#six pack timeline

[b-onai]

@webzzo

[geminison]

yeah, Daud might have a dad bod but dh1 Corvo is built like a stick figure, all limbs and head, barely any muscle, you can't convince me otherwise. he spent six months in prison, bad food and water, plus torture and horrible living conditions

that man is pulling himself up on the power of spite, anger and fear for his daughter

[gudfornuthin]

All I’ve Ever Wanted

Season 4!Five Hargreeves x fem!reader

! Spoilers ahead !

Summary: six years of travelling to different timelines, and Five isn’t sure how much longer he can go on for. Until he stumbles upon a greenhouse, full of strawberries. And you.

Word count: 4212

A/N: so season 4 was a… thing that happened. This story is basically my own idea of how things should’ve gone in ep 5. Instead of the weird Lila/Five situation, it’s just Five, and his chance of living a normal life with someone new. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is appreciated :)

Number Five was never one to back down from a challenge. Having been through a series of different apocalyptic events, transporting to a timeline where he spent 40 years alone, and dealing with a misfit group consisting of his exhausting siblings, Five was up for anything. But the current situation he was dealing with? For the first time in his life, he was at breaking point.

After another wasted day spending hour after hour searching for any clues or information on how to get back to the correct timeline, Five returns to the subway, entering one of the compartments and slumping down in the first chair he sees. He rubs his eyes and lets out a visceral sigh, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. He reaches into his pockets, pulling out a small pack of dried fruits. He rips it open and devours every last piece. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He was becoming more desperate, rummaging through trash cans and foraging in bushes, hoping anything he picks isn’t poisonous.

The compartment jolts and begins to move, making its way to the next timeline. Five wipes his hands on his already dirty pants, standing up and walking slowly to the door. He wonders whether his apocalypse counterpart will be waiting for him this time.

After several minutes, and Five almost falling over from his lack of sleep, he finally arrives, the doors opening. He steps out, immediately making his way up the stairs. No time to waste. He cautiously pokes his head out, looking around for any signs of, well, himself. Before he can move out more, something wizzes past his head. A bullet. He ducks, as more shots are fired directly at him.

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” Five mumbles, as he finally takes notices of the other him in the distance.

He sticks up his middle finger, and no soon after closes his fists, blinking as quick as he possibly could.

The Five with a gun disappears along with the destroyed world around him. Five drops his arms to his sides, turning around and admiring the new environment. Luscious, greenery surrounds him, with an array of different flowers sprouting from the ground beneath him. A small pond with fish glimmers in the sunshine, lily pads floating on top. He continues turning, finding himself standing next to a tall greenhouse. The glass was slightly foggy, making it difficult to see what’s inside. Five leans in closer, squinting as if that would help. He can barely make out what appears to be pots of fruit and vegetables, some fully sprouted and others not yet ripe. His stomach rumbles, the feeling of hunger consuming him.

A rustle sounds from behind him. He turns quickly, coming face to face with a pair of shears. Five jumps back slightly. He then spots the person wielding said ‘weapon’. A young woman, probably early twenties, wearing a light yellow dress and a pair of brown sandals. Five can’t help but admire her beauty, if it wasn’t for the fact she had a face like fury and didn’t seem afraid of cutting him in half.

“Can I help you?” Her words are kind, but her harsh tone says otherwise.

Five can’t exactly tell this young woman the truth. Showing up randomly in her back yard, covered in grime, gawking at her crops through the window. He raises his hands up in the air, trying to convey that he meant no harm.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his throat sore having not spoken to anyone in quite some time. “I don’t really know how I got here.” That’s not exactly true. “I’ve been travelling for a few days now.” Try six years. “And I could really do with a hot shower and something to eat.”

The woman doesn’t say anything, just staring, with the shears still held out in front of her.

Five puts his arms down, shrugging in defeat. “I’ll just go. I truly am sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” He looks down. “Or step all over your rose garden.” He gingerly moves away from the destroyed flowers.

He turns and begins to walk away, hoping to find an exit as quick as possible. Blinking in front of this woman probably wouldn’t help his cause. A warm hand grabs hold of his wrist, forcing him to stop and look back. She has the shears loosely hanging by her side, as her eyes pierce into Five’s. She seems hesitant, words forming in her mind. At last, she speaks again.

“You’re telling the truth?”

Five nods incessantly, feeling like a child.

“And if I let you in and make you something to eat, you won’t try and kill me?”

Five holds back a laugh, knowing she’s being deadly serious. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The woman waits a beat, then huffs. “Come on, I was just about to start dinner.”

She moves past Five, walking into three greenhouse. He takes this as a sign to follow after her.

***

The young woman allows Five to use her shower, and he’s thankful for the change of clothes she provides for him too. The home is small and cosy, playing into the stereotypical cottage core of living. The lighting is soft, and the smell of pumpkin seems to waft through into every room. It’s calming, it’s peaceful, it’s something that makes Five feel on edge. He isn’t used to the domestic life, away from the terror and destruction, trying to save the world over and over. He knows he can’t stay here long, but he won’t miss the opportunity of a proper cooked meal.

After putting on the change of clothes, Five makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen, a small buffet waiting for him. He finds it hard not to drool, the potatoes and fresh pie, along with the fruit and vegetables he’d spotted earlier. It looks incredible. He takes a seat, as the woman places down a final plate of tomatoes, sitting down opposite Five.

They dish out the food, filling their plates as high as they can, especially Five. He tries not to look like a slob in front of the pretty girl, but finds it hard not to drop some things down his top. She doesn’t seem to notice, or pretends not to.

The woman takes a sip of her drink, clearing her throat. “So,” her soft voice makes Five look up from his plate. “Do you have a name or is that one of the many mysteries of the man shovelling food down his throat like he hasn’t eaten in several years?”

The woman isn’t afraid of being upfront. Five admires that. Although, it’s not surprising considering he’s a complete stranger she’s trusted in her home. He puts down his knife and fork, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth.

“No, I have a name. It’s Fi-,” he catches himself, unsure if his ‘name’ would just create more confusion, and unwanted questions. “Jerome. Just, Jerome.”

The woman squints her eyes, but doesn’t push further, seeming to move past his stumble. “Okay. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Jerome.”

Five shrugs, not knowing what else to say.

“My names Y/N.”

Five nods. “Okay. We’re closer already.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N says, a small smile gracing her face. Five can’t help but pull the same expression.

***

After a hearty dinner, and some obvious awkward silences, Five insists on helping Y/N do the washing up. The sun was beginning to set, and Five knows he’ll have to leave soon, but something stops him from doing so. He doesn’t want to admit it, but this was the most relaxed he’d felt in a long time. The fear or worry of something bad happening wasn’t there, and as he stands close to the woman he had barely met 2 hours ago, he realises what he’d been missing in his 60 something years. A place to live, with a person who makes him feel safe.

“Jerome,” the voice breaks through his thoughts, as Five almost forgets the name he’d given to this woman. “I feel like we’ve skirted around the topic enough. Is there any reason you were in the state you were in, taking refuge behind my greenhouse?”

Five places down the plate he was cleaning, turning to face her fully. Her expression is calm, and her voice shows no sign of interrogation. It’s a first for Five, as he’s become accustomed to people prodding him for information only for their own benefit. No one’s ever shown true interest in him.

He shrugs. “It’s been a tough couple of years. More than that I guess.” Fives eyes glaze over. “I haven’t seen my family in a long time, and I don’t know if I ever will. And if I do, I’m terrified of the state that I’ll find them in.”

Y/N stops what she’s doing, also turning to look at Five, a look of worry taking over her face. He knows he’s said more than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. He’s not good at sharing his feelings, and when he does, he’s scared of what will happen once the flood gates are opened. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to close them.

“What d’you mean? Are they in some kind of trouble?” She asks, a slight shake in her voice. “Are you in trouble?”

Five shakes his head, not wanting to stress out this poor woman who’s been nothing but doting to him. “No! No, I just,” he sighs, knowing he’s really put his foot in it. “I just care about them, a lot. Too much. And I don’t even want to think about not seeing them again.”

A soft hand brushes against Five’s cheek, as he glances at Y/N wiping a tear away from his face. He didn’t even realise he’d started crying. He sniffles, moving away and rubbing at his eyes, fearing how red they may look. He sucks in a deep breath, calming his beating heart. Whether it’s from talking about his family, or the touch from the woman next to him, he isn’t sure. But he fears he’s overstayed his welcome.

Five moves away from the kitchen counter. “I guess I should probably go. Don’t wanna miss my train.” Although he knows they’ll always be one there waiting for him.

He heads for the door, remembering to go upstairs and collect his dirty clothes before he leaves. Footsteps are heard from behind him.

“Uh,” Five swivels back around, as Y/N hesitates over her words. “This may seem kinda forward, and a dangerous move on my part, but, I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight knowing you were out there in the middle of the night, traveling by yourself.”

Five holds his breath, not wanting to jump the gun, but already anticipating the next sentence out of her mouth.

“I have extra pillows, and blankets.” Y/N shrugs. “It’s not the most comfortable couch but I’d say it’s more comfortable than the chairs on the train.”

Neither of them speak for a while. Five ponders her offer over and over, wondering if this is something he wants to decline. He needs to get back to his family. He needs to get back to help them. But so far, every option has been a bust. He’s not sure how much longer he can go on for. It could be the apocalypse all over again. Stuck for 40 years, traveling none stop, unsure if he’ll ever see his loved ones again. Could a good nights sleep really be such a bad thing?

He thinks the risk is worth it. “As long as it’s not too much trouble for you.”

***

That one good nights sleep turned into three months, staying at Y/N’s home, crashing on her couch. It didn’t stop Five from going out, back to the subway, trying to find the possible solution to his six year problem. But the more time he spent with the woman, the less time he wanted to spend away from her. They grew closer, making meals together, gardening together, watching silly romcoms together. While Y/N taught Five how to bake, Five taught her how to fight. A young woman living by herself? It didn’t hurt knowing some basic defence skills.

Five didn’t want to admit it, but his family hadn’t crossed his mind as often as it usually did before he met Y/N. He’d become soft, wanting to be around her all the time, not wanting to visit the subway as often as he should be. He’s lucky enough to call her a friend. He hopes she calls him that too.

***

It’s late, and Y/N is sat on the couch, crocheting a few pairs of gloves and a long overdue jumper. People used to make fun of her for it, calling her an old lady, but she finds it soothing. And making your own clothes is a big bonus too. Five, or Jerome as she knew him, had been out most of the day. She never questioned what he was up to, only that he returned safe, ready for whatever she’d cooked up for him during the day. She wasn’t completely naive in thinking ‘Jerome’ has involved himself in shady business. But unless he plans on telling her, then she won’t bother pushing him on the matter.

A bang echos from the back of the house, specifically inside the geeenhouse. It makes Y/N jump up from her seated position, quickly rushing out to the source of the noise. It can only be one person, or that’s what she hopes. Either way, she grabs for her shears before entering the warm glass room.

“Jerome?” She whispers, watching her step, the only light in the room coming from the moon through the windows.

A muffled groaning reaches her ears, as Y/N blindly moves her hands over the walls, trying to find the light switch. She finally does, and flicks it on. A sharp gasp comes out of her mouth, as the brightness finally reveals her new friend curled in a ball on the floor, rolling in pain.

“Shit.”

She quickly makes her way over to him, delicately wrapping her arms around his waist and slowly helping him off the floor. He stumbles, knocking into a few pots, almost making them fall off the table.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, the word slurring under his breath.

“Don’t apologise,” she says, making sure he’s steady on his feet. “Let’s just get you inside and onto the couch.”

They make their way through into the living room, Five dropping haphazardly onto the soft cushions, while Y/N finally gets a proper look at him. His clothes are ripped, the once pristine suit (one she bought for him as a gift) now in tatters. His hair is sticking up in all different directions, and he’s clutching to his side like his life depends on it. She reaches for his arm, prying it away to reveal an array of bullet wounds, still bleeding.

“You should see the other guy,” Five jokes, tilting his head back and trying to forget about the burning pain running across his body. Funnily enough, if Y/N saw the other guy, he’d look exactly like him, considering this all happened due to an unfortunate run in with apocalypse Five.

Y/N stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? Look, I don’t bother asking where you go or what you’re up to when you leave this house, but I think now’s the time you tell me the truth.”

Five moves his head back down, looking her in the eyes. She’s terrified. And he hates that. He breathes in deep, taking her hand in his.

“If you can help me patch this shit up,” he briefly motions to his wounds, “then I’ll tell you who I really am.”

So that’s what they do. Y/N retrieves the first aid kit from her bathroom, while Five opens up about his life before he met her, and how he’s not from this timeline. He isn’t sure if she’s believing what he says, as she remains quiet the entire time, only occasionally looking up at him and quickly returning to removing the bullets lodged in his side. But she listens. And allows him to pour his heart out to her.

