ahead of me! thank you so much for all the inspo! keep em coming if there's something special you'd like to see~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!reader

SPICY MARRIED HEADCANONS!

Your Izuku is a fairly traditional man who's set on claiming you as a life partner first before getting fully intimate with you. The very night you proposed to one another ((#whenaskingfeelsright)) tested that restraint out of pure excitement for the future with you. His chest could have burst-- but also settled with such deep love, he's truly never slept better.

His mind might have rushed a million miles an hour with plans of your life together at the tip of his tongue, but the amorous dial was tuned down only by his lightning-sure concern for the concussion you were nursing that night... You wanted more from him, through lingering hands trying to draw him close and coax him into the bath with you...

"I don' think that's smart right now, love," Izuku purred down to you over the edge of the bathtub he drew for you, "want it as I might. I think we need to keep you nice and relaxed and calm while you recover for a bit. Is that ok?" "I am calm," you mumbled against his neck, laying a little kiss there. "I am relaxed. N'so are you. Yer so r'laxing." "M'sorry, baby, but I have to take care of you. All of you- including this big brain of yours," Izuku kissed it for good measure. "But believe me.. I want nothing more than for my beautiful wife-to-be to feel better enough to show her how much I wanna love on her..."

And love on you he can. Well.

It's not that you haven't tested the waters together. The day your makeouts turned heated -when you'd started grinding atop his thigh in a shallow attempt to get off, he'd been so flustered. It's clear from that early interaction; Izuku hadn't had a wealth of experience till you dated.

But once he realized he could bring these sounds out of you, make you melt into him, by his hand alone...

"Like... J-just touching you? That- this feels good? Yeah.. y-yeah, I can do that.. Tell me what feels good, love. Tell me just like this, m'listening.."

VERY vocal- very, very vocal. Not necessarily in volume, but in range. Izuku's voice flips at every little sensation, often. Every little graze of his cock will have him squirming in his seat. You can barely brush a hand or blow a quick rush of air along his tummy, and he will shudder involuntarily. He'd be so flighty and hyper aware of it at first-- at least until you assure him you're addicted to the sounds he makes, and that you love knowing how real those sounds are, hearing him moan with his whole chest- all for you.

Wanted low to no lights on at first... then you tried setting some mood with some smokey blue or purple ambient light, letting it bathe you both in just a bit of hue. Turns out, Izuku loved the change instead of cowering for the lightswitch: not simply for how ethereal it made you look, but how his insecurities just melted away in the light. Turns out, he was pinpointing every single one of his scars with cruel precision; and that's not how you view him at all. You helped him see light was nothing to fear-- he just needed the right filter of your love to let him see himself better.

And when you finally were gifted that private night all to yourselves after your getaway drive from the excitable venue space

-when you were settling onto your knees on the wedding suite's bed with exploring hands and barely any clothes

-when you asked Izuku ever so gently if he wanted to go to sleep or go to bed, he learned just how much he'd been missing out on:

You mean he can run his hands all the way up and down your bare back? He can scoop you up into his arms and just play with your tits? He can kiss every inch of you with nothing in the way-- and you LET him? He only ever wanted this with you, and has his dream fulfilled.

Loves anything praise. Whispering into his ear, raking through his hair with loving hands, pulling when you want him to look at you. He'll praise you endlessly too, especially when he's particularly lovesick for you.

"you're so warm... I've never felt this warm in my life. Oh God, mmmmmng, ugh y're just perfect, mmmmmng baby, b-babybslowdownicantbreathe NNNNG!!"

Izuku is gone over you. Slotting himself against you and shoving himself into the heat of you is a homecoming for him. He'll push and thrust with every breath he can manage, lost in every sensation while begging for more, begging for praise, begging for your touch like it's life-giving. Missionary is his die-hard favorite, but Lotus a very close second- for the views alone.

Morning sex? Izuku is down. Post-brunch playtime? Izuku is already having his 'second breakfast'. Naptime cuddles turn a bit more on the frisky side? Guess who's fault that is. Jumping to dessert before dinner? Guess who again. Izuku Midoriya holds no set 'spicy hours'; whatever his wife wants, his wife gets.

(personal take) but I'd think with how hard that man works, how much thought he puts into everything he does, how he ties such a great deal of his personal commitment and worth into his pursuits... it would be extremely hard to get Izuku out of 'work mode' and into a spicy headspace very easily.

He can't get turned on with just a single look at you. You're a sight for sore eyes at the end of the day- no doubt in mind about that! But he's gonna take some TLC before he's ready to jump into bed.

But give him a backrub, a hand massage, or the space to vent out all his leftover feelings and frustrations. Izuku will feel free, once it's all off his chest... then he'll look to you expectantly, ready and waiting for some beloved cockwarming. His chin will lift, some bidden tears may form at his lash line, and he'll look to you to relieve the rest.

"M'head's too full, honey. C'you make it stop? Please..?" "I just want you. Just want you." "Don' wanna talk about it anymore. Day's done. But this-- this, I want. This, I can do. I-I can be... I can be 'me' here.. right? You still love me like this?" "No one can settle me like you, sweet girl. Nothing comes close, feeling like this. Oh baby, please-- please can I have you? I'll be so gentle, I promise, please?"

When you're away for work (after your intimate life has been established), he truly thinks he's sore outta luck whenever he can't be with you in person... but you have other ideas to the first time you call him after the first four-day stretch of radio silence due to top-secret meetings... when he stretches while getting up from his seat and moans over the phone by accident...

"Careful how much noise you're making, sweetie," you have to tease him- just a little, "that does things to a girl."

"W-what?!"

"You heard me."

He's buffering. Chucking low, which only makes it worse.

"I do miss you," he offers shyly.

"I miss you too," you answer wistfully. "So much, my love."

"What have you got left? Two weeks?"

"Three, hun."

He hums a little agitated again, and you re-settle in your seat,

"'Zuku, what'd I just say?"

He's laughing incredulously now.

"Aw c'mon, you're turned on just hearing me stretch? I can't even complain how much I miss you?!"

"Nope. Not allowed.. unless you're trying to start somethin'~ "

He's quiet for a beat- off his guard. Izuku is scared to say something else, bc the soft noise in his throat is beating at him to come out. Had you been in front of him, you might have been able to see that shift.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"Goodness, you're trouble..."

