#no no the previous statement is not true

[mocking-the-bird]

If Tim and Steph decide that 7am is time for sibling bonding activities, it'll be so, even if the sibling they're bonding with is trying to get some goddamn sleep

[lotus-pear]

rewatched madoka magica again today bc i fucking hate myself and to absolutely no one’s surprise i went through all five stages of grief in a single evening

[2009editingtips]

they weren't in love here </3

[caktusgeuse-afterdark]

Okay so while my husband helps me work up the details for the bead fic, which needs to be PERFECT, I do have an idea for another fic but it is hella violent and hella gross, and I just hope you can all match my freak on this one.

[spilling-blood]

Potential good news in the future for the few ppl that follow the fyoran tag, I am slowly being consumed by the idea of fyoran.

[akechigoroactual]

"ace had to die for luffy to have character development" i dont know if this is true but either way i'm dying badly

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere!Grim Reaper

Male Yandere x Bimbo Fem!Reader || possible light dub/noncon, jerking off, fingering, sex toys, stalking, voyeurism.

A Grim Reaper has been following you around since childhood, bringing you back to life every time you die. But one foolish mistake has him finally revealing himself to you

Yandere!Grim Reaper first met you when the two of you were young. He was only a fledgling Reaper and you were actually his first job. He had been watching you all day, watching you float through life so utterly clueless about everything around you. It was cute… and it would be your demise.

While playing out in the yard you accidentally throw your ball too hard and it rolls onto the road. Like a brainless little pup you go prancing right off the sidewalk, completely unaware of the car zooming down the street.

Seeing you so sweet and happy one minute and now seeing your soul slowly float out of your body causes something to churn in his stomach, his frown deepening. This wasn’t right, you were only his age. There was so much life to live.

So before your soul can completely detach from your form he rushes over and just kinda… pushes it back in. His head jerking from side-to-side as if someone was around to catch him.

Of course, the minute you pop back up, completely ignoring the frantic shouts of the driver, you get up and grab your ball like nothing even happened. Assuring the driver and heading back into the yard to play. He stares after you with his mouth agape.

What was he going to do now? He had broken the rules for you. Did the unthinkable. Now he had other jobs to do, but you were kinda… dumb. He couldn’t just leave you, you’d surely stumble onto another accident soon with how you were going about. No, he had to stay with you. Watch over you and keep you safe. That was his new job.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he may have felt physically unable to leave your side. The thought of not seeing you so joyful and full of life every day creating an unbearable ache in his chest. He needed you as much as you needed him.

And it’s a good thing he stayed too, his previous statement coming true as over the years, now well into your college career, you stumble upon accident after accident. Where he’d have to come over and slam your soul back into your body before you went on without a care. That’s how he liked you after all.

He’d lost track of how many times you’ve technically died. You were a regular at your closest hospital, friends with all the staff. A medical marvel they called you. None of them knowing it was because of him— because of how much he loved you even from the very first day you met. But you have seemed to take the nickname seriously, somehow growing more reckless with your life.

You thought yourself invincible. And perhaps in someway you were. He would not allow you to die and in fact, he may never.

But even he has a limit.

He stands in the corner of your bathroom, his arms crossed over his chest. Watching you intently as he always does while you prepare yourself for a nice soothing bath. He had to watch you. Danger could be lurking behind every corner, especially when it came to you.

So he didn’t exactly have a choice but to watch you in your dorm every day. It not being his fault his cock gets so hard every time, never able to resist fucking himself to the sight of you changing. Or keeping watch of you overnight as you sink your toys deep into your dripping cunt and he finds himself rutting against your bed in time with your thrusts, hovering over you. So close yet so far.

And even something like this now, watching you take a hot bath, was not uncommon for him. Hey, if he could slip in to take a shower with you every morning then watching you bathe was nothin’. It didn’t matter if you never have a clue he’s there, he’s just doing it to protect you after all. A silent observer.

You walk back into the bathroom and he perks up, spine straightening against the wall as you’re already shucking off your clothes. Throwing them carelessly across the tiled floor. Saliva pools in his mouth as you reveal your soft curvy body to him, yes, to him, with a painful slowness. Almost like you’re trying to tease him, torture him with what he desires most.

He pushes off the wall, hovering close to you as you throw your shirt off and reveal your drool-worthy breasts to him. And he has drooled. He’ll probably do it again. Maybe right now. Fuck, he wants to suck on your tits so bad. He shifts uncomfortably, his cock straining against its confines even in his loose-fitting robes.

It’s so easy to get lost in you and that sexy ass body, but when a smile that promises trouble lights up your face, it quickly snaps him out of his trance. He knows that look. He’s seen it every time just before you do something stupid and he has to bring you back to life.

You spin around and rush back into your room. He groans at the way your ass jiggles as you run, a shiver rolling through his body and making his cock twitch. Though he swears it instantly begins to deflate as you come waltzing back in with your electronic vibrator wand and its charger.

You’re not serious, are you? You not actually going to do this.

Though you quickly prove him wrong as you take a step into the tub, an excited giggle leaving you that nearly distracts him. Shaking his head to refocus, his brows furrow and his hands clench at their sides. This may just be a new low, even for you. No, he can’t let this happen, this is where he draws the line.

An idea so wicked forms in his head he almost banishes it. A smirk spreads across his lips and he knows it’s not going away. It’s time, he deserves this. And it’s the best way to protect you, he’s sure of it. This way he can keep you even more closely by his side. You won’t be able to get away from him for a minute. That thought is all the motivation he needs.

So as you bend over, oh so erotically, to plug in your vibrator wand, his hand snaps out to catch your wrist in his grip. Touching you, really touching you, for the first time. His cold dead heart flutters. You try and jerk back on instinct, a gasp pulling from deep within your chest. Your wide eyes snap up to meet his as he finally reveals himself to you. His smirk only widens at your reaction as if so utterly pleased with himself.

“Why don’t you let me take care of ya this time ‘round, yeah, little pup?”

[sttoru]

.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. it’s late at night and you try to cuddle with sukuna. keyword; try.

wc. 1.2k

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. fluff, angst (+comfort). heian era. size difference (readers referred to as small). sukuna’s a bit mean, but he also has a soft spot for you. miscommunication ? it gets solved. reader gets called ‘woman, doll’.

“what are you trying to do?” sukuna sighs. you’re up to something again, he figures. his red eyes follow your body as it crawls up to him on the bed.

you’re both tired after a long day of fulfilling some duties here and there around the estate. all you need is a big beefy man wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and safe.

the perfect man for that is sukuna. those four arms of his wrapped around your small body feel like heaven.

“it’s called cuddling,” you retort. the sarcastic tone you used triggers a deep sigh from the sorcerer. sukuna holds back the urge to say something sarcastic as well.

he doesn’t utter a single word once you snuggle up to his chest. you’ve taught him how to cuddle during the first time you asked him to hold you. sukuna was awkward with showing any type of affection back then.

