#so i was like yeah sure we can do thanksgiving here

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Saying you can host Thanksgiving when you're the planner in your relationship and you work in a retail-adjacent career is really just digging your own grave.

[corroded-hellfire]

Food, Football, and Friends - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: With so many people coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, it's no surprise things get a little chaotic.

Note: Happy Thanksgiving!

Warnings: chaos that is typical of this family, Eddie's breeding kink doesn't take a holiday off, Dustin is married to someone that is not Suzy sorry

Words: 3.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Not bothering to knock, Steve opens the front door to the Munson household and pops his head inside.

“This looks like a nice house,” he says as he pushes the door all the way open. “Might be able to steal something nice.”

A huff comes from behind him and Mia pushes in the house past her father. The six-year-old scowls as she leans down to unbuckle her shiny Mary Janes.

“We’re not thieves!” Her voice carries throughout the house, summoning the little person who has been waiting all day to see her.

“Miaaaaaa!” Eliza’s heavy tread thumps down the hallway as she runs into the living room at full speed. The friction of her white tights against the carpet halts her when she reaches her destination. 

Before Mia can answer, Steve crouches down in front of the youngest Munson. He frowns and tilts his head, a few chestnut locks falling in his eyes.

“What about me? Am I chop liver?” 

Your toddler giggles and leaps into her uncle’s arms. She wraps her arms around his neck for a hug, but before she can pull away, Steve stands up, hoisting her over his shoulder in an attempt to keep her from her best friend.

“Noooo!” Eliza whines, her little legs kicking. 

“Oh, fine,” Steve sighs as he lets her down.

Eliza straightens her black and white dress before looking up to see Wayne walk in the door right behind Nancy.

“Grandpa!”

“There’s my girl!”

Wayne scoops her up and peppers kisses all over her face. The small girl giggles and tries to push his face away, his scruff tickling her.

“Where’s Daddy?” Wayne asks.

“Dunno,” Eliza answers with a shrug.

“He’s outside,” Luke says as he strolls into the room.

Nancy can’t help but notice how her youngest’s face lights up when the twelve-year-old Munson walks into the room. She clamps her lips together, trying not to giggle at Mia’s adorable crush on Luke, acting like she doesn’t notice the hearts in the young redhead’s eyes.

“Should we lock him out?” Steve asks about your husband.

Wayne sighs. “Eh, he’s scrappy, he’ll find a way back in,” he says as he sets Eliza back down. 

The moment her feet hit the ground, the toddler runs over to Mia and throws her arms around the girl’s sparkly silver dress. Concentration on Luke broken, Mia laughs and falls to the ground with Eliza, giving her a hug in return. 

“Yeah,” Steve says as he watches the girls. “I think the little munchkin would let him in.” He nods towards Eliza.

“She can’t reach the door,” Danny points out to his dad.

“Eliza finds a way to do anything,” Luke says, his tone conveying all the experience he’s had in that regard.

Before anyone else can add to the conversation, the sound of clinking and clanging pots and pans rings out from the kitchen. Automatically, everyone's heads turn in that direction. 

“Shit!” Your voice echoes out into the living room.

Immediately, Nancy brushes past her husband, patting him on the chest as she goes by.

“Play nice,” she tells him as she continues into the kitchen. The sight before Nancy has her biting her lip to keep in a grin for the second time in a matter of minutes. There you stand, holding a pot lid in one hand, holding the top of your head in the other. Your friend cocks an eyebrow at you. “Everything okay in here?”

Lamely, you raise the pot lid and give her a small wave with it.

“Gave myself a concussion looking for this so the mashed potatoes better taste damn near perfect.”

“I’m sure they will,” Nancy assures you, coming closer to take the lid out of your hand. She gently sets it on the pot simmering on the stove and turns back to you. “Anything I can do to help?”

Steve’s voice booms out from the living room before you can respond.

“You’re on, Munson!”

Eyes rolling skyward, you heave a sigh and shake your head.

“Keep our husbands from injuring themselves before dinner?” you ask.

“I’m afraid not.” Nancy winces. It’s an impossible task, you both know that.

As you open the refrigerator to grab the milk, Luke runs into the room–never one for just walking–with a grin on his face. 

“We’re going to play football!” he announces.

You raise an eyebrow as you measure out the cup of milk to add to the mashed potatoes.

“Who exactly is ‘we?” you ask.

“Me, Ryan, Theo, Danny, Uncle Steve, Grandpa, Daddy…and uh, maybe Natalie.”

The mention of your husband has you turning to give your son your full attention, letting the measuring glass of milk clank down on the counter.

“Your father is going to play football?”

“He’s gonna try,” Luke says with a mischievous snicker. You completely agree with your sports-loving son’s disbelieving and amused tone. You’re not even sure Eddie knows what the different positions in football are called.

“Is that what he and Steve were bickering about?” Nancy crosses her arms over her chest and rests her hip against the edge of the kitchen table.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Mia is gonna stay in the living room with Liza.”

“Luke, come on!” Theo calls out.

“My daughter is a little mother hen,” Nancy says with a smile as Luke runs out to join his new team. Mia may be the youngest sibling in her family, but that means she takes the responsibility of having a toddler best friend very seriously. 

Noise clatters from your backyard and you take a few steps to look out the large window over the kitchen sink. Through it, you can see Steve and Eddie standing next to each other, pointing at the mass of children that are in front of them—all of them except Ryan and Natalie.

“Come on, it will be fun,” Ryan says from the next room just as you’re wondering about him.

The unmistakable sigh of a teenage girl is heard before Natalie agrees, “Fine.”

Their footsteps fade out the door and Nancy raises her brow at you.

“I’m impressed,” she says. “No one can get Natalie to do anything anymore.”

“Hormones?” you ask, turning back to the stove as some boiled water sloshes over the side of a pot. The steam hisses and floats off into the air.

“Oh, yeah. Having a teenage daughter is great.”

“Oof, I do not miss being a teenager,” you say.

“What, you stopped, like, last year?” 

You spin around to see Nancy smirking at you, and you whip your kitchen towel at her in an attempt to wipe the shit eating grin off her face. She laughs and swats the rag away, affectionately wrapping an arm around your waist as she comes to stand beside you.

“Come on, now let me help you,” she chides.

“Fine,” you relent. “Want to chop those carrots?”

“No problem.”

Loud footfalls stampede towards the kitchen, but they’re not quite as heavy as Eliza’s usually are, so you’re not surprised when Mia comes racing into the kitchen. One of these times these running children are going to hurt themselves.

“Auntieeee?” she asks you as she comes to a stop.

“Miaaaaaa?”

“Eliza is hungry,” she tells you. “Can I get her a snack?”

“Sure thing, cutie.” You wipe your hands off on the towel and walk over to the pantry. The Cheerio box is right at eyelevel as you reach for it and hand it to Mia. “Just make sure she doesn’t eat too many, okay?”

“Okay!” she calls over her shoulder as she runs out with the box.

Just as you’re about to reach for a knife, the doorbell rings. You head out to the living room, smiling when you see Eliza and Mia sitting in front of the television, sharing Cheerios and watching the rerun of the Thanksgiving Day Parade. The big Snoopy balloon passes by as you grab the doorknob. There stand Lucas and Max with their daughter Tiffany, and Dustin with his wife Anne and their baby girl, Molly. The moment she sees you, Tiffany launches herself forward with a squeal. She wraps her arms around your hips and hugs herself against your body.

“Well, hello there,” you greet her. To allow everyone else into the house, you pick up the six-year-old and take a few steps back from the door. “You wanna join Eliza and Mia?” When she nods, you let Tiffany down to go join the other girls.

The moment your arms are free, you’re being pulled into more hugs with everyone and wishes for a happy Thanksgiving. Last but not least, you pluck Molly from her mother’s arms and give her a big kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t believe how big she is!” you coo. Now well over a year old, the last time you saw the youngest Henderson was when she was nine months. 

Dustin grabs her walker from the car, since she’s still new to the whole walking thing and not the steadiest. He sets it down in the living room and you plop her down in the Minnie Mouse themed rover. She instantly takes off in the direction of the television, as if knowing she wants to be a part of this little girl gang.

“Eliza?” you call. “Do you want to come say hi?”

It takes her a second, but finally, Eliza finishes the Cheerio that’s in her hand and pushes herself up on to her feet. She toddles over, smiling when she sees her Aunt Max—who is arguably her favorite person who is not a Munson or Harrington. Her aunt gives her a big hug. Then, Eliza stops in front of Dustin. Saying nothing, she just stares up at him, her big brown eyes blinking a few times.

“Hi, Eliza!” When your daughter doesn’t answer, Dustin kneels down to be at her level. “Remember me? Uncle Dustin?”

She just keeps staring.

Lucas laughs at the little girl’s nonreaction and snatches her up into his own arms. “Mwah!” he presses a kiss to her cheek. Instantly, Eliza grins and wraps her arms around his neck for a hug.

Dustin pouts up at the scene before him, lower lip jutting out dramatically as he stands back up.

“Hey! I’m the cool uncle!” he protests. And it’s true; if the other kids were in the house right now, they’d all be climbing over Dustin until the poor man gets lost in a sea of children.

“Guess not anymore,” Lucas says with a shrug.

“It’s gotta be because I live further away,” Dustin argues. “She sees me less.”

“Sure,” Lucas says, his tone far from sincere.

Max rolls her eyes at the two men’s bickering, presumably tired of it after hearing it for almost a decade and a half. The redhead takes Eliza from her husband’s arms and turns to face Dustin’s wife.

“These stilly boys,” Max says to Eliza. “Say hi to your Aunt Anne?”

Your daughter gives a small wave, but it’s clear from the blank look on her face that she just wants to be put down to go back to Mia. Sensing this as well, Max grants her wish.

“Where’s Ed?” Dustin asks.

“In the backyard,” you say. “Playing football.”

“Football?” Dustin almost chokes on his own spit out of shock.

“I know,” you say.

“I have to see this,” Lucas says, looking towards the back door and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

He and Dustin go to join the game in the backyard while Max and Anne follow you into the kitchen. Nancy greets the new arrivals while you take up your previous position at the stove. As you lift the lid off the pot on the back burner, you listen to the women behind you talking and laughing. It brings a smile to your face to be surrounded by women friends. Besides a two-year-old, the only others in the house are guys. And as much as you love them, it’s not the same as having other ladies around.

Two sets of running feet zoom past the kitchen and the sound of the squeaky hinges on the backdoor let you know the two six-year-olds have gone to join the fun outside. You peek back out the window and chuckle to yourself when you see Mia and Tiffany cheering on the sidelines. Unsurprisingly, they seem to be cheering for the team that Luke is on. Mia’s idea, no doubt.

There are only a few more potatoes to add to the pot in front of you, so once those are in you go out into the living room to check on the younger girls. A gasp strangles out of you when you first see the two. Then as your brain has a moment to adjust and see that everything is okay, you break out into laughter.

“What did you do, little girl?” you ask your daughter. You shake your head in amusement as you walk over to the two of them, both covered in Cheerios that are also scattered around the living room floor.

Eliza grins up at you, small pieces of Cheerios still sticking to her baby teeth.

“Molly hungry!” she tells you.

“Oh, okay,” you say with a nod. “So, you thought to give her a snack like Mia did for you?”

“Mhmm!” She sounds quite proud of herself, and it makes your heart melt.

“Well, that was very thoughtful of you.”

Laughter erupts from behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see Max walking into the room. She takes in the mess before her and looks between the two babies.

“What’re you troublemakers doing?” she asks as she comes up beside you. 

A timer in the kitchen drags your attention away from the conversation and Max waves you on in that direction.

“Go ahead, take care of that. I’ll clean this up, then take these two outside. They can be the referees.”

“Thank you.” You give Max’s shoulder an appreciative squeeze as you walk past her.

Back in the kitchen, you turn off the timer and pull the green bean casserole out of the oven. 

Cheers ring in from the backyard, bringing a smile to your face. Anne steps up to look out the window at everyone.

“I think I’m going to go make sure no one is doing anything stupid,” she says.

“Nurse is never off duty, huh?” Nancy asks with a smile.

When Anne steps out of the room, you turn to Nancy and raise an eyebrow. 

“She wants to make sure no one is doing anything stupid?” you ask. “She clearly doesn’t know that is most of what our husbands do.”

Nancy laughs and nods her head in agreement.

“We should keep her here as an on-call nurse.”

“She’d be busier here than in the ER,” you joke. 

You and Nancy work silently side by side for a little while, before Nancy notices you starting to buzz around the kitchen more, a hectic mood settling over you. She licks over her lips before looking in your direction.

“Is something burning?” she asks.

“What?”

You whip your head around to stare at her before looking at the stove. 

“Smell it?” she asks, grabbing a paper towel to wipe her hands off on.

You take a few deep inhales, and a frown pinches your face.

“No,” you admit.

“That’s because there’s nothing burning,” Nancy says, taking a few steps closer to you. She rests her hands on your shoulders and looks you in the eye. “But it got you to take some deep breaths. Take a few more, okay?”

Catching on to her scheme, you narrow your eyes at her as you do indeed take a few more deep breaths.

“You’re sneaky,” you tell her.

“I have to be with four kids,” she replies. 

It’s not long before the game outside comes to an end and people start coming back into the house in waves. Eddie finally comes in and your heart stutters in your chest when you see him. His face is flushed from the exertion, his breathing a little labored for the same reason. His hair is frizzier than usual and when he comes closer to you, you can feel the chill coming off of him. It’s only confirmed when you put your hands on his cheeks and feel how cool they are to the touch. His smile makes you dizzy, not even registering how cold his lips are against yours when he leans in for a kiss.

“Everything smells good,” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Did you win?” you ask, reluctantly going to check on the turkey.

His sigh tells you the answer before his words do.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbles.

Both you and Nancy share a chuckle as he sulks out of the room. Ryan pops in right after, going over to the sink to wash his hands. His face is flushed like his father’s, but his hair is faring far better. Wayne, Theo, and Danny come in behind your son and Wayne goes into the fridge to grab water bottles for all the boys.

“Can I help?” Ryan asks you as he dries his hands.

“Of course, sweetheart.” You press a kiss to his head as you slip by him to grab the salt. “Do you want to get started on the stuffing?”

“Sure.”

Danny wrinkles up his nose as he takes a sip of his water.

“Cooking is for girls,” the eight-year-old declares.

“Danny!” Nancy immediately snaps. 

“Hey,” Wayne says, nudging the boy on the shoulder. “I was a cook in the army. That don’t sound girly, does it?”

Danny shakes his head, looking cowed.

“No,” he says softly.

“What do you say?” Nancy asks.

“I’m sorry.”

Ryan ruffles the boy’s hair before pretending to spill the bowl of breadcrumbs he’s carrying all over him. Danny laughs and runs away before Ryan can actually make a mess of him.

“Hey, all available squirts!” Eddie calls from the next room.

“I’m not available,” Ryan mumbles, obviously not keen on whatever his father has planned.

Luke trails into the kitchen and looks around, confused like he hasn’t lived there for years.

“Uh, I’m supposed to set the table. Where’s the stuffs?” he asks.

“By yourself?” you ask, showing him where you already have the cookery and cutlery out and ready to go.

“Nope.” 

Luke lets out a small chuckle but before you can ask what’s so funny, Mia follows in behind him. It’s clear she volunteered to be your son’s assistant.

“I’m here to help!” she announces. 

Carefully, you load up both kids with as much as you think they’re able to handle. Luckily, a parade of other small humans comes in to finish the job.

“Quite the operation you’ve got going here,” you say to your husband as you step into the dining room. “Putting the kids to work.”

“They’re my elves,” he says with a shrug. 

You giggle and press a kiss to his cheek before walking back into the kitchen.

Ryan and Natalie amble in, neither looking too happy. Eddie doesn’t ask why; he knows they’ll tell him.

“I don’t want to sit at the kids’ table,” Ryan whines. For a fourteen-year-old, Eddie thinks Ryan gripes more than his literal baby sister.

Natalie looks at the adult table, then at the kids’ table. There are nine chairs seated at each and she’s clearly trying to figure out how two can be added to the larger table.

“Me neither,” she says while mentally calculating. 

Lucas steps into the room behind the teens and Eddie sees a great opportunity. 

“Okay, you guys can sit with us,” he tells them. “As long as you contribute to the conversation.”

“Really?” Natalie asks, instantly perking up. It amazes Eddie how quickly she goes from looking like Wednesday Addams to Pippi Longstocking.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He looks over at his former Hellfire Club member and nods at him. “By the way Lucas, did you see that the DOW is down three points today?”

Lucas doesn’t miss a beat.

“Huh,” he muses. “You know, I was just talking to my broker about that over a rousing game of golf. He suggested I take another look at my portfolio.”

“Ugh fine, we’ll sit at the kids’ table,” Ryan groans.

The two of them slink off to the other side of the room as Eddie and Lucas share a quiet laugh.

“Don’t even know if I got all the terms right,” Lucas admits.

Eddie, Ryan, Nancy, and Max all help you take the food out to the table—well, tables. Eliza watches it all as Wayne settles her in her highchair at the kids’ table. She’s practically salivating as her chocolate eyes move from dish to dish. Even Mia taking the seat between her and Luke doesn’t take her attention from her dinner. 

Annie settles Molly into her own highchair—Eliza’s old one that she outgrew. When Eddie had gotten it out of the garage both of you got a little misty-eyed that your daughter is getting so big.

The turkey is placed at the head of the table, right in front of Eddie’s seat. He picks up the large carving knife and Luke over-dramatically gasps from his place at the kids’ table. You finish scooping some mashed potatoes onto Eliza’s plate and playfully tug on one of Luke’s curls.

Eddie glances up from time to time, watching as you make sure each kid has a little bit of everything on the plate in front of them. 

“You’re gonna lose a finger, boy,” Wayne warns. The older man smiles though, at the way his nephew looks at his wife. 

Eddie sets the knife down and discreetly pops the wishbone out of the bird. If he doesn’t set it aside now all the kids will be arguing over it and Eddie isn’t sure there’s enough wine in the house to deal with that. This way, Eddie can show the kids the carved-up turkey and point to where the wishbone “should be” and shrug, telling them they’re out of luck. He looks forward to using it with you after the kids go to bed. 

You giggle as Molly reaches up and puts a dab of cranberry sauce on your nose. Eddie grins as he watches you. He had thought that seeing you with a baby wouldn’t hit him in quite the same way after Eliza was born, but it hasn’t quelled the yearning. 

Taking advantage of the kids grabbing the rolls in a frenzy, he slips the wishbone into his pocket. He already knows what his wish will be.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2003 - i can see us lost in the memory

chapter summary: After searching for answers about his past, Logan comes back to the mansion after finding nothing at Alkali Lake. When he comes back he sees you, the only thing he can remember.

word count: 6.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i skipped x1 (mostly because i felt like i couldn't place reader into the story and have her actually make a change in it) so we're starting with x2! don't worry, next chapter is going to make you sick with tooth rotting fluff

(also thank you for 700 followers!! and happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate! <3)

warnings/tags: follows events of x2 (strays slightly), reader is a mutant with time manipulation powers, reader wears glasses, shy!reader, light violence

series masterlist - chapter 6 → chapter 8, chapter 8.5

Alkali Lake held nothing. No clues, no leads, nothing. And because of that he’s still drifting, unable to remember anything but you.

He’s not sure when the last time he saw you was, he can only remember that he’s had you 5 times and lost you 5 times.

But now… now he has nothing but fragments, barely more than dreams, and a dull ache he can’t ignore, even if he can no longer remember the details. He knows you were there, remembers the way your touch soothed him, the warmth of your voice—and each time he replays those memories, he feels something deeper, sharper, tugging at the places in him that will never mend.

---

Logan opened the doors to the mansion, Rogue walking towards him. “Logan!” She went up to hug him before quickly pulling back.

“You miss me, kid?”

“Not really.” She shook her head sarcastically.

“Hmm. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“Who’s this?” Logan gestured with his head behind Rogue.

Rogue turned around, “oh, this is Bobby. He’s my- ”

“I’m her boyfriend.” Bobby cut in, shaking Logan’s hand using his ice powers, “call me Ice Man.”

Logan pulled away with a slight scowl, “right. Boyfriend? So how do you guys…?”

Bobby and Rogue shared a look, “well, we’re still working on that.” He said.

“Look who’s come back. Just in time.” Ororo spoke, as she walked down the stairs.

“For what?” Logan questioned.

“We need another babysitter.”

“Babysitter?”

“Nice to see you again, Logan.” Ororo said kindly.

“Hi, Logan.” Jean spoke, announcing herself as she walked down the stairs.

Logan briefly looked her way, “Jean.”

“Uh, I should go and get the jet ready.” Ororo said quietly.

“Yeah, well, it was good to meet you.” Bobby grabbed Rogue’s hand, “come on, let’s go.”

“Bye, Logan. I’ll see- I’ll see you later!” Rogue called out.

Jean walked in front of Logan, “Storm and I are heading to Boston. We won’t be gone long. The professor wants us to track down a mutant who attacked the president.”

“So it was a mutant.” Logan responded.