"You miss having trouble around~"

This makes him sigh, knowing all to well. "You know I do..."

"How much, teach?"

The formal petname both alarms and pleases him, you're sure about that. It's the first affectionate nickname you'd called him... but knowing he'd have to face his class of twenty with a straight face, the fact that you're sighing that title now gives him thoughts. Dirty thoughts.

"Don't call me that..."

"Awww why not?"

"Because my students call me that! And I have to be there in an hour and run them through evac drills today, and they're gonna be callin' after me, nonstop.."

"mmm so you're busy?"

...it's a trap... But Izuku falls straight into it.

You see it now, 13 hours away: Izuku, testing the accuracy of the clock on the wall with the one on his watch. Izuku ,sliding his morning coffee back onto the counter. Izuku, with the glow of morning sun still climbing through your windows in the front room, walking to make himself comfortable, calculating the riskiest wager and clearing his voice from away from the speakerphone.

You're rewarded for your soft voice that drips with desire; he's sat in his oversized papasan chair you two normally double up in for a nap- you can hear the creaks from the receiver, where he takes a knee before turning into it, already sinking his hand onto his partially unzipped fly.

He'll talk about anything and everything relating to you in order to make these next three weeks fly by faster. Anything to get you on a plane back home. Anything to get you back in bed.

"Not too busy for my pretty girl."

[euphoricfilter]

come sit on my lap:

pairing: jungkook x afab! reader

genre: porn without plot || smut || established relationship || non-idol au (?)

tags/ warnings: pwp, mentioned masturbation, thigh riding, dick riding, praise kink, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid, this is fiction), creampie, mentioned cum stuffing because it didn’t make the cut. afab! reader (no gendered nicknames are used, terms like pussy is used though)

notes: listened to we are bulletproof pt.1 while writing this so do with that information what you will. yoongi’s part has me creaming myself it’s so delicious

notes 2: slight changes have been made from the original plan, otherwise this would have probably been 10k words of straight smut

my full masterlist || archived masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

“you’re home early”

jungkook’s gaze flickers to where you’re stood in the doorway of the living room, your eyebrows furrowing. it wasn’t displeasure painted across your face, just curious confusion.

“i missed you” he instead replies, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

you slip further into the room, used to jungkook’s eyes on you. the rawest form of silent appreciation for the living art that stood before him; perfect in such a human way. jungkook never thought he’d find the right words to describe you. not when you looked so pretty, and perfect, and every other lame excuse of a word that was never really enough to encapsulate your entire existence.

his eyes glaze over the flush of your cheeks, sure to have just gotten out the bath. you liked to treat yourself on your days off, slipping into the hazy water, scented with the fancy bubble bath jungkook liked to treat you to.

you meet his gaze, head tilting in a silent question of what he was doing.

“come sit on my lap” he hums, “been thinking about you all day”

it’s neither a sigh nor a laugh that spills from your lips, maybe amusement. maybe love. maybe an unexplainable emotion that you reserved especially for jungkook, and jungkook only.

“yeah?”

and he nods, taking your hand into his own once you’re close enough. he tugs you down, helping you straddle one of his thighs; exactly where he’d wanted you.

he’d been thinking about this all day. how slick your cunt would get, always so easy to rile up. how he wanted to suck meanly on your poor little clit until you cried, and you begged for him to take the barest hint of mercy on you.

the mere thought of you sat in his lap, desperate for him to bring you that mind-numbing pleasure you loved to much— had his cock hardening in his pants.

if he had any lick of shame, then he might have felt guilt for getting himself off in the bathroom during his lunch break. his cock spit-soaked sticky, fist tugging at his length, a pitiful imitation of what your pussy would feel like squeezing his length until he came into his fist.

“so pretty” his hands slip down to your waist, lithe fingers barely grazing underneath your shirt, his chest deflating at the touch of your warm skin.

his thigh flexes, and you have to bite your lip to stop the moan that threatened to slip out— a flit of pleasure crawling up your body.

and as subtle as you’d like to be, jungkook can’t help the slow smile that pulls at his cheeks. not when he can feel your pussy clenching through your thin sleep shorts.

he wonders how long it’ll take for them to soak through. or how long it’ll take you to beg he run his fingers over your pussy, pressing over your clit. sinking past your walls and pressing meanly over your sweet spot until you’re shaking and begging ever so sweetly.

your hips roll forwards ever so slightly, desperation seeping from every morsel of your body. desperate for the faintest of friction to solve the issue you found yourself facing.

“don’t be shy, baby” jungkook hums, fingers digging into the meat of your hips, “use me”

“don’t say things like that” you whine, hands coming to cover your face, hot embarrassment searing your cheeks the faintest pink.

jungkook’s head tips backwards, low laugh rumbling from his chest. he flexes his thigh, cock throbbing at the moan that gets caught in the back of your throat.

“hands away from your face, come on. you know i love how pretty you look when you feel good” he takes hold of your wrists, tugging your hands to his chest.

your tongue wets your bottom lip as you find your rhythm, hips rocking forward in desperate little circles.

one of your hands slips from jungkook’s hold, thighs straining as you push yourself up. you slide the crotch of your shorts to the side, bare pussy clenching when it come in contact with jungkook’s pants.

“no panties?”

you smile, shaking your head.

you fumble with jungkook’s belt as you rut your hips forward, delicious pleasure spreading up your body with each drag of your clit against his thigh.

“want your cock” you press a kiss to his jaw, warm breath tickling his skin.

“yeah?” his voice comes out breathless.

“mhmm”

jungkook helps you, undoing his button as you push yourself to kneel over this thigh. you moan when his bare skin knocks against your clit, lifting his hips to pull his underwear down, fabric pooling at his ankles as you slip your shorts off.

your fingers wrap around his shaft, spit dribbling from your tongue onto the tip of his cock.

you jolt forwards when curious fingers part your labia, teasing over you hole.

“fuck” you whine when a finger slips into you, curling as a thumb rubs over your clit.

you squeeze his cock, thumbing the underside of the head, smearing the pearly little beads of pre cum down his shaft.

“spit on it, baby” jungkook looks at you through hooded eyes, tongue toying with his lip ring as you bounce ever so slightly on the second finger jungkook slips into your pussy.

you spit into your palm, mind too muddled to cringe at the stickiness that clings to your skin as you curl your fingers back around his cock, wrist flicking how you know he likes it.