“The past six years were torture. Somehow worse than the forty I spent in the apocalypse.” Five turns his head and stares at the woman next to him, as she finishes up her work. “But these last few months with you. I could finally be normal. I could live a life most guys would kill to have. And I’m so sorry I lied to you this long.”

They fall into silence, the pair somehow closer together than they were a few minutes ago. Both emotionally, and physically. Y/N moves her hand and takes his, squeezing tightly. Five’s heartbeat picks up speed, only now noticing their close proximity.

“So your real name is ‘Five’?” He nods at her words. She nods back. “Hmm. It suits you a lot better than Jerome.”

They both laugh half heartedly, as they stare deeply into each other’s eyes. She moves her hand up to his hair, moving it out of his face, trying to calm it down slightly.

She carries on talking. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.” Five rolls his eyes. She doesn’t even know the half of it. “But if I can be the person to keep you grounded, for however long you’re here for, then I’m happy to do just that.”

Five smiles, glancing quickly at her lips.

She does the same. “And I hope you’re here for a long time.”

They both lean in, softly pressing their lips against each other’s. Five cups her face, deepening the kiss as Y/N rests her arms atop his shoulders. They move in sync, careful not to cause any more damage to Five’s wounds, as she somehow moves closer, one of her legs wrapping itself around his waist.

They don’t stop, clothes discarded, bodies intertwined, as their growing tension is finally broken. Five isn’t sure if he’ll ever get back to his timeline, but for now, he’s happy to call this place home.

***

Another four months, and still no sign of a way back. Although, Five can’t deny he hasn’t been trying as hard as usual. The peace and tranquillity has consumed him whole, falling into a proper routine with the woman he…

Is it love? Could he truly fall for someone like this? Someone who isn’t involved in the shit show he’s grown accustomed to? Someone who wants that quiet life, watering flowers and baking pies, with him? Maybe it’s what he needs.

Five stands in the greenhouse, picking some fresh strawberries, and trying a few to see if they were ripe. He’s already found the perfect recipe to use them in. Something he knows she’ll love.

As if reading his thoughts, a pair of arms slip around his waist. Y/N rests her chin on his shoulder, peaking over to see the basket full of fresh fruit. She picks one up, moving away and popping it in her mouth. Five turns and looks at her, smiling wide.

“They taste perfect,” she says.

Five takes her wrists, pulling her towards him and kissing her lightly. “So do you.”

She laughs, holding him close and breathing him in. “The cheesy lines don’t work on me, bub.”

“I think they do.” He mumbles, bringing her in for another kiss, sliding his hands up and down her back.

They stay like this for a while, holding each other in the warm glass room. The sun starts to set, as Five looks out and realises what time it is.

“Damn.”

She looks at him, confusion on her face. “What’s up?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, I just need to do a double check of the subway before dinner.”

Y/N tries not to show her anxiousness, but some of it seeps through. After Five explained to her what the subway is and why he goes there every day, she’s terrified at the thought of him leaving and never coming back. But she knows he wouldn’t do that to her. Not without saying goodbye.

She steps back. “Right. Promise you’ll be safe?”

He kisses her on the cheek. “I promise.”

***

Five spends some time looking around the platform in the subway, checking the lights, checking the maps, even poking his head into the tunnels to see if anything has changed. But nothing. It all remains the same. No sign of his past life waiting for him. Was that such a bad thing?

Holding a small flashlight, he shines it up and down, left and right, hoping his eyes will catch something new. A sudden pop from above startles him, the grip he had on the flashlight loosening. It falls and rolls onto the tracks. Five looks up, noticing one of the bulbs now flickering. He huffs, moving to the edge of the platform and jumping down. He retrieves the flashlight, hitting it a few times to try and get it to work again. It comes to life, flashing in front of him. That’s when he spots something.

“That’s new.”

Five walks over, grabbing the mystery object and holding it up. It’s a plain notepad. He flips it open, scanning over the messy handwriting inside. His messy handwriting. He can’t help but let out a tiny gasp, as he figures out what it all means.

“This is it.” Tears form in his eyes. “This is my way back home.”

He’s shocked. He’s elated. He’s emotionally drained. This is his chance to rejoin his timeline. To see his family after so long. To fix the mess they’ve created. But all he can think about in this moment is Y/N. How the hell is he supposed to break the news to her?

***

After another hour spent pondering this new found information, Five slowly makes his way back home. His home. Where the life he’d built was waiting for him.

He enters the house and walks into the kitchen, where Y/N stands by the stove, boiling something sweet and caramelly. Five just stares at her; humming a random tune, wiping her messy hands on the apron he bought for her when her old one accidentally caught fire. That was the most stress he’d felt since coming here. And if that was the only stress he had to deal with, he’d take it every single day.

She finally turns and spots him, smiling wide. “Oh hey! I was worried for a sec, you were taking longer than expected.”

She moves closer to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He holds her, not wanting to let go. Y/N can tell something isn’t right.

She leans back. “You okay?”

Five doesn’t reply, only holding the notepad out for her to take. She does so, flipping through the pages just like he did, her expression perplexed.

“I don’t understand-”

“It’s the way back to my timeline.”

She looks up at him, mouth slightly open, as her words fall short. Five can swear he hears her heartbeat speed up, as her breathing becomes erratic. Five isn’t sure what to do, waiting for an explosion of emotions to rain down on him. But nothing comes. Neither of them do or say anything.

Five chooses to break the silence. “I don’t wanna lose you. I can’t. I don’t think I could live the way I used to live. Not after living this life with you.”

Y/N bites her lip, suppressing a sob. “You have to go.”

Five furrows his brow, hoping he heard her wrong. He tilts her head up to stare into her eyes, seeing the tears forming.

“No,” he whispers. “You’ve become the most important thing in my life. The thought of never seeing you again, I can’t do that.”

A tear falls down her cheek, as Five reaches out to wipe it away.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay in this little bubble we’ve created,” she replies, finding it hard to keep her voice steady. “But your family, your timeline, all those people? They need you more than I do. And I know deep down, you can’t bear the thought of letting them die, knowing you could’ve helped.”

Five wants to ask her to come with him. Become apart of his family. He knows she’d get on with them all. And they’d all love her, possibly more than they love him. But he knows it’s cruel to ask her to leave her life behind. The house, the garden, the home that she’s worked so hard on. And the thought of throwing her into the thick of it all. Putting her at danger? No chance.

He pulls her into his embrace, kissing her hard. They hold each other tight, their lips bruising as neither of them can stop the tears from falling.

Y/N is the first to pull away. “If you ever get the chance to come back to this timeline, you know where to find me.”

Five smiles, not wanting to let her go. He kisses her once more. “In the greenhouse, tasting just as sweet as the strawberries.”

[emeritusemeritus]

Breed like Gnomes [Fred Weasley]

Title: Breed like Gnomes.

Pairing: PregnantWife!Reader x Fred Weasley

Timeline: Set after Canon (Fred lives!)

Summary: At Ginny and Harry’s wedding, you find yourself facing Aunt Muriel’s unpleasantness, so Fred decides to have some fun.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, babies, sexual references.

Word count: 1.2k

June 4th 2003, a joyful and long awaited day for all in attendance. The marriage of Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley. It was a family affair, both in blood and bond, the entire venue packed with loved ones sharing in the happiness of the newlyweds.

Being Ginny's long standing friend and now sister-in-law, you were naturally made a bridesmaid along with six others who proudly stood by Ginny's side as she said her vows. It was beautiful, joyous and utterly heartwarming to see them unite and be declared husband in wife in front of the many people attending. The couple had initially wanted a much smaller affair than what had transpired but in the end, they were too deeply cared for by so many and the numbers were ever increasing, only made worse by Molly's excitement and welcoming nature.

It had been a truly magical day; getting to support your new sister in law, to see your daughter throw wild flowers down the aisle and most of all getting to check out your husband in his tux as he sat beaming beside his twin brother in the front row, holding back a tear at seeing his little sister suddenly looking so grown up.

"You alright sweetheart?" Fred asks worriedly as you lower yourself gently into your assigned seat inside the bustling marquee. It was getting late now, the party stretching into the night as people danced merrily around you.

You were exhausted from the day, the early morning, the usual nuptial stresses and from the shoes that were growing increasingly uncomfortable around your slightly swollen ankles.

You simply smiled warmly at Fred with a little nod, leaning into his touch when he placed his arm behind you on your chair, his fingers fidgeting with the strands of hair that had fallen down your back.

You both turned your heads in the direction of delighted squeals and watched as your children danced around, chasing each other and their many cousins with beaming smiles on their faces. Their nice outfits were quite frankly ditched at this point and they'd eaten more cake than you cared to admit throughout the day but as you looked at the three happy faces on the dance floor, you couldn't care less. Their uncle George took turns spinning and twirling them and you couldn't help but watch in devotion at seeing your oldest dancing with your brother in law, no doubt standing on his feet as he glided her around whilst the twins ran in circles around the dancing pair.

You let out a little surprise gasp when you felt a sharp kick to your side, just underneath your rib.

"I thought you were asleep," you say quietly with a loving smile as your hand drifts down to your blooming bump, gently rubbing over the spot where you'd felt a little prod.

"Letting you know he's there?" Fred asks with a smirk, noticing your movements. He moved closer and places his large hand over yours, wanting to feel for himself the little kicks that had you smiling at your bump.

"He?" You question sarcastically, with a slight raise of your eyebrow.

"Fathers intuition," Fred smirks with a slight shrug, "never been wrong yet."

"You didn't know there were two last time," you countered teasingly, nodding your head towards the two litttle boys causing havoc on the dance floor. He lets out a boyish chuckle and for a moment you both catch each other's eyes, both twinkling in delight and bound with love. You'd been married for nearly five years, together for much longer but it still took your breath away how much you loved this man, and how much he loved you in return.

"Good heavens!"

The nice moment passed as soon as the loud, screechy voice sounded out on the next table, forcing you apart. You jumped slightly at the unexpected noise before realising that Fred's great aunt Muriel had taken up a seat at the table beside yours and as usual her presence was unwanted. Her voice went through you, like nails on a chalkboard. The high tone and the derogatory, unpleasant undertone to her words, accompanied by the constant hateful look on her face were enough to cement a negative association in your mind. Both you and Fred deflated a little at her presence, with Fred letting out an audible sigh that you felt in your soul. Even your baby let out a sharp kick as if to announce their own displeasure at the sound of her voice.

"Yes aunt Muriel?" Fred says in the most monotone voice he can muster, not even attempting to hide the dismay in his voice, or his face.

"Godric," she mumbles under her breath, casting her eyes between the two of you, focusing her beady eyes on your bump, and where your children were currently hanging off George like monkeys in a tree. "You breed like gnomes!"

You hope your face doesn't show the depth of your exasperation at her words but you doubted your ability to keep a straight face. Fred, of course, finds it hilarious and can't keep the smile off of his face. You can feel his shoulders moving up and down with silent laughter but he manages to contain it and simply clears his throat to hide the laughter.

"Have either of you considered simply reading of an evening? Instead of what I assume are your usual activities?" She says with a bitter tone, face downturned into her usual grimace.

Fred snorts at her words and though you feel slightly offended by her accusation, just as you always did by her comments, you can't help but chuckle yourself at the strangeness of the situation. Was she really commenting on your sex life?

"Onto your fourth already! And only 25! You’re worse than your mother, all of you breed like Gnomes."

"You see I've never been one for reading, but I tried," Fred replies coyly. From his tone of voice you can tell that he's teasing, about to prod the bear. "But it only gave me more ideas. What was is called sweetheart? Some muggle book... Kama sutra! Eroticism for begginers. Let me tell you, it's changed my life! Couldn't put it down... or her," he says, nodding his head towards you with a wicked smile on his face as his hand snakes around to cradle your bump once again.

You can't hide your smile this time as Muriel lets out a disgusted squark and turns away with a deeper grimace than before. You turn your head and snuggle into Fred's shoulder to hide your laughter whilst he openly chuckles to himself, head thrown back slightly in glee.

"You're terrible," you mutter with a smirk, pulling yourself away from the soft fabric of his shirt where it stretches over his muscled shoulders. His smile is wide and wicked as he takes in your words, hearing nothing but compliments.

"Hilarious is a better word," he quips, eyes shining in delight.

"Incorrigible."

"Completely irreformable," he agrees without a single care. "But I think you like me like this."

You look up from under your lashes at him, matching the look in his sparkling eyes and can't help but agree.

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[iannmin]

Every Season After | j.yh 정윤호

pairing + genre,, childhood!bestfriend!yunho x reader, fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, slight angst if you squint, each timestamp represents a memory (written in a linear timeline)

a/n,, just had a sudden burst of urge to write this :) & i wanted to try something new hehe

“Because of you, i laugh a little harder, cry a little less, and smile a lot more.”