“You’ll be here when we get back- unless you plan on running off again.”

Logan tilted his head slightly. “Oh, I could—” His words trailed off as he caught sight of you. The stack of papers in your hands wobbled as you came down the stairs, muttering under your breath. He watched you, the tilt of your head as you pushed your glasses back up, the way you carefully balanced the papers in your hands.

You. He knew you. He knew that face, that presence. It hit him like a punch to the gut, an undeniable recognition buried beneath layers of fractured memories. You were the only thing that came back to him clearly in all the chaos. The short-lived lives you had, and every time it ended up with you dead in his arms.

He blinked, processing, as if you’d vanish if he looked away. You glanced up, catching his stare, and you stopped mid-step, eyes widening a little.

“Oh, uh… hi,” you said, awkwardly adjusting your glasses.

“Hi,” he echoed, still staring, as if searching for something familiar in the way you moved.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, then tried a smile. “You’re… Logan, right?”

He swallowed, feeling something catch in his throat. “Yeah. Logan.”

Breaking the tension, Scott walked down the stairs, “find what you were looking for, Logan?”

Logan barely acknowledged Scott’s words, his gaze fixed on you. The room, the people around him, the mansion itself—they all blurred, faded, became nothing more than static in the background. He knew you. The only thing he remembered clearly, despite all the fog in his mind, was you.

The stack of papers shifted in your hands as you glanced between him and Scott, your unease clear. It was like you sensed something, too, even if you couldn’t put a finger on it.

“Uh, no, not exactly,” Logan finally replied, his voice gruff, his eyes still on you. “Thought I’d… found something. Guess not.”

Scott didn’t seem too interested in probing. “Well, welcome back. Make yourself at home.”

But Logan barely heard him. He watched as you attempted a shy smile, not quite meeting his eyes. “I… I should go.” You hesitated, lifting the papers as if they’d shield you. “It was nice meeting you, Logan.”

He nodded, his throat dry. “Same.”

You hurried past, your steps soft but quick, almost like you were escaping.

Scott raised an eyebrow at Logan, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t know you were one for the shy ones.”

Logan shot him a look that could’ve split wood, but Scott just shrugged and walked off, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts.

For a moment, Logan debated following you. He’d known you before; he was sure of it. And even if he couldn’t recall the exact details, there was no mistaking the pull he felt, the way his chest tightened just being in your presence. He couldn’t remember much, barely fragments, yet you were a constant. And every time, he’d lost you. Every damn time.

---

After double checking that everyone was out of their rooms, whether taken or already escaped, you made your way to the secret tunnel, hitting the paneled wall as it opened.

You saw Rogue, Bobby, John, and Logan running down the hall. “Go on,” you said, letting the kids go through before you did. You noticed no one behind you as the door slid down, closing.

“Logan!” Rogue called out.

Bobby and John had already started to run down the tunnel while you stayed by the wall, ear pressed against it trying to hear what was happening.

Rogue stayed by you, clearly worried about Logan. You opened the door quietly as Bobby and John came back. It was quiet in the hall, Logan was walking slowly toward the older man as your eyes briefly fluttered shut, pausing the intruders in time.

“Logan, come on. Let’s go.” Rogue yelled out.

“Logan,” you said gently, as he finally turned his head towards the group.

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

“But we won’t.” Rogue responded.

Logan contemplated for a few moments before walking towards you, “go. Keep going.” Logan entered the tunnel as the door closed behind him while you un-paused the men in the hall.

The five of you ran down the tunnel before climbing up a ladder to the garage. “Come on, get in. Get in!” Logan said.

You went to open the passenger door to the back when a large, warm hand landed on your waist, the grip warm and familiar even though you knew you'd never been this close to him before. Your breath hitched, and you glanced over your shoulder, only to meet his intense gaze as he gently nudged you toward the front seat. His hand lingered a second longer than it needed to, his touch almost hesitant, as if he was committing the feel of you to memory.

“Front seat, Y/N,” he murmured.

“R-Right. Thanks,” you stammered, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks as you slid into the passenger seat. He followed, taking his place behind the wheel, while Rogue, Bobby, and John piled into the back.

“This is Cyclops’s car.” Bobby said.

“Oh, yeah?” Logan unsheathed a singular claw, stabbing it into the ignition and turning on the car. The garage doors opened as the car sped out.

“What the hell was that back there?” John finally asked.

“Stryker.” Logan answered. “His name is Stryker.”

“Who is he?” Rogue questioned.

“I can’t remember.” Logan said quietly.

Rogue, after a few moments of silence, took off the dog tags around her wrist, passing them to Logan in the front, “here. This is yours.”

Even though you couldn’t see the kids in the back, you could tell they were uncomfortable with the silence. John leaned forward, “I don’t like uncomfortable silences.”

“What are you doing?” Rogue asked from beside him.

John turned on the radio as music played loudly from the car’s stereo’s, “bye, bye, bye…” Everyone groaned at the loud intrusion as John promptly turned it back off.

But, a small compartment opened, revealing a sleek metal device. “I don’t think that’s the CD player.” John said.

Logan grabbed it, twisting it in his hands. It blipped once, “whoa,” he muttered. Logan looked at John momentarily, “sit back.”

“Where we going?” John asked.

“Storm and Jean are in Boston. We’ll head that way.” Logan answered.

Bobby looked off to the side, “my parents live in Boston.”

“Good.” Logan said.

---

It was morning when you arrived at Bobby’s parents’ house. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, “mom! Dad! Ronny! Is anybody home?” No one responded, the house was empty. Bobby looked at Rogue, “I’ll try and find you some clothes.” Bobby then looked over at John, who was continuously flicking his lighter open, “don’t burn anything.”

Logan was in the kitchen, trying to get the phone, or comm device he wasn’t sure, to work. He put it to his ear, “hello?” Static crackled over the device, “hello?” Logan asked again. “Come on, Jean. Where are you?”

You had just freshened up a bit when the door opened, Bobby’s family entering the house, looking at Logan in the kitchen with an open beer bottle.

“Hey, Ronny, next time you…” Bobby’s father started, but stopped when he saw Logan. “Who the hell are you?”

“Uh…” Logan pointed at the stairs as Bobby ran down them.

“Bobby…?”

“Honey, aren’t you supposed to be at school?” Bobby’s mother asked. Rogue quietly walked down the stairs.

“Bobby, who is this guy?”

“Uh… this is Professor Logan.” Bobby paused before speaking again, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Soon, you all ended up in the living area, the kids and Bobby’s parents sitting down on the couch with you and Logan standing in the doorway.

“So, uh, when did you first know you were a… a…” Bobby’s mother trailed off.

“A mutant?” John spoke up, still flicking his lighter open and closed.

“Would you cut that out?” she said.

“You have to understand, we thought Bobby was going to a school for the gifted.” his father spoke.

“Bobby is gifted.” Rogue cut in.

“We know that. We just didn’t realize…”

His mother cut off her husband, “we still love you, Bobby. It’s just… this mutant problem is a little…”

“What mutant problem?” Logan interrupted, leaning against the other side of the doorway as you with his arms crossed.

“…complicated.” she finished.

Bobby’s father spoke again, “what exactly are you a professor of Mr. Logan?”

“Art.”

“Well, you should see what Bobby can do.” Rogue said.

Bobby leaned forward, gently touching his mother’s teacup with one finger as the tea turned to ice.

“Bobby…” his mother trailed off. She flipped the teacup on its side as the ice slid to the plate.

“I can do a lot more than that.”

His mother shakily put the plate and teacup on the glass table as the cat jumped up and started to lick the ice. Bobby’s brother Ronny left the room with a quiet anger.

“Ronny?” His mother called out as he went up the stairs. “This is all my fault.”

John spoke up, “actually, they discovered that males are the ones who carry the mutant gene and pass it on, so it’s his fault.”

A few moments later, the comm device started to beep. “Oh, God…” Logan took the device out of his pocket and started to walk to the sliding door, “it’s for me.”

“Bobby… have you tried… not being a mutant?” His mother asked.

Logan came back inside and locked the sliding door, “we have to go now. Now!”

“Why?” Rogue questioned. “Logan, what’s wrong?”

He walked to the front door, claws extended and you and the kids following to come face to face with police officers on the front lawn, point guns at you.

“Drop the knives and put your hands in the air.” An officer ordered from their right.

“What’s going on here?” Logan muttered.

“Ronny.” Bobby answered, coming to the realization.

“I said, drop the knives!” The officer ordered again.

Glass shattered from inside the house, “turn around! Up against the wall! Up against the wall!” An officer ordered Bobby’s parents, still in the living area.

“This is just a misunderstanding.” Logan said.

“Put the knives down!”

Logan turned to look at the officer, “I can’t. Look,” he raised his arm slowly as the officer fired a shot, straight into Logan’s forehead.

Rogue screamed and you gasped as Logan hit the patio floor.

“All right, the rest of you- on the ground now!” The same officer ordered.

You, Bobby, and Rogue slowly sank to the ground, but John stayed standing.

“Look, kid, I said on the ground!”

“We don’t want to hurt you, kid.” The officer on the other side said.

“You know all those dangerous mutants you hear about on the news?” John flicked open his lighter as you murmured his name, “I’m the worst one.” He blasted fire at the officer who shot Logan, sending him off the patio. He turned and did the same to the woman on the other side, then inside the house at the two officers.

John turned forward, blasting fire at the officers on the front lawn, the car exploding, before doing the same to another police car. A siren sounded down the street, coming to the house, as John blasted another stationary car by the front lawn, throwing the moving car off track. He blasted that car too.

Rogue, on the ground in front of you, took off her white glove and grabbed John’s ankle. The fire in his hands died off as Rogue stopped the fires surrounding the police cars and lawn.

The bullet popped out of Logan’s head as he woke up, the Blackbird slowly landing in the street. Logan stood up, cracking his neck. Bobby and the kids rushed off the stairs first, heading to the jet.

Logan instinctively put a hand on the small of your back, not pushing you or guiding you just… resting there. You took a quick glance up at him before reverting your gaze back to what was ahead of you.

John was the first one to walk up the ramp, and the first one to see Kurt turn in his chair. “Guten tag.” Kurt greeted.

The rest of you got onto the jet, buckling in, “who the hell is this?” Logan asked.

“Kurt Wagner. But in the Munich circus, I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler.”

“As, save it. Storm?”

“We’re out of here.” The engines powered up as the ship jerked slightly while taking off.

---

“How far are we?” Logan asked, walking up behind Jean’s chair.

“We’re actually coming up on the mansion now.” Jean replied, as the console started to beep.

“I’ve got two signals approaching.” Ororo said, “coming in fast.”

“Unidentified aircraft, you are ordered to descend to 20,000 feet. Return with our escort to Hanscom Air Force Base. You have ten seconds to comply.”

“Wow, somebody’s angry.” Ororo commented.

Logan looked back at John, “I wonder why.”

“We are coming up alongside you to escort you to Hanscom Air Force Base. Lower your altitude now.” The two planes come up on both sides of the jet, “repeat-lower your altitude to 20,000 feet. This is your last warning.”

The planes started to fly behind, “they’re falling back.” Ororo spoke. Rapid beeping sounded out from the console. “They’re marking us.”

“What?” Logan asked.

“They’re going to fire! Hang on!” Ororo started to fly the jet in a defensive position as they buckled into their seats. “I got to shake them.”

The jet briefly flew upside down then righted itself, “please don’t do that again.” John said.

“I agree.” Logan remarked. “Don’t we have any weapons in this heap?”

The sky started to darken as dark clouds formed, quickly turning into tornadoes. The jet started to shake from the heavy winds as Ororo tried getting the two planes off their tails.

Once their radar was clear, Ororo stopped, the sky brightening back to its natural state.

“Everybody okay back there?” Jean questioned.

“No,” Logan answered simply.

Rapid beeping sounded out from the console once again, “oh, my God, there’s two of them,” Ororo said. Jean used her powers and took out one of the missiles, “there’s one more.” The remaining missile continued flying closer to them, “Jean?”

Jean gasped, “oh, God!” At the last second, Jean directed the missile slightly up, causing the back end of the jet to blow open.

Rogue, who wasn’t buckled in, flew out the back as Bobby yelled for her. Kurt briefly looked back before disappearing and then reappearing in the jet, right by the pilot’s seat next to Ororo and Jean as the jet nosedived.

The panels in the ship began to crackle as metal creaked and the back of the jet repaired itself. “Jean?” Ororo asked.

“It’s not me.” Jean answered, as the jet suddenly stopped, hovering over an older man and woman you didn’t recognize.

---

You had your head and arms buried deep into the jet's console, a strand of hair falling in front of your face as you tried to twist one more wire into place. The tech was scrambled from the missile hit, panels still flickering with bursts of static, and while it wasn’t exactly in your wheelhouse, you knew enough to give it a try. Besides, it kept your hands busy while the rest of the team talked to Erik around the fire and the kids set up tents.

After some time, you walked down the stairs of the jet, mostly for a small break from the incessant lighting and saw Logan smoking a cigar by the ramp. You almost turned around and walked back up, until he turned to look at you, more than halfway down the stairs.

You gulped and played with the tool in your hands as Logan looked at his cigar briefly, noticing the smoke was frozen in the air. He turned his gaze to the trees nearby also taking note that they were frozen as well; no wind blowing through their leaves.

“Ya always freeze time when you get nervous?” Logan tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you, trapped in your own nervous suspension of time. You gave a tight, embarrassed smile, the tool in your hands twisting around your fingers as you took a deep breath and forced yourself to let go of the freeze.

“No. Only sometimes,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat. The trees resumed their gentle sway, and the smoke from his cigar curled upward lazily again. Logan watched the subtle shift, something almost playful glinting in his gaze.

He took another drag of his cigar, eyes not leaving you. “So, what’s got you nervous?”

Your fingers fumbled with the tool. “It’s, um… I don’t usually come across people who…” You trailed off, looking down at your hands.

Truth was, he made you nervous. Why wouldn’t he? He was… a lot of things, and in the few days you have known him you couldn’t help but feel more reserved than usual.

Logan leaned back against the ramp, watching you with a calm expression, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Care to be more specific?” He seemed content to let you fumble, patient in a way that only made your pulse quicken more.

You shrugged, pretending to focus on the tool in your hands. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the… whole mysterious, intense thing you’ve got going. That, and the fact that I accidentally freeze time whenever you look at me like that.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting out a low chuckle. “Like what?”

“Like…” You trailed off, finally looking up at him. “Like you’re trying to figure something out, but I’m not sure I want to know what.”

“Maybe I am,” Logan said, taking a drag of his cigar. His eyes softened a bit, and you felt a warmth settle over you. He didn’t push, didn’t pry—just waited. After all, patience was one of the many things he’d perfected over the years.

You shifted on your feet, glancing down to where your fingers had turned the wrench over and over, antsy. “Maybe I just don’t know what to make of you,” you murmured, feeling the weight of his gaze again.

“Guess that makes two of us,” he replied, his voice low. There was something unspoken in his words, something you couldn’t quite name.

The silence stretched out, and then, because there was something about the way he looked at you that felt like an invitation, you spoke. “Why’d you come out here, anyway? I thought you were all about avoiding everyone else.”

Logan flicked some ash off the end of his cigar. “Maybe I was gettin’ tired of avoidin’ things.” He paused, looking out toward the treeline, then back at you. “Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d freeze time again.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Not exactly something I can control.”

“Good to know,” Logan replied, smirking. He took another puff, the smoke curling up in wisps around him. “So, are you fixin’ that thing, or just givin’ it the ol’ college try?”

You looked back at the jet, the half-repaired panel flickering with static. “Oh, definitely just winging it.”

Logan chuckled, the sound rich and deep, and for a moment, the tension seemed to ease. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a ‘wing it’ type.”

You shrugged, biting back a smirk. “I’m full of surprises.”

The easy conversation brought a hint of a grin to his face, something warm and fleeting, and he tilted his head toward the jet. “C’mon, let’s see what else you can do, winging it.” He raised an eyebrow, as if challenging you.

You looked at him, then back at the jet, a bit of excitement tingling under your skin. “Alright, Logan. Let’s see what we can fix.”

---

“Stay with the kids.” Jean said. You opened your mouth to argue, you weren’t a child, yet it seemed like every mission you were treated like one. Never allowed on the field, never even brought in on a debriefing.

The rest of the group, other than Mystique who was already in the base, were outside the jet, making their way into Alkali Base. You were supposed to stay behind with Rogue, Bobby, and John.

“But, Jean—” you started, voice catching on the frustrated protest that lingered in your chest.

Jean turned, a hand on her hip and an exasperated look that was all too familiar. “We’ve talked about this, Y/N. You’re here to look after them.”

“Right,” you muttered, crossing your arms, your gaze falling on the others, who were half paying attention, half pretending not to notice. Rogue’s worried glance lingered on you; Bobby looked between you and the hallway where the rest of the team had disappeared.

Jean’s expression softened just slightly. “This isn’t a punishment, okay? The kids need someone they trust to keep them safe.”

You glanced at Logan, who gave you a slight nod, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Fine,” you mumbled, “I’ll stay with them.”

Jean pressed a reassuring hand to your shoulder. “We’ll be back soon.” She turned to catch up with the others, her footsteps echoing as they faded into the depths of the base.

Logan lingered for a moment, gaze unwavering. He looked at you for a beat too long, and something tightened in his expression. He gave a faint nod before heading off.

As the rest of the team disappeared down the corridor, John grinned, clearly amused by your frustration. "Looks like you got a babysitting gig, huh?"

You shot him a withering look, but Rogue was quick to jump in. "It's not like that, John."

“Could be worse,” Bobby added, trying to lighten the mood, “at least we’re safe here.”

You leaned against the cold metal wall, fingers tapping the console out of habit. “Yeah,” you replied, though your voice held none of the certainty you tried to convey.

From the depths of the corridor, Logan’s scent still lingered faintly in the air. You felt the tug of something unexplainable—a pull toward him that you’d noticed ever since he first set foot in the mansion. It was like trying to remember something you knew you’d forgotten.

Your hand, almost of its own accord, clenched into a fist, feeling the temptation to slow time, to buy a few seconds to gather your thoughts and process what lingered between you and Logan. But with Rogue, Bobby, and John right there, you resisted, focusing on keeping things steady.

And, yet, as you listened to the faint sounds echoing down the hall, a deep sense of restlessness settled in your chest.

---

“She’s controlling the jet!” Storm said, as the jet started to lightly shake.

“You, get her, now!” Logan told Kurt.

Kurt briefly phased, “she’s not letting me.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Charles spoke. “This is the only way.”

Scott leaned down next to Charles seat, “Jean? Listen to me. Don’t do this.”

“Good-bye.”

The jet started to hover above the water as a bright light shone briefly from the water before disappearing as quickly as it came.

“She’s gone,” Ororo said quietly.

The vision broke your focus as you flew the jet, the emergency landing protocol activated as it landed harshly, Rogue and Bobby standing in the cockpit by your seat.

A whoosh made you turn to the side to see Kurt putting Charles down in a seat. Kids started to climb up the stairs into the ramp as Ororo came by your side, “I got this, Y/N,” she said gently.

You let out a few more heavy breaths before standing up from the pilot’s seat, letting Ororo take your place.

As Scott fiddled with some of the controls, Charles spoke up, “Scott, we’ve got to get to Washington. I fear this has gone beyond Alkali Lake.”

Logan finally climbed up the stairs, a young boy in his arms, “Bobby.”

“Hey, I got him,” Bobby replied, carefully taking the boy from Logan’s arms.

Logan watched for a moment as Bobby wrapped an arm around the kid, murmuring something reassuring to him. When the boy seemed to relax, Logan shifted his gaze to you, lingering just a beat too long, that same unreadable look in his eyes.

The jet was buzzing with energy as everyone settled in, but his eyes never left yours. You felt it, that weight, the unspoken thing hanging between you both ever since you met. The others didn’t seem to notice—Bobby was focused on the kid, Rogue was buckling in, and Ororo and Scott were adjusting settings on the console. But Logan, he was watching you, something intense simmering beneath his stoic expression.

You tried to brush it off, focusing on the quiet hum of the jet as it prepared for takeoff. But that pull was there, like something forgotten tugging at your memory, or maybe… not forgotten, exactly. Maybe something you’d never known.

Finally, unable to help yourself, you looked back at him. “What?” you asked softly, half a smile on your lips to cover the nervous energy prickling at the base of your spine.

Logan didn’t smile back. “Nothing,” he replied, voice rough. But his gaze softened, just barely, and there was a glimmer of something warm. “Just making sure you’re alright.”

His words were casual, but you caught the faintest edge of something… familiar. Like a memory you couldn’t quite touch. You felt your fingers twitch, the familiar itch to pull time in around you, but you held back.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing your hair behind your ear as you tried to shake off the strange feeling. “Thanks for asking.”

Logan nodded, but his gaze didn’t waver. He watched you for a beat longer, almost as if he were searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it—or maybe he did but decided not to say. Instead, he moved forward to Ororo, where her and Scott were trying to power the engines.

“What’s wrong?” Logan questioned.

“Vertical thrusters are offline.” Scott answered.

“So fix ’em.”