“so good for me” he groans, hips bucking up into your hand, “come here”

his fingers slip from your cunt, helping you fully straddle his lap. his cock slides against your thigh, trail of pre cum painting your skin sticky. weird, primal satisfaction buzzing through jungkook’s veins as he marks you up with his leaking arousal.

you take hold of jungkook’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks.

“gimme a kiss” you whisper against his lips, “please”

“so polite” he murmurs, tilting his face, lips pillowing yours.

your mouth parts, breathy sigh licked up by jungkook as he presses his tongue past your lips.

blindly you take ahold of his cock, tugging at it once before you line him up with your entrance.

your hips rock forwards, folds parting around his cock. fizzling pleasure vibrating within you with each nudge of his cockhead against your clit.

“don’t tease” his voice comes out low, tongue prodding at your bottom lip. so shiny, a mixture of both your spit mingled and threatening to drip down your chin.

“sorry” you lift your hips up, tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. your hands brace on his shoulders, thighs quivering with each thick inch of jungkook’s cock sliding further between your walls.

“oh fuck” you moan, head falling onto his shoulder as you bottom out.

jungkook’s fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, stomach tightening in pleasure as your walls clench around his cock.

“you okay?” jungkook asks, hips barely rutting up into you.

“yeah, just feels nice” you trail a finger between your bodies, fingers thrumming ever so slightly over your clit.

arousal soaks jungkook’s cock, dribble of slick wetting his balls.

“might get tired though” you tell him as you sit up a little bit, hips rocking forward.

“i’ll help you” he smiles, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

you hum at that. feeling a twinge of a burn in your thighs as you push yourself up, head of his cock still sheathed within you before you drop back down his full length.

you think the air is punched from your lungs, hand that had been playing with your clit balancing yourself on his knee.

“shit, baby” jungkook groans, pulling you up his cock from your ass, “loosen up a bit”

you shake your head, mouth falling open, a moan cutting you off when his cock knocks against your sweet spot. desperation and adrenaline a fiery combination that has you pushing through the pain in your thighs, pussy swallowing his cock over and over until you’re leaking slick, and jungkook can’t help the moan that spills from his lips.

“jungkook” you cry, “s’ so good”

you feel yourself hurdling closer to an orgasm, each rugged stroke of his cock, and each brutal brush against your sweet spot sending you into overdrive.

“gonna cum?” he asks, fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts up into you. merciless and be chases his own high, rutting up into your with a new found vigour that has you hiccuping— nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

you wilt into his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as you reach your peak; quickly tumbling down the other side as jungkook’s balls slap wetly against your ass, pleasure fueled moans a harmony with your own.

you feel jungkook’s cock twitch as you ride out your high, cunt creamy leaking down his balls as he cums; coating your walls sticky with his seed.

he ruts up into you once more, hands pulling you down as far as you can on his cock as he empties himself out inside of you. thick pulses of cum spilling into you.

“fuck” his head knocks against the back of the couch, “you’re milking me” he laughs, balls tightening when your walls clench around his softening length.

your chest stutters for a breath, hips twitching at the aftermath of your orgasm.

“you’re insatiable” jungkook licks his bottom lip when you circle your hips. “gonna have to give me a minute to recover”

jungkook lays you back, fumbling around for the small pillows propped up against the arm of the couch. he pulls the bottom half of your body up by your ankles, slipping two pillows under your hips.

“no clenching. and no spilling; i plan to stuff you full tonight” he raises an eyebrow, a silent challenge to disobey.

he runs his fingers through your slit, barely dipping between your walls to push his seed back inside of you.

“think you can do that?”

you nod, “don’t make me cum, otherwise it’s gonna make a mess of the pillows”

“you’ll be making more than a mess of the pillows” his nose scrunches. and you’re unsure if it’s bubbly love that fills your body, possibly a new wave of arousal.

maybe both.

[squinch-depraved]

idea: schlatt and you trying some special sex chocolate and accidentally take way more than you mean to and the effects r starting to take place 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

-🐏 anon

oh this is yuMMy. delicious. scrumptious, even. thank u to 🐏 anon for being my first ever ask ily mwah i hope this is good i've never used these chocolates before but i might have to 🫣

coming home from a long day to your boyfriend's empty apartment was not what you were hoping for. you were hoping to come home to him watching something on the tv, rotting on the couch in his usual comfy clothes, playing with his two sweet cats, and just waiting for you to get home. in your mind, he would have sprung up to greet you the second the door opened, gliding through the apartment to place a tender kiss on your lips as he picks you up and twirls you around. but the unnerving silence you actually did come home to rips you from your daydream before he can place you back down on the ground and gush about how much he missed you. the cats finally skitter up to you, meowing and trilling in a way that lets you know they're absolutely starved for attention (he's been gone maybe 20 minutes, probably). cooing at the sweet babies as they butt their heads into your legs, you pet them and settle in for the night.

after having changed into one of his shirts and deciding pants weren't worth the effort, you stumble into the kitchen to grab a snack. lucky you, your perfect boyfriend had left a plain gold box of 12 wrapped chocolates on the counter! no labels, other than a little logo in the corner, but a small note was stuck onto the top of the box, reading: "take ONE - be back soon toots" along with a heart. you sigh contentedly and tear into the box. you hadn't had much time to eat today, and you were sure your boyfriend who loved to spoil you would be fine with you having more than the allotted amount of mysterious chocolates. what's the worst that could happen, they're edibles? at least then you'll have a story to contend with ted's!

the first chocolate melts on your tongue, leaving an almost rosy flavor behind that you can't quite get enough of. you debate if this'll be worth the punishment, but the chocolate was impossibly good, so you decide to go in for one two three more before dancing yourself down the hallway and into your shared bedroom. feeling slightly warm, you lay down in the middle of your bed and put some random video on the tv, dozing off a few minutes later. your job was exhausting, he'll get the hint you're sleeping and come find you when he gets home to a silent apartment. see how he likes it.

but he doesn't come home to a silent apartment. whimpers and moans bounce off the walls, echoing down the hall from your bedroom's open door. his eyes immediately dart to the little gold box on the counter, eyebrows shooting up in an oh, fuck motion when he sees the four wrappers littering the surface. he quickly drops his stuff where it needs to go and pops two chocolates in his mouth himself, figuring he'll need help keeping up with you after how many you've had, before quickly walking to the bedroom. the sight that awaits him leaves him standing in the doorway for a while until he finally decides to wake you up.

you lay there, babbling in your sleep, random phrases about how good something feels and how close you were. mostly incoherent horny gibberish. your (his) shirt has ridden up a bit, panties visible and soaked as you writhe unconsciously, desperately trying to get friction from a pillow, the blanket, something, anything. it makes him smirk, and he watches you for a moment before sitting down and gently stroking your cheek.

