#some details just make it seem like he is just a lil bit

[thefly1ngarrow]

That time of year when I wonder once again:is Lanny from Prep and Landing neurodivergent?

[gothgoblinbabe]

The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony (pt.2)

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fem reader, soft dom!Logan, good ol’ face sittin’, sloppy oral (m receiving), swearing, use of pet names - babydoll, sweetheart, pretty girl - teeth rottingly sweet fluff, emotional(?) sex, mild angst, i think thats it but if there’s any more pls lmk!

Read pt.1 here

Summary: part 2 is finally here! I’ll be honest i think the majority of it is smut, but if you’re not interested in reading that, you can stop at the point where you and Logan drive home from the restaurant :) <3 this is probably the most detailed nsfw thing i’ve ever written so it’s a lil’ longer than what i’d usually write for smut but I really wanted to deliver on this one.

Taglist: @deardo11 @pastelpinkflowerlife @joyfulpeanutsalad @jonesem11 @carollinnasic @likeficsinthewnd @mrs-ephemeral 

Word Count: 9.5K

divider credit here and here

It had been about a month since the whole ordeal with Logan - the exchanging of fake rings, sweet nicknames and kissing in the driveway - and to everyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed.

You’d still taunt each other during training, bicker over the small things and butt heads on almost everything, but it was all accompanied by stolen kisses in empty hallways, nights on the roof spent stargazing and small, sweet moments in between. You were going to come out with it - tell the team what had been going on behind closed doors - but truthfully, you were both fearful of the possible outcomes. What if this didn’t work out? What, you’d go back to hating each other - for real this time? So you kept it hushed, intending to give the new ‘relationship’ - a word neither of you used, yet - a sort of trial run. Neither of you admitted it aloud but you knew this way, if it really wasn’t meant to be, it could save you the embarrassment of admitting you were both wrong.

As the days went on, though, it became harder for either of you to keep up the act and even more difficult to keep your secret. You came close to being caught more often, having to stutter out an excuse each time. Jean and Ororo still knew what was going on - having been the ones to greet you in the hall when you’d gotten back from that dinner party - but gave you their word that it would stay a secret. The former of the two even feigned surprise when Scott mentioned he thought he saw you nearly kiss Logan in the kitchen, insisting he must've been seeing things.

You’d been washing some dishes and handing them off to him to dry and put away, both of you alone in the kitchen after dinner. 

“Hey, do you wanna come up to my room in a little bit? Maybe watch a movie?” he offered in a low voice, standing so close that your arms touched.

Neither of you had actually had the chance to be alone like that yet and the idea made your stomach erupt in butterflies.

“Hm - If I didn’t know any better, Logan,” you chuckled, “I’d think you have some ulterior motive.”

“And If I did?”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon,” he cooed, “what do you think?”

You were looking up at him, your noses inches apart as he leaned down further. One of his hands came to rest on your lower back.

“Hey, guys, have you seen my - “

Scott’s voice echoed through the kitchen and you both jumped, Logan trying to put distance between you and nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck and you kept your eyes glued to the dishes in the sink.

“Uh,” Scott tilted his head, “have you guys…seen my phone?”

“Nope,” Logan was quick to reply, drying and putting away dishes now like it was his job.

“Um, no - sorry,” you shook your head.

“Hm…okay,” Scott mumbled, clearly suspicious of whatever it was he’d just seen. You both exchanged a look of panic when he left the room.

“That was close,” you huffed, returning to the task at hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and he’s probably the last one we want to find out - Summers is a blabber mouth.”

You knew exactly what he meant. If you told Scott anything, he couldn’t keep it to himself. One time Jean had tried to plan a surprise party for your birthday and you already knew about it before she could even pick the decorations.

Jean and Ororo had thankfully kept their word, though. It was damn near torture for them to keep from shouting the truth aloud every time you got into your usual spats. The sly jokes, however, were another story.

“Will you two just kiss already?” Jean had blurted when you were pelting each other with beanbags during an outdoor game of cornhole. 

Ororo wasn’t any better. 

She was sitting next to you at dinner one night, Logan across from you. Everyone was chatting about their days or telling stories and she volunteered you to share.

“Anything new happening with you? You seem extra happy lately,” she was grinning.

Your eyes darted to Logan and then back to her, taking a deep inhale.

“Uh, nothin’ - nothin’ new,” you swallowed, "just happy.”

Logan was smiling to himself, his gaze focused on his dinner.