“I’m trying.”

“Hey, has anyone seen John?” Rogue called out.

“Pyro?” Logan asked. “Where the hell is he?”

“He’s with Magneto.” Jean replied.

“…but I don’t know how long they’re going to last.”

“I’m trying to override, but it’s not responding.” Scott grunted, “come on!”

“Oh, no, we’ve lost the power.” Ororo said.

“It’s coming. Come on!”

“There’s power in the fuel cells. They’re just not connected.”

“Okay, I’ll try to reroute it this way.” Ororo continued, but your gaze was focused on Jean, who was looking at the ramp of the jet. “Scott, the engine control system is shot.”

“Which part?”

“All of it!”

“Can’t you override?”

“Yes. It’s going to take some time.”

“Jean,” you whispered under your breath, too scared to act, fearing what would happen if you intervened. Instead, you watched as she walked down the ramp of the jet, glancing at the group one last time.

Charles tilted his head slightly to the side, “Jean?”

“Wait, where’s Jean?” Logan asked.

“She’s outside.” Charles said.

Scott bolted up from his seat to the ramp, but it closed as he got there, separating Jean from the rest of them. The consoles lit up as the engines came back online.

“No! We’re not leaving! Lower the ramp! Storm, lower it!” Scott yelled.

“I can’t!” She replied.

The water finally washed over to them, but because of Jean and her telekinesis it went around her.

“She’s controlling the jet!” Storm said, as the jet started to lightly shake.

“You, get her, now!” Logan told Kurt.

Kurt briefly phased, “she’s not letting me.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Charles spoke. “This is the only way.”

Scott leaned down next to Charles seat, “Jean? Listen to me. Don’t do this.”

“Good-bye.”

The jet started to hover above the water as a bright light shone briefly-

“-power in the fuel cells. They’re just not connected.”

“Okay, I’ll try to reroute it this way.” Ororo continued, but your gaze was focused on Jean, who was looking at the ramp of the jet. “Scott, the engine control system is shot.”

“Which part?”

“All of it!”

“Can’t you override?”

“Yes. It’s going to take some time.”

As Jean walked toward the ramp, you reached out and grabbed her forearm, halting her determined steps. Her head turned, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, her eyes softened. There was a weariness, a resignation in her look that you couldn’t ignore.

“Jean,” you whispered, tightening your grip. “There has to be another way.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, staring into the distance. The ramp was only steps away, but she hadn’t pulled her arm free. “It’s the only way to save everyone,” she said, her voice barely audible, as if speaking louder would shatter whatever resolve she had left.

“I’m not gonna let you die,” you spoke quietly.

Jean tilted her head, looking at the cockpit one more time before back at you, “you rewound. Didn’t you?” She hadn’t tried to pull away, and you could feel the rapid beat of her pulse through your grip on her arm. She knew. Somehow, she’d pieced it together—how you’d rewound, maybe even more than once.

“Yes,” you replied softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of the jet, “but this time—”

“This time won’t be any different,” Jean cut in, a trace of regret in her tone. “Some things… you can’t just rewind.”

You tightened your grip, not willing to let go. “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe it has to end like this.”

Her gaze softened, but there was a sadness in her eyes that you couldn’t bear. “You have to let me go, Y/N. You can’t keep holding on to something that’s already gone.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “We’re a team, Jean. You can power on the jet, and I can pause the water.”

She looked away, clearly weighing every word you said against her own grim resolve, then back at you with a look of resigned understanding. "You don’t understand, Y/N. This—" she gestured to the waters crashing around them, then down to her own chest, her hand resting over her heart—"what’s happening to me... it’s too much. It’s a flood I can’t hold back.”

You could feel her pulse, still wild beneath your hand, and the memory of her last words echoed in your mind. "You have to let me go, Y/N. You can’t keep holding on to something that’s already gone.”

But she wasn’t gone, not yet, and the desperation that rose inside you felt like a fight against fate itself. “Jean, I’ve seen things go wrong before.” The words slipped out, the ghost of a memory that you couldn’t quite catch. “But I can feel it this time… we don’t have to lose you. Just trust me.”

For a moment, Jean’s gaze softened, and her grip on her resolve wavered. “Y/N…” she started, and you caught a glimmer of something in her eyes—gratitude, or maybe even hope. Her hand rested lightly over yours, though you could feel her power humming beneath her skin. “Alright,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible. “But if something goes wrong… if it’s too much…”

You cut her off, squeezing her hand tighter. “Then we find another way. But you don’t have to do this alone.”

With a quick nod from Jean, you focused your energy, feeling time ripple and bend beneath your skin. Jean closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she took in the extra moments you’d gifted her, enough to gather her power without tearing herself apart in the process.

Outside the jet, the water slowed, hovering just a few inches away from the plane, frozen in time. Everyone held their breath, the hum of the jet's engines amplified in the stillness. Scott turned back to the controls, guiding the jet forward through the suspended water. “It’s working,” he murmured, almost to himself. "We’re moving.”

In the cockpit, you felt your pulse race as you held the time bubble steady, feeling the strain build in your bones. This level of control was more intense than anything you’d managed before, but you pushed yourself to hold on, the determination to keep Jean and everyone safe steeling your resolve.

The jet jolted slightly as it broke through the edge of the water and rose higher, out of immediate danger. But the strain was starting to build, the sheer amount of energy it took to hold everything at bay beginning to wear on you. Your hand slipped, and you nearly stumbled, but before you could lose your focus entirely, a strong hand caught your arm.

Logan was at your side, his face mere inches from yours, concern laced in his voice. “You good?” he asked, his grip grounding you.

“Yeah… just give me a sec.” You took a breath, focusing on the feel of his hand, the warmth in his touch that felt familiar in a way you couldn’t explain. With that small, grounding connection, you found the strength to hold the time bubble for a few seconds more.

When the jet was finally clear, you released the grip on time, and the rush of water resumed its course beneath them. You staggered slightly, feeling a rush of exhaustion course through you, but Logan’s arm was still steady around you, even as you fell to the ground, your eyes fluttering shut.

Logan’s grip tightened as you slumped back, your breath shuddering as exhaustion swept over you. His hand was warm, rough fingers gently brushing against your cheek, bringing you back just enough to the moment. Your back was draped over his knees, your pulse still racing as you struggled to catch your breath. The world was a muted blur, but his voice broke through, steady and low, anchoring you.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your cheek. “You’re alright. I got you.”

It was only his words, and the softness in them, that made you blink back the haze of exhaustion. As your vision cleared, you saw his face just inches from yours, an intensity in his gaze that seemed to search for something… something deeper than he was saying.

“Logan,” you whispered, not sure why his name slipped out so easily or why it felt so familiar, as if you’d said it before, in another life or another time. But the look he gave you held a weight you couldn’t name, a history you couldn’t remember.

“You with me?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper, but beneath it, there was something else, something almost pleading. He waited as you blinked up at him, your pulse slowly settling, tethered by his touch. “Y/N?”

“Yeah…” You tried to push yourself up, but the strain of holding time around the jet had left your muscles aching, feeling drained in a way you’d never experienced before. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened, steadying you, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling his warmth.

His face softened, a flicker of relief crossing his expression, though he didn’t let go. “You pulled us out of that mess,” he said, his voice low, and for a second, something raw flickered in his eyes. “What were you thinking? Freezing the water like that—it could’ve knocked you out cold.”

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t just watch Jean go.” You inhaled deeply, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced toward the cockpit, where Jean’s quiet breathing filled the jet with a fragile peace. “I couldn’t let her do it alone.”

Logan gave a slow nod, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. You felt the intensity of his gaze, as if he was seeing something beyond what you could understand. There was a warmth to it, one that made your heart stutter, something deep and unexplainably familiar. He paused, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. “You’ve always been this way… haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, thrown by the hint of something personal, something he couldn’t quite put into words. He dropped his hand from your face, settling it on your shoulder, but you could still feel the warmth lingering where he’d touched you.

“Never mind.” He looked away, his expression unreadable. But his hand remained steady on your shoulder, grounding you as the jet finally stabilized, the engines humming to life. You could hear the others bustling around, but for this moment, it was just the two of you, a silent understanding hovering between you.

“Logan…?” you started, not sure what you wanted to say or why his presence felt so deeply familiar. He turned back, a question in his eyes, as if he were waiting for something. But the words wouldn’t come. How could you ask him about a feeling you didn’t understand? About a memory that didn’t exist?

Instead, you exhaled, letting the silence fill the space between you. “Thank you.”

He watched you, his gaze lingering on your face, as if there were a thousand things he wanted to say. But he only nodded, a soft look crossing his face, one that felt almost like longing.

“Anytime,” he murmured, his hand finally slipping away, leaving a chill in its place.

“Y/N, you good back there?” Ororo’s voice broke the spell, and you managed a nod, giving her a thumbs-up.

“Yeah. Just… catching my breath.” You gave her a small smile, forcing your muscles to relax, even as your heart was still pounding. Logan stood, his gaze lingering on you for a beat before he moved to check on the others. But before he left, he looked back at you, his eyes holding a silent promise, a feeling that maybe—just maybe—he was still there, still watching over you.

---

A storm crackled outside thanks to Ororo and everyone around the group was frozen in time courtesy of you.

“Good morning, Mr. President.” Charles said. The President looked over to the side where Kurt was crouched on a small table. He began to stand up slowly, “please, don’t be alarmed. We’re not going to harm anyone.”

“Who are you people?”

“We’re mutants. My name is Charles Xavier. Please, sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Rogue.” Charles briefly glanced over at her, as she placed a large file onto the President’s desk. “These files were taken from the private offices of William Stryker.”

The President started to flip through the file, “how did you get this?”

“Well, let’s just say I know a little girl who can walk through walls.” Charles said, as the President looked over at Kurt who let out a quiet snicker. He finally sat back down.

“I’ve never seen this information.”

“I know.”

“Then you also know I don’t respond well to threats.”

“Mr. President, this is not a threat, this is an opportunity. There are forces in this world, both mutant and human alike, who believe that a war is coming. You’ll see from those files that some have already tried to start one. And there have been casualties. Losses on both sides. Mr. President, what you are about to tell the world is true. This is a moment. A moment to repeat the mistakes of the past, or to work together for a better future. We’re here to stay, Mr. President. The next move is yours.”

“We’ll be watching,” Logan said.

logan is around 171 years old (but at this point in the story, he doesn't really know how old he is so it's kinda irrelevant now) and reader is around 26 years old

[loserboysandlithium]

Let’s Play Pretend: ex boyfriend Eddie one shot

Minors dni, angst, I haven’t done any angst in a while so I’m sorry if this is shit 😂 I needed a good practice run and hopefully someone will enjoy it 🖤🖤🖤

*******

Okay, I can do this. Just breathe.

Thanksgiving. Your mom expected Eddie to be there. He’s been there by your side for the past three years. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the breakup. It was too hard. You still couldn’t truly wrap your head around it. How did we end up here?

Eddie pulls uncomfortably at the collar of his sweater, borrowed from the one and only Steve Harrington, as you both stand at the door of your mom’s house.

“You didn’t have to wear that.. she knows you Eddie.” you speak for the first time since he picked you up.

“Just wanted to look nice, ya know? Not like the asshole who broke your heart…” Eddie’s voice trails off as his gaze falls to his feet. His big black combat boots a stark contrast to his cream colored sweater. How does he manage to pull even this off?

“We said we weren’t gonna talk about it, Eddie. You promis-”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I’m sorry. I just- this is weird okay?” he mumbles.

He’d agreed, semi reluctantly, to play pretend for one night. Put on a happy face for your mom. Just one night. One dinner. Surely you could make it through, right?

You hear footsteps behind the door and take a deep breath as you reach over, sliding your hand into Eddie’s. The simple gesture making your heart ache. His calloused fingers, the chill of his rings, so familiar to you once. You hear the top lock click just as Eddie’s brown eyes meet yours.

He gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ready, pumpkin?” he whispers, his old nickname for you suddenly sending you into a spiral. Fuck, pull it together. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The door swings open, revealing your mother and you smile big, probably too big in an attempt to hide your true emotions. Your mind is swirling, flashbacks of you and Eddie filling your thoughts as you try to push them away.

“Are y’all ready to eat?” Your mother’s sweet southern accent easing your racing thoughts just a bit. You nod, releasing Eddie’s hand to embrace your mother.

“I know my boy is ready, and I made your favorite.” your mom smiles warmly as she takes Eddie in her arms next. You watch as he hugs her, squeezing tight. He’s always loved your mom. Always felt right at home. Soaking up the attention she gave him every time he was over.

“Thanks, Ma.” he answers softly, clinging just a little tighter than usual before pulling away. His eyes look glossy. Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He swallows hard, glancing your way once more before he excuses himself to the bathroom, the tear falling down his cheek only spotted by you.

Your mom ushers you into the kitchen as you begin to grab the dishes, carrying them to the large wooden table in the dining room. She’s rambling as usual, “I’ve missed you, baby.” “How are things?” “Eddie looks handsome as ever.” “Is that Steven’s sweater?” “Anything new?” Her last question hits hard as she wiggles her ring finger playfully.

You give her a small smile and a fake giggle as you shake your head no. “Mom, stop.” you groan.

“It’s gonna happen, baby. I just know it.” she reassures, leaning down to kiss your cheek. There was a time where that was all you wanted. You thought about it constantly. What ring would he get? How would he propose? The fantasies had run rampant in your mind. He was the one. He was supposed to be the one.

“Everything looks incredible.” Eddie’s voice appears suddenly from behind you shaking you from your thoughts. Then you feel his touch. His hand resting on your lower back as he pulls you into him slightly.

It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend.

He’s so close. You can smell his cheap cologne mixed with cigarettes and weed. Your favorite combo. You allow yourself to lean in a little closer, your eyes shutting softly as you brush against his chest.

His heart is fucking pounding.

The oven beeps and your mom claps her hands excitedly as she announces that the turkey is done. She disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“You doing okay?” he whispers, gently titling your head to look up at him.

No.

“M’ fine.” you reply instead. You can’t look away. His eyes drawing you in as always. His pretty lips. His brow furrowed slightly. He’s so fucking close.

“I’m not, if it makes you feel any better.” he says bluntly, his eyes still on yours.

“Eddie..”

“Okay kiddos. Time to eat.” your mom sings, placing the small turkey on the table as you all take your seats.

****

You spend the night playing along. Eddie making his usual jokes, your mom smiling and laughing, talking about memories of the past few years. Eddie’s hand rests on your thigh under the table, making your body tingle.

“God, I remember that.” Eddie chuckles, his genuine laugh something you haven’t heard in so long. Now when you talk, it’s always a fight. Screaming and crying. Or just another hate fuck. But it was never just that. And you both knew it.

You look over at his pretty smile, his eyes look light, his body relaxed. Everything felt almost normal again. But it isn’t real. None of it is real anymore.

After dinner, you hug your mom goodbye. Eddie kissing her cheek softly as he promises to see her soon.

Then you’re in his van. The light atmosphere fading back into your bleak reality as he drives you home. He tries to make small talk. Even tries to keep the earlier conversations going. Memories of your good times. They were the best times. But you have to stay strong.

He pulls into your drive, shutting of the van, landing you in a uncomfortable silence. “I should go.” you say quickly before he takes you off guard, leaning down to kiss you. You shove him off, doing your best to control your emotions.

“I just thought maybe we could..”

“I can’t, Eddie. Not tonight. I’m sorry.” you mumble, grabbing your bag from the floorboard of his van.

“Yeah.. yeah okay. Only when you want some dick, right?” he grumbles, his response making all of your feelings from the night explode out of you.

“Did tonight mean nothing to you? Did you not feel it? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“Of course I fucking felt it! My heart feels like it’s being ripped in two. Do you think that was fun for me? Playing pretend? A happy fucking family? I miss you. I miss us. You know that!” Eddie shouts, running his fingers through his dark curls.

“That isn’t fair.” you grit your teeth, begging for the tears to stay in place but it’s too late. They stream down your face in little rivers, blurring your vision as you try to compose yourself but it’s no use.

“I know I fucked up…” he starts and you just shake your head.

“I can’t do this Eddie. Please don’t do this.” you beg, your heart already shattering into a thousand pieces.

His firm hands cup your face, forcing you to look into his eyes. Those pretty eyes. His face matches yours, heartbroken, tears falling onto his chest, silently begging you to give in. To take him back. To forgive and forget.

You close the gap in between you, pressing your lips to his, tasting the salt from his tears as you kiss him gently.

He was supposed to be the one.

You pull back, resting your forehead against his for just a moment before wiping your tears.

“I can’t, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

[wandaslittlebird]

Professor!Wanda Headcanons

I typically don’t write professor/student, but you’ll have to forgive me, I’m experiencing a moment of weakness.

Professor Maximoff was, by no means a well liked professor. Her class was infamously difficult, and most of her students found her cold.

You, however, grasp the subject matter surprisingly well. That never stopped you from coming by her office to “further your studies.”

She liked it when you came by, she told you. “It feels like I’m in here all the time. And no one comes to my office hours anyway. It gets a little dull in here with just me.”

Her office was simply decorated with only a single chair in the corner for students to sit, but as it started to become a regular hang out for you, a nice loveseat mysteriously appeared.

It got to the point where you were talking to her almost every day. You came in in between all your classes, lounging on her loveseat and getting some work done.

Whenever you complained of being hungry, or simply wanting a nice treat for yourself, she handed you her phone, open with DoorDash and her credit card information already loaded in.

She’s started to get very possessive of you. She sees how the other students and professors look at you. She just wants to keep you safe, she tells herself.

But whenever you have a one on one with another professor, she can’t help the way her body tenses and her blood pressure spikes. She’s always sure to stop by to inform you that after your meeting is over, she’s bought you your favorite lunch in her office. Better not wait too long. It’ll get cold.

She starts making comments when your clothes when your shirt collars hit too low and your jeans had too many rips. “I should dress code you, you know. You’re lucky I like you.” Over time, you amass a decent collection of very expensive blazers from the days you come in in something she deems too revealing.

In her office, however, you’re allowed to wear as little as you wish. Which is convenient because it’s starting to get very hot in there for some reason. She can stand the heat if it means getting to watch you do your work in an undershirt.

When she asks what you’re doing for the Thanksgiving holiday and you shrug and tell her nothing, she’s all too quick to jump on the opportunity. “You can come over to my place. It’ll just be me. We can make a turkey. Come on it’ll be fun.”

Thanksgiving break bleeds into Christmas break as well. And her guest room bleeds into her bedroom. Her bed is just so much more comfortable. And it’s a California king. The two of you are practically sleeping in different time zones.

Late one night, you hear her whisper “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

“Will you still come to my office? Next semester? Even though you won’t be in my class anymore?” She asks, almost anxiously.

“Of course,” you respond. “I really enjoy being around you. Even outside of you… being my professor and everything.”

She smiles, but you couldn’t see it so well in the dark. “Good,” she said. “That’s good. I like being around you as well.”

She inches towards you nervously, but you reassure her when you start to move towards her as well. She wraps her arms around you while you curl into her chest. And you fall asleep in her arms, for the first time.

[gainercontent]

Eli's Thanksgiving Feast

Eli had been dreading this moment for weeks. After three months of dining hall food, late-night pizza, and chugging beers, he knew the consequences of college life were starting to show. The freshman 15. Everyone talked about it, but no one really prepared him for how quickly it could sneak up on you.

When he pulled in the driveway and saw his two older brothers tossing a frisbee in the front yard of their house, he could already see the smirks on their faces.

"Damn, Eli, you look like you’ve been hitting the dining hall more than the library," his brother Noah said, giving him a teasing once-over.

"Seriously, can't even hide it now," Micah, the middle brother, added, a laugh bubbling in his voice. He reached out to give Eli a pat on the back, but the gesture turned into a playful poke in the stomach. "You sure you're still fit to play ultimate, or are you just here for the Thanksgiving stuffing now?"

Eli tried to laugh it off, but deep down, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He had always been the skinny one growing up, the one who could eat whatever he wanted without worrying about his weight. But college had thrown him off balance—dorm food, late-night study sessions, and the absence of his mom’s homemade cooking. It didn’t take long before he found himself snacking on pizza rolls at 2 a.m. or grabbing a double cheeseburger between classes. And now, it showed.

"You guys are ridiculous," Eli muttered, trying to change the subject. "It’s just a few pounds."

"No kidding. It's not like you can just wish it away, bro," Noah teased.

"Don’t worry, we’ll help get you back in shape… after dinner," Micah added with a smirk.

Later, at the dinner table, the teasing reached new heights. Their mom had outdone herself this year, as usual. The kitchen was filled with the familiar smell of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, Mac and cheese, cranberry sauce, and—of course—her famous stuffing. It was the kind of meal that made Eli’s mouth water just from the smell.

"Sit down, Eli," his mom called, placing a massive plate of food in front of him. "I know you’re starving after your long drive."

"I’m not that hungry, Mom," Eli protested, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

"No, no," Noah chimed in, grinning. "You’ve gotta eat it all, Eli. You need the fuel. We don’t want you looking like you’re gonna float away after dinner."