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

DECEMBER 5 2005 ⋆₊˚

5:30PM, Winter. By mid-afternoon, the light, once bold and golden, softened into a pale silvery haze and the shadows began to stretch lazily across the snow-blanketed playground. The air grew sharper, filled with the familiar yet unsettling tang of frost that promised to linger long after the sun has disappeared. By the time you look up again from making snow ducks, yet another day has gone by with the apartment street-lamps flickering to life. Everybody has gone home now. It was just you and another boy. He was crouched near his army of snow ducks, wearing a thick navy parka dusted with flecks of snow. Even with his rosy cheeks and reddened fingertips, he was carefully adjusting the wing of a snow duck. You eyed his every move, but he must have felt it. “Still here?” He said, without looking up. You flinched, ears reddening, “I-I didn’t mean to stare!” He put down his duck maker and walked over, boots crunching loudly against the packed snow. Reaching out a hand, he said “I’m Yunho, I’m turning six this year, let’s become friends” After the brief and awkward exchange of names, there you were, kneeling beside him, scooping up fresh snow, transforming the playground into a battleground. And on that very night, the snow ducks stood as silent witnesses to the beginning of something new — a friendship forged in the harsh December winter.

APRIL 17 2008 ⋆₊˚

2:14PM, Spring. The Spring season had just begun. The rain came down in relentless sheets, pounding against the school roof, turning the courtyard into a mirror of rippling puddles. While everybody padded off under their multi-coloured umbrellas, you stood there squatting at the front gate, clutching your bag to your chest. Your umbrella. You'd forgotten it. Again. You were nine back then, so instead of running in the rain, your hands tightened against the grip on your bag, vision blurring - not just from the rain, but from the hot sting of tears welling up at the prospect of not being able to make it home. "Forgot something, didn't you?" the sudden voice made you jump, turning to see yunho standing there, his slightly taller frame partially blocking the rain. His dark hair was damp from the drizzle, and he wore his usual dimple smile. "I-I..." your voice wavered, you didn't know why the tears were threatening to spill over. He stepped closer, his free hand reaching out to tilt the umbrella over the both of you. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to cry over something like this, I've got you." Both of you walked side by side, the small umbrella forcing you closer together. He held it high enough to shield you, though his shoulder was starting to get wet. "You're getting soaked, Yunho." He shrugged, "I'll live. What matters is getting you home dry."

OCTOBER 23 2012 ⋆₊˚

8:16PM, Autumn. You were both 13 now. By then, Yunho had grown a head taller than you and you no longer could tease him about his height. "Happy birthday, dummy." You grinned, holding out a small, slightly crumpled box wrapped in bright blue paper. Yunho blinked, staring at the box in your hands. "I saved up. I know how much you wanted it, so...yeah." Yunho took the box and tore into the wrapping, his clumsy fingers fumbling with the tape. Inside was a red baseball cap, one he'd been eyeing in the baseball store for weeks. For a moment, Yunho was speechless. "This is... really cool, holy shit you're the best!" You lit the candle, his face glowing in the flickering light, softening the sharp lines he was starting to grow into. "Now make a wish, birthday boy." He closed his eyes for a moment, then blew out the candle in one breath. "What'd you wish for, hm?" You teased, nudging his arm. "Can't tell you," he said, leaning back on his hands. "But... I think it already came true."

JUNE 26 2015 ⋆₊˚

4:26PM, Summer. You’ve just gotten the news of Yunho’s successful audition. There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. You know you should be happy for him for pursuing his dreams but your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. Before you know it, you are slipping off your shoes in front of his doorstep, fighting the internal battle to will back tears. yunho’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. One look at his face was enough to send the water crashing down. Had it not been Yunho, you’d feel like an attention seeker, but you held him tight, so tight against your chest as if you were afraid of him slipping away from your grip. Without question, he swept you up into his arms, huge warm hand running up and down your back. How much has he grown? Was his hands always this big? Were you always this small? He kept you there for a long moment, before peeling himself off of you to look at your face. Your breath was still hitching unevenly, coming in shallow, jagged gasps that caught painfully in your throat. Each inhale was sharp and shaky, as though you were trying to draw air through a tangled knot in your chest. You stared at him red-eyed, snot running from your nose. He looked you straight in the eye, mumbling “I will never ever leave you. I’ll be back in no time. Pinky-promise?” and that made you feel a whole lot better.

DECEMBER 5 2018 ⋆₊˚

5:30PM, Winter. Three years had passed since then. It might have been the nostalgic faint scent of frost lingering in the air or even the all too familiar row of wooden benches that got you squatting at the edge of the playground, cold biting at your cheeks. But there it was. Your eyes landed on an abandoned yellow snow duck maker in the middle of the playground and it was enough to send memories rushing back into your head. Every detail was painful, really — the spot under the slide where Yunho used to make his snow ducks with you, the echo of laughter that once filled the air, and the way your heart had felt so much at ease. A lump formed in your throat, tightening again with each passing second. Your chest ached and your vision blurred just like it once did on an April afternoon back in 2008. Your lips quivered, tears threatening to break through again. You hated how weak you were.

“You’re always crying”

You looked up and your breath hitched. There he was. Yunho. His face was the same yet completely different — the soft plump boyish roundness now replaced by sharper angles. The way he carried himself changed too,, his lanky frame filled out, movements steady and confident, no longer the awkward shuffle of the boy you remembered. Yet, all it took was his smile to catch the faint glimpse of the boy you used to know — that damn dimple.

Your heart froze for a moment before it began to race uncontrollably. "Yunho..." You blinked, as if your mind was trying to reconcile the boy from your memories with the man standing before you. "You're really just gonna squat there and cry in front of me?" he teased, stepping closer. "Some things never change."

You hastily wiped off the stinging tears in your eyes, too embarrassed to face him, sniffling. "I wasn't crying" you muttered defensively, though your shaky voice and tear-stained cheeks said otherwise. He squatted beside you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “Miss me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur. You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, your chest tightening as the weight of his presence filled the air between you.

"Then kiss me." he whispered.

Your breath hitched again, the world narrowing until it was just the two of you, the snowy evening wrapping around you just like that same day you’ve met him for the first time. And before you could think, before you could second-guess, your heart answered for you.

[hoonvrs]

TRAINEES — l. heeseung smau

PAIRING heeseung × fmr

SYNOPSIS heeseung wasn’t known as ‘the ace’ for nothing, constantly ranking number one after every monthly evaluation. then suddenly a new name takentakes over first place — baek ‘Rin’, and heeseung doesn’t take lightly to competition.

GENRE smau, fluff, crack, more to be added

FEATURING ( enha ) all, ( fromis9 ) chaeyoung, jiheon, ( txt ) yeonjun, ( newjeans ) minji

WARNINGS swearing, kys/kms jokes, friendly bullying, sex jokes, loser heeseung ( more will be added if necessary )

STATUS ongoing, slow updates

TAGLIST ( OPEN )

S. NOTE new smau and as the queen of loser!enha that means loser heeseung agenda dun dun dunnn ( let’s completely ignore timelines cause if i keep switching between new and old pics don’t clock me.. )

noot hee you will always be famous

also please don't spam like as it shadowbans me and lessens engagement <3

PROFILES

flower boys | hybestars

CHAPTERS

01 bang sihyuk count your days.

02 ain’t that ur rank

03 sunKISS MY ASS

04 i purple you heh

05 she gagged you omg

06 meeeeee :3

07 u pack of slags

08 Woah, calm down jamal

09 rupaulations 4:20

10 is somebody gonna match my freak

11 isn’t she so dreamy ( + 0.1k wc )

12 Donatella VERSACE

13 go train with your other bitch then

14 yare yare heeseung kohai

15 shoulda coulda woulda

16 STAY AWAY FROM HER

17 enemies 2 friends 2 strangers

18 not me I don’t care

19 whys he kinda good….

20 double homicide

21 macbeth hyungnim

22 u send?

23 eat a taki moss

24 u need psychological belp.

25 im gonna hump someone

26 SIX BOMBACLART EGGS

27 i’m no longer a penis boy

28 who let the schizo out

29 and the crowd is…confused??

30 heart brocken

31 i hate this company

32 what she saying fuck me for ??

...more to be added

copyright © hoonvrs 2024 all rights reserved

[lilylushes]

Luigi Mangione - NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): I already did h/c’s for this, but he’s amazing. He cuddles with you, praising you and leaving you kisses. Things like, “you were so good for me,” “you’re so pretty,” “I love you so much, baby.” He would get you water, put on a bath or shower and join you. He would be reading up on how to make you feel good after sex too and why it’s important for you and your relationship.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): his PhD I think his abs or shoulders. He said himself that he got his six pack because he had to change his workout routine due to an injury. He adapted and worked through his hardships. And I think he probably likes his shoulders as well. On you, I think he would love your eyes. This is a soulful man, imo. He knows that eyes are the windows to the soul and I think he would get lost in them all the time, sometimes even zoning out haha. Even when you’re just cuddling, he asks you to look at him, just so he can look into your eyes and tell you you’re beautiful. But when you’re intimate, he loves eye contact. LOVES it. It cannot be understated. He wants to see you come undone for him while he stares into your soul and you stare into his.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): We all knew this but he has a BREEDING KINK. He didn’t talk about low birth rates for nothing, and he comes from a big family. He loves the idea of cumming inside of you to make you his. When you first said, “fill my pussy up, please,” something in him changed. He almost went feral, finishing right after the words came out of your month. His dirty talk will always include things like, “gonna breed this pretty little pussy,” “want me to fill up this tight pussy of yours,” “wanna fill you up with my babies, hm.” And speaking of, when you guys start trying for kids, you’re fucking like rabbits, even though you did before as well. You’re going at it multiple times a day in every room.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): Before you talked about having kids and before you got off the pill, he told himself he wouldn’t be mad if you did get pregnant. He knew he wanted to be with you forever and believed in divine timing. The two of you wanted to settle down, but weren’t fussed about getting married and then having kids or having a certain timeline. He often thought of what they would look like and sometimes he would mention to you a name that he liked just to see your reaction.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): This is a tough one because I think he could be experienced but maybe not. I’m actually leaning towards him not being that experienced due to his injury and seemingly not being that into dating casually and being a nerd. I would say body count under 10 for sure, potentially less than 5. Still, he DEFINITELY knows what he’s doing. He had a book about female pleasure on his GoodReads for god’s sake. He gets off on you feeling good and finishing. He knows all the female anatomy and is always reading about new ways to please you whether it be a new pussy eating technique or a way to please your erogenous zones. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): MISSIONARY. In this sense, he’s a traditional kind of guy. He loves all sex and all positions, but missionary is his favourite because he’s dominant and can see you coming undone beneath him. He has access to your clit, boobs, hips, neck, mouth, everywhere. He can also look deeply into your eyes the entire time which he loves doing. Eye contact is CRITICAL to this man. Oh, and he can lower himself down to whisper dirty shit into your ear. His favourite things about missionary overall are seeing the effect he has on you and being able to look into your eyes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): He can be goofy sometimes, but not all the time. I think goofiness would mostly happen in bed, rather than any quickies, where he’s rougher and more serious. He’ll laugh if you’re fucking at his or your parents’ place and you can’t keep quiet, or if something falls over. It puts you both at ease and make you feel safe and connected. You love when he laughs right against your lips or face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): We’ve seen how fast the hair on his head grows, so I’d imagine down there is similar. I’m thinking that he keeps things neat and trimmed, but not fully bare. As for you, I don’t think he’d have a preference at all.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): I think that Luigi really sees all intimacy as something that is almost spiritual for your connection. It’s an important part of the relationship, but he doesn’t think that in a selfish way. He knows it’s so important for your partnership and relationship. Luckily, you’re both horny freaks so there have never been any issues there. I think sexually, he’s pretty traditional in the way that he loves missionary, eye contact, etc. He wants to feel as close to you as possible physically, emotionally, spiritually. But not in such a serious or intense way. He watches you closely, knows what makes you get closer to your release, and is always praising you and dirty talking.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He doesn’t masturbate often because, as I said, you’re both horny freaks

If he does, it’s because you’re away or maybe after you had a baby (and he probably asked permission before lol)

For him, jacking off could NEVER beat having sex with you, EVER, so he almost never wants to do it because it’s just not that arousing

You have tried both touching yourselves in bed together, but your hands quickly wander to the other person