. . he still very much is.

“hug, please,” you remind him. the cold-hearted man scoffs, though listens to your polite request. all four of his arms imprison you against his chest, your small body nearly disappearing behind his limbs.

that’s what you like most about those cuddles you share together; how you fit so perfectly in his strong arms. it’s much more comforting than you thought it would be.

a pair of hands rests on your waist, the other pair on your hips. sukuna glances down at you and immediately notices that smile on your lips. even after all this time, he still cannot fathom why you’re so carefree around a monster like him.

and that inability to understand you and your love for him is accompanied by an urge to push you away.

“you got your hug, now get up,” sukuna interrupts the silence. his voice is cold and devoid of emotion—he uses that voice when he talks to other people. not with you, “i have better things to attend to.”

thus, it hurts. when he talks to you like that. like you’re not the person he secretly cherishes most. though, you remind yourself of sukuna’s own words. the ones you heard him say a while ago.

‘love is meaningless’, he said. you remember. and yet you kept hoping that he’d change his mind about that statement. you hoped and eventually saw exactly that: your presence and your affectionate gestures mellowed his heart of steel.

but all that effort seems to go down the drain every time sukuna pushes you away.

you know it’s because he’s unfamiliar with the feelings of love. he may not say it nor show it, but you know that sukuna’s afraid of hurting you. so, he creates a gap between you two every now and then.

you know and yet you’re patient.

“oh, ‘kay,” you nod in understanding. you pull away from his embrace and get up from the bed. your bottom lip trembles.

sukuna is not gullible. he’s anything but oblivious. especially if it’s about how you feel and act. he notices every single change in your mood; whether you mask it or not.

you walk to the sliding doors—ready to open them and step out into the hallway. your eyes are a bit watery, but you quickly blink the tears away and take a deep breath in. you reach for the door.

“come back here, woman.”

sukuna’s booming voice makes you stop. you glance at his form over your shoulder. he’s leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

is he. . . upset?

“why? you said you had better things to attend to.” you answer with a shrug. you try your best to not make it seem like his earlier words had effected you. you turn your head towards the word with a huff, “go on, then.”

sukuna narrows his eyes. he sucks at communicating what he actually desires—what he actually wants. right now that want is for you to stay. even though that completely contradicts his previous words.

the sorcerer doesn’t know what to do. when you’re with him, he pushes you away out of guilt. when you’re away, he wants you back with him.

love is complicated.

“you. . .” sukuna grunts in frustration. all those feelings for you inside of his heart are playing with his rational thoughts. he doesn’t like seeing you upset. he wants the usual you back, “tsk. fine then.”

silence, followed by the creaking of the bed frame. seems like sukuna’s getting up to do whatever ‘business’ he needed to attend. at least, that’s what you thought.

you slide the door open and set a foot outside of the chambers. before the other could follow, you’re suddenly lifted up in the air by a strong pair of hands. your vision turns upside down as your body is effortlessly hoisted onto a shoulder.

“woah!” you gasp and feel the blood go to your head. your eyes are fixed on the back of your lover. you kick your legs in protest, but only get a smack to your ass in response. you whine at that, “put me down!”

“watch it, doll,” sukuna hisses at your fierce demand, a warning to fix your tone. he puts you back down on the soft mattress. he’s surprisingly gentle when he settles you in place—not throwing you on the bed or anything similar, “should’ve listened when i told you the first time.”

your eyes meet sukuna’s and you notice how much they’ve softened. that alone makes the lump in your throat disappear. your love for him isn’t one sided—you’ve always kept that in the back of your mind—yet your thoughts made you overlook the little things he does for you.

his actions speak louder than his words. that’s the kind of man he is.

sukuna’s trying to open up more, though that process is slow. you’re fine with that.

especially when there’s that faint pout on his lips as he stares at you. his eyebrows are still furrowed, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm.

“oh, you want me back in bed this bad?” you tease once you get the opportunity. the man in front of you clicks his tongue and grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning your head up to face him.

sukuna’s eyes are focused on yours. the eye contact is intimidating, but you’re hypnotised. you physically can’t look away. he leans in and bites your lip with his sharp canines, “shut up.”

that raspy whisper alone confirms your assumption. you giggle at his attempt of refuting your point. you’re used to all those intimidating words and actions he pulls to get you to stop your teasing.

those empty threats—it’s becoming rather cute with how hard he tries to deny everything. he fails nearly every time, however.

“come,” sukuna lays back against the pillows after placing a quick and sloppy kiss against your lips. he pulls your body against his and presses your head against his chest, right where his heart is beating, “continue with your.. ‘cuddling’ thing.”

he put your ear right above his heart, because he remembers listening to his heartbeat calms you down. you told him that a while back. sukuna doesn’t understand why you like it, but his fingers massage your scalp either way.

that’s also something that brings you comfort.

you’re surprised by how much he knows about you, but appreciate it anyway. he remembers both the big and small things about you. ‘that’s how he probably shows his love,’ you conclude silently.

[yzzart]

Okay! Hear me out! Dante's s/o has angel lineage (bc if there's demons, there must be persons of purity right?) But is a fallen one unknowingly because they're in love and actively dating Dante, who's Sparda's son!

COME FROM WAY ABOVE... ── DANTE

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F!reader, daughter of a fallen angel, mention of divine and demonic creatures and Sparda, Dante being a flirt, puns and pick-up lines, light content.

⭑.ᐟ No person had ever, under any circumstances, heard, witnessed or distinguished the factual — or safe, depending on who was telling it — story of your mother; and, not wanting to admit a banal, perhaps clichéd impact, you decided to continue the credibility in telling it.

⤷ Living, throughout your childhood, with the narrative that was handed to you in an institution, carried out by nuns, by a beautiful and unknown woman was enough to dispel any questioning.

⤷ But, how much longer, being extremely risky, could the truth about the woman who gave birth to you being an angel survive? — An angel, unknown to the tales of the human world; being kept only between the so-called paradise and the underworld. — Decreed to eternal suffering, alongside man, and being unable to even say goodbye, properly, to you.

⭑.ᐟ It wasn't something new, unprecedented for you — just some factors that contributed, negatively, and fatally, to you suffering persecution, threats and unlimited demonic attacks throughout your life. — It would be worse, much worse, if it were from DARKCOM, right? right.

⤷ The recent case — or attempted attack — coming from a creature, in your eyes considered a true horrifying and dark brute, fearsome knew how to corner your presence; as always, referring to you, with an altered voice, in complete exhaustion, as “daughter of a fallen one”. — What could you do with that title? — "creation of an irresponsible angel."

⤷ Before you could try to fight back, to question, just like previous occurrences, bullets began to pierce the damned demon; despairing and cutting the creature — The shots didn't stop, and you feared that you wouldn't be hit. — And, by the goodness of gods, that could exist, you weren't.