Eli shot him a glare but sat down, his stomach already rumbling at the sight of all that food. Micah was already halfway through his first plate, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth with reckless abandon.

"Come on, little brother," Micah teased. "You’re not gonna let me beat you, are you?"

Eli rolled his eyes. "I’m not racing you guys."

But as the meal went on, Noah and Micah’s constant badgering wore him down.

"No way you can eat all that," Noah challenged, smirking at Eli. "Come on, show us what you've got."

"Yeah, we dare you," Micah added. "Five plates. You know you want to."

With each bite, Eli found himself getting fuller and fuller. But the challenge was too tempting to ignore. He loaded up his plate with mashed potatoes, a giant scoop of stuffing, turkey, green beans, and a spoonful of cranberry sauce. His brothers cheered him on, making exaggerated comments as he shoveled it all in, their voices getting louder the more he ate.

By the time he finished his first plate, the edges of his stomach were beginning to protest. He was full, but his brothers egged him on, urging him to keep going.

"Come on, one more plate. You can do it!" Micah shouted.

Noah chimed in. "You know the rule—no one's allowed to leave the table until they’ve finished five plates."

The competitive fire in Eli flared. He couldn’t back down. Not now. So, he loaded up a second plate, then a third. He felt the strain in his stomach with each passing bite, the tightness in his waistband beginning to feel like a constant reminder of how much he was stuffing in. But his brothers kept making comments, kept laughing, and it pushed him forward. He kept eating.

By the time he reached plate number five, Eli felt like his body was about to give up. His stomach felt like a bloated balloon, full and aching. The tightness of his jeans was becoming unbearable, and he let out an involuntary, loud burp that echoed through the room.

"Uh-oh, bro," Noah said with a grin. "Sounds like someone’s gonna pop."

Eli’s face flushed crimson, and his hand instinctively went to his waistband. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unbuttoned his jeans, letting out another long, audible burp as he tried to ease the pressure.

Micah leaned back in his chair, his grin practically splitting his face. "Dude, you seriously ate five plates. I’m impressed, but you might need a stretcher to get off that chair."

Eli laughed weakly, clutching his stomach. "I think I might just sleep here," he groaned. "Can’t move."

"Ah, don’t be a wimp," Noah said. "There’s still dessert."

Eli’s eyes widened. Dessert. He had completely forgotten. His mom had already brought out a spread of pies—pumpkin, apple, pecan, and chocolate cream.

"You guys are insane," Eli muttered, but when Noah placed a huge slice of pumpkin pie in front of him, he couldn’t say no. His stomach might have been on the brink of revolt, but dessert was a whole other beast.

The rest of the meal passed in a haze of discomfort. Eli could barely look at the food in front of him, but he forced down a few bites of pie. By the time dessert was over, he felt completely stuffed. His pants were barely holding on, and each breath felt like a labor.

Eli slumped in his chair, a hand pressed firmly against his bloated stomach. He had lost the battle—not only had he eaten way too much, but he’d also been completely outdone by his brothers’ teasing.

But despite the discomfort, there was something oddly satisfying about the whole experience. Sure, he was stuffed to the point of misery, but he had done it. He had survived five plates, countless teasing remarks, and endless jokes.

As the night wound down, his brothers gave him one last, affectionate jab.

"You’re gonna need a week to recover from that," Micah said, ruffling Eli’s hair.

"Probably a month," Noah added with a chuckle.

Eli just smiled weakly and groaned. "I think I’ll just sleep until Christmas."

And, for the first time in a long while, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

[scoobydoodean]

Hi im a samgirl and i dont mind if others feel differently about this but if you are interested in a samgirl perspective, the short story to sam's allegorical queerness is that sam grew up feeling fundamentally different from his family. He felt that there was something dirty or unclean about himself which is how a lot of marginalized queer children feel growing up. It's not that queerness itself is monstrous but that society and the patriarchal family unit will cast queerness as the monstrous Other, which is why monstrosity is a pretty common queer allegory.

I keep getting asks about queer Sam and I'm not sure exactly why, other than people maybe assume I have a strong opinion about it. The simple truth is that I just don't find what's said about it compelling so it doesn't interest me. I have no issue with other people exploring it and don't have any desire to ruin anyone's fun. It's just that I don't personally see it when I dig deeper than the surface level of "he felt different" and examine why and exactly what Sam actually wanted and why he felt that way. I will get into that here to an extent I guess because I was asked in another piece of mail what my opinions were, but I don't intend it as an "argument" to start a fight or to dismantle anyone else's perception—just an explanation of my personal lack of interest in this particular type of meta.

First, I don't think "Sam grew up feeling fundamentally different from his family" works for me as a queer meta when the reason Sam felt "fundamentally different" was that—according to his own early framing—he was the normal one trapped in a family of freaks who wanted him to be a freak like them.

Sam says in 1.08 that he felt different from Dean and John, but when we read on to see why, he says it's because he wanted to play soccer instead of being a child soldier.

SAM Because I didn't wanna bowhunt or hustle pool - because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak. DEAN Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters.

For people too young to get "the blonde chick in The Munsters", Dean is referring to Marilyn Munster, who was the one "normal" person in a family of monsters in a 1960s sitcom.

In childhood flashbacks in 4.13, Sam refuses to fight Dirk at first even though he could easily best him using the skills he learned from their father.

YOUNG DEAN That's right, you don't. You could have torn him apart. So why didn't you? YOUNG SAM Because I don't want to be the freak for once, Dean. I want to be normal.

In both situations, Sam views his family and what they do as freakish and wants to distinguish himself as the one normal one trapped in a family of monsters who is at threat of becoming like them by pure association and family pressure.

YOUNG SAM Yeah, my, aah -- my dad's a mechanic. So I have to be a mechanic, too. MR. WYATT Do you want to go in the family business, Sam? YOUNG SAM No one's ever asked me that before. MR. WYATT Well? YOUNG SAM More than anything, no.

In 5.16 Dark Side of the Moon, one of Sam's greatest childhood memories is getting to sit down for Thanksgiving dinner in a normal, upper middle class household instead of sitting around with "A bucket of extra-crispy and Dad passed out on the couch."

In 1.01, he says he wants to be nothing like his family. He says he is normal unlike them when Dean is telling him they're the same:

DEAN You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are. SAM And who's that? DEAN You're one of us. SAM No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.

Sam sees the upbringing that he has in common with Dean as something almost... humiliating—to the point that he plans to lie to Jess forever about how he was raised and about his family (1.01).

All of this to say... when the queer allegory I'm being sold is that a guy is queer because he wants to go to college, get married, have 2.5 kids, go no contact with his brother (because Dean isn't normal like him?), and lie about his family to his friends because the idea of them knowing he didn't grow up normal is embarrassing... I don't feel like I'm reading a queer allegory. I'd be more likely to think that if anything, I'm reading a comedy from the POV of "the token straight" who initially functions (in the Pilot) as the "normal" character to introduce the "normal" audience to an "abnormal" world in a relatable, palatable way.

That said, when we embrace the fact that the Winchesters are a family of freaks, there is an easy counterpoint here which is that Sam's attitude in the beginning of the series represents being closeted and desperately trying to assimilate with normal society and be perceived as just like everybody else... and his freak family is in the way. In this case, Sam knows deep down that he is like his family (i.e. queer) but desperately wishes he wasn't so that he could fit in. Given that I'm a big believer in Sam being a hunter through and through despite his occasional denials, I find this much more compelling than the argument that Sam feeling othered in his family because he sees himself (at least at first) as the one normal one makes him queer.

*One of you shaking me back and forth*

"But PK—WHAT ABOUT THE DEMON BLOOD?!?!"

Yeah yeah yeah. While it doesn't start out that way, eventually, Sam does reflect on his childhood and see himself as Megamind instead of Marilyn Munster. This is retroactive though (in my opinion. I do not actually believe Sam could "sense" his dormant powers) after finding out that Azazel dropped blood into his mouth when he was a baby. Instead of feeling like the normal one in a family of freaks, Sam starts to feel like the biggest freak in the family, and Dean's "I'm a freak too" suddenly feels like platitudes. Dean—whose calls Sam didn't pick up for years—starts to seem like the normal one—the good one—between them. Dean is the hero character, the righteous man, the sword of heaven... and Sam thinks in his worst moments that he is someone Hero!Dean should be duty bound to kill (2.11). These are all feelings that (again—in my opinion) develop later. I talk about Sam's feelings of otherness and why he actually had those feelings and how I think the demon blood erroneously comes into play as an explanation for his insecurities here.

I think it probably also makes sense to mention here that the idea that Sam was treated as a monster by his family is very very overstated by portions of fandom. I'm not saying Sam never had reason to feel different or othered or unloved or neglected—he absolutely did (as did Dean). I am saying that people like to write about things that never actually happened when they talk about how Sam was treated growing up. Sam felt different from his family because John let Dean start hunting when he was younger than Sam, then he felt different because he wanted to play soccer and go to school while John wanted him to hunt, and because he thought Dean enjoyed being a parentified child and being raised like a soldier and Sam didn't. Retroactively, Sam feels different when he finds out he has powers. These do not develop until he is an adult, and it is never indicated to us that John knew about any of this when Sam was growing up—much less treated him differently growing up because of it. Retroactively, Sam believes Dean sees him as a freak for having visions even though Dean repeatedly treats his visions as no big deal and psychics are an accepted and trusted group within the hunter community (see: Missouri, Pam, Fred). Retroactively, Sam feels different because he was fed blood as a baby. He did not know this until he was an adult, and neither did Dean, as far as we know, neither did John. Sam never believes that Dean would act on John's last whispered command (that again—does not transpire until Sam is an adult) to the point that he repeatedly tries to guilt Dean into promises to follow through and carry out John's will. Retroactively, Sam feels like a freak in season 4 because Sam chooses to drink a completely different demon's blood of his own free will and develop a completely new power set and Dean doesn't think it's a good thing.

TL;DR Sam did not grow up being treated as the monstrous other by his dad and brother. He grew up as an understandably rebellious kid whose dad was a neglectful asshole and a drill sergeant, and he hated being dragged from place to place with no say. He felt different because he stood in contrast to a brother who tried his best to keep the peace because experience taught Dean that refusing to obey would get people killed (1.18), John would send Dean away if Dean gave him lip (14.12), and Dean felt he had to be there to take care of Sam and John (1.06).

More or less, these are the reasons I don't find the queer Sam metas I have stumbled across particularly compelling (along with—imo—Jared's lack of romantic chemistry with other men). At the same time, people seeing Sam as queer or not queer doesn't bother me. I am not trying to "take away" that interpretation from anyone else (as if I even could). I'm just not interested.

[nctsplug02]

johnny + sexting/videocalling when he's away on tour?? 🤒🤒🤒

Happy Thanksgiving! j.suh

GENRES: fluff, smut, phone sex, idol x non-celeb fem reader!

WARNINGS: phone sex.

the dinner you cooked an hour and a half ago was getting colder and colder by the minute but you were too drunk to even eat what you’d made.

wine and cooking dinner did not mix well, especially when you’re a light weight!

RING RING!

you lift your head off the counter and scrub your face with a sigh. “what time is it?”

you reach and grab your phone, hitting the green button. “hello?” silence. “hello?” you look at the screen with barely open eyes. “oh, oops.” you giggle to yourself and swipe the screen until it shows you’ve picked up.

“yes, hello?” you put the speaker to your ear and rub your eyes.

“baby!” you wince and yank the phone away from your ear. “shit!” you hiss and rub your ear, looking at the screen to see your husband with his face up close.

it was a facetime call not an actual call.

“hellooo,” johnny says into the mic. “did i wake you up?” he pulls his face away and raises an eyebrow.

“just a little bit. i closed my eyes for five minutes… that’s all.” you smile and set your phone down against the bottle of wine.

“what were you doing before you knocked out?” you giggle and shake your head. “alright, i didn’t knock out. i only closed my eyes for a good five minute, i swear. but, i did a little bit of cooking and had a few glasses of wine while waiting for your call.”

johnny rests his phone on something and sits back on the beige couch. “what about you, handsome? finished with the concert, i see.” you rub the running mascara from under your eyes.

“mhm, i just got out of the shower. couldn’t stop thinking about you. i’m sorry i can’t be there for thanksgiving, my love.” johnny manspreads and sighs with a pout.

“i—it’s fine, baby.” you clear your throat and move your eyes back to johnnys face. “i’m just thankful that you’re with me spiritually and virtually.”

“spiritually?” johnny chuckles in a confusing tone. “yes, although you’re not here physically, i can feel your presence all around the house.”

“you sure it ain’t a ghost, baby?” johnny laughs when your face changes into a grumpy one. “shut up, don’t scare me like that!” you look around and hug yourself.

johnny laughs while shaking his head, his hand rubbing his jaw. “i was just kidding, my love.”

KNOCK KNOCK!

“room service,” johnny sits up. “looks like my dinner’s here.” he leaves the frame for a good two minutes before coming back.

you watch as johnny sets up the coffee table in front of him. “what’d you order for dinner, babe?” johnny pulls the top cover and reveals a juicy, thick steak. “steak,” he sets the top cover aside. “mashed potatoes and roasted, salted green beans on the side. all that topped off with some red wine.”

you moan and grab your phone, twirling yourself around hopping off the stool. “i wanna show you what i made for thanksgiving.”

“ouu, yeah! i’m excited and a bit sad to see what i’m missing out.” you giggle and walk towards the stove. “it’s really nothing. but, i didn’t want to cook a whole turkey since it’s just me so, i decided to go for something we usually don’t cook for thanksgiving.”

you reveal what’s sitting in your pot and johnny let’s out a horrified gasp. “what?! does it look bad?!” you turn the camera back to you.

“no, baby! i’m just… you cook seafood while i’m gone?!” you laugh and bite the tip of your finger. “well, i didn’t want turkey and mashed potatoes so, i went with what i was craving.”

“ugh, you’re gonna have to make that again but when i get back, please.” johnny groans. ��i promise, baby.”

you put the top cover back on the pot and you go back to the stool. “i just brought a plate over to miss hapkins next door. she was telling me a few weeks ago that since her family wouldn’t be able to travel to her, she wasn’t going to do thanksgiving.”

johnny coos at you and tilts his head. “that’s what i love about you, baby. you’re so kindhearted and caring. i love that you decided to include miss hapkins in our thanksgiving.”

“but, now i really don’t wanna eat my steak anymore.” johnny chuckles and sighs. “i miss your cooking, babe.”

“it’s just two more weeks, john. just two more and then home meals are back.” you pick up your wine glass and the wine bottle. “just like you, i’m also having red wine.”

“1869?” you hum and set the bottle down after pouring it near the rim. “you bought that without me?” he whines and you just laugh. “i was gonna save it but… hey, i deserve a treat sometimes too.”

“of course you do, baby. always.” johnny actually picks up his fork and steak knife, cutting off a sliver of the juicy meat.

johnny holds up his piece and tilts his head so he’s in frame. “happy thanksgiving, my love.” he says.

“yes, happy thanksgiving, baby.” you hold up your wine glass, clinking the glass on your phone before taking a sip.

the sweet, rich taste of red wine melting down your throat.

“mmm,” you smack your lips and set your wine glass down. “how’s the steak, baby?” johnny nods with long hums, his eyes shutting as he takes in all the flavors. “it’s perfect. it’s juicy, flavorful, thick but melts on your tongue—mmm,” johnny sighs and cuts himself another piece.

you grab your phone, glass of wine, bottle of wine and you head to the living room.

“although,” you hum. “i prefer the way you make our steak over this.” you giggle and seat yourself on the love sack, setting the bottle of wine on the ground.

you hold up your glass again. “two more weeks, john. we can wait it out.” you take a sip.

johnny groans, “you know what else is in two more weeks?” you hum and ask, what. “your ovulation week.” your cheeks heat up. “once i get home, i’m not holding back, baby.” johnny shoves the meat into his mouth and chews.

“i am not drunk enough for this.” you laugh and shake your head. “what, you don’t wanna have a baby with me?”

“i’d love to have your baby but… i want to right now.” you could feel your panties dampen.

the thought of johnny fucking you full of his baby got you off. him going at you so many rounds that your swollen cunt is oozing out his cum. his slender fingers pushing his cum back in while whispering to you that there was no such thing as wasting good stuff.

“aw, baby.” johnny coos and sets down his knife and fork with a thud. “but, just like you said, two more weeks.”

you roll your eyes and chug the rest of your wine. “babe, you don’t even know how wet i am right now. i’m literally dripping all over our love sack.”

“i don’t believe you,” johnny sits back and groans. “how can i prove it to you?”

you knew exactly how johnny wanted you to prove it and you were trapping yourself in it.

“show me your pretty pussy and let me be the judge of how wet you are.” you bite your lip, eyes moving down to his now visible bulge. “my eyes are up, baby.” you giggle and move your eyes up.

“c’mon, take off your pants and show me how wet i make you.”

the tone of his voice is like a spell, your shorts and panties are pooled on the ground and your body is twisted in a way where johnny can see your pussy.

“fuck, y/n.” johnny growls lowly and cries out. “i wish i was home right now. i’d take you so hard on that love sack.”

“move yourself to the couch and put your phone down, baby. prop it up with the candles on the coffee table.” you listen to johnnys directions and you move yourself to the black couch, propping up your phone with the cherry red and white candles.

“that’s perfect, baby—fuck, y/n!” johnny grabs himself through his sweats.

“touch yourself, baby.” johnny undoes the strings of his sweats. “i wanna see you play with yourself.”

you lay back so that you’re barely propped up with your knees to your chest and arm between your legs. your fingers massaging your clit and ever so then dipping inside your hole just to tease johnny.

“that’s it, baby. pinch your clit.” you squeal when pinching your clit with your fingers.

johnny pulls himself free, he’s rock hard, precum oozing from his tiny slit. “finger yourself, baby.” you dip a finger into your hole.

“fuck, it just slipped in like nothing…” johnny groans, flexing as he smears the precum around his head.

“just a little faster, baby.” you whimper and pick up your pace, dropping your head back and shutting your eyes. “add another finger.” you add a second finger, shuddering at the slight stretch.

johnny curses under his breath and picks his pace with his strokes. “how does it feel, baby.” you shake your head, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“not the same,” johnny pauses his strokes. “what do you mean, baby?” your eyes water up, “it’s not the same, johnny.” your legs fall together and your fingers come to a stop.

“we can make it feel like it’s the same, baby. i want you to keep your eyes closed and listen to my voice. imagine it’s me who’s pleasuring you.”

“it won’t be the sam—“

“just listen to my voice, baby.” johnny whispers. “listen to my voice and listen to how i want you to touch yourself.”

you take deep breaths, breathing out slowly and quietly while johnny softly hums.

“let’s backtrack, alright, beautiful?” your lips twitch into a faint smile. “i want you to touch yourself, not finger but touch your clit for me.”

your fingers find their way on your clit, softly rubbing and pinching your clit.

“that’s it, baby.” johnny pulls off his shirt. “don’t cry, take deep breaths, alright?” you nod and rub eights on your clit.

“you have the cutest pussy. cute little pussy that struggles to take my dick.” you moan and ball up your fist, sinking your teeth into the flesh, hard enough so that your teeth leave light indents.

you’re too busy listening to johnnys voice to even notice that johnny had pulled out a cotton fabric. “let’s skip past one finger and do two, i know you can do it.”

with your middle and ring finger, you slip the two into your cunt and let out a cry of pleasure. “oh, fuck.” you gasp and softly jerk forward. “that’s it, gorgeous. look how good you’re taking my fingers.”

johnny wraps the cotton material around his cock and begins to stroke himself. “fuck, baby. you feel so good.”

whimpers slip past your lips as you pick up your pace, the heel of your palm rubbing against your clit, giving you more friction and more pleasure.

“that’s it, y/n. take all of me like a good slut.” johnny moans and strokes himself faster. “faster, baby.” you whimper and gasp repeatedly while your fingers rub your g-spot.

“j—johnny,” you dig your nails into your thighs that hold your legs in place. “i—i’m gonna c—cum.”

“mhm,” johnny hums, his hands fisting tightly around his cock. “cum for me, y/n. show me who makes you feel good.”

your pants and moans filling up the room while your orgasm crashes over you. your legs shake and tremble, and your body jerks repeatedly like you’d been shocked. your fingers slowly and desperately still fingering your cunt.

“s—shit, i’m cumming. fuckfuckfuck!” johnny groans loudly.

johnny balls up his shirt and bites down on the fabric, covering up his moans and whimpers. his fist stroking the tip and painting his abs with white ling streaks.

“oh, fuck…” johnny slowly fucks his fist, his angry red tip popping up every second. “so fucking good.” johnny sighs, letting his hand drop and melting into the couch.

“you made a mess.” you giggle when finally pulling the strength to sit up.

johnny lifts his head and looks at his screen, seeing you barely sat up with your wet pussy on display for johnny to see.

“i made a mess?” johnny scoffs with a sexy smirk. “look at the mess you made.” you smile at him and shake your head.

“i can’t believe i got off to your voice, again.” you groan and grab your phone. “again?” johnny laughs and sits up, grabbing a few tissue from the table near him and cleaning himself up.