"y/n," you hear. "doll, c'mon, i gotta take care of you." you slowly come to, and once you process that he's here, he's back, you jump him. pulling him down to kiss you before attacking his neck with little nibbles until he pulls away, a stern (yet amused) look on his face. "i told you one. ONE. piece of chocolate."

you hide your face in your hands. "what the fuck did you do to me, j?? i thought maybe they were edibles or something, but this doesn't feel like a normal high? i'm sorry, i know i shouldn't have eaten them now but oh my god, what did you DO to me? i feel like a feral, ovulating, cavewoman or some shit!!" you whine, earning a laugh from him.

"they're sex chocolates."

you move your hands and look at him. "sex chocolates," you repeat.

he nods.

"why the fuck wouldn't you say that??" you smack his arm.

he grins and replies, "thought the mystery would be sexy."

"i mean, inadvertently, yeah!" you sigh, amused and frustrated all at the same time.

he strokes your hair and kisses your forehead. "i took two to keep up with you," he breathes into your ear.

you hook your legs around him and pull him as close to you as you can. "then let's go! c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," you pant as you grind up against him, groans spilling from his lips. "fuck me! touch me! something, j, please, i'm begging you," you plead, kissing him frantically all over his chest and neck. hands exploring under his sweater and dragging nails down his back, arching your back and moaning without him having to even do anything, he swears he's never been this hard.

the first time you cum, it's from his head between your thighs, tongue lapping at your clit and sopping pussy like a man deprived of water for days. he keeps going until you're crying, begging him for another kind of stimulation besides his thick fingers ramming in and out of you and his chops brushing against your purple-marked thighs. the second time you cum is also from his masterful mouth, and this time he listens when you say you can't take it anymore. he drags himself up to look at you, kisses you in a way that leaves you breathless, and slowly pushes himself into you as you whine and squirm.

round one, he starts gentle, slowly working his way up to a medium pace, where he starts fondling your chest. once he really gets going, though, he's spitting on you, choking you, and rubbing your clit with his thumb all while pounding into you at an incredible pace. "so good for me, toots," he growls, fucking into you almost inhumanely now. all you can manage is a whimper. you cum once more before he pulls out and makes you suck him off til he finishes, grabbing your hair and guiding you up and down, and then really far down before cumming down your throat.

ten minutes of making out later and round two starts with him shoving you down, hands and knees, so he can shove himself into you from behind. something about the recoil of your ass makes his brain short circuit. he brings his hand around to your clit again and it's not long before you're screaming that you're about to cum again, and he smacks your ass so hard you know it's going to leave a mark and says, "fuckin' cum for me, you stupid slut. can't listen to directions but i bet you'll follow that one, huh?" through gritted teeth. you cry out and collapse as your fourth orgasm rips through you. he holds you up long enough for him to somehow speed up before filling you up with his pearlescent seed.

you both lay there for a second before he kisses the back of your head and pulls out, leaving to go get you some water and then help you to the bathroom. you make a mental note to always eat more than one of those chocolates and sigh, finally feeling satisfied.

[buckyalpine]

Bodyguard Bucky x Drunk reader

This little drabble is for an idea from one of my favorite angel babies, its SO CUTE. Might make a longer version of this at some point but for now: 

“Buckyyyy” You clung onto him like a koala, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the heady scent of his cologne. After a drink too many, you were happy to crawl into his lap, tipsy enough to happily wrap yourself around him, though still mostly aware of your surroundings. He remained silent, a classic grumpy scowl on his lips, keeping his eyes straight to the SUV. 

He wrapped his strong arms around you, carrying you and walking to the car, his broad frame keeping you snug against his chest while moving through the crowd with ease. No one stood in his way, immediately moving aside from his facial expression alone. Piercing blue eyes and a clenched jaw daring anyone to make the mistake of coming near you. 

“M’so sleepy” You whined against his neck, letting your hangs cling around his neck, squeezing your legs tighter around his tapered waist. 

“It’s okay pretty girl, I’m taking you home” He murmured, not wasting a second getting you outside and into the all black SUV that was parked at the club entrance. He swallowing thickly when he felt your soft lips press gentle kisses along his neck, the warmth of your breath tickling his skin as he slid into the back seat, nodding to the driver to get going. 

“So handsome” Your nose nudged into his shoulder, burying yourself into him as much as you could, refusing to let him move you from his lap. He spent the entire ride letting you cuddle into him while he held you securely, carefully holding you as he stepped out once you’d reached home. He carried you right to your bedroom, setting you down on your bed. You whined when he tried to pull away, pulling him back, giving him your sweetest pout, glassy and wide. 

“Please don’ go” You mumbled, tucking yourself into him, “Stay? Please?”

How was he supposed to leave you when you were so sweet and cuddly and so utterly adorably drunk. 

“Alright babygirl” He whispered, kissing your forehead, “I gotta get you clean up first through, okay?” He went to you bathroom, well versed in what your night time routine was, making note of the smallest details in everything you did in a day. He found some wipes, and your lotions, bringing them over and gently rubbing the makeup off your face while your mind was still stuck on the name he called you. 

“M’your babygirl?” You asked hopefully, noting the way his cheeks blushed, trying to ignore the way his heart fluttered but it was impossible around you. 

“Always, you’re always my babygirl” He smoothed the cool lotion onto your skin before helping you out of your heels. He convinced you to get changed out of your dress, staying stationed outside of the closet in case you fell over but you were changed seconds later. You came out in an oversized tshirt- his oversized tshirt to be exact, that you’d stolen unbeknownst to him. 