⤷ The half-demon and half-demon hunter, Dante. — Had practically saved your miserable life, during the ironic moment when, possibly, your past would come to light. — The white-haired man, so bold, killed the demon as if it were the most entertaining and relaxed thing in the world.

“So, ‘angel’, huh?” — He put his pistol in his waistband, kicking his dirty black boots against the ground as he crossed his arms. — “Funny, how did you stay so beautiful even when you fell from the heavens?” — Oh, you didn’t know whether to laugh, thank or punch him.

⭑.ᐟ Could it be considered ironic, — very ironic — biting and sounding like a clichéd and tasteless joke about the fact that the son of a demon and the daughter of an angel had created a bond and, possibly, a relationship? — It could, but it would be met with gunpowder and unfunny puns.

⤷ After the incident, you started meeting up, by pure coincidence — or it was just Dante, trying to bump into you, while trying to reach you — and you were always greeted by jokes, puns or pick-up lines that exposed the truth about your ancestry. — and, as time went by, occasional encounters turned into official ones.

⭑.ᐟ Dante never forced you to reveal, abruptly, or want any statement, about your mother; of course he was surprised, he had never heard anything like it. — He thought that, in the world of the “perfect”, it was not possible for it to happen. — And he always talked about the confidence about his father; you could not compare each other's situations but you knew how you felt about it.

⤷ That didn't stop you from approaching, trying to move some information and showing little knowledge about the hybrid connection; a naive manipulation of light between shadows, — reflecting the dark side of the fall — learning to establish a kind of energy field, something not yet certified. — Dante, most of the time, was a witness to your crucial attempts.

⤷ And, deep down, being unable to deny it, he knew that you could be exposed, more vulnerable, by creating a connection with the son of Sparda. — Adored by some human souls, hated by others and decreed a traitor by the demons. — But, that didn't mean he would give up on you.

⭑.ᐟ Well, losing count, considered mental, of how many times your boyfriend created those damn pick-up lines and puns for you; it was no secret that you liked them, more than you should. — It was a way of relaxing you, in an admirable way and in his own way, which Dante took very seriously.

⤷ And, unable to resist expressing a conspicuous, serious expression, your lips curved into an exultant smile, turning into a hilarious laugh. — Ensuring that Dante's mission was complete.

“If angels really do miracles…” — He put his feet on the old, dusty wooden table as he enjoyed the slice of pizza he had ordered for you and him — “you can only be living proof of that, pretty girl.” — The half-demon winked boldly, which you had learned to like, in your direction.

[ultimatebottom69]

Yeah frankly if I learn Sasha is in the project i love Mimi but I am not playing this story out of DR...If i am playing it at all.

I don't see how one can make an actually likeable sequel to this pesudo-edgy creepypasta 2010's worthy of fuckfest.

I am sad it took Sasha ruining the two main li's plot, characterization (the little they had) and relationship with the MC (Lane) for everyone to see it. I feel like watching Remy rise and fall of fame all over again.

HSR man… enough has been said, but I still need to say my piece. The train has been derailing for a while now, so it’s something we’ve seen coming, but that still doesn’t make the aftermath any easier to process. I’m absolutely gutted because the potential of what Dmitry and Lane could have been in the hands of a less bigoted and hateful writer... that’s really what I’m mourning now at this point (and what Anna & Greg romancers have been mourning for a while now).

I’ve seen people say “well Lane was always supposed to be like this, she was never supposed to be a good person.” Then what was the point of establishing the Voice of God and Whisper of the Devil paths? What was the point of branching routes where she is either aligned with the squad or out for herself? What was the point of any of it if, when it comes down to the most rudimentary choices and the most crucial moments, Lane can ultimately never be redeemed? If she can never grow? Even if she is like Audrey, and it’s all designed for her to ultimately end up as a sacrificial lamb, where is your accountability as an author for your main character’s lack of development? There is a way to write flawed/complex/traumatized characters navigating a dystopian world WITHOUT disillusioning your entire audience in the process. An audience who have not only invested resources like time and money, but also grown emotionally attached to the characters you’ve developed.

I used to lose sleep in the beginning updates of this story because I was genuinely excited by the possibilities. I was excited about the idea of expanding the HS universe that has held a special place in my heart since I first started playing RC at the peak of my depression in 2021. And Sasha has repeatedly disrespected and perverted that world. Suffice to say, I’m completely done with HSR and strapped the hell in for HS3. Sasha better have NOTHING to do with that project. Like I don’t even want her pinky toe to be within a 30 mile radius of it. She can’t sit with us.

[rin-may-1103]

Delilah's Language (part four)

Previous | Master Post | Next (to be written)

The nice female scientist (whose name Danny can't remember) turned and started leading them through the crowd. Dr. Trynul huffed but stuck close, probably to try and find a way to discredit Danny's ability. (The two brothers followed but stayed silent, just watching with, for some reason, confusion AND excitement.)

Damian turned and looked up (not by much, mind you) at Danny, curiosity oozing off him in purple streaks. "You said they used their whole bodies, could you clarify?"

Danny hummed, tilting his head as he thought about how to, well, not dumb down the explanation, but make it more digestible. The kid was smart, but he didn't need a whole history lesson topped off with social science and cultural themes. That would just be a waste of time, especially during a birthday party.

"The gorilla language, specifically the purple-backed gorilla dialect I know, uses a mixture of gestures and sounds. Somewhere between, like, 75/25 and 85/15. The vocal aspect is used to emphasize." Danny began, nodding his head as he thought it out.

Damian frowned, but green fog floated around his head, showing that he was concentrating on what he was being told and not upset.

"So, a grunt after a gesture could mean it's a statement or fact. Like someone saying they ARE going to do something. A chirp after a gesture could mean a question, like COULD I do this? Unlike human languages, gorillas focus more on straightforward and simple communication. They don't really have any reason to stretch out what they want or need; they just need to make sure the other understands quickly and clearly."

"What, they don't talk about pretty flowers they saw?" Dr. Trynul cut in, rolling his eyes.

"They could," Danny hummed, ignoring the condescending aspect of the question, "they like talking to each other when they have nothing else to do, and they're smart and opininated creatures. they like pretty things, I'm sure they do talk about pretty flowers or leaves they saw."

"Sure, and I bet they also tell each other about how they keep their fur clean and what mud makes them look bad."

Damian was glaring at the man, obviously getting fed up with the interruption. Danny would usually just deal with the man and slowly drive him crazy to the point he leaves Danny alone, but Damian looked like he was ready to stab the guy. (Not like Danny would stop him if he did, but like, Danny should do something about it before that happens.)