“is that my—wow, johnny. you’re gonna make fun of me for getting off on your voice but you’re jerking off with my panties that i’ve been looking for for a month!”

“well, i couldn’t bring you so i improvised.” johnny says a defensive tone. “whatever.” you laugh and shake your head in disbelief.

shuffling can be heard from johnnys side. “geez, it’s already one in the morning.” johnny says as he flips on a light. “already? it feels like we just got on the phone.” you frown and roll off the couch, making your way to the bathroom.

“we’ve been on the phone for over an hour, babe.” johnny says with a laugh. “it felt shorter but anyway, i’m gonna take a quick shower and i’ll call you back in fifteen.”

“why can’t we just keep calling?” johnny frowns and he flips the lights off and hugs his pillow. “because i need my phone to play music so i can karaoke.” you start the shower. “i bought you an ipad, laptop, and second phone for a reason.”

you roll your eyes, propping up your phone on the sink. “you’re so clingy.”

johnny scoffs, “says the one who gets off to my voice.”

you pull off your shirt, “at least i don’t need your boxers to help me do so.” you drop your bra and shirt.

“fuck you.”

you step into the shower. “i love you too.”

AN| hiiii, i know i’ve been really inactive but life is getting so rough right now and it’s really kicking my ass. happy thanksgiving, babies! i love you all and i am very thankful to have a growing account with all those who support and love me and my work. i’m trying my best to write with all my free time but yk sneakylink takes it all up. i know i dragged the end but we don’t talk about it HAHAHSJA. anywho, thank you anon for requesting this!!! happiest thanksgiving! 🩷

[teddy06writes]

Thanksgiving Special Day Two - BAU (Unit)

Platonic!BAU (Unit) x gn!reader

Trigger Warnings: None

Summary: You spend your first friendsgiving with your colleagues from the BAU

You stood awkwardly on Rossi's front step, struggling to balance the pie dishes in your hands. When footsteps began crunching up the driveway behind you, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

"Oh good! We're not the only ones who are early!" Emily laughed.

"Is that pie?!" Penelope squealed, bounding up the steps and pulling you into a hug, plucking one of the dishes from your hands.

"Uh yeah- I made apple and pumpkin both, because I wasn't sure what all everyone would want."

"Smells delish!"

Finally, the front door swung open and Rossi appeared, ushering you all in, "Welcome, welcome! I was just about to start getting the table set- what do we have here... (y/l/n) is that pie?"

"Apple, and Garcia has the pumpkin." You grinned.

"You can set that right on the island," He motioned to the granite countertop before turning to Emily, "And what's this?"

Emily held up the bottles in her hands, "Merlot, and that Cab we tried last month."

Rossi grinned, patting her shoulder, "Good kid."

"Oh my god that turkey smells incredible!" Penelope gushed.

"I just checked it, it should be done in twenty minutes or so."

Emily chuckled, "Well you better put us to work until then."

Rossi began to direct the three of you in laying out sets of plates and silverware, and before you knew it Spencer, Morgan and JJ were crowding into the house, carrying various dishes full of sides. Hotch appeared last, toting a basket of dinner rolls that were quickly added to the nearly over flowing table.

Wine was being poured, and someone had found Rossi's stereo and put on some jazzy album as you all crowded around the table.

At the head of the table, Rossi raised his glass, "Alright, before we dig in, I just want to say, I'm so grateful that you all could come and spend this Thanksgiving with me once again. And, I'd like to toast to our newcomer, (y/l/n), it's been a pleasure to have you join the team."

You grinned, "I'm very grateful to be here. And that your all not nearly as scary as you seemed that first day when I walked into the bullpen."

That earned you a round of laughter, choursed by the sound of clinking glasses.

[disneyprincemuke]

the favourite driver * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic!femdriver

notes: hi i know i took forever to write this but uh what r u gonna do? ik u love me B)

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |

"remember!" toto calls out to you walking away. "back by half past three for his nap!"

you wave your arm in the air, hoisting little jack wolff on her hip. you look down at him. "wanna make a new friend, jack?"

the young boy nods excitedly, giggling and throwing his head back. "is it your new friend?"

"yeah! his name's logan!" you squeal, jumping up the stairs of the williams racing home. you put jack down to the floor and let him grab your hand, pushing the door open. "he's super cool! cooler than georgie, i reckon!"

his eyes light up at the thought. uncle george has always been cool in the eyes of little jack wolff – simply because he had made an effort to make sure that he thought of him that way. though susie argues that you are jack's favourite race car driver, always wearing the team shirt you gave him to sleep every other night.

you spot logan on the couch, scrolling away on his phone. "hey, i want you to meet someone!"

logan looks up at you first, eyes widening and lips stretching into a sweet smile. then he notices the smaller hand wrapped in yours. he tilts his head at the young boy hiding shyly behind your legs. "hey, buddy."

"this is little toto – jack!" you beam, stepping aside to present jack to logan. "i like babysitting him when he's in the paddocks, so i brought him here with me!"

"hi," jack says timidly, one hand on your thigh. "i'm jack."

"hey," logan hums, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "i'm logan."

"hi," he says again, slightly softer this time before settling to hide behind your legs again. he bundles up the material of your sweatpants in his hands and avoids logan's curious eyes.

logan looks up at you. you shrug. "he's a little shy," you whisper. you move to the side again and put jack by your side on the tiny blue couch. "i thought you were excited to meet my new friend?"

"i got shy," he giggles. he turns to logan with a smile. "are you also a race car driver? like uncle george?"

you poke jack's shoulder. "he's cooler than uncle george. logan's not a stinky boy man."

jack giggles. "you're not stinky?"

you spend the afternoon by the william's racing home with logan and jack, the four-year-old eventually opening up to play a game of football with him. to which, logan almost started debating with an actual kid about how he knows it as soccer.

but he dropped it, not wanting to confuse such a young child about the difference.

by the time three-thirty rolls around, jack is hugging logan's neck, cheek mushed into his shoulder with logan's arms under his body. "thanks for carrying him back for me," you whisper with a giggle. "he's getting very big and heavy."

logan grins. "he's very cute. i can see why you like him a lot."

"he's already sleeping," toto says slightly amused, hands on his hips by the doors that lead into the mercedes home. "i'm impressed."

"we played soccer," logan grins, leaning forward to transfer the sleeping kid into his father's arms.

"football," you correct logan with a pat on his shoulder. you grin at him. "i'll see you later at the driver's briefing, mate."

logan bids you goodbye, walking the other way as he readjusts his williams hoodie. toto grins at you, turning on his heel while you pull the door open. "i'm glad jack made a new friend. one more babysitter for me, yes?"

you shrug. "isn't it up to jack to decide if he likes being with logan?"

jack lifts his head, eyes half open with drool pooling at the corner of his mouth. "logan's my favourite driver."

toto gasps as jack drops his cheek on his shoulder again. "you converted him to a williams supporter!"

"no way! i'm supposed to be his favourite race car driver!"

@cashtons-wife @darleneslane

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [2] - Silk

A.N: Here's the new chapter my loves! ❤️ I hope you'll like it, and please don't forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤️

Summary: Gifts can make good apologies.

Word Count: 3000

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don't condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Well, if the blood splattered on your face was any sign, tonight was not going the way you had planned it to go.

“This is lotus silk!” you snapped, still wiping at the blood on your face while you motioned at your dress with your other hand. “Do you have any idea how impossible it is to remove blood stains from silk?”

Bucky motioned at his men and they scattered along the bar, some approaching Steve’s men–the undying friendship between Bucky and Steve had its effect on people on their payroll as well, since they tended to hang out together— while the rest checked around the restaurant. You knew you were supposed to go to Ethan to make sure he was okay, but Bucky’s voice distracted you before you could even take a step.

“You’re welcome.”

“I know you’re not familiar with the idea of spending time with women who are not in your bed or have their clothes on,” you said through your teeth, running your hand over the blood stain. “But in case you forgot, when people wear nice things on a night out, they usually want to keep them nice—"

“Come on, we’re going,” he said, grabbing your arm and you yanked it back.

“No!”

“Charm…”

“I’m taking Ethan to the hospital, that’s where I’m going,” you said and he pulled his brows together.

“What?” he asked, “Who’s Ethan?”

“What happened here?!” Steve’s voice reached you and you turned to see him walk into the bar.

“Hi Steve.”

“Please tell me that’s not your blood because if it is, your father will end the truce just to put a bullet in my head.”

“It’s not my blood,” you said sulkily, “Not that it matters, because it’s never getting off.”

“Buck?”

“I was passing by when I got the news,” he said. “Came as soon as I heard.”

 Steve looked around. “That man in the corner, he is one of the attackers?”

“Yeah,” you said and he nodded, then squeezed your shoulder in an assuring manner and approached his men. You huffed out and approached Ethan with Bucky following you.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked and Ethan swallowed thickly, then turned his head to take a look at the bleeding wound on his shoulder only to take a sharp breath.

“Okay, that’s a—that’s a bullet wound.”

“Congratulations, what is this your first time?” Bucky asked drily and you shot him a glare.

“Bucky!”

“What?” he asked. “It’s obviously not fatal, he’s being dramatic.”

“Hey, we’re taking the guy to the warehouse,” Steve said as his men dragged the only surviving attacker outside. “Charm, my men said you came without your usual bodyguards?”

“Yeah I ditched them.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose while Steve cleared his throat.

“Alright, I’ll have someone drive you to your father’s house—”

“I can take her, it’s fine.”

“Did you fire the gun too close to your ear or something? I said I’m not going anywhere with you,” you growled at Bucky and turned to Steve. “I’m going to the hospital.”

“You said it wasn’t your blood.”

“I’m taking Ethan,” you pointed at Ethan who waved weakly at Steve with his free hand from where he was sitting.

“Hi.”

Steve blinked a couple of times. “…Hello?”

“Is anyone going to tell me who the fuck this dude is?”

“He’s my friend!” you snapped at Bucky and Steve tilted his head, then took a look at Ethan.

“I don’t think I saw you around before, what family are you loyal to?”

“My—mine?” Ethan tried, stealing a look at you as if asking for a clue. “I mean I couldn’t attend the last Thanksgiving but—”

“He’s a civilian Steve, we know each other from college.”

Steve raised his brows and Bucky’s eyes widened before he let out a chuckle.

“Wait, just so I’m clear,” he said. “You went on a date with a civilian outside your father’s territory without bodyguards?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Isn’t it?” Ethan asked, making your head whip around.

“Is it?”

“Unbelievable…” Bucky muttered. “Outside your father’s territory, Charm? Where are you going for the next date, a sinking ship?”

“A corn maze probably—”

“You don’t have to talk to him,” you told Ethan and he nodded.

“Sorry, it’s my first time getting shot so I’m not sure how it goes—” he paused for a moment. “Hey quick question, am I gonna die?”

“You’ll be fine, we will take you to the hospital,” you assured him while Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Do you go to the hospital for a papercut as well, Ethan?”

You groaned. “Steve, make him stop!”

“Guys it’s not the time for this,” Steve said, ignoring Bucky’s smug smirk. “Charm, how about this? We’ll take him to the hospital, give him the usual story, and Bucky will take you home. No offense, but I don’t want your father to rain hellfire here the moment he hears you were in a shootout.”

You pursed your lips and thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Fine.”

“Wait, what story?” Ethan asked and Bucky waved a hand in the air.

“Oh you know, the story you will tell the cops or else they will find you in a dark alley.”

“Ah,” Ethan said, stealing a look at you. “He’s joking right?”

“No he’s not,” you said, checking your phone. “Steve’s men will fill you in. Steve, the hospital in Sam’s territory is closer to here actually, it’s a ten-minute drive and I think Sarah is working tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, grabbing his phone. “I’ll let Sam know.”

“Come on princess,” Bucky said and you licked your lips.

“Ethan, they’ll take you to the hospital, is that okay?”

Ethan gave you a thumbs up and you shook your head slightly, then walked out of the bar with Bucky. One of his men opened the car door for you and you got in, fixing your dress and huffing out. Bucky got in as well, and the driver started the car.

You crossed your arms, stubbornly fixing your eyes on the window, watching the cars and buildings wheeze by while the car moved through the traffic. Your thoughts were spinning around in your head like a tornado while you tried to figure out who those men were and why they had attacked you at the risk of breaking the truce, especially considering that as far as everyone was concerned, you weren’t in the business. Your father had spent years keeping you out of it no matter how much you insisted to be a part of it, telling you that he didn’t want you in danger.

It hadn’t stopped him from making your cousin be a part of it though. Despite the fact that you were supposed to be the heir, he was the one who everyone assumed would take over once your father retired.

“You look beautiful,” Bucky’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you turned your head to shoot him a glare, making him heave a sigh.

“Charm…”

“You ruined my dress!”

He ran a hand over his face, his vibranium arm glimmering under the street lights you passed by for a moment.

“My deepest apologies for not paying attention to your dress while saving you.”

“I didn’t need saving, and it’s lotus silk!” you insisted. “Do you have any idea how many stores Becca and I had to visit until we found a nice dress?”

“Strangely enough, my sister doesn’t tell me about your adventures in shopping on a daily basis,” he deadpanned. “And I take it Becca knew you were going on a date with a civilian?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“He thought it was a date,” Bucky pointed out. “Even while he was bleeding on the floor.”

“And what if it was a date?” you asked back and he shot you an almost chiding look.

“Civilians are a bad idea, Charm.”

A bitter smile curled your lips and you sat up straighter so that you could see him better.

“Oh good, I was just in the mood to get some romance advice from you,” you said. “Go on then. What does the perfect-heir-turned-boss think?

A shadow crossed his face for a second, but when he spoke his voice was completely calm.

“That you’re being too reckless.”

“What does it matter if I date a civilian or not?” you asked, almost daring him. “I’m not in the business, remember? Unlike you, I’m not going to get my family’s empire once my father decides to retire—”

“Aren’t you?” he cut you off and the sarcastic smile was wiped off of your face in a second, your heartbeat getting faster.

No way.

No God damn way.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, coaxing a small smile out of him. For perhaps the millionth time, you noticed just how handsome he was but the mere thought made you scowl.

Too bad he was an insufferable prick, handsome or not.

“Come on,” he taunted you. “We both know what I’m talking about.”

You paused for a moment, then turned your glances to the window to watch the road as the car reached the huge gates of your father’s estate. Bucky typed something into his phone, probably texting Steve, and you wiped at your face again just in case there was any dried blood before the car stopped by the huge mansion. The driver opened your car door and Bucky followed you as you climbed the marble stairs leading to the front door. You rang the doorbell, then bit at your fingernails.

“Miss,” the maid greeted you when she opened the door and you smiled at her.

“Hi Molly,” you said. “Where is my father?”

“In his office.”

“Thank you,” you said and nodded at Bucky so that he would come with you to the study. You knocked at the door and when you heard your father’s voice telling you to come in, you opened it.

“Hi daddy.”

“Hi sweeth—what happened?!” he stood up from his seat behind his desk and quickly made his way to you. Bucky closed the door behind you as you looked down at your poor dress, then shook your head when your father made his way to you to check you for injuries.

“It’s not my blood,” you said quickly. “Don’t worry.”

“Who did this?” your father asked, anger apparent in his voice as he turned to Bucky. “When did this happen? Bucky?”

“Arthur,” Bucky greeted him. “I wanted to come and give you the news myself, just in case. She’s completely fine—”

“Albeit very annoyed,” you interrupted him and Bucky repressed a smile.

“And very annoyed as you can see.”

“My dress is ruined,” you grumbled and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I’ll ask the next guy who holds you at gunpoint to take a couple of steps back before I blow his brains out, I promise.”

“Much appreciated,” you snarked back but your father raised a hand, motioning at you both to stop.

“At gunpoint—what happened?” he said. “Who broke the truce?”

“No one,” Bucky said. “I assure you. It happened in Steve’s territory, but they were not Steve’s people. We left one of them alive, he took him to the warehouse to question him.”

Your father ran a hand over his face.

“Steve’s territory?” he asked before turning to you. “Sweetheart, what were you doing in Steve’s territory?”

“I um…” you stumbled over your words. “I—you know, that’s actually a funny story—”

“Becca likes the cocktails there,” Bucky cut you off. “You two were going to meet there, right Y/N?”

You stared at him for a couple of seconds, then cleared your throat and nodded fervently.

“Yeah!” you said, turning to smile at your father. “Uh huh. Me and Becca.”

“Without bodyguards?”

“We wanted a girl’s night out,” you said, making your father shoot you a look. “Alright fine, before you give me yet another one-hour long speech about being careful, I’d like to get all this blood off of me, so can we postpone it after I take a very long bath and get some sleep?”

He heaved a sigh and nodded at you. “Go.”

“Yay!” you said and pressed a kiss on his cheek, then turned to Bucky. “You owe me a dress.”

He held up his hands, gesturing surrender as you walked to the door, then closed it behind you.  You stretched out before dragging your weary self up the stairs, and Molly approached you.

“Miss, I asked the girls to draw you a bubble bath.”

“Oh that’s wonderful!” you said, “Would you mind—”

“Your plate of chocolate strawberries and glass of champagne are already there.”

You pressed a hand on your chest with a gasp.

“Molly you’re an angel, you know that?” you said, then blew her a kiss as you made your way through the hallway to the bathroom. “Thank you!”

                                        *

Considering how last night had gone, it was no wonder that exhaustion made you sleep like a rock. Though your dreams were in no way peaceful, your long bath had helped you relax just a little and it was only when someone knocked on the door that you woke up, a groan leaving your lips.

“Y/N?” your cousin’s voice reached inside the room, making a frown pinch your brows together. You rolled your eyes, then sat up in bed.

“What?”

“Can I come in?”

“If you must,” you grumbled as the door opened, and he stepped in. Unlike you, it was clear that he had been awake for a while which made you check the time on your phone, seeing multiple text messages from Becca before lifting your head to look at him.

“Ian,” you said. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I was going to wait until you woke up but it didn’t seem like you would,” he said. “Uncle informed me about what happened.”

“Of course he did.”

“You should have told me about it,” Ian said. “As soon as it happened. This is a family matter, why am I hearing about this after Barnes or Rogers?”

“It happened in Steve’s territory.” You shrugged your shoulders. “What, am I supposed to draw you a map of the city all of a sudden?”

“And what were you doing in Steve’s territory?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was meeting Becca.”

He crossed his arms. “I still think you shouldn’t be that close with them. They could turn into rivals with the snap of a finger, and the family—”

“Just because you don’t have any friends doesn’t mean the rest of the family should be company to that misery,” you cut him off. “Besides, they’re our allies and there’s truce remember?”

“For now,” he pointed out. “Doesn’t look like that truce will hold if it turns out that your attackers worked for any of the other families.”

“Well, those attackers were not working for Steve or Bucky.”

“Wilson?” he asked. “He’s their best friend after all.”

“Sam is too smart to break the truce.”

“Then it could be Stark or Romanoff.”

“Or none of the families,” you said. “Everyone spilled too much blood for this, they’re not just going to break it in a way that’s that amateur. Those guys were hired gun for outsiders, I’m almost sure of it.”

“Well I’m not so sure,” he said. “And honestly, I think you’re being too naïve.”

Anger shot through you like lightning but you managed to keep your expression calm.

“I know them way better than you do,” you said, your voice cold. “And if you think you can make business with people whom you point fingers at as soon as something unexpected happens, you’re the one being naïve, not me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and you glared at him back until he heaved a sigh.

“I’ll talk to Rogers, we need to be the ones questioning the attacker. It’s an attack on not just you, but the family itself—”

“The attack happened in his territory, he’s not going to just give him to you,” you stated. “But by all means, don’t let me stop you from wasting your time.”

He opened his mouth to retort but someone else knocked on the door.

“Miss?”

“Molly, you can come in!” you called out and she opened the door. “Ian was just leaving.”

Ian shook his head slightly, then threw his shoulders back.

“Just don’t go to places without bodyguards—”

“Goodbye Ian,” you cut him off as you leaned back on the fluffy pillows and he scoffed, then walked out of the room. You pushed the covers off of you while Molly stepped inside with a rectangular box in her arms.

“What’s that?”

She put the box on the bed. “It was just delivered for you.”

You hummed as you pulled the box to yourself, then tugged the ribbon on top of it loose. A gasp left your lips as soon as you saw what was inside, and when you pulled the soft dress out of the box, the card inside caught your eye.

Sorry about your dress, princess.

Bucky

He had gotten you the exact same dress that you had thrown into trash last night. You were painfully aware of the smile pulling at your lips and you got off the bed, then walked to the full-length mirror to hold it over your body.

No.

No way.

Bucky was an asshole who had ripped your heart out when you two were younger, and now that he was one of the biggest mob bosses in the city with so much money, power and influence, he was even more arrogant than before, which was saying a lot. You were sure that this nice gesture was some sort of play and contrary to what all these men around you seemed to believe, you weren’t naïve in the slightest.

You pursed your lips together and cleared your throat before you put the dress back in the box, placing the cover on top.

“You can throw it away or give it to someone, I don’t want it,” you said as you handed Molly the box, and she let out a laugh.

“Secret admirer?”