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): Like I said, breeding and praise kink!!! He wants to give you his babies like yesterday. To him, making a baby together is the most intimate thing he can think of. It’s really the two of you committing to one another forever and going through something incredibly special together. I’m just also going to add that while he enjoys MAKING the baby, he’d really have that attitude throughout your pregnancy and postpartum. And yes, praise kink. Since day 1, he’s been calling you a good girl and saying how beautiful you were taking his cock. Oh, and size kink! He loves the thought of his PhD hitting your cervix and stomach. He gets hard just thinking about how you have to adjust for a second after he enters you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): I think he likes the bed. It’s your safe place where you can try new things and be as close as possible. The bed also makes missionary more comfortable as there’s ample space for the two of you. He would like the couch too. Many of your makeout sessions during movie night turn to more and you don’t feel the need to go to the bedroom. Sometimes when you have a bath together, you’ll ride him nice and slow, which he loves. That being said, it’s not like your kitchen countertop, car, and several public places haven’t been sites for your sexcapades.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): He loves seeing you get turned on. He is all about giving you pleasure. If you even moan during a perfectly innocent kiss, the blood rushes downward. Seeing and hearing you beg for him, eye contact, and dirty talk work on him too. Even if he’s not in the mood himself, if you are, he’ll get in the mood. He knows he’s the only one who can make you feel that good, and he loves nothing more than seeing you taking his cock and talking you through your orgasm.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Scat and piss for sure. I also think he would never be down for a threesome, like, ever. You’re his and he’s yours, in this life, and the rest. He’s not going to do anything super violent. He’ll slap your ass of course (and maybe your face idk on this one), but he’s not going to be violent with you. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): Like I’ve said, he gets off on getting you off. Watching you come undone on his fingers or his mouth could make him cum in his pants. Our little bookworm is always reading about new ways and techniques to make you cum. That being said, he loves the sight of you on your knees, taking him in your mouth, licking the tip, or sucking his balls while pumping his length. He will ask you for BJs on occasion. You two communicate all of your needs well, including sexually. If either of you asked for or received oral, you always reciprocate, or at least offer.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): A mix! There are times when he’s slow and gentle, and times when he’s rough and fast. You both enjoy both A LOT. And you seem to be able to read each other’s mind on what you want or need on that day. Slower, gentler sex makes you both feel incredibly connected to one another emotionally, while rougher sex brings out your primal sides. Both are essential for a good relationship, so you VERY happily take part in both often. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): You two usually have sex at home because you like to be free to make noise and let your guards down, not worrying about someone hearing or walking in. Being at home lets you really focus on the other person and how they’re feeling. But you do engage in quickies. And because you’re both perpetually horny, it’s decently often. Typically, it’ll be in your car, on a secluded beach, or in a bathroom. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): He will if you demonstrate to him that you’re comfortable and feel safe. A lot of things are your suggestion and he’s happy to try. You’ll try things like sensation play, some light BDSM, but overall you keep things pretty tame.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): With his back, he can’t go for as many rounds as he’d like, but the ones you do have pack a punch. Two or three rounds and you’re both exhausted, opting for a cuddle session or a bath to rest up before you’re ready for more. As for how long he lasts, it depends I think. Sometimes he will be fighting for his life not to cum in his pants while you’re grinding on him, and other times, he lasts quite a long time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): You’ll occasionally use a vibrator, restraints, blindfolds, butt plugs, and whips or ticklers, but it’s not often. You both prefer to focus on getting the other off all on your own. You like to bring in toys sometimes to change things up and heighten sensations.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): He loves to tease. LOVES it. And he wears a big grin on his face while doing it, saying, “how bad do you need my cock, baby,” “beg for it,” “patience,” “good girls wait,” or “you want me to give it to you.” Sometimes he’ll really make you work for it. Your begging gets him off. He knows it’s a bit cruel, but it makes your orgasm even more powerful, so it’s a win-win. He’ll also tease you in public. You’ve had to leave a few family dinners early.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): He’s LOUD. A moaner, groaner, whiner, occasional whimperer, and ALWAYS dirty talking and praising. When he comes, he groans and moans your name. When you tease him and grind on him, he whines and whimpers. He’s a vocal guy and sees making noise as a part of being intimate and letting your guard down with the other person.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): Luigi has asked you a few times to suck him off from under his desk while he’s in meetings. Once he heard whimpering and saw you rubbing your clit while you were sucking him off. He looked under his desk for one second and had to mute his mic and go off camera for a second because it made him cum right then and there.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): He said he has a PhD and I believe it. Also in one of his pics where he’s painted at Penn during his freshman year, his bulge is very visible and looks pretty big.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): It’s always there. Luigi is in touch with his body, including his sex drive. It’s increased so much with you, and luckily for him, you’ve got a high sex drive to match.

 Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): He couldn’t fall asleep without making sure you’ve been taken care of. Cuddling is essential for both of you. He praises you after as well, and if you’re in the mood to talk, he will listen or talk with you. Sex involves aftercare for him, and he needs to make sure you’re satisfied and ready to rest before he can think of sleeping.

[zylev-blog]

Danny was pissed. He was chilling in the Speedforce, waiting on his dad—the Flash—to show up when he felt something shift around him. He exited the speedforce to find that the timeline had changed again, and he had been written out of the timeline. He technically was a time anomaly now, and didn’t exist. So he talked to Clockwork, a ghost he’d gotten to know extremely well after Danny’s creation.

Danny was a clone of the Flash and Green Lantern(Hal Jordan) as part of an experiment that Lex Luthor had taken prior to cloning Superboy. Lex had wanted to know if the power ring was able to transmit anything genetically (it couldn’t. It was a wearable weapon, not a genetic thing.) but Danny had inherited Flash’s superspeed, so he wasn’t a complete loss. Danny wasn’t sure if he looked more like either man, considering they both wore masks. He had brown hair and green eyes. Beyond that, he tanned well, was tall for his age, and packed on muscle far easier than the Flash did. He hadn’t ever seen either man out of the costume.

After a talk with Clockwork, he decided he was just going to force his way back into his Dad’s life. Both of them, if possible. He arrived years before his creation by mistake, right near the start of the Justice League. By his estimates, the team had only been formed for a year before he’d arrived. It was strange; he both didn’t exist and was from the future. He guessed that it was around nine years before his birth, and since he was technically six months old, he was 9 years in the past. Thinking about this was going to give him a headache.

The Justice League was severely mistrustful of each other. They didn’t go out of their way for teamups, didn’t have weekly meetings, and almost pretended if the other members didn’t exist. The most recluse of them was Batman, of course. If any hero set foot in Gotham, they were booted out before they even got to downtown. Danny highly suspected Batman had the entire city on camera. The situation was weirding him out more than before. What had happened to the team?! He was used to everyone being one big family, and even the sidekicks having their own teams… speaking of sidekicks, why was Robin so small?! Wait a minute, that wasn’t the third Robin that he was used to, that was the first Robin! Baby Nightwing!

Thankfully for him, he still had his costume on this entire time as he zipped around the country, spying on the younger members of the Justice League. It was surreal watching everyone try to capture him, but he wasn’t going to be caught that easily!

Eventually his presence forced the Justice League into another teamup. Batman laid the trap out, and Flash lured him into it. The plan was so beautiful that he didn’t even realize it was a trap until he was caught in it. Green Lantern took off Danny’s mask, and for the first time, he looked at his fathers without a mask. They didn’t make the connection to him right away. It wasn’t until Wonder Woman’s lasso made its way around his wrist that the truth finally came out.

“Who are you?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Oof , hard question—ow ow oww—I’m being honest!” He struggled against the lasso as it started to burn him. “My designation was Dn-y, I go by Danny, though. I’m a clone.”

“Of who?” Batman demanded.

“Flash and Green Lantern.” The lasso was glowing brightly, indicating that he was telling the truth.

“How did you escape?” Flash asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He was trying to think about how to phrase the whole time traveling—timeline erasure thing when the lasso started to burn him again. “Ow ow! Sorry, I’m thinking! Ow! Turn down the settings on that thing, holy shit—okay, okay.” He winced, his words coming out in one breath as he quickly talked, “What do you know about time travel?”

Diana’s eyebrows were rising. “How are you able to resist the lasso for so long?”

“I’m not really resisting it.” He answered, noting the obvious deflect of his last question, “I just-oww—okay! My mind moves too fast for me to put into words sometimes and it makes me stop to think about it, but like, I’m not good at controlling the speed in which I speak all the time—owww make this thing stop burning me! I’m speaking honestly!”

Diana revoked the lasso, and he rubbed his wrist where his costume was starting to singe. He was still trapped in an anti-speedster prison, so it wasn’t exactly like he was going anywhere anyway.

“Why were you asking about time travel?” Batman asked.

“Based on the crickets chirping I heard earlier, that leads me to believe you guys haven’t had any experience in it yet.” He leaned against the wall of the prison, wincing as it shocked him with electricity. “Seriously? How paranoid are you, Batman?” He rubbed his shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting with you people, but I feel so attacked right now.”

“So we have experience with it in the future?” Superman piped up.

“Yeah?” His tone of voice equated to a ‘duh’ tone. “Why would I ask what you knew if I wasn’t from the future?”

“How far in the future are you from?” Green Lantern asked.

“Nine years, maybe close to ten? Timelines are weird. I’m technically six months old, but at the same time I’m sixteen. Cloning is odd, but I was like, the first clone ever, so I don’t really have a basis for this sort of thing, if you catch my drift.” He shrugged. He seemed like he talked a lot more than the heroes did, but he didn’t know if that was because he was a chatterbox, or because they weren’t comfortable in each other’s presence. Either way, the silence was odd to him.

“How did you end up here?” Batman asked.

“Honestly? I don’t fully know. Don’t give me that look, Diana! I’m telling the truth.” He added quickly as Diana fingered her lasso again. “All I know is one minute, I’m chilling in the Speedforce, and the next, the timeline is changed and I’m nine years too early for my birth. You’d think the timeline would at least have the decency to spit me out in my own year, but nooo, it wanted to—“

“What’s the Speedforce?” Superman interrupted.

He tilted his head at Superman’s question, then turned to the Flash. “How long have you had your powers?”

Flash shifted uncomfortably. “Two years.”

“Oh boy.” Danny’s green eyes widened. “You don’t know anything about them, do you?”

“I do know things!” Flash deflected, “My suit doesn’t catch on fire anymore! I can run up to Mach 2! I can get from either end of the country in thirty minutes!”

He groaned loudly. “Oh no. Oh no.” He chewed on his thumb, trying to recall everything he’d learned about his powers from his Flash. While he hadn’t learned his or Green Lantern’s identity yet, he knew almost everything about their hero personas and a lot of personal information. They were just worried of the Cadmus connection and didn’t want their identity to fall into the wrong hands if they still could see inside of Danny’s head.

“What’s wrong?” Diana asked.

“Okay.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, making it spike up. “Hypothetically—“ he cut himself off as Batman glared at him. “Okay, totally real, but uh, Flash, let’s just say that I’m faster than you right now. A lot faster.”

“How much?” Flash took a step forward, obviously curious.

“From what we can tell, I’ve topped out at Mach nine.” He responded with a dry laugh, “But your speed was still a lot faster than mine. You’d never tell me what it was. I’m still growing though, and I’m getting faster. I’m able to beat my precious time by almost double each time we test. But my situation was complicated, and things were happening, and it was a mess.”

“Like what?” Superman asked.

“World war three. I think?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that he had picked up from Green Lantern, “Things got complicated. That’s why I was going to wait for…” his eyebrows scrunched together as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “It was you!” He turned to Flash. “You!” He jabbed a finger at the speedster. “You set this up! You set ME up!”

The heroes took fighting stances, but Superman took a step forward, blocking them from Danny. “What are you talking about?”

“Okay okay.” He was trying to calm down his anger, but he had been told by Green Lantern in the past that he had inherited the man’s anger issues. “Let me start at the beginning. This is going to be a long story, you might want to take a seat.”

Nobody moved, but everyone was tense.

“Or not. Okay. So my creation starts with Lex Luthor.” He noticed Superman stiffen. “He used me as his trial, if you will. Once he got a successful attempt at cloning—me—he moved onto his real target. Cloning Superman.” Danny’s green eyes hovered onto Superman’s blue ones. “He was successful.”

“What happened?” Superman’s voice was unnaturally quiet.

“Well, at first, Conner wasn’t showing that he had all the powers of Superman. So Lex tossed him aside and tried again. The second attempt was more successful than the first. But cloning Kryptonian dna was hard, I guess.” He shrugged. “The second clone lacked basic emotions. Empathy, remorse… it made him the perfect little weapon for Lex. But eventually, the clone’s anger and Lex’s greed got to a point of no return. Lex was elected President of the United States and uh…you can probably see where this is going, right? While the fighting hadn’t like…’officially’ started,” He used his fingers to create air quotes around the word ‘officially’, “Things were getting tense. See, we couldn’t take the clone down because Lex had wrote out the Kryptonite deficiency out of his weakness. And the clone had all the strength of Superman and none of his remorse…”

Superman looked pale. “I see.”

“So Flash and I came up with a plan.” He turned back to his father, “We were going to travel into the next dimension for help. From what we could tell, that dimension was full of god-like beings, and one of them actually helped me out earlier! But for a lot of them, they ask for a price for their help. But anyway, Flash and I were going to take our case to the King and plead for help. I was waiting for Flash when the timeline reset and I found out that not only did I not exist, but I was nine years too early.”

“What are you going to do now?” Green Lantern asked.

“Dunno,” His voice dropped as the reality hit him. He wasn’t going home—his home didn’t exist anymore.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22- -Part 24-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light. 

There’s a lump in your throat. 

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself. 