So that’s where it went he shook his head to himself, biting back a smile while you flopped back onto bed, stretching on the covers like a kitten before giving him grabby hands. 

“What is it princess” He knew what you wanted but it went against what he was there for. He had to protect you and to do that he couldn’t ever let his guard down. Not one moment of vulnerability, not when he had to protect you. 

But fuck, you were so utterly irresistible and he’d be lying to himself if he thought there was nothing he felt for you. He came down to tuck you in, hoping the warmth of the blankets would help you sleep but you tugged him into bed instead, wrapping your entire body around him. 

“You’re blushing” you giggled, cupping his scruffy cheek, letting your thumb trace his pink lips. He could help but chuckle, hoping you’d forget all this by morning, letting his fingers trace over your delicate features. 

“You act all grumpy but you’re actually a teddy bear”

He cocked an eyebrow while you tried to copy him, scrunching you brows together instead making him grin. He smoothed the line that formed between your brows, loving the way you continued to contort your face trying to match his grumpy face. 

“A teddy bear, huh?”

“My teddy bear” You sighed contently, snuggling into him, a yawn slipping past your lips. You let the warmth of his arms drift you off to sleep, still smiling as you snored softly. 

“My babygirl” He held you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, allowing himself to fall asleep with you; after all you’d always be safest in his arms. 

[shalomniscient]

you’re seven years old and barefoot on the beach of yaoguang shoal with sand between your toes and salt-brushed wind in your hair when ningguang makes her first and only promise to you.

“when we grow up, i’ll marry you.”

the words are big, heavy on her child’s tongue but she speaks them with conviction nonetheless. her hands are laced with yours, your small fingers slotting perfectly with one another. the sunset makes her eyes glow like how you imagine the amber does at jueyun karst. you’re too young, too childish to really understand the weight of her vow—but you nod with a smile, squeezing her hands tighter.

“i’ll wait for you,” you say, hoping she can hear the sincerity in your voice. it’s a foolish hope, because you know that ningguang knows you better than you even know yourself. she returns your smile with one of her own, her hand never leaving yours as you walk back to your village, the sunset at your backs. the light paints ningguang in gold, and you can’t help but think at seven years old that this is how things should be—hand in hand with the girl you know you love before you even knew the meaning of the word, barefoot together in the sand.

you’re seven years old when you learn how things should be, but you’re fifteen years old when you learn how things are.

ningguang leaves for the city. she tells you before she goes, of course, holds you close as you weep selfishly into her shoulder. her hands are gentle as she sifts them through your hair, along your scalp and down the nape of your neck before wrapping around your slim, hunger-carved shoulders. i have to go, she’d said, or else how will i afford our wedding? and you’d wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter at all what kind of wedding you had, as long as she stayed with you—that all the riches in the world are worthless without her. but for as much as she knows you, you know her, and you know that ningguang is not to be deterred once she sets her mind on something, so you send her off with a delicately packed mora meat and a prayer in your heart that she’ll come back soon.

you’re fifteen years old when you learn how things are, and you’re twenty-one years old when you learn how things will be.

it’s been six years since ningguang left. even in the backwater village you call home, tales of ningguang’s exploits reach your ears. how she runs circles around liyue’s businessmen and businesswomen, how she effortlessly finds her place amidst liyue’s social elite, how she’s rising, rising, rising like an unstoppable eclipsing star. she keeps writing to you, always keeping you updated on her progress, and you always write back, filling your letters with the mundanity of your day-to-day life—about the way the glaze lillies have been blooming, or about the way everyone around you says you’d make a fine wife.

my parents are getting restless, you confess in one letter. i’m getting older, and they think i should get married soon.

the reply that returns the next week is simple, but succint. i haven’t forgotten. wait for me, please. and you know she hasn’t, which is why it kills you when your new husband forbids you from ever writing to her again. you weep yourself to sleep on your side of the bed for the next week following your wedding night. the distress of wondering—if ningguang is worried, if she’s upset, or worse, if she’s hurt by you—drives you near insane to the point you worry yourself sick. your husband only tells you to stop holding on to naive childhood promises and perform your duties as a wife. it is the only thing you are good for, now.

you’re twenty-one years old when you learn how things will be, but you’re twenty-nine when you learn that things can change.

in the years you have been married, your husband has grown—not in character, but in wealth. he is rich enough, now, to take you and himself from your village and to the big city to further his business. a small spark flickers to life in your chest that you might see her again, but it fizzles out when your husband makes it clear that you are just to stay at home. you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything other than the house, he’d said. i’ll give you everything you need. and you know better than to argue with him, so you resign yourself to staying at home, spending your days gazing up at that palace in the sky and wondering if its lady even remembers you—or if she, like you, has decided to let go of naive childhood promises. after all, she has the world now, can see it from the edges of her floating sanctuary. what need has she of the memory of being barefoot in the sand at seven years old?

(selfishly, you pray she hasn’t forgotten, even if she has no need for remembrance. you pray she chooses to remember.)

change comes when a woman in a white fur jacket and the prettiest emerald eyes you’ve ever seen breaks into your house. it’s certainly a very unorthodox meeting, and you come dangerously close to throwing the knife you were using to finely dice some cabbage at her. the woman only laughs, nimbly prying it from your hands and setting it on the counter. before you can even ask her what in rex lapis’s name she’s doing in your house, she says the words that make your blood run cold.

the tianquan wants to see you.

ningguang wants to see you.

the woman promptly leaves after delivering her message and additionally telling you not to breath a word of it to your husband, leaving you standing in your kitchen reeling from the shock. the mora meat you were working on putting together is forgotten as you swallow your nerves and take the chance you’ve waited nine years for. you’re nearly sick with it by the time you’ve ascended to the jade chamber in all of its opulence, feeling like you stick out like a sore thumb.

but the moment you see ningguang again, everything else fades to white noise. archons, she’s as beautiful as the day you last saw her. she was lovely dressed in commoner’s clothes, and she is just as lovely dressed in finery no doubt worth more than a year’s worth of your rent. she will never be anything other than lovely in your eyes.

“it’s been a while,” she says softly, the first to break the silence. you nearly cry at finally hearing her voice again. instead, you stifle it with a wet chuckle.