“Not at all,” you said with a laugh, then flung yourself on the bed again. “Just a trick. I’m not his type, and trust me he’s definitely not my type.”

Chapter 3

[bbjobo]

Hello hi it’s me, your resident entertainment PR enthusiast. I simply need to talk about the sequel announcement. This is all speculation, but I work in entertainment-adjacent communications and once convinced a household name celebrity to stay at my event to do select press interviews when his wife was going to go into labor at literally any minute, so I like to think I've got a pretty good sense of all of this.

So buckle in, because I'm about how actually fantastic this rollout was, because I’d wager they’ve been planning this since the premiere. 

RWRB came out truly smack-dab in the middle of the actors' strike. We all know just how much press we must have missed out on, because the strike started before promo would have kicked off in earnest. And when it was finally over in November, the actors are potentially out of contract for promotion, and that’s not even taking into consideration that the holidays are coming up and the six weeks from American Thanksgiving to New Year’s is truly a black hole of press. So this little movie has to rely almost entirely on fan reaction and word of mouth to hit because they’re so limited in what they can do for promo. And it IS a hit! Records are broken! Comments for an extended version (which, ok Matthew we get it, does not exist) and a sequel start almost immediately.

The marketing team makes the most of what they’ve got: they’re keeping up the official character accounts, they’re dropping deleted scenes and BTS. We get cornettos! The fireside scene! Bloopers! Notably absent? Brownstone Thanksgiving. We’ve seen BTS photos of it, we know it exists. Thanksgiving 2023 would have been a great time to drop it, but they don’t. This is the approximate point at which my own personal sequel speculation began. After the strike ends, the posting pace slows considerably but it’s still consistent. It’s just enough to keep it in your mind but not enough to be like “why are you still posting this much about it?” And this continues into 2024.

On the contracting side, conversations were likely actively happening at this point. I wouldn’t be surprised if negotiations picked up literally as soon as the strike ended. The producers would have had that time to get Matthew and Casey back on board and be fully prepped and ready to move on to contracting actors the minute they could. It’d be a shot in the dark to try to guess when these were finalized, but at some point between November 9 and May 9, yeah, they’re in.

But whew, Nicholas is booked and BUSY. Mary & George drops internationally March 5, The Idea of You closes SXSW on March 17, two weeks later M&G starts airing in the US and Canada, and a month after that, TIOY is available for streaming (and limited theatrical release, which is another whole post), and in between all those premieres, he’s everywhere. He’s criss-crossing the country (and tbh the Atlantic Ocean) for all of these appearances, truly going non-stop. The pacing of the premieres makes it nearly impossible to squeeze in another project announcement, and if they had, it would have been a bigger part of every interview he did after, which is something his own team would be working to balance. Plus between TIOY and RWRB, Prime would have been pitching stories against themselves. Better to let him finish out his other promotional appearances and then switch over.

At the same time, we’ve got awards and red carpet season starting. At nearly every red carpet appearance not for their own projects, both Taylor and Nick are asked about a sequel. If an interviewer is given enough time, they ask about a sequel. Sure, fans comment about a sequel on every vaguely rwrb social post from an official account, but the press asking about a sequel felt like a lot to me. Everyone always gave the same vague answer, that they’d be up for it if the story is right, that they don’t know but would be happy to. (Except one time, Nick does slip up and give an answer that feels a little more definitive here where he says “conversations are being had” all the way back in late February/early March). Press are asking the question so consistently that it felt like if it wasn’t happening, PR teams would have put the sequel on the do not ask list.

Then Prime starts actually ramping up on a FYC campaign for the movie. I'm gonna be honest, I was so surprised. It's a rom com, the odds of a rom com getting any sort of awards recognition is so slim, but I thought, "ok, sure, use FYC as a way to get the promo boost they need for an announcement of whatever's coming next." And then I looked up and Variety has picked it as the winner in the best television movie category, which is blowing my mind. The other categories they're submitting in are stacked and I think a nomination beyond television movie will be a long shot, but again, it's big for it to even be considered. And if they're being talked about, that means Prime's gotta put out a great showing for their FYC campaign.

Which brings us to this week. We start off on Monday with Nick at the Met Gala referring to Uma as his mother-in-law. Incredible. Love it. Wednesday and Thursday are a one-two punch of a FYC event and fan event, and the gang’s all here. At the FYC, we get the industry side of things: new portraits and interviews with Deadline, process talk, etc. Because this little rom com is actually doing pretty well and beating the odds? Knowing what we know now, the PR teams spent this week pre-briefing the press on the sequel announcement. Notable (at least to my knowledge) the sequel question doesn't get asked at the FYC event. Because the press already knows it's coming.

Now, on to yesterday. They do a fan screening and Q&A, and they literally roll out the red carpet. Nine months after the premiere and exactly six months after the strike ended, they get the gang back together with fans of the movie, who they relied on so heavily during the strike to help make the movie a success. The tagline on the screen’s giant promo image has been updated to specifically thank fans for “making history with us.” The moderator for the Q&A is the same person who interviewed Taylor and Nick at the beginning of FYC campaign season, their first joint interview since GQ (right? pretty sure. it's all a blur tbh). And at the end of the Q&A, minutes before 12 AM ET, when the embargo on the press release would have lifted, they make the announcement not to press, but to the fans. The fans who loved the book, who watched it over and over, who spread the word about the movie to help make it one of Prime’s top three rom coms OF ALL TIME.

It’s just… an absolute masterclass in how to execute a major announcement that embraces the fans in a time where fandom and interaction between creators and fans can be an absolute minefield. Prime saw the opportunity to lean into the fannishness of it all and they took it and it was a slam dunk.

So where do we go from here? IDK but here’s some unconnected thoughts in list form like Alex would want.

The book’s 5th anniversary is next Wednesday, the 14th.

Casey’s been posting about working on [redacted] for months at this point, which is almost certainly the screenplay

Nick mentioned needing to be back in the UK for filming soon

They would probably like to release this in US election off-cycle years, so that means 2025 or 2027 (and 2027 is too far away). 2026 would be less bad since it’s a midterm election, but still.

Filming could reasonably start sooner rather than later, and even without an unfinished script

I guess we’re back on content watch for blond hair and BTS pictures

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 16: CUPID'S CHOKEHOLD

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader

His touch ignites something within you - a spark of desire you've been trying to suppress for far too long. The want in you hurts. The frustration, the anger, the tenderness, it all boils within the core of you. It’s all coming to a head.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: mentions of pregnancy, angst, dom!reader, sub!satoru, handjobs, riding, teasing, light degradation, dacryphilia, vaginal sex

ੈ✩ wc: 8.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: happy thanksgiving yall can stop threatening me with bombs now

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

December, 2011

The crisp December air nips at your cheeks as you lead Megumi and Tsumiki down the bustling street. Christmas decorations twinkle in shop windows. You pull your scarf tighter, glancing back to make sure the children are keeping up.

Megumi trudges along, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expression as serious as ever. Tsumiki, by contrast, practically skips beside you, her eyes wide with wonder at the festive displays. They both wear matching blushes, the cold painting their pale cheeks the same roseate pink.

"Can we get taiyaki?" Tsumiki asks, tugging on your sleeve and pointing to a small shop ahead.

You smile down at her. "Of course. What about you, Megumi? What would you like?"

The boy shrugs, his gaze fixed on the ground. "Whatever's fine."

You lead them into the warmth of the taiyaki shop, the sweet aroma of red bean paste and custard filling the air. As you wait in line, you crouch down to Megumi's level.

"You know," you say softly, ruffling his hair, "it's okay to want things, Megumi. To have preferences. You don't always have to go along with what everyone else wants."

He looks at you, surprise flashing across his face before his usual stoic expression returns. "I... I like the chocolate ones," he admits quietly.

You scratch his head affectionately. "Chocolate it is, then."

You place your order - custard for Tsumiki, chocolate for Megumi, and red bean for yourself. Afterwards, you find a bench in a nearby park to enjoy your treats. Tsumiki chatters away about her upcoming school play, while Megumi listens intently, occasionally nodding or offering a quiet comment.

"You’re gonna stay with us for the holidays, right? Are you gonna move in?" Tsumiki asks suddenly, her voice hopeful.

The question catches you off guard, and you fumble for an answer. "Um, yeah, I will. Stay, that is. And you guys know you can always just knock on my door downstairs."

You’d agreed to stay until the semester ended in the spring. You’d been around for a little over a month, but you already had your doubts about going back to Kyoto. Already, you found yourself looking forward to getting up in the morning while in Tokyo, seasonal depression be damned. You tell yourself it’s not because of the white-haired sorcerer that occupies your thoughts constantly — it’s the familiarity of the city. And the kids, of course.

To both Tsumiki and Satoru’s dismay (and a slight frown from Megumi), you decided to take the offer of an apartment the floor below them. It wasn’t exactly vacant, as Satoru claimed — the previous tenant, a well-off socialite of some sort, needed a sublet. You needed your own space from Satoru for your own sanity, and he was willing to pay the rent for the allotted time you could be there.

Tsumiki pouts. “But it’s easier if you just live in our apartment!”

“I can’t do that since you’ve converted the spare room into yours with all your dolls laying around,” you snort. Tsumiki opens her mouth to protest but decides against it, considering you have a point.

“Hmph. Still. You can sleep in Satoru’s room, right? It’s so big!”

Your face nearly pales at the suggestion, ironically. As if it was something scandalous, which perhaps it would be considering your complicated relationship. You’re sure he’d be thrilled if you brought it up.

Megumi looks up at you, his green eyes serious. "We like having you here," he says softly. "Satoru-san is... different when you're around. Better."

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at his words. "Better?"

Tsumiki nods enthusiastically. "He smiles more! And he doesn't forget to make breakfast as much."

You chuckle, imagining Satoru's indignant expression if he could hear this conversation. "Well, I'm glad I can help. But Satoru cares about you both very much, you know."

As if on cue, your phone buzzes with a photo attachment from him. There’s a boiling pot of… something, on the stove.

satoru: you guys aren’t going to leave me to eat by myself, are you????? ^-^

you: we’ll be home soon. the kids wanted taiyaki

satoru: don’t help them spoil their dinner :(

you: it’s probably more edible than what you’re making

satoru: :( say that to my face at least :(

You chuckle, locking your phone. “C’mon, guys. Let’s get home before Satoru burns down the kitchen.”

As you walk back home with Megumi and Tsumiki, their words echo in your mind. The realization that you've become such an integral part of their lives fills you with a trepidation, but also tenderness. You've been careful not to overstep, to maintain some semblance of boundaries, but the lines have been blurring more and more each day.

The apartment is warm and inviting when you return, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. You help the kids out of their winter gear, hanging up coats and scarves as they rush to see what Satoru is cooking.

You follow more slowly, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene. Satoru stands at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. His hair is slightly mussed, and he's wearing the ridiculous "Kiss the Cook" apron you bought him as a joke for his birthday. 

Satoru looks up, catching your eye. His face breaks into a warm smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes your heart skip a beat.

"Welcome home," he says softly. “Did you guys have fun?”

Tsumiki launches into an excited recounting of your afternoon, while Megumi nods along, occasionally adding a quiet comment. Satoru listens attentively, his expression softening as he watches the children.

You move into the kitchen, drawn by the warmth and the tantalizing aroma. "What's for dinner?" you ask, peering into the pot.

"Curry," Satoru announces proudly. "My specialty."

You raise an eyebrow skeptically. "Since when is curry your specialty?"

He grins, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. "Since I found your recipe book and followed the instructions very, very carefully."

His breath tickles your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You playfully push him away, ignoring the knowing look Tsumiki gives you.

As you all sit down to eat, the conversation flows easily. Megumi talks about a new technique he's been practicing, while Tsumiki regales you with tales from her drama club. Satoru watches it all with a contented smile, occasionally catching your eye across the table.

Later, after the kids have gone to bed, you find yourself alone with Satoru in the living room. He's sprawled on the couch, his head in your lap as you absently run your fingers through his hair.

Satoru stretches languidly, cat-like. The movement causes his shirt to ride up slightly, revealing his stomach. You force yourself to look away, busying yourself with whatever’s on the television.

“So," Satoru says, his voice low and teasing, "what do you want for Christmas?"

You look down to face him, scoffing. "Who says I'm expecting anything from you?"

He grins that cocky, infuriating grin that still makes your stomach flip. "Come on, Twigs. There must be something you want."

“Haven’t really thought about it.

“C’mon. You must have.”

You weigh your words carefully. "How about... a nice, quiet evening, where you don’t bother me with your bullshit?"

Satoru laughs, his blue eyes warm as he regards you. "I think that can be arranged," he says softly.

He gets closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so tender, so intimate, that you find yourself leaning into his touch despite your better judgment.

"You know," Satoru murmurs, his voice low, "the kids were asking me the other day if you were going to be their new mom."

Your breath catches in your throat. You narrow your eyes. "That’s not funny."

“What? Their words, not mine.”

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. "Satoru, we've talked about this. We can't just jump into playing house. It's not fair to the kids."

He sits up, his expression suddenly serious. "I know. But... is it so crazy to think about? Us, together, raising them? I mean, we’ve already been doing it, basically, right?”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you. You can feel your heart racing, a mix of longing and fear swirling in your chest.

"It's not crazy," you admit softly. "But it's complicated. We have a lot of history, Satoru. A lot of things we still need to work through. Also, you’re freshly twenty-two. That’s hardly the age to be a considered a guardian."

“But I am their guardian!” he frowns. “And your mom’s pretty young. Didn’t she have you around our age?”

“That’s not even — we’re going off topic. This isn’t about me having a kid,” you blush, the brief thought of mothering a child of your own with Satoru send a brief shock to your chest. “Just relax, okay? Take things slow.”

Satoru intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin. "Slow," he agrees. "I can do slow."

But even as he says it, you can see the mischievous glint in his eye. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "But just so you know, I'm not very good at being patient."

You laugh, pushing him away playfully. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Gojo Satoru."

He grins, pulling you closer until you're practically in his lap. "Can you blame me? Do you have any idea how irresistible you are?"

Your breath hitches as his hand trails up your thigh. "Satoru," you warn, but there's no real heat behind it.

"What?" he asks innocently. "I'm behaving. This is me behaving."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly charming, you mean," he quips, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your neck.

You shiver at the contact, your resolve weakening with each passing moment. "The kids," you remind him weakly.

"Are fast asleep," he murmurs against your skin. "And I can be very, very quiet when I need to be."

“Speaking of asleep,” you say quickly, leaning away. “That’s exactly what I need to be right now.”

He lets out a noise in between a groan and a whine, which you would rebuke more efficiently if the sound didn’t make heat settle in the pit of your stomach.

“You still didn’t give me my birthday present,” he murmurs. You don’t miss the suggestiveness in his gaze.

“I didn’t say I’d fuck you.”

“You kind of did,” he pouts.

“You’re still on that, huh? I was teasing you. And drunk.”

The last time you’d went out for drinks with him and Shoko, you’d gone home with him in a good mood, apparently good enough to let him be handsy. He took whatever crumbs he could get from you, played the part of a good dog after he had a few fruity cocktails. You let him kiss you on the side of your mouth and you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Even if he’d shut up, the puppy-dog looks he’d throw you would push you over the edge.

“You tease me every damn day by existing. I should banish you.”

“Right. Like you’d survive more time apart from me,” you snort.

“Of course not,” he rolls his eyes. “I love you too much.”

You meet his gaze, face warming at the casualness of his declaration. This is Satoru stripped bare, all his walls down, offering you his heart. It’s still something you’re not used to — the way he gives affection so easily. He always had, of course, but never so candid in sincerity.

It made you sick almost, like being sugar-drunk on something much too decadent. Humiliated you with how warm it made you, your tongue heavy as lead in your mouth like a teenager again.

“Oh?” Satoru grins. “Did that get you going?”

“No. Shut up.”

“You like that. Noted.”

You scoff, rising from the couch. “I’m going to bed now.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart!” he calls after you. “Love you.”

“Goodnight, weirdo,” you huff, trudging your feet towards the door. You pause as you touch the doorknob before turning around. “I love you too.”

You leave too quickly to gauge his reaction, but you feel his smile burn into the back of your neck.

__

You come home to Jiji rubbing his head against your shin. He was still small — a runt, resembling more like a soot sprite than the Ghibli cat he was named after. He acted a lot like Megumi, truthfully. Clung to you, bombarded your space especially if Satoru was around.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you coo, scooping the cat from the floor to nuzzle. “You miss the kids, don’t you?”

He mews at you as if to say yes and you grin. You make your way upstairs, Jiji’s head tucked in your shoulder as you unlock Satoru’s apartment with your spare key.

Satoru is already in the kitchen, hair tousled from the day’s mission. His eyes light up when he sees you walk in. “Twigs! Ready for Operation Birthday Boy?” he grins, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Before you can greet him properly, your gaze drifts over the amount of balloons and streamers haphazardly aligning the walls. Many are Digimon-themed, despite knowing full well that Megumi preferred Pokemon, but that isn’t an argument that was worth having with Satoru unless you wanted him to revert to his child-self.

“You… went all out,” you mutter, still examining the expanse of the living room. There were streamers every color under the sun strung around, comically bright in contrast with the luxury apartments plain white walls.

The smell of cake batter and melting chocolate permeates through the air. You notice then as you step closer towards Satoru that the Italian marble of the kitchen island is dusted with flour. You groan.

“Satoru, I thought we were picking up a cake—”

“But a homemade one has more love!” he scoffs. He’s made a mess of his apron, not to mention there was a streak of pink frosting on his cheekbone.

“And who said you were qualified enough to bake?”

“Hey! I’m trying here! And don’t worry, I’m not making dinner, obviously. We still have to pick up the hors d’oeuvres from the catering place—”

“What? We’re celebrating a nine-year-old.”

“You get expensive taste when you live with me,” he shrugs. “You like oysters, right? I heard it’s a really good aphrodisiac— ow!”

He flinches when you flick him in the forehead. He pouts, rubbing his head as if you’d actually inflicted damage on him.

“The hell was that for?”

You ignore his question. “Where are the kids? It’s like… dinner time. School should be out by now.”

“I told Shoko to pick them up and stall. I’m still preparing.”

“Satoru — seriously? You decided to make the cake right before we celebrate?”

“It won’t take long! This is a state-of-the-art oven for your information!” Satoru scoffs, rinsing his hands in the sink. The amount of flour on the marble of the island makes you cringe. And was that… an egg yolk stain in the corner?

“That doesn’t mean—”

The oven beeps as if to taunt you. Satoru grins, putting on oven mitts that are comically too small for him to take out the cake. It’s certainly cake-shaped despite the lumpy bubbles on top.

“Wanna help me decorate the cake for the birthday boy?”

You move in front of him, shooing him away. He pouts again, the expression making you want to simultaneously hit him and kiss him, and hands you a butter knife and a tub of mint green frosting.

“Go crazy, Twigs,” he sighs. “I should shower anyway.”

You take the time to meticulously cover the entirety of the chocolate cake in the frosting, with Happy Birthday, Megumi! in loopy script in the middle. You’re quick to clean the rest of the kitchen, still reeling from how much of a mess Satoru managed to make in your absence.

By the time Satoru emerges from his bedroom, the kitchen is mostly clean, and he steps into the room in a crisp baby-blue dress shirt and black slacks. You try to ignore the fluttering sensation in your belly at the sight of it. It was your favorite outfit on him and he probably wore it knowing that. You huff lightly, looking away.

You gain reprieve from his teasing when you hear the door open. More balloons float into the room, all bound in Tsumiki’s small hand as she walks in with Shoko and Megumi.

“Happy birthday, Megumi-kun!” you exclaim in glee, walking towards him for a hug. He smiles brightly, blushing as he hugs you back.

Satoru notices the takeout boxes in Shoko’s hands and raises a brow. “You took them to eat dinner already?”

“Obviously. They definitely weren’t going to eat the foie gras you ordered or whatever the fuck,” she snorts. “But more for the adults, eh?”

“Can you not swear around them –”

“I knew the word fuck before!” Tsumiki beams. You share an exasperated look with Satoru, but he’s only holding in a laugh.

As Shoko and Satoru get the kids settled, you lock Jiji in the spare room to prevent Megumi’s Divine dogs from chasing the poor thing. They were all bared teeth, bright eyes. Still puppies, still young like the kids. 

Afterwards, you return to the living room just in time for Satoru to bring out the cake with pastel lit candles atop of it.

Megumi is quiet as everyone shrouds him, gazing at the birthday cake like he’s never seen one before. He hasn’t really — maybe he did when his parents were still together and alive and didn’t fuck off to somewhere else, he doesn’t know — but even he did, he wouldn’t remember. He had only known shared dandelion wishes with Tsumiki, fuzzy memories of Toji patting his head when on his sixth birthday.

You look at him now and you see a child who doesn’t know what to do with all the love surrounding him, and the sight reminds you of yourself.

“Make a wish, Megumi,” you say softly. He looks up at you with wide eyes as if making a wish were to make a sacrifice. He closes his eyes and blows the candles out, smiling softly as everyone claps.