Danny glanced at the woman leading them; she was too focused on her conversation with another scientist to be paying attention. which was good, because what Danny was about to do and say was true, but he still would prefer to gather more evidence for an air-tight case. Can't do that if other people wanted to look into it, legally.

"You know," Danny started, clasping his hands behind his back while keeping a straight face. "I wonder if your colleagues would like to know that you've been manipulating your research data."

Dr. Trynul whipped around and glared at him while Damian and his brothers slowed down in confusion and surprise. Danny kept walking.

"How dare you accuse me of such scandalous actions? I should report-" he started, quickly speeding up to match Danny's pace.

"Three papers, released to the public and scientific community. Published under a well-known science journal and written by the one and only Dr. Jake M. Trynul." Danny started, glancing at the large glass tank to the right, where a few otters swam by, gleefully splashing around and having fun.

No one but the four people walking with him was paying attention.

"The connection between environmental factors and animal behavior, Gorillas and the effect humans have on them, and finally, your newest paper, the effects of human and gorilla relationships," Danny listed, ticking them off on his hand.

"I might not be a scientist, Dr. Trynul," Danny smiled, stopping and turning to look at the man, "but I do know how to read data and do the math myself. You have blatantly manipulated scientific data gathered by yourself and your team and falsified finds all so you can trick others and, more specifically, your superiors into investing more money and resources into your research."

Tilting his head, Danny studied the man in front of him, who was flushed red in anger and clammy with nerves. Danny hadn't given any evidence that what he was saying was true yet, but the man still glanced around like someone was going to strip his license right then and there. (Which was evidence enough if you asked Danny, no one got that nervous over baseless claims.)

"You might happen to remember that I had been given the opportunity to help your team with researching and studying Dalilah and her family. An opportunity that allowed access to the team's whole process. Which meant I had access to the unedited and raw data that had been collected. Data, I might add, that I had been required to read through and help collect."

"i don't know how you've managed to do this with so many bright minds on your team, let alone get it past so many others, but i'd like to remind you Dr. Trynul, that if this did get out, with all the evidence I do have, mind you, you'd be in some serious trouble. Not only would your license be revoked but you'd face possible imprisonment. fraud, especially on a federal level, is taken very seriously."

The man gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing for a few seconds before he settled on growling at Danny, "You're lying, you don't have anything. This is libel! I should get you arrested for defamation of character!"

"Oh, bless your heart," Danny held a hand over his chest and batted his eyes, watching as the man grew even more furious. One of the brothers, Dick maybe, choked and started caughing.

"First of all," Danny started, holding up a finger, "libel is written defamation. Slander is oral defamation. Second of all, you can't get me arrested for defamation. You'd have to provide evidence that I had intended you or the public harm. And file the case in a state that deals with criminal libel. which I just said doesn't apply here."

"Third of all," Danny crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow, "I've been collecting evidence for months now. The only reason you're not being interrogated by the authorities and your superiors is that I've been busy with other things. So, I suggest you pack your stuff, go home, and evaluate your life. because I'm definitely going to be submitting my evidence after today."

Well, not right away. Like he said earlier, Danny wanted to collect more evidence. Like, sure, what he had now would definitely get the man in trouble, but Danny wanted air-tight.

Turning away, Danny started walking in the direction their temporary guide had disappeared. Damian and his brothers took a moment but quickly started following.

"holy shit," Tim breathed, glancing back at the seething man. "Do you actually have the evidence, or were you making that up to scare him?"

"I actually have the evidence, but it's back home, so it'll take 'while before I can actually submit it." Danny admitted. now that that was taken care of, he could get back to what he was actually here for.

"Alright, 'nough about him. Y'all wanted to hear about Dalilah and the language." Danny clapped his hands, turning his head to look at the three. The two older brothers looked like they'd rather continue questioning him, but Damian practically lit up in yellow light, all confusion and glee (?) from before disappearing.

"You said they liked talking when they have nothing else to do, do they not typically like to converse?" Damian asked, an almost unnoticeable skip now in his step.

"That's the thing, they talk all the time. They use a more elaborate and obviouse dialect when bored and a more straightforward and instinctual one when busy. It's fascinating." Danny smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, there you guys are!" their temporary guide cut in, "I thought I lost you guys. Come on, Delilah is just up ahead. She's going to be so excited to see you, Danny."

Danny smiled, picking up his pace when Damian (not rushed, because the kid seemed way too formal to do something as 'childish' as running) caught up to her side.

Glancing back, the two brothers were nowhere in sight.

Next (to be written)

[steddiehyperfixation]

not nothing

@steddiebingo prompt: friends to lovers | 1.6k words | T | 3+1 fic (three times steve and eddie kissed drunk + one time sober)

"Never have I ever...kissed someone sober," Eddie says, sitting on the floor in the living room of his and Steve's apartment with Steve, Robin, and Nancy. The girls are in town from college for a long weekend, and they've taken it upon themselves to fill Steve and Eddie in on the college experience of playing drinking games.

They all (except Eddie of course) take a sip of their drinks at Eddie's statement. They also all look at him with varying degrees of surprise, confusion, or maybe even concern at this information.

“What, really?” Robin asks.

“Uh huh.” He doesn't think it's that crazy. He certainly doesn't think it's all that unexpected from him either. They all know he's never had a proper boyfriend before or anything, and he’s not particularly looking for one either. He's perfectly happy with his life as it is and the people in it. A handful of drunken experiences at clubs and parties is more than enough for him.

Steve frowns at him. “No, that can't be true. You and I have kissed before.”

“Yeah, while drunk.”

“You guys have kissed?” asks Nancy, her eyes slightly wide as if she's more shocked by this fact than the previous one.

“Yeah,” Eddie repeats, “while drunk.”

“And how often does that happen?” Nancy continues to question. God, it's like an interrogation in here all of the sudden.

“It's only been like…” Steve shrugs, glancing at Eddie like he's trying to remember. “What, a couple times?”

“Three times,” Eddie says, “I think.” As if he could ever forget, as if he can't still recall each and every instance in vivid technicolor. No matter how drunk he'd been, kissing Steve Harrington has a way of burning itself into the memory of even the most alcohol-soaked of minds.

1.

The first time it happened, Steve had been in a slump for weeks after getting broken up with, and Eddie, tired of watching him sullenly skulk about their apartment like a ghost, had finally dragged him out to the club, making it his own personal mission to find him a stranger to kiss to help him get over his ex. They took too many shots and danced to shitty pop music while Eddie kept an eye out for anyone who looked like they might be Steve’s type. Steve only frowned and shook his head at every girl Eddie pointed out.

After about 7 shots and Eddie’s 12th attempt to nudge him towards somebody, Steve had rolled his eyes in annoyance and shouted over the music, “If you want me to be kissed so badly, why don’t you do it?”