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?” 

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you’. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.” 

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?” 

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so. 

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.” 

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.” 

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands. 

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.” 

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside. 

You start, gripping the small chest tight. 

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest. 

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure. 

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away. 

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made. 

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.” 

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion. 

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.” 

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.” 

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses. 

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you. 

But, time. 

You still have some of that left to give. 

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are. 

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop. 

You need to keep going in order to escape it. 

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets. 

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder. 

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business. 

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side. 

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling. 

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?” 

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.” 

She’s still getting the vision? 

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her. 

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing. 

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate. 

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.” 

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence. 

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?” 

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.” 

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves. 

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?” 

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.” 

You blink. 

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods. 

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble. 

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means- 

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.” 

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?” 

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans. 

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.” 

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court. 

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre. 

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?” 

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.” 

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does. 

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.” 

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.” 

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses. 

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.” 

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm. 

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.” 

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening. 

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade. 

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.” 

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes. 

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.” 

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?” 

Why put that decision on you? 

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best… 

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head. 

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.” 

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow. 

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest. 

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer. 

But that’s a decision for tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020 @just-m-2

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[madridnoora]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden AU - LSU!Joe Burrow x OC Masterlist ⋆

Main story Instalments ⋆｡˚

౨ৎ { read them in order! :) }

one -> third times a charm

two -> it did happen

three -> a quick glance

three.two -> a quick glance

four -> God bless texas

five -> homecoming

six -> a messy night

seven -> halloween

eight -> blind dates and ice packs

nine -> surprise!

ten -> championship tears

eleven -> London

twelve -> national championship

thirteen ->

౨ৎ

⋆｡˚Blurbs - events outside of the main timeline.

{requests open}

No specific order.

౨ৎ Pumpkin Carving

[writingbyshiloh]

Third Time's the Charm

Request: Hii,if your request are still open can i request something for Gen V?Can you write something where Jordan and fem reader are childhood best friends and Jordan had always been in love with her but they feel insecure because they don’t know if reader will like them in both forms romantically?So when,in ep 3,Jordan dad goes like “Y/n and Jordan will be husband and wife” reader goes “Maybe we will be wife and wife”because she loves Jordan just like they are?

AN: Reader wants to be the first supe president (just to explain why they’re at the gala), I changed the timeline of the ep a tiny bit. I have another request about meeting Jordan's parents but that one might be more angsty.

CW: fem!reader, kissing, no beta, Jordan's parents are just their warning. The start is all flashbacks so I may have slipped on the tense a few times, no beta

WC: 2.0K

Jordan Li was your first kiss. Twice. The first time was in kindergarten, when they tried to kiss you and you smacked them with your Queen Mauve lunch box. Your second first kiss (the one you consider your actual first kiss) was done by you while playing truth or dare at 14. After picking a dare, you were asked to kiss the best-looking guy in the group. You shrugged and picked your best friend - Jordan. 

At age six, they were there when you broke your ankle trying to see if you could fly (you couldn’t). When you did get powers, they were the first person you told.

When Jordan came out to you as bigender, you did an internet deep-dive, trying to understand as much as possible.

Jordan listened to every interaction you had with your high school crush while quietly dying inside, wanting you to be happy. When your high school boyfriend cheated on you and then dumped you for the girl he cheated with, Jordan was there, ready to sink hours into their Xbox to keep you distracted.

The worst week of your life was when you didn't speak to Jordan for 9 whole days. You got into a petty argument where you called them self-absorbed and they called you clingy. The fight snowballed into yelling arguments and ended with you receiving a cold shoulder from Jordan. 

When Jordan got their wisdom teeth removed, you camped out in their room, snuggled under their duvet with them to watch Property Brothers for two days straight. You even made sure they took their painkillers on time and used ice packs.

Every fight with their parents, you were outside in your car ready to pick up Jordan to stay with you. Once you showed up at their house at 6:03 am, eyes blurry with sleep and still in pyjamas. Jordan was crying, bob haircut looked messy from sleep. You drove them to Vought-A-Burger, still half asleep and ate greasy breakfast sandwiches in your car until Jordan stopped crying. 

Jordan was even your date to prom, taking photos with you in their masculine form to get their parents off their back. Once their parents were happy, you snuck them back to yours, where you stashed their prom dress. 

You both even applied to God U together. Too nervous to check your acceptance, Jordan checked yours and you checked theirs. Sitting across from each other on your bed you both log in before giving the laptops to each other.

“Okay, three, two, one…” you counted down, opening Jordan’s laptop. Your eyes scanned for any promising words like congratulations, or welcome. "Accepted" was the first word your eyes caught but you need to fuck with them.

“Jord… I’m so sorry.” You start. Their face falls, and you feel like a dick for doing this. But the opportunity is too good to pass up. “That you believed me! Because you got in!”

They lunged across your bed to see what the screen says. You saw Jordan's eyes scan the same letter you just read, picking out the same words. 

“You’re such an asshole!” they told you, rolling their eyes, gently hitting your arm with the back of their hand

You’ve never been shy about showering Jordan with compliments. Saved in screenshots never to see the light of day, Jordan has kept some of them. 

You: OMG!!! Jordan you’re so pretty. I’m so lucky to call you my friend. 

You: You’re so handsome!!! I love your hair slicked back! If she doesn’t agree you need to drop her. 

You: ur a solid 9/10. Lost a point for not giving me a sip of your drink yesterday lol

Jordan Li has been in love with you since age 16. Probably earlier, if they want to admit that to themselves. You’ve only ever expressed interest in men so they kept their feelings to themselves, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, figuring it was better to have you as a friend only than not at all. 

In your first year, you were even roommates. While Jordan flourished in crim, you bounced between majors before settling into politics.

Every time you brought some frat guy to your shared dorm, Jordan died inside. Trying to get over their long-standing crush, Jordan did the same.

When Jordan made number 2 on the top five, you celebrate with them. Maybe a bit too hard that night.

You were there when their ranking dropped after the death of Brink. A man you only met twice, but you would do anything for Jordan. Especially given how hard you fell for both versions of them last year.

“I’m going to try to tag team with your dad, get some points for you and keep him engaged, yeah?” You ask over your shocker. Jordan is behind you, ready to help with zipper duty for your dress.

“You don’t have to.”

You let out a small scoff. “Dude. I’m doing poli supe. Schmoozing with rich people is like half our courses. Zip me up please.”

“How long have you known Jordan? You seem to be a good couple.” The man you and Jordan's dad suckered into a conversation asks. He's sitting beside Jordan's parents, while you and Jordan are on the edge of some fancy pit or table. 

“Well, these two have known each other pretty well over the years. Jordan tried to kiss her when they were kids, and she hit him with her Black Noir lunch box.”

“It was a Queen Mauve lunch box, actually.” You say with a laugh.

“And she called him ‘Jojo’ for probably the next two years out of spite.” Kayla laughs. It's a special embarrassment when your parents tell stories about your childhood. All the stories are about you but it's been so long ago you can’t remember any of it. Jordan looks worse off, slouchy posture against the banister, while you sit next to him. Part of you wants to tell him to sit up straight, but you figure you can play the grief angle better this way. 

“Oh, and remember when Jordan got his wisdom teeth out? You guys were inseparable. I think I still have the photo of you two passed out watching TV!” Kayla gushes, reaching for her phone to find the photo.

“We all thought you two would be president and First Gentleman.” Dad insists. Your smile is fake and tight, knowing if Paul pulls out prom photos, you would have to quietly fling yourself out of a window. 

Maybe you drank a bit too much liquid courage. Maybe the tension between them and their parents was getting to you. To give Jordan some space, you took their parents for a tour of your classes, knowing they’ll be talking to your family when they go back to Rochester.

Jordan shifting doesn’t even cause you to raise an eyebrow, the subtle sound just blurs into the background.

“Or president and First Lady.” You blurt out, four pairs of eyes darting towards you. “First supes in the Whitehouse? It would be political dynamite.”

“You like this version of Jordan?” Dad asks with bewilderment.

“Of course. I like Jordan because of how smart and driven they are. I like Jordan because of their weird sense of humour. It doesn’t matter what they look like.” you say, trying to prove it to their parents, but also to them. You’ve picked up on their crush many times, too kind to say something that would embarrass them or hurt them. It’s only recently how much you found yourself staring at fem Jordan and wanting to kiss her too. 

“I’m going to go and mingle some more.” says the man, Brad or Rob maybe. You forgot his name right after you met him. His words are like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. You don’t confess your feelings to Jordan just to Jordan, but in front of their judgy parents, and a possible donner. You need to go. 

You stand and straighten out your dress. 

“I’m going to go too. Other donors to talk to. Go Jordan!" You finish with an awkward laugh and even more cringy go team! gesture by yourself. 

You didn't lie to Jordan and their parents. You did go and talk to other donors but it twists your stomach every time you bring up how amazing their grades are, or how skillful they are at fighting. After donor number three gives you an answer that technically was “we’ll see” but heavily implied to be "yes for Jordan” you went to hide in the bathroom. You have enough battery left on your V-phone to keep it going for most of the night. Tomorrow you can talk to Jordan and hope you don’t fuck it all up. 

You barely look up when the door opens, already have done too much for the day to care who it is. 

‘Hey, can we talk?” You snap to attention at the voice. Of course, you know that voice. It's Jordan, still feminine presenting. 

“Fuck, Jord, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have spring that on you. I promise I’ll just go back and try to get you some votes, you’re going through a lot.” You say, in a rush to get the words out, desperate not to fuck up you’re friendship. The rim of the sink is hard against your back but you can’t help but shrink into it. 

“Did you mean it?” They ask, still keeping a distance from you.

“Yeah, of course, I don’t want to ruin this friendship.”

“No, what you said in front of my parents.” 

Oh right. Your confession. Fuck. It's already out there, might as well keep it going. 

“I may, uh-” you curse yourself for leaving your drink outside the bathroom, wanting something in your hands to stall. “-have a crush. On you. My best friend.” You twist your hands together, wishing Jordan didn’t look so pretty. If your heart beats any faster you may go into cardiac arrest. 

It's Jordan that indicates your third first kiss. It's gentle, and fast, like the second one. She pulls back quickly, but you run your fingers through her hair and pull her closer. The intensity from the first first kiss is still there, only this time you both share it. Her hand smooths up to your face, thumb stroking your cheek in a silent invitation to open your mouth. You comply, and tilt your head into her palm. Her tongue sweeps into your mouth and you can taste the champagne they were drinking. 

The sound of the door opening makes you both jump.

“Stall?” You ask, voice low and hushed. You squirm out from where she has you between the sink and her. You push the door open to the nicest-looking stall, desperate to keep kissing Jordan. They follow your lead eagerly, one hand wrapped around your shoulder to keep you near. 

Dipping their head, they softly kiss your jaw before moving onto your neck. You silently thank the other two women arguing in the bathroom so that your gasp goes unnoticed. Giving Jordan's hair a small tug, you pull them back up to you. The shit-eating grin they flash you makes you want to almost get caught again. 

Your free hand moves to their waist, trying to get as close to them as physically possible. 

You pull back slightly, wanting so desperately to get lost in the moment, but the commotion in the other stall is distracting. Plus you’re nosey.

Jordan frowns when you pull away, eyes scanning your face for something they did wrong. You shake your head and tip it over to the stall.

“The fuck?” They mouth to you, hand still around your shoulder.

You gently push Jordan against the door to give yourself space to squat down. You see two pairs of feet in the stall across the wall. You hear the voices quiet down, before the sound of someone peeing. You frown slightly, weird fetish to do at a memorial gala but you hear rumours about students into more fucked up shit. 

“We should get outta here.” You whisper to Jordan. 

“Weird place for our third first kiss.” Jordan whispers back. You reach around them to unlock the stall door. Third first kiss. You replay the words in your head, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. 

You gently push them out of the stall, trying to keep your laughs quiet as you both scurry past the other couple in the stall. 

[lovegalor333]

Warm December

part three of paigemas

paige bueckers x reader

paige surprises you by staying in storrs for christmas so you’re not alone

⋆꙳❆ ⋆✩°｡꙳❆°⋆ ⋆꙳❆ ⋆✩°｡꙳❆°⋆ ⋆꙳❆ ⋆✩°｡꙳❆°⋆

The holiday season was a weird and complicated time for you. It came with a lot of bad memories since your mom died and home was the last place you wanted to be so the decision to stay in Storrs was an easy one. Your family were unbothered and didn’t have much to say when you broke the news. Your stepmom said she would save money not having to buy you gifts and your dad just grunted down the phone. A few years ago, this would have probably made you cry but you were used to your parents attitude now and you were grateful you went to college so far away from home.

It was December 21st and you had waved your roommates goodbye, cars full with wrapped presents and snacks you had packed for them. They both drove off in the falling snow, with Christmas music blasting from their speakers. Both girls tried to get you to go home with them, insisting their families would be happy to have an extra guest at their table but you weren’t one to impose and besides, you had a long list of books you wanted to read. The thought of bunkering down in your cosy apartment, spiced candles lit, a mug of hot tea in your hand and getting lost in a romance novel appealed to you more than you’d like to admit.