You lean back on the couch as you watch him unwrap his presents, which include an abundance of hastily-wrapped boxes from Satoru. Toya and electronics that the kid probably haven’t dreamt of owning. Satoru was still young in his own right and it showed in his animated way of speaking, excitedly presenting his gifts to Megumi like he was an older brother. Your chest feels uncharacteristically warm as you watch.

You, Satoru, and Shoko watch as the kids play amongst themselves, indulging yourselves in the catering that Satoru had bought, which was more of a luxury takeout order more than anything. The bottle of wine that Shoko had brought makes you able to tolerate Satoru’s antics. You refuse to admit to him, but you even find him endearing tonight.

After the ordeal, Shoko hugs you and departs to her own apartment, while Satoru entertains the kids with a new video game console he’d bought for Megumi. After cleaning, Satoru insists in you joining, which results in many competitive games of Super Street Fighter IV.

Tsumiki is the first to doze off on the couch, her head cradled in your lap as you stroke her hair gently.

“Hey, kid,” Satoru whispers to Megumi, “Looks like your sister’s knocked out. It’s about time for bed, don’t ya think?”

“But I wanted to play more Final Fantasy!” Megumi whines.

“We can play some more tomorrow,” you quip. “It’s been a long day.”

“Okay,” he pouts, taking your hand as you lead him to his bedroom.

Satoru is lounging on the couch once you return, grinning.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just a good mom.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m not their mom.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Told you we’re not playing house, Satoru,” you scoff, slumping your body into the couch next him.

“I know,” he says softly. “I’m just complimenting your ability to rein in some brats.”

“Had a lot of practice from you.”

He laughs.

You glance at him, noticing his mussed-up hair, the soft wrinkles of his button-down. He looked more grown-up than he meant to be. It wasn’t that Satoru looked particularly mature, but seeing him slightly disheveled after handling Megumi’s birthday made him look older than how you’d seen him in earlier years — childish, boyish. In the light of the dim lamp beside him, he looked like a man with responsibilities.

It was like seeing him in the future. But you’re here now, in his apartment, in the present, and the sight of him looking so domestic is doing awful things to your heart.

“You’re… really good with them, too, you know. You don’t really need me,” you murmur.

“Huh?” Satoru raises his brows. “No. Of course I need you.”

You almost blush at that. You’re glad for the wine that he’s given you, relaxing your muscles, giving you an excuse for the flush in your cheeks.

“You can do it on your own, though,” you say softly. “You’re just… better at this than I thought you’d be. It’s admirable. That’s all.”

His gaze softens. “Thanks, Twigs. That means a lot.”

He looks at you then, almost amused, as if the concept of a compliment from you had been completely unheard of. As if the notion alone made him flattered enough to forget humility. (Though, you’re sure the prodigal Satoru Gojo has never known humility.)

“So you’re praising me, then? Do I win best babysitter of the year?” he chuckles.

“Sure. Whatever,” you snort. “Don’t get such a big head about it.”

“Oh, but I must. You think I’m a complete disaster usually, but you’re telling me I was good with the kids tonight? My head is huge, Twigs.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. Trying to hide the way your stomach feels hotter when you look at him and his charming grin. He looks back at you with an expression that makes your pulse go faster.

“You’re cute.”

You blink at him. His voice is heady and husky, his gaze soft. Tentative as he leans in, clearly wary that he’d spook you by crossing the invisible line you’ve set since you decided to move back to Tokyo.

“Speechless, baby?” he drawls. “I didn’t even try hard at flirting this time.”

“Shut up,” you scoff, paying more attention to your glass of wine. “You’re hardly seducing me right now.”

“Never said I was trying to,” he murmurs, leaning into you. His hand is on your knee and you don’t swat him away, for once. In his mind, this is progress.

“But you’re always trying to.” You narrow your eyes.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

He hums, the vibration of his voice like warm honey. “Mm. Am not.”

“Okay. I’m going to bed now.” You rise from the couch, but Satoru catches your wrist in his large, pale hand. You look at him with a brow raised.

“Sleep here tonight?”

“No.”

“C’mon. Please? I won’t try anything.”

You contemplate. You aren’t truly at the brink of exhaustion, but the demands Yaga-sensei made of you at school had started to become one of your main stressors. You’re tired. You definitely don’t feel like going downstairs to your own apartment, Jiji in hand, having to clean up the mess in your own space that you ignored in lieu of preparing for Megumi’s birthday.

You swallow, clenching your jaw. “Fine. I’m feeling lazy tonight.”

Satoru smiles wide, flashing his white teeth. Angel-headed under the soft glow of the lamp. You have to look away before your stomach stirs with something you’ll ruminate over.

“Stay in my bed?”

“Satoru—”

“Come on. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. Also, the spare room is a mess. The kids made a blanket fort in there last night that is yet to be deconstructed.”

“Okay. Whatever,” you mutter, retreating to the bathroom to freshen up. Afterwards, you return to Jiji and scoop him up in your arms, pleased at the way the cat nuzzles into your face.

You step into Satoru's bedroom, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer size of the space. The bed is enormous, draped in crisp white sheets that look almost too pristine to touch. It smells faintly of him—clean, like fresh linen and a hint of something sharp and sweet, like cedarwood mixed with sugar. You’re already regretting this decision, though perhaps not entirely for the reasons you’d like to admit.

You undress and change into one of his t-shirts before crawling into his bed. Satoru follows you in shortly after, pausing in the doorway with an infuriatingly smug grin plastered across his face.

“You know,” he begins, leaning casually against the frame as he folds his arms across his chest, “I didn’t think my birthday present would be you gracing me with your presence in my bed tonight, but honestly? Best gift ever.”

You glare at him from over your shoulder as you set Jiji down on the floor. The little cat immediately darts under Satoru’s bed for refuge—likely avoiding any further encounters with Megumi’s Divine dogs, or perhaps the bubbling conflict in the room itself.

“Your birthday was weeks ago. Don’t push your luck,” you warn flatly. “I gave in because I’m tired. This isn’t some… romantic gesture.”

“Oh, sure,” he teases, taking a few steps closer until he towers over you. His voice drops to a playful murmur as he gleefully adds, “But it could be.”

You groan audibly and climb onto the far side of the bed—intentionally as far away from him as possible—and tug the edge of the comforter over yourself without sparing him another glance. "Goodnight, Satoru."

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, pulling off his socks and tossing them carelessly across the room. He casually strips off his shirt and pants, throwing them somewhere near the hamper – not inside it, of course – before flopping down beside you like a content cat. He stretches out languidly, one arm tucked behind his head as he turns to watch you. You try not to dwell on the fact that he’s beside you, only in his boxers.

The room falls quiet save for the soft hum of the heater kicking on and Jiji occasionally rustling beneath the bed. You shut your eyes tightly and try to relax, but there’s no ignoring how aware you are of Satoru's presence beside you—the way his breathing evens out gradually or how his arm brushes yours when he shifts.

Minutes pass in silence before he finally speaks again, his voice softer this time—devoid of its usual teasing edge. “You really think I’m good with them? Megumi and Tsumiki?”

You open your eyes but don’t immediately respond. There’s something vulnerable about his tone that catches you off guard—a rare glimpse at the pieces of himself he so often keeps hidden beneath his bravado.

“Yeah,” you answer quietly after a pause. Turning your head slightly to look at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains, you add honestly, “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

He turns his head toward you now too, studying you intently. For a second, neither of you speak. His gaze holds yours long enough for your chest to tighten uncomfortably under its weight.

“You’re good for them too,” he says softly after what feels like an eternity. His voice has lost all pretense now—it’s raw and earnest in a way that has always made you feel unsteady around him. "For us."

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Silence falls over you both, but you can still feel Satoru’s begging eyes boring into your skull. You look over to him and it feels like his blue eyes are glowing in the dark. He strips his gaze from you and looks up at the ceiling instead, feigning a casual demeanor.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken tension. You can feel the heat radiating from Satoru's body, achingly close yet still too far. His eyes, usually so bright and mischievous, are dark and intense as they roam over your face.

"Twigs," he murmurs, his voice low. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. In the dim light, his eyes are impossibly blue, gleaming with an intensity that makes your breath catch. He reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your cheek with a tenderness that surprises you.

"I meant what I said," Satoru continues, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You're good for us. For me."

He moves closer, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as his thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone. You can feel his breath, warm against your skin, as he leans in.

You swallow hard. "Satoru," you warn, but your voice lacks conviction.

He sighs but leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Please."

You know you should push him away. You know this is dangerous territory, that you're teetering on the edge of something irreversible. You’re too stubborn for your own good, both you and Satoru know this. It’s why you curl into his chest instead of pressing your mouth to his. The fear of falling into his charm is futile, especially with how much you want him, frustratingly so.

Satoru's hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and suddenly, it occurs to you how close you are to him, how intimate this feels. The air between you feels charged, electric.

He says your name, this time, bedroom-soft. Not Twigs, not baby, but your name.

Instead of shying away as you normally might, something shifts inside you. Maybe it's the wine from earlier, or the vulnerability in Satoru's voice, or simply the culmination of months of unresolved tension. Whatever it is, it emboldens you.

His touch ignites something within you - a spark of desire you've been trying to suppress for far too long. The want in you hurts. The frustration, the anger, the tenderness, it all boils within the core of you. It’s all coming to head. When you hear the way Satoru says your name, you decide that you need catharsis.

In one fluid motion, you grab Satoru’s wrist, pinning it above his head as you roll on top of him. His eyes widen in surprise, lips parting in a soft gasp.

"Is this what you want, Satoru?" you breathe, your face inches from his. "Is this why you've been pushing so hard?"

"W-what are you doing?" he stammers, caught off guard by your sudden assertiveness.

Your free hand trails down his chest, fingernails scraping lightly against the skin of his bare chest. Satoru shudders beneath you, his body arching into your touch. You can feel his heart racing, see the flush creeping up his neck under the pale moonlight.

"You talk a big game," you murmur. "But can you handle it when someone else takes control?"

Satoru swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Try me," he challenges, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays his nervousness.

You pull back, meeting his gaze with a taunting smile. Slowly, deliberately, you grind your hips against his, eliciting a low moan from Satoru. His free hand moves to grip your waist, but you catch it, pinning both his wrists above his head.

"No,” you chastise. "No touching unless I say so."

Satoru's eyes darken with desire, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You're killing me, Twigs," he groans.

"Good," you purr, leaning down to nip his jaw. 

You take your time exploring his body with your hands, savoring every gasp and shudder you draw from him as if it’s the first time you’ve touched him. Satoru writhes beneath you, struggling against your grip, desperate for more contact. But you maintain control, setting a torturously slow pace that has him practically begging.

"Please," he whimpers, his usual cockiness completely shattered. "I need you."

You smile against his skin, enjoying this newfound power. You scoff. "I thought you said you could do slow?"

He lets out a frustrated groan, his head falling back against the pillow. "That was before I knew how evil you could be."

"Evil?" you chuckle, trailing your fingers down his chest. "I'm barely taunting you. If anything, I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine."

You lean in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Besides, I thought you liked it when I took charge."

Satoru shivers beneath you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "I do," he admits, his voice strained. "God, I do."

You smile, a predatory glint in your eyes as you slowly grind against him. The friction draws a low moan from Satoru, his hips bucking up involuntarily. He can feel the warmth of your core, your heat against his cock with only two layers of fabric separating him from what he truly wants.

You tsk, pressing him firmly back down onto the mattress.

"Stay still," you command. "Or I'll stop altogether."

With deliberate slowness, you trail your fingers down his chest, savoring the way his muscles quiver beneath your touch. Satoru's breathing grows ragged as your hand dips lower, tracing the V of his hips before stopping just short of where he wants – no, needs you most.

"Twigs," he groans, frustration evident in his voice. "Stop teasing."

You laugh, nipping at his collarbone. "But you make it so fun, Satoru."

Your free hand ghosts over the front of his boxers, barely applying pressure. Satoru's hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction, but you pull away with a wicked grin.

“I told you I’d stop if you misbehave.”

Satoru's eyes flash with a mix of desire and defiance. "You wouldn't dare."

You raise an eyebrow, accepting his challenge. Slowly, you begin to pull away, but Satoru's words tumble out in a rush.

"Wait!” he gasps, panicked. “I'm sorry, I'll be good. Please, don't stop."

The desperation in his voice sends a thrill through you. You've never seen Satoru like this - completely at your mercy, his usual bravado stripped away. Even in the dark, his eyes usually glow aquamarine, but right now pools of onyx stare back at you underneath heavy white lashes.

"That's better," you murmur, rewarding him with a slow, sensual kiss. He whines into it, licks into your mouth like he’s begging you to eat him whole. 

You take your time with him mapping every dip and curve of his upper body with your lips and tongue. Satoru writhes beneath you, soft whimpers escaping him as you lavish attention on his most sensitive spots.

When you finally free him from his boxers, Satoru lets out a sigh of relief. But instead of giving him what he wants, you continue your slow pace, placing feather-light kisses along his inner thighs. He huffs when you press his thumb against his leaking slit, while you look at him with a grin as you apply pressure.

“You have such a pretty cock, Satoru.”

His face gets even warmer, if that was possible. “Sh-shut up–”

You raise your brows. “What was that, sweetheart?”

His eyes widen aa your mean expression. "N-Nothing! I’m sorry. Just – please," Satoru begs, his voice hoarse. "I need you. I need—"

You silence him with a finger to his lips. "Shh. The kids are sleeping, remember? We wouldn't want to wake them, would we?"

Satoru's breath hitches at the reminder, and he bites his lip to stifle a moan as he watches you spit on his cock, finally wrapping your hand around him. You set a maddeningly slow rhythm, watching with satisfaction as Satoru struggles to keep quiet. Your mouth grazes him, only barely. He needs you around him, completely. His cock is fucking aching for it.

A whine escapes Satoru's throat, his hips jerking upward. "Twigs, please. I can't— I need—"

Cruelly, you cover his mouth with your palm. You have half the mind to gag him. You’re tempted to, really, but you’ve already slipped off your panties and thrown them somewhere across the room.

“Baby—”

“Stop fucking talking,” you hiss, your hand around his throat. He gasps, looks at you with half-lidded eyes. Mouth parted. Lovestruck. “Be good.”

He complies, whimpering softly instead of pleading with useless words. You watch his eyes roll back as your hand moves from his shaft to his tip, your spit lubricating his twitching cock along with the precum collecting at the top.

You savor the power you hold over him, watching his chest heave with each labored breath. Satoru's usual cockiness has evaporated, leaving him vulnerable and needy beneath you. It's intoxicating.

You can feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle taut with the effort of staying quiet. His hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white, eyes shut tight. You release his throat, trailing your fingers down his chest as you position yourself above him.

"Look at me," you command softly.

Satoru's eyes flutter open, hazy with desire. His hands graze your waist tentatively, smoothing over the soft skin over your ribs underneath the t-shirt (his t-shirt) that clings loosely to your frame.

He can almost feel how wet you are, he swears it. His Six Eyes can see everything from the tremble of your pulse, sensing how much your desires are waiting to jump out of your skin. The wetness of your pink mouth. He feels delirious with want, deluded, maybe, just from the intensity of his senses as he takes in your presence.

He could be hallucinating how intense it all really is. He isn’t sure — he’s too drunk on the fact that you’re in his lap at all, partially bare. Your bare cunt hovering over his cock. Taunting. Fucking tease. If he wanted, he could flip you over and restrain you. Have your hands yanked to your lower back, make you yelp like a slut.

But he doesn’t. He’s already a mess for you, no matter what you intend to do to him. He knows there’s something so awful inside of him that’s waiting to crawl out something only you can coax out.

When you look at him with moonlight reflecting in your pupils, the desire overtakes him. Despite himself, he rises him to meet your mouth, desperate for a kiss or any semblance of one, but your hand tightens around his throat. He moans at the pressure of it and blushes, embarrassed. He whines.

“Ha. Nice try. You’re so fucking eager, huh? Missed me that much?” you taunt. It’s cruel and you know it. You’ve known how much he’s wanted you — you’ve defied it when he’s been too candid about it. And now, while his heart is on his sleeve with your name in the center, you tease him.

He would take you over his knee for it if he wasn’t fucking melting underneath you.

“Of course I missed you,” Satoru grits.

“Oooh, so feisty. You look like an angry dog, you know that?” you sneer.

“Belittle me all you want,” he narrows his eyes, “Just let me — fuck —”

He perks up his head and tries to kiss you but you reject him. He has to stifle a groan. His resolve is crumbling into nothingness.

“Please fuck me,” he gasps. “Or just kiss me. Do anything you want. I just — I don’t care. I need you —”

Satoru writhes against the bedsheets. Grits his teeth, baring his canines like a dog ready to fight. But you’re as gentle as you are evil, able to weaken his efforts just by the slight tilt of your plump mouth. A knowing smirk.

“You need me?” you laugh.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Need you. Only you —”

You spit and he watches the drool cascade down to his aching cock. His eyes widen, mesmerized and choked up as you stroke him. He shudders, body arching towards you at the contact.

“Oh, fuck—” he breathes, unable to form words. Your hand feels better than his own. The warmth of your body above him makes his blood sing.

He pants pathetically as you grin down at him with wolf-teeth. He could cry from your touch alone.

"Relax," you breathe, leaning down to nip at his earlobe. "I'll give you what you need."

“Can’t relax — need — ah!” he whimpers. “Please, please —”

“Are you begging?” you taunt, laughing.

“Yes!” he groans.

You hold his gaze as you slowly sink down onto him, savoring the stretch and fullness. A strangled sound escapes him, quickly muffled as he bites down on his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood.

You roll your hips carefully, rising and falling with agonizing slowness. Satoru's hips twitch upwards, seeking more, but you pin them down firmly. Your movements are languid as you relish each tiny gasp and stifled moan you draw from him.

You gradually increase your speed, grinding down harder with each thrust. Satoru's breathing grows ragged, his chest heaving. You can feel him getting close, see it in the tension of his jaw and the desperation in his eyes.

Just as he's about to fall over the edge, you slow to a stop. Satoru lets out a frustrated whine, cut off as you press your lips to his in a bruising kiss.

"Not yet," you murmur against his mouth. "I'm not done with you."

“I’m so — fuck,” he slurs, “So close —”

“That’s too bad. Fucking wait.”

His cock throbs at your tone. Your face is calm, tauntingly so, but your voice is cutting with authority.

“God, if I wasn’t so in love with you right now I’d be giving you the worst spanking you’ve ever—” You cut Satoru off, shoving your fingers in his mouth. His eyes roll back immediately, gagging, and you laugh cruelly.

“Oh, you love that. You little slut.”

He moans at the degradation, bucks his hips up in attempt to meet your core again. His large hands are around your waist, trembling as they press in with a bruising grip. You remove your fingers from his mouth, using both your hands to pry off his hands and pin them next to his head. 

“Hey,” you warn, talking to him as if he’s a bad dog. “Told you to be good. Hands up here until I say so, Satoru.”

“Y-Yeah,” he breathes, trying not to whine. His hands curl into fists, clenching and unclenching as he tries to calm the lion heart beating out of his chest while his body is forced into submission by the girl he’s always had power over. 

He stills his body despite himself, though his dick still aches in anticipation. He’s trying to be good for you. The best. 

You lean over to bite at his nipple and he gasps. The role-reversal was dizzying, particularly because you were using his own tricks against him. He feels like he might lose his mind.

“Stop– stop that–” he rasps.

“Why should I? I know you like it. You like when I play with you.”

“I– I–”

“You’d love it if I just used you, right? You want me so much you’d let me touch you in any way, any time of the day. Am I wrong?” You lift your head to meet his gaze, lifting your brow.

He flushes with embarrassment, stomach flipping at your words. “N-No,” he mumbles. 

“That’s what I thought, baby,” you chuckle. Your nails run through his undercut and he sighs in satisfaction, looking at you through wet eyes. 

“I’m keeping my hands to myself,” he simpers. “Please, just fuck me, I promise I’ll be good —”

“Oh? You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes —”

“Mm. Wanna keep playing with you. Lay your head on the pillow properly for me, Satoru.” He obeys you without question, eyes half-lidded with lust as he awaits further instruction. There’s a stupor in his face, dumb with love. He’d do anything you asked. 

Your cunt pulsates around nothing, pleased at his obedience – you’ve never seen him so desperate, despite knowing he wasn’t above begging. Even before, you’d give in, allowing him to use you like a ragdoll. But this — this was entirely new territory. Satoru Gojo was being reduced to tears.

You climb over to him, cunt above his neck. His eyes are blown out, wet as his mouth. 

“You want a taste?”

He nods eagerly, too quickly, too possessed by desire to be embarrassed about it anymore. He wanted you any way he could have you.

You sink down to his mouth and the groan he lets out is louder than you expect.

“Satoru,” you hiss. “Keep it down.”

He whines, lapping at your pussy sloppily. You gasp when he flicks the tip of his tongue your swollen clit. Your thighs tremble as you try to stay upright, knuckles straining against the top of his headboard. At the same time, he uses the opportunity to squeeze the plushness of your ass – something you’d admonish him for if his mouth didn’t feel so fucking good.