After everyone had finished dinner and vanished off to their rooms, he stopped you at the bottom of the staircase.

“Hey,” he nervously scanned the hallway while gnawing on his bottom lip, “can you meet me in the garden out back in fifteen minutes? I wanna show you somethin’.”

“Sure,” you nodded, “but the ‘something’ better not be beef jerky and a picnic blanket - which, by the way, is not a date.”

He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, a contradiction to the smile tugging at his lips.

“That was one damn time - you’re still mad about that?”

“Eh - not really, but I am gonna mention it in every argument we will ever have,” you joked.

“Oh, shut up, ya’ brat.”

 You giggled and he beamed at the sound, already undeniably smitten with you. He’d never been so sure of any other feeling in his life. Your serene voice, your perfect hair, the smell of your perfume, the way you walked, the way you laughed and smiled - it was all things he’d taken notice of before but chose to bury within himself, terrified of whatever it was that had given you so much power over him. 

Set on trying to impress you, he’d gone around the garden that morning and picked a couple flowers out of each different plant he saw. He felt a little ridiculous - his six foot frame and two hundred pound body towering over a bed of tulips and daffodils - but he reminded himself this was for you; to see that smile on your face that could bring him to his knees. He had fallen for you and he fell fast. He didn’t know when he’d truly realized it - maybe during one of your midnight conversations or during one of the movie nights when you made yourself comfortable under his arm - but it was a feeling so intense that he’d never experienced anything like it before. He’d never had that ache in his chest, the pain of wanting someone so badly that it physically hurts; the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought of losing you, the way the thump of his heartbeat became so much louder and faster when he caught even a glimpse of you. Weeks ago, he probably would’ve made fun of the poor sap who was acting just as he was - like a lovesick dog on your leash - but he found himself finally starting to embrace the idea that there was someone for him in the way there was for Jean and Scott or Marie and Bobby. Maybe it wasn’t all permanent - nothing ever was - but whatever connection he had developed with you was one of the only things that he thought of first thing in the morning and right before he went to bed at night.

After what felt like the longest fifteen minutes of your life, you made your way outside and to the well kept garden. You admired every variation of flower in bloom while you walked, taking in the peaceful atmosphere of the garden in the moonlight. You planted yourself in the middle of the extensive displays of flora, nervously rocking back and forth on your heels. You scanned the landscape and that’s when you spotted him. 

Logan was making his way towards you and even through the darkness, you could see the bright arrangement of flowers held in his hands. Your heart felt like it swelled so much with adoration that it was going to burst. He’d done this for you, went out and handpicked every flower. Receiving so much affection from him was unusual, in a good way. Recently, he’d absentmindedly begun holding your hand in his at times, talking away while his fingers intertwined with yours like it was second nature. He’d play with your hair, kiss your cheek, embrace you from behind, even pull you onto his lap so you could nuzzle into his chest. Even when you weren’t alone, he was having trouble keeping himself off of you. He’d place a guiding hand on the small of your back or let his touch linger when your fingers brushed up against each other - small things, almost unnoticeable. It was a stark contrast to his behavior weeks before and you couldn’t have been happier. 

“These are for you,” Logan held the bouquet in front of you, pointing at some of the bulbs, “a couple of ‘em might be a little bent - I may have accidentally yanked ‘em out of the ground with more force than I needed to.”

You were beaming, your hands on your cheeks in excitement and surprise.  You delicately took the arrangement of flowers from him, admiring the beautiful ribbon that kept them together. Jean had helped with that, of course.

“Oh, Logan,” you pouted, “these are beautiful!”

“I wanted to give you somethin’ nice, y’know - after being such an asshole for so long,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

You knitted your eyebrows, “you didn’t have to, you know.”

He shook his head, waving a hand dismissively, “c’mon, none of that, princess. You deserve ‘em.”

Your heart felt like it would jump out of your chest whenever he’d call you sweet names. He’d called you princess before, sure, but only to tease you. The way he said it now was affectionate, as if to say you really were a princess in his eyes. You were head over heels for him already but you held your tongue, fearful that it was far too soon to admit something like that. The last thing you wanted to do was drive him away and lose the only relationship you’d had in years that made you absolutely lovesick to the point of losing sleep.

“I wanted to, uh - I wanted to tell you something, too,” he began, resting his hands on your waist. He seemed a little nervous with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“So, tell me,” you smiled up at him. You’d be lying if you said you weren't a little nervous yourself, picking up on his hesitation.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, standing up straight and keeping his eyes trained on yours.