Before meeting your girlfriend, you lived vicariously through the relationships you read about. Fantasising about a love like Elizabeth Bennets and Mr Darcys. After being single your whole life, you were starting to believe that maybe love like that was entirely fictional and then along came Paige. Six foot tall, blonde, blue eyes and pure muscle. You and Paige had the most typical friends to lovers timeline. Having met through mutual friends, you quickly bonded over your Midwest roots and you both found yourselves wanting to spend more and more time together. You were both wildly oblivious to each other’s pining and it took one too many shots and a very calculated game of spin the bottle (thanks Azzi) for you to finally realise that you were on the same page.

Speaking of your girlfriend, she had also travelled home today. You said goodbye with tears in your eyes and one final kiss. “I’ll FaceTime you everyday.” Paige had said, “I want to know what happens at the end of Emma.” Paige loved listening to you talk about your current read, she insisted she cared about the storyline but with the way she looked at you, eyes soft and a small smile on her lips, you knew you could say absolutely anything and she’d listen intently.

The evening was drawing in and you had turned off all the big lights, your apartment lit by fairy lights and candles alone. The Christmas tree in the corner of the room glowed warmly making the space feel like a cosy grotto. The whole place smelled like cinnamon and with your Christmas playlist softly emitting from your Alexa, it softened the blow that you’d be alone at this time of year.

A knock on your apartment door broke through your thoughts and you imagined it was your Post Mates order so you carefully placed your book mark inbetween the pages you were currently reading and went to answer the door. Your door step was empty, nothing or nobody was there and you furrowed your brow in confusion and peeked your head around the door to see who knocked.

It took you a few seconds to process what you saw, “Paige! What are you doing here?” You gasp, seeing your girlfriend, body pressed against the wall, a huge cheesy grin on her face and a red santa hat perched on her head, “Surprise, my love.”

“You’re meant to be on a plane right now!” You say as she pulls you into a hug. Paiges hugs were hands down your favourite thing in this whole world. The way her arms snaked around your waist and squeezed you tight, the way her head nuzzled into your neck as she pressed light kisses to your skin. Your nostrils were filled with her scent, a scent you had prepared yourself to not smell for a few weeks and you breathed in deeply taking in as much of it as you could.

“I’m meant to be right here.” Paige says walking back into your apartment with one arm still wrapped around your waist.

“What are you talking about? I thought you were going back to Minnesota.”

“I was. And then I thought about it. Go there where I’ll just get grilled by my family about shit I cannot be bothered to explain or stay here. With you. Where we can be with each other all day and night. Where I can make you tea while you read and you can cook while…I watch because God knows I’ll burn the place down.” Paige tucks your hair behind your ear and her eyes skim over your face, “You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone did you?” She asks, her thumb gently stroking your cheek.

“I don’t know. Kinda. But it’s normal, everyone goes home. I wouldn’t have minded.” You mumble looking into Paiges eyes. You wouldn’t have resented Paige for going home for the holidays, it wasn’t her fault your family didn’t know how to act. “You know I love you, right? Like a lot. And Christmas is about being with the people you love. Now come and sit on Santas lap and tell me what’s on your list.” Paige smirked as she pulled you to the couch, positioning you on her lap.

You giggled as Paige did her best Santa impression. Voice deep and gravelly, “Have you been a good girl this year?” You nod playing into her game, “Very good.”

Paige raised a brow, breaking character, her usual accent back, “Good girls arch their back, ass up?” You gasped, lightly slapping her arm, “Paige! Santa would not say that!”

“Oh my bad- Ho ho ho! What’s on your Christmas list?” She regained composure, putting on her Santa voice once again, holding her stomach as she ho’d, really getting into character.

“Didn’t make a list. Everything I need is all right here.” You smile, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your girlfriends lips. “I love you, Paige.” “I love you too.”

The rest of your night was spent cuddled into Paige on your couch. The Christmas lights around your dim apartment twinkled silently as you watched your favourite festive movie - The Holiday. Paige traced delicate shapes into your back and every now and then you would catch her staring at you. The light from the television illuminating her perfect features. She would press soft kisses to your head when a romantic scene played and when you found yourself sniffling as the young characters on screen laid in their fort and spoke about their mom who had passed away, Paige slipped her hand into yours and squeezed it tightly.

The holiday season was a weird and complicated time for you but like always Paige was there to make it less weird and less complicated and for that, you could only let a tear slip out of your eye. Grateful for the girl next to you and her deep, unapologetic love.

two posts in an hour so im back on track 🙂‍↕️ happy christmas eve eve baddies 💋

🏷️: @buecketsnbueckets @rosemariiaa @sierrale8ne @avvwritesstufff @blackbarbie96 @melpthatsme @jnkbueckers @cloclos-posts @onlyhereforpazzi @paigeshirleytemple @mattsmunchkin @bueckersbitch @rizzlerbuckets @numberonepartyanth3m @washing-machine-heart245 @katemartinlvr @girlslovee @taylynbueckers44 @thatonequeer0358 @the-other-half @xxxggggsh @evry1luvzza

[millerskitty]

Running If You Call My Name

❥ dbf!joel / f!reader x joel miller

❥ (18+) nsfw

❥ reader insert

❥ medium burn, no outbreak au. some timelines are changed to fit the story.

dividers by @/saradika !

click here for chapter 1

click here for chapter 2

warnings: jealousy, angst, reader kisses someone other than joel, brief mention of depression

Chapter 3

September brought cooler temperatures and good things to your life. You’d gotten a promotion at work despite having been in a depressive slump following the shit show that took place in your car. You’d seriously considered trading it in after that afternoon. You were in a better place now, you were dating again; well, you were texting a guy and you were ready to officially go on a first date with him.

Caleb was smart, athletic and kind. He was a biology teacher, never married with no kids. He was thirty-five years old and your age wasn’t an issue to him. You should have been more excited for your date, but you were dragging your feet.

You took one last look in the mirror before grabbing your purse and heading downstairs. Pop was outside drinking with your uncle Robert, his brother, who was in town for business. You waved goodbye to them through the glass sliding door when you’d heard Caleb knock at the front door.

To your utter shock and disbelief, you opened the door to find Joel standing there with a six pack in hand. His eyes traveled brazenly over your body. You were wearing a fitted little black dress and cowgirl boots. You knew you looked damn good, but you couldn’t help but shrink under his gaze.

“Hey.” He said quietly.

“They’re in the back.” You said, looking past him at the black Ford F-series that noisily pulled up to your house. Eat your heart out.

Caleb hopped out, jogging up the driveway to greet you. “It's so nice to finally meet you,” he took your hand and kissed it gently. “You’re so gorgeous in person.”

You blushed, the back of your head burning from the holes that Joel was likely burning into it with his eyes. “Thank you, Caleb, you don’t look bad yourself. Where are we off to?”

“I’ve got a couple destinations in mind.” He smiled.

Caleb took your hand and led you to his truck, helping you into it. When he closed the door and made his way back to the drivers’ side, you glanced back at the porch and Joel was still standing there, watching you leave. His eyes were cold as he reluctantly turned to join Pop and Robert in the backyard.

You shivered, wondering if he’d felt jealous. You shook the thought from your head and returned your attention to Caleb whose cologne was like heaven, woodsy and spicy. You made small talk as he drove off, giving you some reprieve from the anxiety that bubbled inside you.

~

You laughed more than you thought you would that night. Caleb took you to dinner and then a western style dance hall. You hadn’t line danced since high school, but he was intent on making you dance for your dinner. You broke in those cowgirl boots on the dancefloor and Caleb watched from the bar until the love songs started playing. He joined you on the dance floor and held you close to him.

“You’ve got to tell me the name of the panty-dropping cologne you’re wearing,” you giggled tipsily.

“I would never reveal my secrets.” He smirked, leading you out to spin before winding you back into his arms.

“You’re too damn good at this.” You shook your head and smiled at him.

“Too good at what?”

“Making a girl feel so good, so special.”

“Well I pay close attention to what a girl likes, you love dancing, you love a good drink and you love feeling like the main character.”

You blush at his observations. “You’re good. I think I like you.”

“Well, thank God!” he chuckled, pulling you into a hug as the song ended.

You made your way out to his truck shortly after. Caleb helped you climb up into it, taking off your boots and setting them on the floor. You blushed at his attention to your needs. He really seemed to be a gentleman.

So why was the image of Joel watching you drive away replaying in your mind? You kept trying to forget. Something you were completely hopeless at achieving. You couldn’t ignore the guilt that pooled thick in your stomach as you shooed the thoughts of Joel away.

When you’d made it home you had to suppress a gasp at the sight of the very man sitting on that damned tailgate, a six pack of beer by his side. He was facing your house, shamelessly watching as Caleb parked, making his way around to help you out and walk you to your front door.

“Thank you for the wonderful night,” you said, looking up at the handsome giant who smiled down at you kindly.

“It's what a princess like yourself deserves.” You tried not to cringe at how perfect he was trying to be. He was just entirely too sweet to be true.

“I’d invite you in, but my Pop is home.” You blushed.

“No worries, I wouldn’t want to keep you up.” He said, leaning in for a hug. He slowly, cautiously tilted your chin up, giving you every opportunity to speak up or shrug him off, and he kissed you. The kiss was chaste, quick and respectful. Maybe he did have a heart of gold.

“Good night, Caleb.” You said, taking a seat on the porch and watching him return to his truck and head out.

When his truck moved past your line of sight you saw that Joel had gone in for the night. Maybe he wasn’t out to watch you after all. Something stirred within you. Sadness was creeping up and overshadowing your fun night out. You couldn’t help but wonder how long Joel had been sitting out there.

chapter 4

[callsign-rogueone]

a brief history of Navarre - x.r.

Xaden Riorson x marked!partner!reader (gn) Midterm week at Basgiath has you wanting to pull an all-nighter to study, but Xaden won’t let you. requested as part of my Valentine’s day celly 💕 (gonna be posting these well into March, oops) words: 745 🏷: no book spoilers and no triggers, just X taking care of his partner. established relationship between reader and Xaden. the reader wears one of Xaden’s shirts, but there is no description of how it fits on them (we bigger / taller girls are tired of reading that [character]’s clothes are soo oversized and long on us!) shoutout to the people who put a full timeline of the continent’s history online bc I was too lazy to find it all in my copy lol

“I’m calling it a night,” Xaden announces, closing his textbook. “Gonna go shower.”

You hum in acknowledgement, pen between your teeth as you read the same page for the fifth time tonight, still trying to cram six hundred years of history into your brain. You’ve been sitting on his floor for hours, and the lines of text are starting to blur together, words starting to look misspelled and foreign, losing their meaning with repetition.

You spent too much time reviewing the first fifty decades. You still have nearly another hundred years to cover, from 530 to present. 

It has not escaped your notice that the book reduces the Tyrrish revolution to an afterthought, at the end of the text. The belittling words they’d chosen to describe your parents’ valiant effort had nearly been enough for Xaden to light the entire volume on fire, but he’d settled for ripping that page out of his copy and letting Sgaeyl torch it.

You’d left it in yours as a reminder that these people are not on your side, nor will they ever be. 

The running water stops, Xaden stepping back into the room a moment later. “You’re still studying?” He asks, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “You must be really into that book if you aren’t checking me out right now. I’m literally dripping.” 

He’s a little offended that you don’t even look up as you answer. 

“This is important, Xay. It’s a third of our final grade.”

He dries his hands on his pants, taking the book from your hands easily -- your grip on it has loosened with your exhaustion.

You protest, but he shushes you. “Why did Poromiel not unite with Navarre after the great war?”

It takes you a moment to respond, pushing through the sleepy fog to find the answer. “Religious differences”, you reply tiredly. “And their king did not want to share his throne with Navarre’s.”

“Good. When was the second Cygni Incursion?”

“328.”

“And the second Krovlan uprising?”

“434.”

He shuts the book, gathering your notes into a neat stack. “You know this stuff, darling. You’re going to pass this exam with flying colors and set the curve for the whole class, but only if you get some sleep.”

Materials now confiscated, you have nowhere to look except up at him, and your resolve immediately starts to crumble.

He’s ready for bed, dressed only in a pair of black sweatpants that drape across his hips and cover the muscle of his legs, but every other inch of skin is exposed; the relic swirling up his muscled arm, the definition of his chest and stomach, the broad expanse of his shoulders…

You’re too tired to jump his bones right now, but it would be nice to stop, to cuddle up with him, to fall asleep in his arms. Your schedules are packed with classes, studying, training, his wingleader duties, and your responsibility for the younger marked ones. It’s been nearly a week since you’ve been able to hold him for more than five minutes. His skin is always so warm against yours, and his mattress is certainly more comfortable than the hardwood floor… 

You hesitate, still eyeing the book in his hands. “I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do. C’mere.”