“Oh,” you moan out softly, “That’s so good. Just like that, Satoru —”

He moans, his mouth leaking with his own drool and your arousal. It was a treat for him – you never liked sitting on his face for some reason, always blushed when he’d suggest it. But now, he was getting what he wanted. You were throwing him a bone. 

Satoru wants desperately to fist his cock, relieve the ache inside him that keeps building when he hears you whimper, but his hands are too preoccupied with touching you everywhere else. Your ass, your waist, the softness of your breasts underneath your t-shirt. His girl in the palm of his hand.

Your nails scratch his scalp, pulling on the strands of his hair as you grind on his face. Smearing yourself all over him. “Close–”

He doubles down on his efforts and all of it makes you see stars – supernovas clashing together in the fuzzy black behind your eyelids. You have to cover your mouth to keep down the sound of your moan.

His hands are squeezing your thighs. You yelp, overstimulated as his mouth latches onto your clit with no intention of letting go despite your orgasm.

“Satoru, no — no more —”

You roll off of him, ass tumbling onto his torso as he holds you upright. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, kissing you hard. You don’t have a chance to breathe before he does it, but you don’t care — your pussy drips in his lap as he maneuvers you straddle him properly, mouth moaning as you taste yourself on his tongue.

You can’t take it anymore. You need to be full of him.

You push him off you, pinning him to the bed as your cunt swallows his cock. You wince at the stretch after not taking him for so long, but the resistance quickly disappears from how turned on you are. You’re so overly sensitive from your orgasm that his tip hits your g-spot immediately, stimulation to the max as you grind on him at an angle that brings pressure to your insides. 

“Holy fuck –” Satoru gasps, hands on your hips in a vice grip.

He’s determined to take back any semblance of control, but he fucking loses it at the feeling of being inside you after months and months of a dry spell. You were better than any of his wet dreams. 

He bites his lip in attempt to suppress his whines, hands encouraging the roll of your hips as you grind down on his cock. He loves being used by you, fucked dumb and marvelling at the warmth of your skin on his. He lifts up your t-shirt and you let him pull it off you.

You look down and see puppy-dog eyes gazing at you spilling with tears of pleasure. Angel boy. 

You don’t give him a warning when you finish like you have in the past. It crashes into you, a collision of ecstasy. Months of denying him from your bed and your brain made you forget that he was your very best. Your first and perhaps your last. 

The thought takes the breath out of your lungs. In a moment of lucidity, you look at Satoru full-on, your lust-filled haze clearing to see him fully in adoration. Tears streaming down his cheeks, love painted all over his face.

He hiccups, whimpering. “Baby, I’m close – fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t help it! P-Please, can I —”

You shut him up with a kiss. “Come for me, Satoru,” you whisper against his mouth. “You’re so good. So good to me.”

His eyes widen. He’s about to gasp out a reply but he’s so overwhelmed by your words, the impossible warmth of your cunt sucking him in.

“I love you so much,” you coo, hips gyrating in tandem with his hands guiding you. “You wanna be good for me, right?”

“Y-Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Then go ahead and come for me, baby.”

“Ah – fuck –” Satoru feels his mouth part involuntarily, letting out the ghost of a moan as he chokes up. The ache in his body bursts into sparks, his cum filling you up to the brim as his orgasm plundered through him. 

His legs are shaking.

His comedown is all erratic breaths, small gasps as he wills his heart rate down to a normal speed. He whimpers as he lifts his head to nuzzle your neck, nipping at your warm flesh before you allow him to kiss you tenderly. 

He mumbles something against your mouth that you don’t quite hear.

“Hm?” You attempt to pull away and he whines like a child. You kiss him again and he deepens it, fingers gathering the hair at your nape.

“Letsgetmarried,” he mutters into your jaw.

“What?”

“What?”

You pull back, staring at him with an amused grin. “Did you just propose to me?”

Satoru stares back at you, his snowy hair sticking out haphazardly. “Maybe. Yes. Like, yes, but also no.”

“You’re giving me mixed signals here.”

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” he slurs. “You fucked me too good. I wanna buy you a house.”

You burst into laughter and pet his head. “You don’t need to do that. You already pay my rent.”

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. Cradles you to his chest, which you don’t protest.

“I love you.”

“Yeah. I love you too.”

Silence fills the room, save for your soft breathing. You clear your throat and stretch your limbs.

“You’re not actually asking me to marry you, right?” you ask warily. 

“Why not? We already have kids.”

“They are not our kids —”

“They may as well be!”

“Satoru,” you snap.

“Okay, okay. I’m half-joking. But I’m serious when I say that I… I think you’re it for me,” Satoru mumbles. “Don’t want anyone else. Ever.”

You look up at him, your eyes glistening. “Me neither.”

You mean it. You suppose that the months without him were a lesson in patience, in self-preservation. You can’t deny that he was your missing piece despite it all, despite the hell you went through with him. 

Satoru has always held a slice of heaven – it clung to him, that divinity. You are the only thing that keeps him from dimming.

[kissitbttr]

ana babes, i'm stuck in the library studying my ass off but my thoughts always seem to go to fucking frat miguel between the shelves for a quick study break ☹️☹️☹️☹️

-sapphic loser

“i said no, miguel”

he whines, dropping his forehead down on the open book while stomping his foot down like a little boy earning a warning glance from someone who passes by,

“why nooot”

“do you even have to ask?! we’re in a library dumbass. control your dick for one second”

“how am i supposed to do that when you’re sitting in front of me?” he argues, “looking all cute and pouty.. makes me want to bang you all the time”

“miguel!” you warn with a groan, face heating up at his words, “we literally had sex this morning. twice, if i may add. i’m sure you can handle another two hours of you not being inside me”

miguel scoffs, his expression twists into something more looking in disbelief. as if it’s ridiculous for you to assume that,

his arms are crossed, leaning back against the chair with his knee bouncing rapidly. “this is boring”

“i didn’t ask you to come here, miguel. i told you to hang out with the boys didn’t i?”

“they’re being annoying right now”

you give him a look that says ‘and you’re not?’ which causes him to roll his eyes before pouting. “we can go do it three rows behind, baby. no one will notice”

his fingers reaching out underneath the table to play with the skirt of your dress. feeling his touch a little bit further and further which causes you to glare at him,

“jeez—you are no fun” he huffs, wincing when you knock his feet with yours. “i thought my girl would be an exhibitionist—but nope! i thought wrong”

“are you serious?!”you give him a deadpan look, dropping the pen on the table. “we literally fucked at your dad’s office at thanksgiving! that, and also the jacuzzi sex when we had had a ski trip with our friends?! you losing your fucking memory or what?”

that doesn’t seem to phase him enough, just shrugging his shoulders as he look down on your cleavage fingers tapping against the wooden table,

“doesn’t count in my opinion. there weren’t people there”

“god! miguel you are so—

-

“—fucking big, miggy!” desperate moan falls of your lips as he has you pinned against one of the bookshelf, “don’t stop, p-please”

yeah, you decide to give in to his suggestion seeing how it didn’t stop him from bothering you. letting him choose the perfect spot where no one else can see. thankfully, there aren’t a lot of people in the library so it was easy. the main task was to hide from the old librarian lady that never seemed to like the two of you,

his pants are hanging low by the hips whilst your dress is bunched up around the waist. full breasts spilling out of the cups making miguel feel dizzy at the euphoric sight of his girlfriend getting fucked.

miguel’s bulky arms holding you by the thighs as his cock plunges deep into your wet hole. his gaze falls upon your open mouth and down to your bouncing tits, leaning forward to take a nipple between his teeth,

“f-fuck, right there baby—shit” you whisper moan, back arching at the feeling of your sensitive bud getting chewed on. tangling your hands through his hair, tugging it

“puta madre you’re going to be the death of me” he comments with a groan, driving in a bit faster, chest pressing against yours as he tells you to hold onto him tightly. “didn’t i tell you this was a good idea?”

your eyes snap open, seeing that cocky smirk that quirks upon his lips. giving him a light scowl. “don’t be a fucking smart ass. you were just horny”

miguel chuckles deeply, giving you a long sloppy kiss on the mouth, licking your lower lip. “open wide, princesa” he orders with a small tap on your cheek. he grins when you obey him fast, tongue out. miguel spits his drool a bit down to your warm muscle, watching you giggle and close your mouth before swallowing it,

god, you’re so fucking sexy it’s driving him insane,

“almost there, baby?” you nod at the question, locking your legs around him a bit tighter. “fuck—me too—shit, shit”

it is far too impossible to contain your moans, especially you. which is why when you’re about to cum, miguel has to muffle your noises with his palm to keep the security and librarian coming to get the two of you busted. and it is irritating to miguel because he loves your noises. he loves hearing how good he makes you feel,

“cum for me, sweetheart—give it to me” he whispers lowly in your ear, one hand moving to reach the nape of your neck as his other still holding onto your thigh. he’a fucking you even faster that you feel the large shelf behind you is shaking quite rapidly.

“thaaat’s it— that’s it muñeca , oh fuck—fuck, i’m g-gonna—“

he cuts himself off once you both reach your high not a moment after. his cum painting the inside of your velvet walls as you coat his cock with yours. his thrusts are getting sloppy when he’s slowing down. miguel is trying to catch his breath as he watches your head falling back to catch yours. eyeing the beautiful sight before him.

he palms your cheek, thumb grazing against both of your lips making you kiss it. your eyes finding his and flashing him a shy grin.

“muy hermosa” he pecks your lips, “perfecto” your cheek, “mi cariño” one underneath the jawline. “and all mine”

his praises are making you giggle, arms circled around his neck as he helps you get down slowly and fix your dress before fixing his pants,

“i needed that, baby—thank you” you reach on your tippy toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, but that doesn’t stop miguel from pulling you in to give you a real kiss. his hands kneading your ass. as if the fucking before isn’t enough. “okay, okay—baby—sto-oh!” you try to stifle the laughs when he moves down to kiss your neck, the stubble on his chin tickling you,

“can’t get enough of you, muñeca—shit—i’d give up everything for you, you know that?”

“hmm—even football and OBJ?” you jokingly ask, eyebrow twitching as you feel him freeze and pull away with a slight offended look,

“know your limits, baby”

[allthingsfangirl101]

Home For Christmas – Glen Powell

I walked through the beautifully decorated stores for Christmas, but I didn't feel it. Usually, I love this time of year. This year was different. About six months ago, Glen and I decided to move in together. Glen had to go to Australia just after Halloween to film a new Netflix movie. He wasn't able to come home for Thanksgiving, but he had promised me that they would be done before Christmas.

He called me three days ago saying that they were behind filming and now he wasn't even sure they'd be done by New Year's. Ever since the phone call, this season has been miserable.

I got a few last-minute things for my friends and Glen's parents. After shopping, I went home and started wrapping. I put them under the tree and sat on the couch.

I numbly grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. My heart sank when a cute Hallmark Christmas lovey-dovey movie came on. I used to love these. Christmas was different when the man you loved wasn't around to celebrate it with you.

I gave my parents a Caribbean Cruise for Christmas and they left yesterday. Today was the first day this season that I was truly alone. I jumped out of my pity party when my phone started to ring. My heart jumped out of my stomach and into my throat when I looked at the caller ID on my phone.

"Glen?"

"Hey, baby," he chuckled.

"Hi," I said, my voice breaking.

"Everything okay?" He asked gently.

"Yeah," I said, not at all convincingly. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, gorgeous," he sighed. "You have Angela's party tomorrow night, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged, leaning back into the cushions. "I don't really want to but it's better than sitting at home on Christmas Eve, all by myself."

"I'm glad you're going," Glen said, sounding strange. "I feel bad that I'm not going with you."

"I wish you were," I mumbled.

"We will celebrate when I get home," he said. "I promise, baby. We will have our first Christmas together."

"I know," I sighed. I cleared my throat before deciding to change the subject. "How's filming?"

Glen and I spent almost two hours on the phone talking. After saying a long goodbye filled with lots of promises of making it up to me, I got ready for bed and went to sleep alone.

* * * * * *

"You're coming tonight, right?"

I held my breath as I debated. To be honest, I didn't want to go to a party with all my friends and spend the night acting like I wasn't miserable.

"I don't know," I stuttered.

"Sweetie," she sighed. "I know it sucks that Glen is stuck in Australia, but he wouldn't want you moping around at home. Have you gone out and done anything Christmassy?"

"I bought his mom an adorable sweater and his dad a new electric drill," I shrugged. I heard her let out a deep sigh.

"Please come tonight," she practically begged. "It'll be a good distraction from Glen being at work. Please? We'll get super drunk and you can send him pictures that will put you on the Naughty List."

After a lot of pestering from Angela and loving pushing from Glen's mom, I decided to go tonight. I changed into my Christmas dress and took time doing my makeup and curling my hair. I walked into Angela's house, instantly hit with Christmas music, voices, and the smell of fresh gingerbread.

"You're here!" She squealed as she ran over to me. I laughed as she wrapped her arms around me. "I am so happy you're here!"

"I can tell considering the fact that I can't breathe."

"Sorry," she giggled as she let me go. "I just. . . I wasn't sure you'd come since Glen is in Australia."

"I'm fine," I brushed off. "Sure, I miss him like crazy. And I can barely sleep. And I rarely feel like eating. And I don't even feel like celebrating without him."

"Which is why you're here," she said, grabbing my hand. "And which is why we are getting you a drink. Lots of drinks."

I rolled my eyes as she dragged me into the kitchen. As hard as I tried to enjoy myself, I couldn't. I just kept picturing my empty apartment and Glen halfway across the world.

Everywhere I looked, I saw couples dancing, laughing, or kissing under the mistletoe. When the pain got too much, I left. I walked into our apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights. I hung up my keys, kicked off my shoes, and started to take off my jacket.

"If you're gonna start undressing, at least let me catch up."

I gasped when the lights flicked on to reveal Glen standing by the Christmas tree.

"Glen!"

He laughed as I ran over to him. He instantly caught me when I jumped into his arms. I grabbed his face and pressed my lips to his. Our lips moved in sync as he held me tightly. As we slowly broke the kiss, Glen gently put me down.

"You're home," I said, my voice breaking as I looked at him through happy tears. "I can't believe you're home."

"I hoped on a plane as early as I could," he explained as he pulled me into his chest. "I couldn't stand the idea of you being all alone on Christmas."

"I love you, Glen."

"I love you, too, Y/N."

He was about to say something else, but I grabbed his face again and pulled him toward me. Glen chuckled as he kissed me back. Our lips moved roughly in sync as we collapsed onto the couch. Once we were sitting, I moved so I was straddling his hips.

"I missed you so much," I moaned between kisses.

"I missed you too, baby."

I broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily. "Show me," I whispered, leaning my forehead against his. I started to get off his lap, but he grabbed my waist, pulling me back.

"Before we do that," he said, his voice dropping. "There's something I want to give you."

"Christmas is tomorrow," I giggled as I slid my hands up his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. "The only thing I want right now is you."

"And I want you," he smirked. "But, believe me, you're not going to want to wait for this present."

He stood up with me in his arms. He walked over to the Christmas tree and gently put me down. He paused as he took a step back. My breath got caught in my throat as he knelt down on one knee. "Y/N, you are the love of my life. Nothing I do has meaning if you're not there with me. So, will you be with me for the rest of my career and my life? Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Yes," I said, my voice breaking. Glen smiled up at me as he slipped the ring on my finger. He tossed the ring box onto the couch before standing up and pulling me into his chest. He leaned down and pressed a passionate kiss to my lips.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Glen."

[thescarletwitchsapprentice]

Imagine: You and Rio are at the Avengers Compound for Thanksgiving and you’re in charge of baking pies….this can only lead to good things. (Rio Vidal x gn!reader)

Author’s Note: I really wanna get back into writing stuff like this. Like…I just LOVE Rio.

Now I’m wondering if I should do crossovers…like putting Anya in the Avengers universe and whatnot.

(CW: I don’t think any are applicable? Lmk if there’s one I need to put)

You still honestly don’t know how she did it.

By some miracle, your girlfriend Rio had managed to contact the Avengers and get them to invite you for Thanksgiving, or rather the day before. Sure you’d been an intern at the Compound, but it wasn’t for that long, and they likely didn’t know Rio.

And yet here you are, standing in the kitchen as Rio searches up pie recipes; while Tony is out getting some food at the last minute, Wanda, Vision, Peter, and Steve are all watching The Dick Van Dyke Show while Yelena, Nat, Pietro, and Kate are attempting—and attempting is very much stressed—Clint and Bucky how to play Cards Against Humanity; it’s honestly really funny to watch.

“Okay,” Rio huffs, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I found a recipe for a pumpkin pie.”

“What else?” you ask.

Rio blinks. “Is that not enough?”

“You’re sleeping on pecan pie,” you scoff.

“Pecan?” she asks, her face scrunching up in confusion. “Like the nut pecan?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “What else do you put in it?”

“…Fruit or pumpkin,” she exclaims in disbelief. “You put fruit or pumpkin in it. Who puts nuts in a pie?”

“I do!”

Rio huffs. “What’s next? Are you gonna tell me you put chocolate in it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Kate replies as she looks through her stack of cards. “French silk pie.”

“There’s also meat pie,” Yelena adds. “I love putting hot sauce on mine.”

Hearing this, Rio is in shock. “You put MEAT? In a PIE?”

“Yeah? Is this really such a novel concept? I mean, in Russia, there’s a pie with a filling or salmon or sturgeon, rice, hard-boiled eggs, mushrooms, and dill.”

Now both of you are shocked. “What?” you both exclaim.

“Who puts fish in a pie?” you stammer.

“Russians,” Nat shrugs.

“All pie is good pie,” Steve says, “But nothing beats a classic apple pie.”

“Pecan,” you insist. “Pecan beats it.”

“That’s up for debate,” Clint says as he looks at the cards that people submitted. “Who put down ‘Object permanence’?”

“That was me,” Kate says.

“How does ‘object permanence’ fit this?”

“It’s about abstract connections,” Pietro shrugs.

As they continue the game and sitcom, you and Rio ponder what to do about the pie selection.

“Maybe we could make small pies of everyone’s favorite pie?” you suggest.

“I don’t think we have enough ingredients for that,” Bucky says.

“Or we could just make a pie with everything in it,” Rio suggests.

Silence.

“….I’ll pass,” Kate gags.

“Remind me not to leave you in charge of the pies next year,” Steve says.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind seeing what that tastes like,” Yelena shrugs.

“I think you’re gonna end up regretting it,” Nat chuckles.

“How much of the pie dough ingredients do we have?” Wanda asks.

“….Some,” Rio answers with a shrug.

“….Not very helpful,” she sighs. “(Y/N), any ideas?”

You blink. “What she said.”

Vision seems to be calculating something, “Hmm….”

“Vis?” Wanda asks.

“If I can recall, we have precisely enough for…..three pies,” he says.

“Great, so we choose three kinds,” Peter says.

“But which three?” Bucky asks.

“We have to have pumpkin, no questions asked,” Rio declares.

“I’m not sitting down to eat without a pecan pie,” you say.

“Wait…how did you say the name of the nut?” Steve asks.

“PEE-cahn,” you answer.

“I think it’s supposed to be pih-CAHN,” he says.

“No, it’s a long E sound,” you argue.

“Not a chance; it’s short E.”

“Who in their right mind puts an emphasis on the SECOND syllable?”

“Pretty sure it’s PEE-can,” Kate says in confusion.

“Don’t even start,” Clint groans.

This goes on for….about five minutes until Rio finally puts it to rest.

“Forget the pronunciation. Let’s focus on the pie.”

“So….pumpkin, the nut pie, and….what else?” Peter asks as Tony walks in, carrying a turkey.

“You’re still not finished with the pies?” he asks in disbelief.

“We haven’t exactly started,” you say sheepishly. “We’re still deciding on the flavors; we have pumpkin and PEcan, but we need one more.”

Tony huffs. “I don’t know, how about you surprise us?”

Immediately the compound goes silent, Rio’s grin slowly growing.

“How about you go sit down with them, my love?” she suggests in a voice that’s way too sweet. “I can handle it from here.”

“A….are you sure?” you gulp.

“No. No, we’re NOT sure,” Clint objects.

“Just leave it to me,” Rio says.

And after a lot of insistence, and complaining from Tony, you let her.

Later that night, after the main course and sides are finished, Rio serves up the pies. None of them are labeled, though. And they all look the same. You decide to pick one at random and Rio cuts you a slice.

“Close your eyes,” she tells you as she sets down the slice. “And take a bite.”

Foolishly, you decide to put your trust in her baking and take a bite.

Almost immediately, the taste hits you; it’s fruity, savory, cruciferous….a bit of everything, especially spicy. But not in a good way.

“Rio?” you ask as Yelena takes a slice of the same pie. “What kind of pie is this?”

She shrugs. “I just kinda used a bit of everything. That’s what you put in pies, right?”

“….Did you put hot sauce in this?” Yelena asks.

Rio smirks, nodding and also handing her a bottle of hot sauce.

“Yes!” she exclaims as she practically shoots the sauce onto her pie.

Tony sighs and Rio shrugs once more. “Hey, you said to surprise you.”