So Eddie did. No thought at all, just grabbed him and kissed him. Steve stiffened slightly in surprise like he hadn’t actually expected him to do it, but then he kissed back almost immediately, and there they were: making out messily on the dance floor with flashing lights and too-loud music thudding like a heartbeat all around them.

It felt like dancing; fun, mindless movements, heat and warmth and thrill. It felt like taking another shot; blood turned to fire and mind dazing over.

Eddie woke up the next morning still feeling it on his lips.

They talked about it, briefly, in the kitchen over coffee after commiserating together about their mutual hangovers. “It’s not weird that we kissed, right?” Eddie asked, just checking. He couldn’t tell yet if he felt weird about it himself or not.

“Nah, of course not,” Steve had brushed it off with a wave of his hand and a good-natured grin. “I used to kiss my friends all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

So it wasn’t a big deal. And they didn’t talk about it again.

2.

The second time it happened was at a 4th of July house party thrown by a friend of an acquaintance, since all of their own friends were out of town. The place was full of people they didn't know who all knew each other, so they had a few drinks and tried to mingle but eventually they both ended up alone together on a balcony, relieved to be in only familiar company, quietly watching the beginnings of neighborhood fireworks crackle in the indigo sky.

“I’m bored,” Eddie announced, the quiet making him itchy and the alcohol in his veins making him want to do something.

“Me too.” Steve finished off his drink of about 90% vodka and 10% Sprite (which Eddie knew because he was drinking the same exact thing, having poured them both himself at the free self-serve bar), and glanced sideways at him. “Wanna make out?”

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie agreed without question. He set his drink aside and Steve's lips were on his in a matter of seconds.

3.

The third time it happened, they didn’t even need to ask anymore, not really. They were out, just the two of them, drunk on a nightclub dance floor again and Steve just wordlessly lifted his hands as if to hold Eddie’s face and raised his eyebrows. Eddie shrugged, why the hell not, and leaned in.

+1.

They were nothing, those kisses, just a fun thing with a friend. Brushed past and moved on from easily, not buried in shame or secrecy but simply inconsequential and not worth lingering on, then and now. Nancy’s still got this look like she thinks there’s more of a story here, but she too moves on with the conversation as the game of Never Have I Ever continues, and Steve and Eddie’s drunk kisses are brushed past once again. No big deal. Nothing.

Eddie is just fine with that. He doesn’t mind it all being nothing, because if it’s not nothing - if he lets himself think even for a second that it’s not nothing - then to him it would be everything. And that’s simply too much.

But anyways, he's not lingering on it. The party goes on and Eddie's taking a drink at Robin’s “Never have I ever kissed a man,” and it's all forgotten now.

At least, he expects it to be all forgotten. But then the next morning he's sitting in the kitchen eating fucking toast when Steve walks in, pauses for a second, and then asks, “Have you really actually never kissed anyone while sober?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie confirms, mouth full. “Really actually.”

Steve puts a bagel in the toaster then leans back against the counter as he looks at Eddie. “Would you want to?”

Eddie blinks, swallows his mouthful of toast. “What, are you offering?”

“Yeah.” Steve shrugs. Like it's nothing. “I mean, if you want. It's not like we've never kissed before.”

“Right, yeah.” Eddie sets down his half-eaten toast, the bread sticking to the inside of his mouth now, too dry all of the sudden. “I just, um. I think I’d probably be bad at it sober. You know, like, I’d get too in my head about it or whatever.”

Steve shrugs that off too, smiles and makes light of it, “I don't care. Even if you were bad at it, I’m willing to bet you real money you probably still wouldn't be the worst kiss I've ever had.”

Eddie laughs, grateful for Steve's humor and reassurance, but still he shakes his head. The mere suggestion is already making his heartbeat faster and his face feel warmer, and he can't let himself get like this, not over Steve. Not over nothing. “Yeah, I still just- I still just shouldn't though.”

“Okay,” Steve says simply. His bagel pops out of the toaster and his attention diverts to plating the two bagel halves and spreading them with cream cheese. Eddie, assuming that's the end of the conversation, relaxes somewhat and resumes his breakfast. But then Steve's turning around, taking his seat at the kitchen table opposite Eddie, and asking, “Not that it matters at all, but can I ask why?”

“I already told you-”

“Yeah, you think you’ll be bad at it, I know. But that's not the only reason, I can tell.”

Eddie shoves the rest of his toast in his mouth to avoid the responsibility of an immediate reply. He stands and takes his plate to the sink. Only with his back turned does he find the courage to answer honestly. “Because it wouldn't be nothing,” he admits as he rinses off his plate, hoping just a little bit that the running water might drown out his words. “If I kissed you sober, I think it would mean something to me. I think it would really, really mean something to me.”

A pause - an awful, agonizing pause in which Eddie, certain he's just fucked up a perfectly good friendship, seriously considers sticking his head under the faucet and attempting to drown himself - and then Steve says, barely louder than the water, “And you think it wouldn't to me?”

Eddie immediately shuts off the sink and turns to look at him. “Would it?”

“Yeah.” Steve's eyes have gone soft. “Eddie, it always has. Why do you think I'm asking? Why do you think I've been asking?” He smiles, a little sheepishly and with a self-deprecating shrug. “I was just…trying to play it cool.”

There are so many ways Eddie could respond to that, ranging from incredulous to teasing, but a wave of fondness rolls through him so completely there's really only one thing he can say: “Get over here and kiss me right now.”

Steve wastes no time in standing up and moving towards him, and Eddie rushes to meet him in the middle. They crash into each other, bodies colliding and hands gripping tight, but when their lips meet it's surprisingly gentle.

Eddie's first sober kiss happens right there in the kitchen, barefoot in his pajamas with his roommate, his best friend, Steve Harrington; and it couldn’t be more perfect. And it's everything.

[luvvyouforever]

i am my father's daughter - declan o'hara x rupert's daughter!reader

synopsis: you knew you shouldn't be doing this, flirting with your dad's friend and business partner. but he's so irresistible!

content: age gap relationship (ages not specified), maud doesn't exist au, not very canon compliant just ignore it, nsfw themes, dbf trope, accidental tense switching (ignore it)

author's note: declan is sooooo hunky #needthat also this is a rather short piece but if you'd like to see a continuation of dbf declan, i would absolutely provide <3

you're quite positive that nobody has looked as good in a t-shirt as declan o'hara does now in the front of the priory's living room, leading an open discussion about what is next for the budding production company. his biceps flex underneath the thin material when he lifts his arm in a gesture and despite your efforts to remain focused on the conversation at hand, it's difficult when all you've been able to think about since he moved in is declan.

for a month or two after he and his two daughters moved in, he had been the sole object of your daydreaming. he was so strong, so intelligent, so witty on the television, so...everything.

however, there was little that you could do on that front, considering the last name that appears on your birth certificate and the fact that rupert campbell-black, your father, and declan hated each other. it was a rather difficult watch, the night declan interviewed him, but with rupert bonding with declan over their love for their small families, it became much easier to slink your way into his presence. thankfully.

then, it became regular to see declan in your home, or to see you and rupert in his. he was hard to depart from, what with his deep, thick accented voice and his wavy hair he kept running his hands through, and that t-shirt, that damn t-shirt. you lived in pure, unending agony for a while, having to be so close to him all the time without being able to give in to this torturous desire.

but then he started blatantly running a large hand over your back as he passed behind you and then he started making eye contact with you across the room and then he helped you with car troubles where he stood tantalizingly close behind you while showing you how to check your oil.

your father doesn't need to know that you've kissed and made out with and sucked off his friend and business partner. right?

when declan finishes his speech in the front of the living room, he makes his way through the crowd to the table in the back with a few drinks and refreshments laid out by taggie where you just so happen to be standing.

his eye contact with you is unwavering as he comes closer and closer to you and there's a smirk growing on his lips.