“only took fourteen years.”

ningguang manages a small laugh, lips curving upward in a smile you know—you remember—is reserved only for you. she offers you a seat by her desk, and two secretaries file in to place a tea set down by both of you, before disappearing as quickly as they came. and then ningguang is telling you about the real reason she asked to see you; your husband, as you are quite unsurprised, is involved with some sort of fraud, and the prosecution—the tianquan’s office—needs a witness. namely, you. after all, who better than the wife of the man himself? you try not to let your disappointment show, though, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking her if she remembers—or worse, if she missed you. your conversation with her is pure business, and when you descend from the chamber later, it’s only with the taste of sweet tea on your tongue and half your heart; the other half you seem to have left with her, up in the clouds.

your husband, to his displeasure and rage, finds himself in millelith custody the very next day. and the very next week, you, to your pleasure and joy, find yourself lacking a husband. the millelith who take him away politely point you to an office down the street ran by a pink-haired half-adeptus, who takes care of your divorce affairs with a cheery smile in less than four days. you’re both scared and impressed—is this just how people move in the big city…? you don’t have time to dwell on the question, because unfortunately, without your husband you are also without your income, and without your income you are also without your house. which would be a very big problem; were it not for the fact that ningguang once again invites you to the jade chamber, but this time, to stay with her. you nearly decline because of the sheer insanity of the request, but the part of your heart there with her wins out. you relent, and now, you find yourself playing house with the tianquan of the liyue qixing.

it’s almost frightening, how quickly you fall back into old habits. ningguang, you find, hasn’t changed much. she is still whip-smart, still as cunning as she is devious, but she is still just as kind as she was before. something in you aches viscerally when you see the way she speaks with the children, offering them candies and goodies as she goes. (things neither of you had the luxury in indulging as children.) you smile and tell her, you haven’t changed at all. she only looks at you and returns it with, have you? the answer eluded you at the time, but thinking about it more, you would say that yes, i have. but the parts that loved you never did.

(you don’t say this out loud, of course. it’s too early, and the chasm of years between you both yawns achingly large. but by the glint of her eyes, you think she knows. and if she didn’t, the time and care she spent relearning you would have told her as well.)

since you’re not sure how long ningguang will let you stay, you decide to make the most of it. you’re almost thankful for the nine dull years you spent with your former husband—since at the very least, it taught you how to be a half decent wife. it’s all you’re good for now, after all. ningguang’s meals are cooked by you, and you’re the one who brings her tea in the afternoons and evenings. you talk with her over your cups like nothing ever happened, and you walk with her round the perimeter of the jade chamber as the sun sets, her hand close enough to hold. rumors dance in the wind like dandelions about the tianquan’s new companion; some call you an old friend, others, a lover. the answer is somehow both, yet neither. she is everything to you, and more.

(and you are everything to her and more. the infinte she has been searching for her whole life is right there in your eyes. it always has been.)

you’re twenty nine years old when you realise things can change, and you’re thirty years old when you remember how things should be.

ningguang takes a rare day off, and invites you on a little excursion to yaoguang shoal. it’s been a year since you started living with her. a year since you’ve been freed from a man you never loved, and a year since you’ve come to realise that it’s because you’re still in love with ningguang—and that perhaps, you never stopped. it’s not as difficult as an epiphany to come to terms with, but it does make your chest ache every time you look at her. especially now, in this place, where the waves carry salt-brushed wind and memories of a distant time. the sun hangs low in the sky, and ningguang is kicking off her heels, barefoot in the sand. all of a sudden you’re seven years old again, watching her watch the waves and wondering if her eyes glow the same like the amber at jueyun karst. you slip your own footwear off too, standing by her side in the sand, the water lapping at your ankles. she speaks first.

“i still remember,” she murmurs, and your heart catches in your throat. when she looks at you, it’s with all the bare innocence she looked at you with twenty-three years ago. “do you?”

“of course,” you answer, without a beat of hesitation. “how could i forget?” how could i forget you?

ningguang smiles. “then you remember what i promised you here?”

“yes,” you breathe. “i remember.”

the woman before you exhales, the sound nearly drowned out by the sigh of the waves as they crash onto the shore. her geo vision glimmers, and a crystalline box manifests in her hands—her hands that tremble as they open it, revealing a simple golden band inside. “will you forgive me for taking so long?” she whispers, and you clasp your hands over her own, steadying them. you rest your forehead against hers, caught halfway between a sob and a laugh.

“i would have waited for you forever, ningguang.”

she exhales again. catches her breath. “then, will you let me fulfill my promise and marry me?”

you answer her with the only possible answer, catching her lips in a kiss twenty-three years in the making.

yes.

[astonmartinii]

if you need me, let me know, gonna be around [mamma mia part seven] | formula one social media au

drivers: sebastian vettel, fernando alonso & fernando alonso

flo has finally given y/n the experience of motherhood, but she’ll never forget about her overgrown kids

MAMMA MIA MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, sebastianvettel and 1,934,033 others

tagged: jensonbutton

yourusername: venturing out from christmas hibernation and adding to the already overflowing collection of teddies. oh, and getting pics like that of jens while he's out "having a job"

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user1: i am a simple woman, i see dilf jenson, i lose all sense of reality

user2: gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

jensonbutton: oh wow who is that handsome specimen on the last slide?

sebastianvettel: the man who carelessly abandoned his family !!!

fernandoalo_oficial: a man who couldn't handle that i was the best driver in the family

jensonbutton: what ???

sebastianvettel: i'm sorry... is that the ghost of the man we once knew

jensonbutton: i'm not dead

fernandoalo_oficial: to me you are

yourusername: okay guys ... the bit is up !! we do miss you jense but we're happy you're happy :)

sebastianvettel: sure.... well at least you won't try and worm your way into the crochet club

fernandoalo_oficial: as long as you still come to some of my races :)

user3: glad to see parenthood has not changed these fools

charles_leclerc: why do my selfies never make the instagram :(

yourusername: charlie, if i posted every time you sent me a picture of you crying that's all my instagram would be

charles_leclerc: but ........ i thought i was your favourite

yourusername: you know i don't have a favourite

charles_leclerc: sure if that's what you want to tell yourself

maxverstappen1: we all know you say that to not hurt charlie's feelings because i'm your favourite

fernandoalo_oficial: you people are so dramatic

maxverstappen1: says you old man, i can scroll up you know

sebastianvettel: well you're all second to flo

charles_leclerc: she's disqualified from this competition, she's your actual child you have to say she's your favourite

jensonbutton: it's more who annoys us the least

user4: 2024 and nothing has changed here

sebastianvettel

liked by yourusername, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,045,388 others

sebastianvettel: love being miles away, missing my baby and getting a running commentary of how my "grid kids" are terrorising y/n