“I love you.”

You only blinked in response, lips parted in surprise.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t - “

“I love you - I love you, too.”

It was like letting go after holding your breath for so long, a sense of relief that couldn’t compare to anything else.

A wide grin crept onto his face, one he couldn’t hold back even if he tried. Your expression mirrored his - complete adoration for one another.

He was staring down at you the same way he had during dinner that night you first kissed. You’d wondered since then what it was, what made his pupils dilate when his eyes focused on yours or why he would tuck his lip between his teeth. You knew now that it was love.

“It’s gonna be even harder now to keep this - us - a secret,” he mumbled in a low voice. He brought his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He cupped your cheek after, unable to keep his hands off you.

“Well,” you bit the inside of your cheek, “we could tell them? Tell everyone, I mean.”

“Do you think you’re ready? I mean - not that I'm not ready, but I don't want you to feel rushed into anything.”

Your knees could’ve buckled right then and there at how truly sweet he was with you. You took his words into consideration and had a realization.

“We haven’t even really figured out what we are yet. What would we tell them?”

He nodded solemnly, grazing his thumb over your cheekbone, “Yeah, you’re right.”

You hoped this would be it - this would be the moment he finally told you that you were his girlfriend, you were something - but he gave a small smile and dropped his hand from your face.

“It’s getting late, we should get back before anyone notices we’re gone.”

You simply nodded, clearing your throat to replace the exasperated sigh you were about to let out.

You followed him on the way back, mind racing for the entirety of the short walk and drowning out anything Logan was saying. You wondered if he’d ever ask you that one question at all. Maybe he’d said he loved you to keep you hanging on, wrapped around his finger. Maybe it was meant to be casual and you’d misunderstood. 

But there was a bouquet of flowers in your hands. You’d fallen asleep on his chest more times than you could count, held hands at any moment you could and he did just tell you he loved you. So, maybe he did mean it.

As you snuck down the hallway to your bedroom with the arrangement of flowers, you wondered how long you’d have to keep this a secret.

Unbeknownst to you, it wouldn't be much longer.

It all came to a head when the team decided to go out to dinner together, settling on some chain restaurant. You’d coincidentally ended up next to Logan in the large booth, the both of you on the very end of the table. You were all reading from the menus and Marie piped up from across the table.

“Honey, do you wanna switch seats?”

She was talking to you. You didn't look up from the laminated paper in your hands, responding automatically without a second thought.

“Nah, I'm fine.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and looked at Bobby, who only shrugged. You two never sat next to each other, usually bickering so intensely that you’d be asked to shut up or leave the table. 

The unusual interaction was soon forgotten when your drinks were brought over, the waitress placing them in front of each of you. She was pretty and her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Logan being on the very end made him the closest in proximity to her and you being so close meant that you could hear her hushed voice when she leaned down before she walked away.

“And here, this is for you.”

She slid a napkin onto the table, your eyes automatically drawn to the movement. There was a clear phone number written in ink, her name scribbled underneath next to a smiley face.

Everyone at the table had noticed the interaction and waited for Logan to speak after she walked away. Instead, they watched in curiosity as he silently slid the napkin under his drink, the ink bleeding immediately from the condensation on the outside of his glass.

“Okay, what's up with you?” Scott questioned from across the table.

Logan raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know, what's up with you?”

“I asked you first.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marie chimed in then, leaning forward with her elbows on the table to interrogate him, “you always take girls’ numbers when they give ‘em to you. Why not hers?”

He shrugged, “just not interested.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Watch the language, kid.”

“Whatever, you’re so full of it!”

You pretended to be uninterested in the conversation, folding your napkin into unrecognizable shapes. 

“You know what? I think you might be in love,” she giggled, “you’ve been way too happy lately. Like, absurdly happy.”

You froze in place, gwaning on your bottom lip. 

It was true, though. He was waking up early, smiling more, making more jokes that weren’t at Scott’s expense - they really had never seen him so happy.

“Um,” he hesitated for a second when you stole a glance at him. He was smiling to himself already.

“I guess you could say that.”

Everyone turned to stare at him in mild disbelief, including you.

“What? I was just kidding! Oh my god, you didn’t tell us?” Marie exclaimed, “spill it!”

Jean and Ororo were smiling wide behind their hands and exchanging knowing looks.

“Well, she’s real pretty,” he started, “and she’s sweet.”