"could you be any more obvious with your ogling there, dear?" he says quietly once he reaches your side.

you scoff, but you know what he's saying is true. "i wasn't doing anything of the sort, mr o'hara. i'm just admiring your leadership and passion for venturer, is all," you whisper.

he leans against the table, then, watching as the crowd before him mingle with each other, completely oblivious to the conversation happening between you and him. even your father seems to be swept up into conversation on the other side of the room. he turns his neck side-to-side, clearly aware of the way that his shoulders and back tense underneath the tight shirt. your eyes betray your previous statement as they immediately flick to the sight, then flick downwards.

he chuckles and takes the smallest of steps closer to you. "so you like the shirt, then, i take it?"

a small blush overtakes your cheeks and you refuse to meet his eye. suddenly, you feel his body tilt towards yours, lips just before your ear.

"i can let you take it off me if you come over tonight."

his deep voice reverberated through your body, sending chills down your neck and spine. subconsciously, your back arched from the table you were learning on and he let out another laugh.

a few hours later, you found yourself slipping quietly out of penscombe, positively giddy. the walk to the priory was one you had done plenty of times and you knew it like the back of your hand, really. slowly, the centuries old building came into view and several feet up the wall was a window with its lights still on. declan's.

as he'd done before, he met you at the back door of the home, one that leads into the kitchen, a smug look on his face.

"you took my offer quite readily," he said. his big frame leaned against the door and he crossed his arms. still adorning him was that damn t-shirt.

"as if you weren't kicking your feet waiting for me," you retort, then come to stand before him.

he shakes his head then and a sly smile tilts the corners of his mouth up. he removes his body from the frame and steps to the side to let you inside. as you pass him, a firm hand comes down on your ass, making a small yelp escape your lips.

you turn suddenly and shoot him a glare. he just pats you again, a gesture to keep you moving forward. "get on up there, little minx. before your daddy realizes where you've gone, huh?"

you turn then and head for the stairs that lead up to his bedroom. declan didn't have to tell you much twice.

[actiniumwrites]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇

synopsis: wriothesley finds out you have a crush on someone and somehow manages to guess it’s on literally everyone but himself

characters: wriothesley x gn!reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: fluff, a tiny pinch of angst and insecurity, my poor attempt at humor, slight miscommunication, friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, swearing, first time writing for wriothesley so he might be ooc

notes: i almost made this angst to fluff but then decided i need to stop adding angst into literally everything i write (even though there’s like a tiny pinch of angst in here too 🙄). anyway, wriothesley is a lot harder to write than i thought he would be so i apologize if he seems ooc here

“Heard you gotta crush on someone,” Wriothesley teases as he walks into his office where you sit on one of his couches. You don’t even hear him walk in, too engaged in the book you were reading to pass time until you had to go through hundreds of inmate records to find something Neuvillette had requested.

His declaration is so sudden it almost makes you spit out the tea you had stolen from him.

Your eyes go wide as you stare at where he moves to lean against the front of his desk, arms crossed and waiting for an answer with that stupid smirk of his, “Hey now, that tea is expensive, so don’t go wasting it, okay?”

“Who told you about that?” you press for answers, a hint of anger in your voice as you ignore his previous statement about the tea. He had plenty to spare anyway.

Wriothesley’s smirk widens a bit, “So it is true.”

Damn him.

You don’t even bother trying to make an excuse, knowing your best friend all too well. He’d pick apart your words like weeds in a garden, finding meaning in them that you hadn’t even intended.

“And what if it is true?” you cross your arms defensively, glaring at him from across the room.

“At least tell me who it is,” he says as he rests his palms on the wooden desk behind him. When you don’t give in to his pleading, he playfully scoffs, “Oh c’mon, I’m your best friend! It’s kinda an obligation for you to tell me these things.”

You turn away, fixating your gaze on a nearby wall adorned with some weird painting he had hung awhile back, “Oh yeah? Since when? Last I checked there aren’t any rule books for being friends with someone. I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”

“It’s Neuvillette, isn’t it?” he smiles knowingly. Perhaps that was why you were always the one receiving tasks from the Chief Justice instead of him — a guess at best, but enough evidence to convince him Neuvillette was the one.

No, you idiot. It’s you.

You snap your head back toward him, “What? No! I don’t like Neuvillette…not like that, at least. He’s nice and all, but I don’t think I’d be able to date the guy.”

“Damn, I really thought I had that one,” Wriothesley mumbles in defeat, pushing himself off the desk and instead moving to walk around the room as he thinks. It scares you. The fact that he’s so particular with facts and little details that it’s only a matter of time before he collects all the pieces to the puzzle and figures out he’s the one you like. What would he say when that happens? “Too nice, huh? So you like someone a little colder, then.”

Damn it, he got you again!

You don’t answer him.

“Not even going to try to deny it?”

“No,” you grumble to yourself, slumping further into the couch, “you’re only going to dig further anyway.”

He gives a satisfied hum, “Right, so it’s Clorinde then. I mean c’mon, we don’t get a lot of visitors, so it has to be her. She fits the description too.”

You exhaustedly sigh and swipe a hand over your face dramatically, done with his antics, “It’s not her either. And there is no ‘description.’”

He perks up in a way that makes you way too uncomfortable, “Navia?”

“No, I’ve never even met her aside from like one time two years ago,” you refute, sliding further down on the couch to fully lie down and shut your eyes, “I don’t get why you’re so excited over this.”

Wriothesley thinks for a moment before squinting his eyes, “Don’t tell me you have a crush on a prisoner?”

You teasingly peek an eye open while leaning back to look at him, “And if I did?”

“You better not,” he warns, pointing a stern finger at you like you were a prisoner and not his coworker.

You laugh to yourself at his sudden change of mood, “Relax, I was only joking!”

“Not funny,” he says unamused, prepared to pull out the prison’s rule book and slap it over your head if you did, “I’m really runnin’ out of people here.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, “thousands of people live in Fontaine. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

You really hope he doesn’t.