You sigh, letting him pull you up from the floor. Your muscles sing in relief as you stand, your back aching from being hunched over for hours. You relax into him, resting your eyes for a minute.

“Go brush your teeth,” he encourages.

You don’t want to move from his arms, but three years of dating the boy has taught you that he won’t yield on matters of your health. You sigh, heading to the bathroom.

When you get back, he’s packing everything into your bag for tomorrow — or today, rather. You’d started studying after dinner, and now it’s well after midnight. 

He helps you out of the day-old clothes and into one of his shirts and a clean pair of underwear -- you keep a few days of necessities here for moments like these. 

You curl into his side, pulling the blankets overtop of you, and the swirling thoughts are replaced with the easy contentment that comes with being held by your partner.

“You’re going to do great,” he whispers, smoothing a hand over your back. “Just get some rest, okay?”

You don’t respond, already lulled to sleep by the steadiness of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms around you.

[spinstertheuncommon]

Gotham's Sewist - A Bachelor's Suit [Part 1/2] | Bruce Wayne x reader

Part 2 here!

Series master list

Tiz - a gender neutral version of ma'am/sir

Timeline: Reader and B are 27

Notes: swearing, reader crashes out, bruce might be out of character but hoe hum this is for fun

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"what has gotten you so gloomy?"

"heh?" you half ass a response, too transfixed in mending a 8 inch hole in the cape. a magnifying glass sits attached to a desk arm, with your nose practically pushed against it. you bought it on a whim in college but it's been the best investment you've ever made. behind you, you hear the batman shuffle, always alert, and never one for your short answers. for a world class detective, he needs a lot of answers from me. can't he just sniff them out like a blood hound?

"you're tired. your shoulders are tense, you have been using your cane more often, which would normally lead you into going to the physical therapist but you haven't been there in over a month. Your avoiding it, which you do when you're stressed. you haven't left your studio in a week, as your biking boots are still covered in the same water damage from Mr freezes attack last Thursday, supplementing my concern further as you always pride in taking care of your gear. so i ask again, why?"

shit, maybe he doesn't need the questions. maybe he's board of my silence.

you heave a sigh, flinging back in your chair, needle discarded. rolling your head to face the bat, you've come to expect no concern or emotion in his face; it's only in his actions.

"you really wanna know? yeah? okay, my rent has gone up, and so has the cost of fabric. i can't possibly charge any of my clients more than i am because most of them who come here do it for a luxury and not a necessity, other than you and the alley kids, but you already pay me too much, and i'm never charging those kids anything. the stores front window, while yes it was smashed two weeks ago, still needs to be re-repaired because the guy who did it was cheap as and couldn't tell his head from his ass. can't believe i paid him, honestly. AND more so, my meds have stopped working and of course i can't get anything stronger because healthcare is non-existent for everyone but the wealthy, and that Mr freeze attack has caused every bone in my legs to seize up on top of the stress, so yes. i'm tired. and yes, I'm stressed, and ON TOP OF THAT there's this historical garment collection tour coming to Gotham in a few months that i really want to go to but i will never be able to afford a ticket..." your words slow, eyes full of water. the bat doesn't move for a moment, studying how close you are to crumbling. he then inches forward, and places a gloved hand on your shoulder.

"you're okay. it will be okay."

you crumble into his side, still sitting in the chair. since loosing physical connections with all your college friends after they moved cities, you forget how much you crave touch. never big, something small like a hand on a shoulder, or a light hug could send you careening into an unhealthy attachment with a person.

and what's more unhealthy to attach to than a man you don't even know the name of.

++2 weeks later++

low rent prices or a safer business area.

you picked the former.

look, moving was going to be about prioritizing your safety, but right now your income is only stable enough to support a storefront in a cheaper part of Gotham. so, you packed up and moved from crime alley to...

Bowery.

yeah... not really better, but it's cheap.

but do you know what's not cheap?

super fine pure wool. this wall of bolts was so massive, it needed it's own rolling ladder every six meters across. you felt swamped, both physically and mentally. each bolt of wool pulls you in, the only anchor you have is your cart, already weighted by the silk lining you've chosen, and the check in your pocket, one signed by the richest, most eligible man in Gotham.

bruce wayne.

you still don't think it's real. how would he know who i am? did the batman x Bruce Wayne fanfics actually have merit? my only other customers besides the bat were regular ass people and that one time a guy wanted two suits sewn together. that and the kids in crime alley i dress for free, but they're not really clients. so...who? was Bruce's child, Dick Grayson, one of the kids? i think I'd recognise him...

you still feel numb from the first phone call two weeks ago. answering it with all the professionalism you had in your body at 4:56pm on a Friday, you had a full system reboot when the man on the other line confirmed for the 7th time that he was in fact, the Bruce Wayne, instead of the prank caller you assumed he was.

i mean, why would Bruce fucking Wayne be calling me, a 27 year old, barely surviving sewist with no real display of my work, to make him, and his child, suits for a high priced gala?

so hear you are, having a conniption about what wool and silks to buy that would match the vague descriptions Bruce gave you over the phone.

this will be a long 3 months.

++one month down++

it was strange. you'd think that working for new clientele would alleviate the repetitive funk you've found yourself in. new faces, and new personalities, even if they were rich socialites with no inherit grounds to share with them. but that's fine, you don't need to be friends with your clients.

but no. this felt violently familiar.

despite standing in the most expensive room you've ever stepped foot in, running circles around the brick wall of a man that is Bruce Wayne, as a young boy and kind butler watch on, you couldn't help being swarmed with deja vu. it felt like wading water, pinning the muslin, double checking the flushed fit of the 3 piece suit that was asked of you, and measuring the span of his upper back almost made you panic.

he's got the same shoulders as batman.

gotta love a coincidence... right?

and... fuck me, is this Richard kid the same hight as Robin? oh my god ohmygodohmygod-

"Tiz, are you okay?"

"huh? oh sorry, sorry, yes, just... doing calculations in my head, i'm fine," you shuffle, cheeks dusted red after being called out. "i do think i have everything, though, so i can leave. Sir, please be careful taking off the muslin, i wouldn't want a pin in you."

Bruce chuckles, and you fear your cheeks will never cool down. You distract yourself by folding and refolding the mock up for Richard, or Dick as he insisted you called him. Whatever the kid wants I suppose.

said kid had a vibe you never really expected. it's not like you're in the dark to who Richard Grayson is. the amount of articles about this kid and the death of his parents, and then eventual adoption, could light a fire and fuel it for a month. it made you sick at the time, all the talk about it felt like tragedy porn. you couldn't even imagine what a kid was thinking about it. but from the look of things, nothing can stop this kid.

"how long would it take to make my suit? do you think it'll look good? i want it to be green, or maybe purple!" Dick jumped along the couch he was on, attentively not hopping off the couch, as the first few times he tried to see what you were doing, he got a stern look from Bruce. he was then told that if he wanted to stay, he had to stay on the couch.

"you already picked out your colour, champ. you're going in blue, remember?" Bruce, in just a dress shirt and compression pants, that made his ass look fantastic, went over and scooped up the 13 year old like he was nothing, and bundled him under his arm like a football. god, his smile is blinding, i get what all the gossip's about, he is smoking.

"Let me escort you to your vehicle," Alfred snapped you out of your daze, steering you away from the father and son with a gentle hand towards the door. and what an extravagant door it is. the mahogany wood sits inside the most extravagant stained glass arch, adorned with roses and antique gold solder, that perfectly matches the gold furnishings on the door. the same furnishings that mirror the fountain in the middle of the drive. The marble stairs that link the door to the driveway are so dramatic, you want to flounce around on them like meg from Hercules.

Stepping back from your daydream, you thank Alfred for holding your bag as you shuffle on your safety gear of a jacket and helmet. Before you turned on the bike, Alfred calls your name and pulled a card from his breast pocket.

“I hope you know there is no obligation, but Master Bruce and Master Dick wish for you to attend the gala that you’ve been making their suits for.” you take the invite, a little star struck. the card, the size of a business card, has embossed grooves over it and delicate gold leafing to resemble hemmed stitches, but it's the address that perked your interest.

"i-its at the Gotham historical fashion exhibit?" your eyes shone, practically in tears. oh my god i'm so glad he can't see under my visor, im crying about a invite.

"Master Bruce has an appreciation for all art forms, and takes any and all chances to highlight it. he believes that more eyes should see the pieces, and if he has to host a party, well, lets say he wouldn't mind." Alfred carries a twinkle in his eyes, one of pure childish wonderment, but there's a hint of something you couldn't quite place. was it pride? a secret? you couldn't tell. all you knew is you had an all expenses paid trip to the most decked out fashion collection and come hell or high water you were going.

"tell him thank you, then, i've been dying to see this exhibit."

"no thanks needed, this is payment in kind, along side the money of course. now drive safe, we wouldn't want you unavailable for the gala."

with a nod, you pull out of the Wayne Manor drive, and spend the next 20 minute drive to your studio giddy.

holy shit i need an outfit.

(To be Continued...)

+++++++++++

Helloo!

So the fanfic curse is real lol. The last one I posted was my first ever post and the literal day after was a real shit show that I can't actually talk about lmaoo

My next chapter for this should reasonably be split into 2 instead of stay one, but idk if I can be bothered, so the next chapter will be looong tehe!

See y'all nextime!

Spinster

Do not copy, steal, or repost my work! Thanks!

[fluff-lover]

The one that got away | Wolverine x fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend broke up with you. Luckily your neighbor and good friend Wade is there to cheer you up. And his good looking roommate is a bonus.

This is based on this Reddit story

Warning: mature language, heartache, bad writing (does that count?), fluff!

This is my first fanfic on Tumblr, and English is not my first language, so please be gentle :P

You've never cried this hard in your life. So hard it left you completely drained, wondering if people could really die of a broken heart. Your head was pounding, your face was red and puffy, your hair was a mess because you couldn’t muster the strength to do the most basic things like taking care of it for the last week.

You felt defeated knowing that you were about to walk into an empty home. You unlocked the door and took a deep breath before looking into your apartment. Everywhere you looked you saw bits and pieces of him. Him. The man you shared the last few years of your life with, the man you thought you would marry.

Just as you were about to step inside, you heard the door next to yours open.

“Hey babycakes!” your neighbor said. “I haven’t seen you around lately.”

You took a deep breath and forced a smile, barely looking his way.

“Hi Wade.” You said softly. “Just been busy.”

One of the things Wade appreciated about you is that you weren't the type to look away from him. In a world where people looked at him with disgust, he appreciated and befriended those who wouldn't look away. So when you avoided looking at him, he knew something was wrong.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's going on? Did you see someone kick a puppy or something?”

You didn't even bother trying to contain yourself, you were just too tired.

“Ben dumped me.” you managed to choke out as you slumped on the door frame.

Wade’s demeanor changed entirely. You two were good friends, even if sometimes you felt like you couldn't fully understand him. He was a mutant. He was THE Deadpool, the merc with a mouth. His sense of humor was more inappropriate than it was funny, and you couldn't relate to most of the things he went through, but you were still there for him, you still treated him like a person.

You were his friend, and one of the few people he fought so far to save the world for when the TVA threatened to shut your whole timeline down.

“What in the ass?” Wade said before walking to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You cried on his shoulder harder, only now realizing how lonely you felt in the past few days. “Come here.” Wade gently guided you to his -blind Al's- apartment and sat you down on the couch.

“What's going on?” a gruff voice said. You looked up to see Logan walk into the living room with a confused look on his usually frowned face. You wiped your tears with embarrassment. You hadn't known Logan for long, just a few weeks after he moved in with Wade and Al. So the fact that he saw you cry made you feel a little bit awkward.

“I'll tell you what's going on.” Wade said as he walked to the kitchen. “We're gonna have a girls’ night in, and she’s gonna tell us all about the fuckface that made her cry. And then Imma go fuck him up because no one messes with my family.”

Logan growled lowly at the “girls’ night” part, but didn't make an attempt to leave. Instead he sat down on a chair backwards to your left. When Wade walked out of the kitchen he was carrying a pizza box and a six pack.

“Oh Wade, no… I don't want to bother you. Either of you.” You said shyly.

“Nonsense.” Wade said before sitting down on the couch next to you. Logan quickly opened three beers with one of his claws and placed them on the coffee table. “You were there for me when Vanessa dumped me. Now I'm gonna be here for you. Start from the beginning, what happened?”

You took a deep breath and gripped your own knees in an attempt to ground yourself.

“A few weeks ago Ben ran into his ex. They were highschool sweethearts, and all throughout college, but after college they went their separate ways. So when he ran into her and told me he wanted to catch up with her after so many years I didn’t think much of it.” You shook your head, lips trembling. “But a couple of weeks later I came home to Ben packing his things. He said that he had been reconnecting with her and that he realized that he regretted ever letting her go. She's the one that got away. He told me he didn't mean to hurt me but life's giving him a second chance with her and that he had to take it.” You said and sobbed.