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user7: seb is on a mission to pick up every dad hobby ever. first beekeeping and now sailing

user8: don't forget the gardening and the crochet

user9: he's collecting the infinity stones of dilfism

yourusername: a full eight hours of sleep looks so good on you

sebastianvettel: so i don't look good all the time 🤨

yourusername: of course you do handsome. me and flo miss you :((

sebastianvettel: don't say that i miss you all so much

fernandoalo_oficial: maybe that's your sign to come home?

jensonbutton: yeah i think you should listen to the universe seb, you like all that crystal and salt of the earth stuff

yourusername: sebbbbbbbbb :(((((

sebastianvettel: STOP

user10: they are so precious to me

yourusername: no but seriously if i have to teach another grid kid how to iron i might lose my mind

charles_leclerc: ummmmm stop blasting me on main?

yourusername: learn to iron then

sebastianvettel: you still don't know how to iron? i thought i taught you in 2019?

charles_leclerc: clearly not well enough !! and y/n please name and shame the others so i'm not alone

yourusername: @landonorris @logansargeant sorry

landonorris: WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU Y/N? I CALLED YOU IN CONFIDENCE

logansargeant: i don't have any excuse, thank you for the lesson y/n :)

jensonbutton: at least one of our kids is well mannered

charles_leclerc: i am well mannered, sorry i love my grid mum and her kid. i do semi-know how to iron but needed an excuse to see flo :(

user11: free my girl from these incompetent men

mickschumacher

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoao_oficial and 921,743 others

tagged: yourusername

mickschumacher: thanks nurse y/n and nurse flo for helping me - sorry about your mug

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user12: the plaster :((((((((

jensonbutton: IT WAS YOU WHO BROKE MY I <3 NASCAR DILFS MUG

mickschumacher: sorry !

jensonbutton: nuh uh mister @sebastianvettel sort your kid out

sebastianvettel: mick said he was sorry jenson, leave him be

jensonbutton: but when lando put the rubbish in the wrong recycling he had to go litter picking with you I WANT A NEW MUG

yourusername: you guys know they aren't actually your kids, you can't put them in time out

yourusername: you can barely put your own child in time out

fernandoalo_oficial: she's too cute i don't want to make her cry

landonorris: but it's fine to make me cry?

fernandoalo_oficial: yes. in fact, it's quite fun

landonorris: Y/N!!!!

yourusername: okay, babies let's all put the phones down for this evening.

user13: nooooo y/n please i could watch these idiots argue all day

yourusername: the main thing is that your finger is all okay and that you got a cute plaster out of it

mickschumacher: i very much love my lil cat finger

yourusername: so does flo, i think you might be stuck doing puppet shows for the forseeable future

mickschumacher: anything for miss flo

user14: mamma mia family dynamics you are everything to me

fernandoalo_oficial: why did mick get a kitty plaster and i got told to do it myself :(

yourusername: because you're a grown man and you injured yourself by tripping with darts in your hands

fernandoalo_oficial: mick is a grown man - HE CAN VOTE just because he needs seb's help with the paperwork does not change that

mickschumacher: you said yourself they are confusing !!

sebastianvettel: ignore him mick

fernandoalo_oficial: booooooooo

user15: i know these men provide the best entertainment for flo even if she doesn't understand a word they're saying

yourusername: she finds them very entertaining which then starts a competition to who can make her laugh the most

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,447,734

tagged: alexalbon, lilymunhe

yourusername: sometimes even my most competent grid kid needs some help, happy anniversary alex and lily x

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user16: UGH this is so cute

alexalbon: grid mum or emotional support retail assistant?

lilymunhe: so how much of the heartfelt gift was really you

alexalbon: 90% !!! i swear

yourusername: it was all alex he just needed the support (idk he said that jewellery shops are stressful)

alexalbon: they are !! i don't know how big fingers are :(

lilymunhe: thank you y/n wouldn't want the 27 year old man to get lost at the mall

yourusername: no worries, i somehow gained at least 15 extra children along with flo, i just go with it. he's less hassle than charles and max

charles_leclerc: rude.

maxverstappen1: gasp!

user17: i love how much y/n has really embraced the grid mum life

user18: i don't think she had much choice 😭

user19: the way she's like "oh i'll help you all with anything you need" and takes flo on all of these side missions and the guys just leave them to die 😭

user20: they're such dad's who don't want the cat but end up attached but don't want to show it

jensonbutton: wait which one of us claim alex? is it me? why was i not invited?

alexalbon: ur my williams dad :) and i think this trip needed a woman's touch (and flo's touch obvs)

jensonbutton: rude i give great gifts

fernandoalo_oficial: considering he's one of the least feral and has lily, i want to claim alex

sebastianvettel: i have too many kids you guys can have alex

alexalbon: sebastian! did our gardening afternoons mean nothing ?

lilymunhe: we'll take it nando

sebastianvettel: did you or did you not just make it a competition with george to see who could plant potatoes the fastest and then make a mess of my vegetable garden

georgerussell63: GUILTY

yourusername: soz but you all have to claim all of them, my rules now

user21: y/n and flo going to rule that house with an iron fist

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by yourusername, jensonbutton and 1,309,244 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

fernandoalo_oficial: glad to be back on the podium, but even more proud to call you my grid kid. we all love you, especially flo :)

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user24: THEY HAVE MATCHING MIFFY PLUSHIES

user25: miffy is dutch so that might be why max got them matching ones :)

yourusername: and flo is surgically attached to her miffy (she has named her maxi, even if she can barely say it)

maxverstappen1: you are one of my heroes and it was a pleasure to share the podium with you. there's no one else in the world i'd love to dedicate my podium to than lil mia x

fernandoalo_oficial: you've got me crying again

maxverstappen1: get it all out old man

fernandoalo_oficial: already back to the old man 🤨 i guess i'll take the nice messages while i can

user26: nando getting all mushy is so cute i can't believe this is where we are

charles_leclerc: let it be known that if i had a car fast enough i would also dedicate a win to flo, but for now she'll have to settle for a song

fernandoalo_oficial: is silvia going to kill you? because seb and y/n might kill me if they get your ass over this

charles_leclerc: but it's true, no?