The following ten minutes consist of Wriothesley irritatingly pacing around the room and mumbling all sorts of names to himself. Some of which you recognized, others you had never even heard of before. And, despite all of your countless no’s to his guesses, he never gives up. Nor does he realize the answer is right in front of him.

“Just give it up already,” you finally interrupt as he stops in front of you.

A heavy sigh falls from Wriothesley’s lips as he collapses onto the couch, narrowly missing where your legs were outstretched. Defeatedly, he lays his head against the back of the sofa, shutting his eyes as he thinks a little harder. “Oh my god,” he says suddenly, head shooting up to look at you, “…don’t tell me.”

No way. Did he figure it out?

Your breath captures in your throat as his eyes flicker back and forth between your own, searching for some sort of truth. He knows. Your best friend knows that you have feelings for him — and not just the platonic kind.

His brows furrow and his face morphs into one of disgust. It makes your heart drop; the way he’s looking at you.

He doesn’t feel the same way.

“I can’t believe it,” he clicks his tongue in disgust, crossing his arms and turning his attention away from you, “you like Furina.”

Your jaw drops to the floor and suddenly you don’t feel bad anymore, “I actually can’t believe you just said that. Archons, I think you need to visit Sigewinne. I mean, seriously! Furina? Of all people!”

He grins and shrugs carelessly, “I don’t know? She was the last person I could think of.”

“Something is seriously wrong with you.”

“Clearly not so wrong that I couldn’t figure out that the person you actually like is me.”

“Oh please, I don’t even—wait, what? You knew?!”

A boisterous laugh erupts suddenly as you stare at him with wide eyes. You sit up on the couch quickly, slapping his shoulder as he continues to laugh, “Sorry, sorry!”

You don’t find it amusing, “I—when did you figure it out?”

His laugh eventually subsides into a drawn out sigh and his blue eyes soften a bit as they gaze into your own, “I’m not an idiot, you know? I wouldn’t be running this place if I was.”

“Right,” you mumble awkwardly, averting your gaze from his, “so, um, were you just doing all that to lighten the mood so you could let me down easily or…?”

“Or…what?” Wriothesley mocks you, a playful smirk pulling at his lips.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, “don’t make me say it.”

He spares you, luckily. It’s unlike him, but he doesn’t care to joke with you any longer when the subject is so serious, “Yes, I feel the same way. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No, I totally wanted to hear you say you hate me and want me dead,” you say sarcastically, trying to fight a smile.

“I’m being serious, I really do like you,” Wriothesley presses, ignoring the way you’re becoming awkward from the nervousness floating in the air.

You finally exhale the breath you had been guarding in your chest, relieved that this didn’t go as horribly as you once thought it would.

The alarm sounding for dinner goes off after and you both stand from your places on the couch, “So what do we do now that that’s out of the way?”

Wriothesley falls into step next to you, holding the doors to his office open to let you out first, “We have our first date in the cafeteria, of course.”

Your face drops and you stop in your tracks to glare at him, “That better be a joke.”

He laughs it off quickly, not thinking you’d take it so seriously. Eagerly, he grabs your hand tightly in his as he pulls you to the exit of the Fortress, “Relax, I’m just teasing you! You deserve only the best, after all.”

“You are so annoying.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

[logansdoll]

jim beam

navigating life in a new universe was already a bit of a struggle for Logan... and Wade just had to make it worse (or far, far, far better) by giving him a "house-warming gift".

CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place after the events of Deadpool 3, Wade is actually really hard to write for, Logan deserves the world, comfort, angst if you squint, etc.

"Honey, I'm home!" Wade loudly sang, kicking open the door to Logan's apartment with a dramatic flourish.

"Fuck me," Logan groaned from his spot on the couch, closing his eyes and allowing his head to lull back with annoyance.

This defeated the entire purpose of why he got his own apartment in the first place.

To avoid these types of interactions with the most persistently, consistently annoying asshole in the entire multiverse.

"Now, now, is that any way to talk to the friend who's about to bring your long lost lover back from the dead?" Wade tutted, skipping into the living room, taking notice of the bottle of liquor resting in Logan's hand.

'So it's that kinda morning...'

"Jim Beam at 10 am on a Tuesday?" he noted, "Well, I guess it's five o'clock nowhere... so have at it."

"What did you just say?" Logan sat up straight, brows furrowed as he focused on Wade's previous statement.

"Alcoholics everywhere salute you for taking your liver where no organ has gone before."

"Wade."

"I'm honestly starting to believe you do it for the love of the game rather than the expositional, look how sad he is plot device the author is currently using... I mean, seriously? Can we skip past all this bullshit and get to the—"

Quickly, Logan grabbed him by the front of his suit, yanking him closer with an angrily confused expression.

"If anything besides a goddamn answer comes out of your mouth... I will stab you in the face," he growled, spelling out each syllable to further his point. "What the hell do you mean bring her back from the dead?"

To Logan, you were everything

The sun. The moon. The air. The clouds.

Despite seeing all the horrible thing he'd done, and knowing firsthand just how much of an asshole he could be, you still smiled at him.

No matter how many times he pushed you away, you were relentless.

Keeping his room together while he was away finding himself.

Making him meals when you noticed he he'd gone without eating.

Forcing him to take breathers after intense sessions in the Danger Room.

For the longest, he couldn't wrap his head around someone like you caring about a jackass like him.

Until he got fed up and just outright asked.

But, as if nothing, you answered:

"Your past makes think you don't deserve love, Logan," you started, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned up against the counter. "You storm around here with a rude ass attitude and a smart mouth hoping to convince me of that... but if anything, you're only making it worse for yourself."

You smiled, looking up at him with a glint in your eye that sent shocks running down his spine.

"Because in my heart of hearts I know you're a man who wants care and attention, just like everybody else."

With a chuckle, you rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"And I'll keep shovin' dinners down your throat until you realize that."

Despite having everyone else fooled, you saw right through him, and true to your word, you didn't give up.

With every made bed, every meal, every conversation, Logan felt himself falling deeper into your charm, and over a glass of Jim Beam did he finally realize that he was in love with you.

But, like everything else he cared about in this world, you were taken away from him.

Unable to find your body in the rubble of the mansion, he looked high and low, quite literally going to the ends of the Earth to find you.

But after years of searching with nothing to show for it, he returned to the bottle, drowning himself in sorrow and regret.

Or, at least... until now.

"Well, according to the manual, she's not exactly dead, but she is unconscious," Wade answered, matter-of-factly.

"Unconscious?" Logan's brows furrowed, still quite confused.

Freeing himself from the man's grip, Wade stood up, going back around the couch and pulling out a small tablet from his pocket.

"See, I've noticed your humble abode could use a little sprucing, so I went back to our buddies at the TVA and kindly reminded them that you saved the multiverse and, godammnit, you deserve a reward."