“He sounds like a real idiot.” Logan said before taking a sip of his beer. Meanwhile Wade handed you a napkin to wipe your tears away.

“I'm the idiot.” You said sadly. “I shouldn't have let him go meet her.”

“Hey, now, don't say that.” Wade said. “This is not your fault, you hear me? He made a stupid choice, he's a moron. What does this girl have that you don't have? Beer flavored nipples?”

“Ben did say she was prettier.” You replied, your heart breaking as you remembered that painful conversation.

“So he's a blind idiot.” Logan said. His comment made you feel better.

“When did this happen?” Wade asked.

“Last Thursday, why?”

Wade gasped dramatically.

“Buttercup, today is Tuesday! Why didn't you tell us sooner?”

“I didn't want to bother you.” You repeated.

“We could've spend the weekend eating trash food, getting drunk, building snowmen-”

“There’s no snow.” you pointed out.

“He means cocaine.” Logan said.

“Oh…”

“-watching reruns of Golden Girls.” Wade carried on ignoring the two of you.

“I don't do drugs.” You felt the need to clarify to Logan. He just shrugged and sipped his beer. Wade's weird comments didn't faze him anymore.

“...We could've slash his tires, steal his cat.” Wade carried on with a dreamy look on his face as he looked far away, in his own world.

“He doesn't have a cat.” You said confused.

“... and all of that, if you had come to me sooner, babycakes.” Wade finished dramatically. “You didn't have to go through this alone, I'm right next door.”

You couldn't help but smile a little bit at that.

“I know. Thank you, Wade.”

“Where's the guy now?” Logan asked and your shoulders’ dropped.

“I think he moved in with her.”

Logan arched an eyebrow, looking unimpressed.

“Do you want us to kick his ass for you?” He then asked. You were shocked by his offer. You would’ve expected it from Wade, but not from the Wolverine. Your breakup surely was the least of his problems. But at least you felt less alone.

“Thank you, but no. I’m sure karma will get him eventually.”

“Are we talking about luck, or the mutant named Karma?” Wade asked and then laughed. “Never mind, either way he’s fucked.”

-

Life didn’t get any easier the following days, you were still heartbroken, but at least you didn’t spend the evenings completely alone. Instead of going home after work, you would stop by your neighbor’s and hang around for a little bit. Blind Al told you that of all the motherfuckers in the building, she liked you the most -you weren’t sure that was compliment-.

Wade… well, he was Wade. But you knew his heart was in the right place.

And Logan… he didn’t talk much, obviously, but at least you could tell he didn’t entirely hate you. He would tell Wade to fuck off whenever he crossed a line with his dark, twisted sense of humor at your expense. He offered you a drink when you were around, even if it meant sharing his precious bourbon. Overall he wasn’t the killing machine Wade made him to be.

Even Vanessa stopped by one day by Wade’s request to take you out for some shopping and ice cream. You liked Vanessa, she was badass but kind. Beautiful, but not arrogant. And despite life’s hardships, she was very sweet to you. You didn’t tell her but deep down you were hoping she and Wade would get back together.

A day out with another woman was just what you needed to feel a little bit better. Maybe a man broke your heart, but you still had friends in your corner, and that meant you didn’t live a loveless life.

-

You paced around the apartment nervously, your front teeth chewing your thumbnail as you tried to pull yourself together.

Ben had just texted you to tell you he would be picking up the rest of his stuff in a few minutes, and you just wanted to pull out your hair and scream. You weren’t ready to see him. You weren’t ready to talk to him.

Just as you were about to panic, you heard heavy steps down the hallway and some odd grunting. Then there was some cursing. When you looked outside your door you found Logan trying to open his door with one of his claws.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” Logan said tiredly. “Fucking Wade took my key without telling me and now I can’t get in.” He growled at the keyhole as it had personally offended him.

“I have a spare key, hang on.” You said before retreating into your apartment to retrieve said key. Logal walked to your door, and without stepping into the apartment, he looked around. When you returned you found him eyeing a couple of boxes by your door.

“You movin’ somewhere?” He asked.

“No, these are Ben’s. He’s picking them up in a little bit.” You replied while offering him the key.

Logan went to grab it, and you could’ve sworn he took his sweet time running his fingers down your hand to take it. Suddenly something changed, the air was charged with some sort of static that ran across your skin. Time seemed to stop, and you didn’t realize but the two of you stared at each other for what felt like years.

Only then you noticed how sad his eyes were.

Wade always went on and on about him being grumpy and having a murderous look on his face, and while you could agree that Logan was the serious type and you had yet to see him laugh, you never noticed the sadness in his eyes. You knew there was something behind said sadness, Wade had warned you that Logan’s past was traumatic and violent, and that he was on a long road to recovery that he may never reach. You never asked questions, but now you wished you did.

You also noticed how handsome he was. Rugged and manly, so different from Ben, who had this boyish charm to him.

Eventually, after what felt like a century, Logan looked away.

“Thanks.” He said lifting the key in the air. “Are you fine with him coming here?”

Your first instinct was to say yes, but your mouth moved faster.

“No, not really. I’m not sure I’m ready to see him yet.” You replied and wrapped your arms around yourself, embarrassed by your own weakness.

Logan simply looked at you up and down before stepping into your apartment and walking past you. You blinked and closed the door behind you.

“I’ll stay, make sure you’re okay.” Logan said, as if that was enough of an explanation.

“Oh, you don’t have to…” you started.

“I’m not asking.” He said before taking his jacket off and sitting down by your kitchen counter.

“Um… alright…” You walked to the fridge. “Would you like something to drink? How about a snack?”

“I’ll take a beer.” He replied. So you took two cans from the fridge and handed him one.

“How did you know I’d have beer?” You asked jokingly.

“Wade talks about you a lot, I just picked a few things here and there.” He said with a shrug and then took a sip.

“He talks about you a lot too.” You commented. Again, something shifted in his eyes. For a second you thought he looked panicked. “All good things.” You added.

Logan turned his face and looked away.

“Right.” He mumbled.

“I mean it.” You pressed. “He worships you, in his own weird, Wade-like way.”

Logan looked back at you and saw the sincerity in your eyes.

“So, if you’re not ready to see your ex, why is he coming to pick his shit now?” He quickly changed the subject.

“He didn’t give me much of a choice. He just announced he was coming over.” You shrugged.

“And you didn’t tell him to fuck off?” Logan scoffed.

“I mean… I wanted to. But he has the right to collect his things… right?” You said unsure. Logan arched an eyebrow.

“I don’t think he has the right to anything after what he did to you. He’s lucky you’re sweet and kind, anyone else would've told him to go fuck himself. Personally I would’ve burnt his shit.”

You smiled and tilted your head.

“You think I’m sweet and kind?” You said teasingly.

“Shut up.” He replied before downing his beer.

Wade was right, Logan did have that whole “don't get too close, I'll only break your heart” vibe going on.

“Sometimes I wish I could tell him to shove it, I do.” You confessed. “I want him to hurt too, to hurt as much as I do. But…” you looked down.

“But that’s just not you.” Logan concluded. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you nodded your head.

You stared at him and again you could see the sadness behind his eyes. You were both broken, unable to put yourselves together, but wishing you could help the other.

A knock on the door made you jump on your skin and break the little bubble you were in.

Logan got up and squared his shoulders.

Suddenly he seemed taller -even taller than he already was-. Is like all of a sudden he could look a thousand times more intimidating than he did moments ago. He wasn’t just Logan. He was the Wolverine.

“I’ll take it, bub.” He said before walking to the door.

“What?” you asked confused

“Just stay there and let me handle it.” He told you and you watched frozen as he took off his plaid shirt.

You couldn’t help but stare at his muscular torso in nothing but a white wife beater.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want blood on my shirt.” He replied.

You opened your eyes widely.

“WHAT?!”

“Relax.” He smirked. ��I’m just messing with ‘ya.” he chuckled before opening the door.

The look on Ben’s face when he saw a tall, brooding, muscular man opening your door was priceless.

“The fuck are you?” Logan asked, pretending not to know already.

“I-I’m Ben.”

“Okay Ben.” Logan said annoyed. “What the fuck do you want?”

Ben looked around the hall confused.

“Did I get the wrong apartment? Is this 3B?”

“Yeah.” Logan replied.

“I was supposed to pick up some boxes…”

“Hey, gorgeous!” Logan called out loudly before turning to look at you over his shoulder. “You know this kid?” He asked in a condescending tone.

Ben’s face went red as the situation got more and more awkward.

“Um yeah…” You walked to the door, playing along. “Logan, this is Ben. Ben, Logan.” You introduced them quickly. “Your boxes are right there.” You added pointing to the side.

“Right. Good. Okay.” Ben stumbled on his words. “I got some of your things too.” He went to pick up your box, not without any struggle. “Careful, is heavy.”

Logan took the box easily with just one hand.

“I’ll take this.” He said before turning around. “Don’t take long, gorgeous.” As if Ben’s manhood wasn’t wounded enough, Logan spanked your ass playfully, like he had some sort of claim on you. You jumped a little bit, surprised by his bold action.

Looking back at Ben, you could tell he didn’t want to be there. Poor thing looked like he was ready to run for the hills. He quickly picked up the two boxes.

“So you… um…” He didn’t know what to say. “You and him?”

His question made you angry, and for the first time you decided to put your foot down.

“You lost the right to ask questions long ago Ben.” You said before slamming the door on his face.

When you turned around you found Logan looking damn pleased with himself. He had a cocky smile on his face.

“You did that on purpose.” You accused him, with no real anger in your voice.

“Do what, exactly?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“You know exactly what.”

“You said you wanted him to hurt, right? Trust me, no man wants to walk to his ex-girlfriend’s door and find another man.” He said proudly before downing the rest of his beer.

“Especially not one as handsome as you.” You added. Clearly he wasn’t expecting that, because he choked on his drink.

You could be bold too.

“Aaaaanyway…” You said before putting the box on the table and opening it as if calling him that was the most natural thing ever.

Logan watched you pull out your things from the box as you checked everything was there.

“Toothbrush, shampoo, pijamas…”

“Um…” Logan cleared his throat as he picked something from the box.

Your eyes almost popped out of your skull when you saw him holding a lace red teddy you once bought to wear for Ben.

“Jesus!” you snatched it from his fingers, your face warming up due to the embarrassment, and threw it back into the box.

“That guy really don’t know how lucky he was it until he fucked up, uh?” Logan said playfully.

“Not really.” You said shyly. “He didn’t like it.”

Logan stared at you for a moment.

“What kind of man doesn’t like a beautiful woman in lingerie?”

As if your face wasn’t hot enough already, you thought it would explode when he called you beautiful.

“I dunno. He said I looked silly in it.” you shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a big deal. Huge! You remembered wanting to do something special for one of your anniversaries, and you wanted to look sexy, since after a few years together your sex life wasn’t as fulfilling as it was during the first few months of your relationship. It really hurt when Ben didn’t look interested, saying you didn’t need silly outfits to get him to bed. Ben thought he was complimenting you, but you took it as a hit to your self esteem.

There was a long silence as you kept looking into the box. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, you just were trying to look busy. You could feel Logan’s eyes burning the side of your face as he stared at you.

Then his hands found yours and he stopped you. You looked up at him and your heart jumped at the intensity he was looking at you with.

“I know that right now it doesn’t feel like it because you're still hurting, but I assure you it’s a good thing you two aren’t together anymore. You deserve better. You deserve a real man that knows he’s the luckiest motherfucker on this earth, and every other earth, for having you.”

You were speechless.

“Logan…” you whispered.

You saw his eyes flicker down your lips and you could swear he was leaning in…

“Knock Knock! Are you there, babycakes?” You heard Wade call from behind the door. “I just saw Ben at the stairs, he looked like he was about to burst into tears. Did you finally tell him to choke on a dick?”

Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, frustrated and annoyed at his friend.

“Fucking Wade…” He shook his head and looked back at you. “I guess I don’t need the spare key anymore.”

You put some space between the two of you and smiled awkwardly.

“Keep it. Something tells me this won’t be the last time Wade will lock you out.”

Logan chuckled. He had the most beautiful pearly white teeth, and a breathtaking smile. How come you didn’t notice before? Every time you went to Wade’s apartment, this god-like man sat close to you and you never took a good, long look at him? Clearly your love for Ben and your heartache blinded you.

And now you can finally see.

“Is that Wolvie I hear in there?” Wade said.

When Logan opened the door he found his roommate still there, waiting impatiently. Wade gave Logan a once over, seeing him in his wife beater, his plaid and jacket in his hand, and a satisfied grin on his face.

Wade then looked at you, then back at Logan, then back at you… and so several times, before taking his hands to his face.

“Oh… my… God… the two of you?!”

Logan just walked past him, sending you a wink before he disappeared into the hall. Wade just stood there, looking at you.

“I ship it so hard.” He whispered.