fernandoalo_oficial: you will not trick me into slandering my old team charlie

maxverstappen1: LOL YOU SNOOZE YOU LOSE

charles_leclerc: YOU KNEW THAT WAS MY IDEA THIEF

sebastianvettel: charles why am i getting a call from silvia?

maxverstappen1: LOL

charles_leclerc: brb just going to lourdes

jensonbutton: lol way to get outshined by your kid

fernandoalo_oficial: at least i was in the position to be outshined by my kid

jensonbutton: ERGH you know you can't bring that up

fernandoalo_oficial: you said that you couldn't wait to get away from us

jensonbutton: oop.

yourusername: my wonderful boys!

maxverstappen1: :D

fernandoalo_oficial: i love you both :)

maxverstappen1: awww thanks nando

fernandoalo_oficial: i meant y/n and flo but sure love you too buddy

yourusername

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, jensonbutton and 1,610,449 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: maxy, this means more than you could know, flo very much enjoyed watching 'blu' go fast :)

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user27: is this family going to make me cry? maybe.

user28: side note, how many animal onesies does flo have they're so cute

user29: she's like a lil teddy bear

maxverstappen1: glad to have officially won the title of flo's favourite brother

charles_leclerc: NOT SO FAST MISTER

maxverstappen1: maybe if you were faster you would've dedicated a win to flo :P

charles_leclerc: LOW BLOW

danielricciardo: don't even get me started on the daniel ricciardo erasure

maxverstappen1: shush daniel let the problem children talk

charles_leclerc: yeah daniel, problem children only

sebastianvettel: should we intervene?

yourusername: no, i'm intrigued as to where this is going to go

jensonbutton: i for one love watching these dummies fight

fernandoalo_oficial: let me get my popcorn

maxverstappen1: are we just entertainment to you?

jensonbutton: yes!

charles_leclerc: the minute flo can talk ASK HER WHO IS HER FAVOURITE

sebastianvettel: sure?

user30: they can never ask that question, one of them might never recover

maxverstappen1: for real though, i love you guys and i love flo. i'll send nando home with the trophy as well :)

yourusername: awwww thank you maxy :) @sebastianvettel @fernandoalo_oficial @jensonbutton new shelf needed please

jensonbutton: i'll leave this one to "the woodwork king"

sebastianvettel: am i the only one who does anything in this house?

fernandoalo_oficial: you can't be called the woodwork king and not do the work

yourusername: you don't even let them help seb

sebastianvettel: UGH.

jensonbutton

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 912,774 others

tagged: yourusername, danielricciardo

jensonbutton: day 4,000+ of losing our actual girlfriend to our overgrown kids

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user31: PICTURE OF DANNY WITH FLO ALERT ALERT

yourusername: not my fault you guys picked up so many stray cats while in the sport

jensonbutton: i only claim lando and alex, the rest are the others' faults

yourusername: i know you love it really

jensonbutton: not when the little tornadoes hit our house, eat all of our food and steal my baby

danielricciardo: whoops

jensonbutton: and terrorise my pets DANIEL

danielricciardo: they terrorise each other jenson, maybe they aren't as well trained as you thought

yourusername: oh god...

jensonbutton: HOW DARE YOU !!!! BECKETT, SALMON AND CREAM CHEESE ARE VERY WELL TRAINED AND WELL BEHAVED

user32: old men are going crazy we love to see it

sebastianvettel: are we a bed and breakfast?

yourusername: i fear so. you need to run back from whatever ocean you are in we are low on staff now jenson is back racing. flo might be cute but she's a liability in the kitchen

fernandoalo_oficial: maybe we should just kick them out

yourusername: noooo :( not my babies

fernandoalo_oficial: can we at least charge them?

maxverstappen1: you people are the most stingy millionaires i have ever met

charles_leclerc: i pay you in piano sorry

yourusername: don't listen to them boys, flo and i love having you over

user33: so like is there any way we could open the mamma mia bed and breakfast to the public

fernandoalo_oficial: why do the grid kids see our family more than us?

yourusername: come home more often then :(

fernandoalo_oficial: i'm working on it the plane is delayed :(

jensonbutton: personally i would just run home but that's just me

sebastianvettel: i would simply just walk on water

fernandoalo_oficial: shut up. see you later

yourusername: yay !!!!

fin.

note: writer's block has really been beating my ass so there's always mamma mia to get it flowing again. i'm still working on requests, hopefully they'll come along a little faster now! also - i started an instagram for my small business i am opening it's @badlydrawnf1cats, feel free to follow x

edit: mamma mia will return

taglist: @boiohboii @vellicora @faithm120601 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @luv4kani @eugene-emt-roe @magical-spit @ironmaiden1313 @jaydaaasworld @whoreks @rainerax @nonsensical-nonsence @laneyspaulding19 @chelseyyouraverageluigi @lxclerc @gemofthenight @woweewoowa @tagteamedbitch@imagandom@mypage-myfandoms@mehrmonga@asparklysoul @unstableplant @motorsp0rt@multilovebot@lili-flower03 @its-elias-world @jolixtreesunn@nothingfuninthislife@rileynicol3@kodzuvk@mochimommy2002@fluffyspaceprincess@roseseraj@black-swan-blog27@nyrasslut@justdreamersdream@asfaraslifegets@why4anne@ineffableperson@leilanixx@lunyyx @pupbistro @gaypoetsblog@rafaaoli@champomiel@sadsierra2 @rainerax @lokietro @thecubanator2 @nzygftoji @rockyhayzkid @nmw-am @slytherheign @erikasurfer @turn-around-look-at-what-you-see @greigreyhiyyih @duck-duck-goose-18 @dark-night-sky-99 @ironcowboycopnickel @sizzlingghostoperatorbagel @2bormaybenot @42ndbrokencompass @whotfisvale @lichterfee @sticksdoesart @glitterf1 @turn-around-look-at-what-you-see @lighttsoutlewis @tagteamedbitch @glow-ish @sadg3 @kagatinkita @litoriaxu