"Get to the fuckin' point, jackass," Logan spat, turning to face him.

"So they sent some men back to your universe and found your girl!" Wade cheered, opening up a portal and reaching his hand in, pulling out a cryo-chamber with you inside.

The moment Logan's eyes met your sleeping face, all color and vibrancy seemed to return to the world.

He was at a loss for words.

You were here... not some dream or hallucination of guilt... but actually, truly, physically here.

"Apparently, some science fuckers were keeping her in a black site and testing to see how long she could go without aging. I won't bore you with the details," Wade explained, pulling out a small knife from his boot. "Now, let's break this bad boy open and meet the future Mrs. Wolverine!"

Before Logan could stop him, Wade stabbed the keypad at the side of the chamber, opening the door and sending you falling forward.

In an instant, Logan dropped his bottle and leaped over the couch, catching you just before you could face-plant on the hardwood floor.

"Watch it!" Logan roared, less than happy that you'd only been there for about three minutes and Wade had already almost broken your nose.

"I am so sorry!" Wade gasped, his hands slapping his cheeks in shock. "I didn't think she'd actually fall out the chamber when they told me she'd fall out the chamber... Nice save, though, Romeo."

Turning you over, Logan cupped your cheek, the chill of your skin already beginning to warm.

But you were still out cold, limp in his grasp as he held you close to his chest.

"She's not waking up..." Logan noticed, brows furrowed. "Why the hell isn't she waking up?"

"Easy there, tiger. They told me how long it takes varies from person to person," Wade assured, shutting the portal. "Some take minutes, others hours. It could be a couple of days before she even opens her eyes."

An expression of solemnity slid over Logan's face as he gazed over yours, your skin still so flesh colored, it looked as if you were sleeping.

Just as soft and tender as he remembered.

And he had full intentions on keeping it that way.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he ghosted his hand over your cheek.

In that moment, he swore to himself that he'd never leave you again.

He'd be a friend, a bodyguard, a lover, whatever you wanted, but no matter his title, anything that wanted to harm you would have to do so over his dead body.

And even then he'd force himself to get back up and fight.

This world was giving him a second chance at life, a second chance at a life with you, and he'd be damned if he let anything ruin it.

Suddenly, you took in an aggressive gasp, scaring the shit out of Wade as your eyes snapped open.

"Holy fucking shit nuggets!" he jolted, jumping from his spot across he room as Logan allowed his shoulders to sink, mumbling a quiet thanks to whatever god or deity brought you back to him.

Feeling a strong set of arms cradling you, you looked up, solace setting into your bones at the sight of the familiar man before you, who was unable to stop the few joyful tears escaping his eyes.

"Logan—"

Without a moment's hesitation, his lips were on yours, making up for what felt like a lifetime of loss by dumping all of his passion, all of his love, all of his devotion into one Earth shattering kiss.

You melted into it seamlessly, your hand finding home in his scruffy hair as he pulled you flush against him, clutching you with a death grip.

Donning a cheeky smile under his mask, Wade turned away to give you both a moment, thought not without making a crude sex gesture behind his back.

'I don't think Miss (Y/N)/Girl Sitting At Home Reading This is gonna be able to walk tomorrow...'

With a gasp, the two of you separated, Logan's hand raising to cup your cheek, relishing how easily you leaned into him.

"(y/n)... I thought I lost you," he panted, his eyes scouring over your face, committing every detail to memory.

"For a while, you did," you sighed with a grin, carding a hand through the few gray strands in his hair, before comparing them to your own. "Time looks good on you."

He chuckled, quietly relieved you still found him attractive after all these years.

Sitting up, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled the man into a bone crushing hug, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not really sure what happened... or how I'm alive..." you weakly laughed, starting to get choked up. "But I know that if you go out drinking without me ever again, I'm putting your head on a spike."

Instantly, Logan's arms wrapped around your waist, holding you reverently as if he let go for one moment, the powers that be would part him from you.

"I swear on my life... I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

[craziertogether]

mike fell for will first.

it’s a bold statement to make but i stand by it.

i firmly believe that mike fell for will first and realized it was wrong first. as bylers we talk a lot about how mike had mountains of queer coding and was “gayer” than will in previous seasons. which i think this is why the GA tends to think that will liking mike is fanservice or doomed to fail because they only saw the confession in the van scene. (apart from lacking media literacy) i genuinely think mike had always seen will as special to him, genuinely as like the light of his life, and while society/his family conditioned him to internalize his feelings, his own lack of self worth pushed him to hide his true self (but will later push him towards will). i think the biggest indicator to mike that his feelings could never be expressed was when his own father stated “see what happens mike?” yes it could’ve been seen as a half assed ignorant comment or a warning to mike but i think mike actually interpreted it as, “will being queer was the reason for his demise”. not only the demise of death but mixed with the downfall of how society viewed will as an individual. mike was already apart of the outcasts and not well liked, but mixing that with how no one even really mourned will, now that really scared mike.

so how does this all play into my claim? mike was in love with will when he died. part of him died that day with will. that was a good reason of why he didn’t hesitate to jump off the edge (yes for dustin but there’s more to it than that). thus, when a nearly impossible possibility that will was alive came to be, mike jumped at the chance. yes, because he loved will. but more so he had found his self worth back. it’s why we see his drive to repair his “relationships” dustin, lucas, and el, all of them now working together for the sole purpose of finding will (and yes keeping el safe). it’s why i believe he is no longer hesitant to show his full devotion to will at the end of season one, by being the first to run to will when he wakes up and why he chooses will repeatedly during season 2. he loved will all along, he loved that will gave him strength and self worth again. (something i might add he never felt with el, he ALWAYS felt weak and inferior and with el it only magnified that when we see how she has powers and could save people something he doesn’t think he can do.) as social pressures kept rising, it all pushed him to fall back onto heteronormativity. and yet, even in his peak “straight bro” era. his love for will outweighs that, he chooses will through the storm that is season three and why he biked miles through the storm after the rain fight (bane of my existence btw). i don’t think it’s because he started to recognize his feelings for will in season 3 which prompted his obsession with el, i believe he always did know about them, from the start. and it’s why he continues to go back to will even when he does everything in his power to keep up his facade, he still knows that it’s will that he will always choose. so by season 4, when mike’s back to his bs and forcing his attraction to el. we see it completely fail, over and over he incriminates himself and finds himself going back to will. again you ask why? because will has shown him what he has always needed, someone who sees his worth and is willing to stay with him even when he doesn’t see his purpose anymore. will empowers mike, not because will is weak and needs a savior because they just fit together and do that for each other. it’s the same reason will finds his own strength to confess (though with a cover) to mike. will finds his voice through mike, mike finds his strength and purpose through will. everything they need (emotionally), they find just that in the other.