You were trying so hard to fight a smile, covering your mouth with your fist as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“I never thought i’d hear you talk about someone like that,” Marie knitted her eyebrows and stuck out her bottom lip - the kind of face you’d make when a kid confesses their first crush.

Logan rolled his eyes and scoffed, a grin stuck on his face. Marie was still asking questions, determined to not let the topic go till she knew every detail.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Logan was nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looked like he was thinking of an answer.

“Uh… I don’t know. I haven’t really asked her.”

You must have been pink all the way to the tips of your ears. You brought your glass of water to your lips, hoping it would help cool your face. 

“Why not?”

Marie was really not gonna let this go and you dreaded to hear the answer come out of his mouth.

Logan sighed, picking at the skin around his fingernails as a nervous habit.

“Just a little nervous, I guess. I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“A girl that makes you nervous? When do we get to meet her?” 

Your eyes were stuck on the wood grain of the table, both of your hands covering half your face at this point.

“When the time is right,” he responded, taking a sip of his drink.

Ororo rolled her eyes.

You’d all finished eating a good while later and the check came. After you’d both put cash down, he mumbled under his breath with his hand shielding his mouth.

“Meet me outside in a second, okay?”

He slipped out of his seat and you watched him disappear around the corner.

No one had noticed him leave his seat, too engrossed in conversation. After a minute or two, you muttered something about using the bathroom before you left the table and swiftly made your way back to the entrance you had come in through. It was starting to rain a little, barely drizzling.

Logan was standing in the parking lot with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He beckoned you over when he saw you, taking your hand in his and leading you to a spot outside that wasn’t directly in front of the door. His nose was starting to turn pink from the cold evening air and your cheeks were doing the same.

“So,” he swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, “I guess it’s about time I asked you, huh?”

“Ask me what?’

You were smiling so wide that your face ached. You knew exactly what, but of course you wanted to hear him say it.

His expression mirrored yours and he let go of one of your hands so he could cup your face.

“Would you be my girl?”

It may have been a little juvenile - the teasing, the hiding, the avoidance of labeling what you had - but it had worked.

“I already am,” you told him, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. He happily reciprocated, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you even closer.

If either of you had taken a second to look around you first , you would’ve spotted the rest of the team turning the corner the second you kissed him. 

“No way!”

Marie’s squeal echoed through the parking lot and both of you jumped, turning towards the sound. You both stood in stunned silence, Logan’s arms still locked around your waist.

“Uh…” He was like a deer in headlights.

“I should’ve guessed,” Scott clicked his tongue, irritated that he hadn’t figured you out sooner.

“Guessed what? We’re - uh, we were just - “ Logan shot you a look, hoping you’d be able to think of something on the spot - even with his arms still locked around you. You could’ve squirmed out of his hold, made some unconvincing excuse about having something in your eye and needing his help. You almost did. Looking up at him, his features highlighted by the flood lights that illuminated the nearly empty lot and his cheeks peppered in rain drops, you had a realization. You didn’t want to lie. You didn’t feel the need to anymore. You weren’t afraid it wasn’t going to work or that you might be better off as enemies rather than lovers. Everything felt like it was finally right - as if every piece of your life finally fit into its perfect place. If you were wrong - fuck it. You’d deal with the consequences later if you had to. 

“Kissing. We were kissing - we’re dating,” you sputtered out to your friends, looking back to Logan after. You almost expected him to be embarrassed, to tell you to keep your mouth shut.

 But he was smiling. He was smiling wider than you’d probably ever seen. He leaned his head down to kiss your forehead affectionately, mumbling into your hair, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

You hummed in affirmation and peeked back at everyone else. 

“How? Since when? Oh my god, I need to know everything,” Marie was as giddy as could be, nearly jumping up and down.

“Since they went on that mission where they had to pretend to be married,” Ororo piped up, “they liked pretending a little too much.”

You all began walking to the two cars you came in, Logan’s arm draped around your shoulders. He was holding you so close that you were practically stepping on his boots.

“Aw,” you heard Marie whisper to Bobby from behind you, “they’re so sweet together.”

“Now that they're not trying to kill each other? Yeah,” he replied with a small laugh.

“I thought you guys hated each other,” Scott said, “what happened?

“Well,” you smiled to yourself, “he’s a good fake husband, so I figured he might make an alright boyfriend.”

You stopped when you approached the car and Logan wrapped you into a tight embrace, your face smushed against his chest. You giggled into his shirt until he finally let you go.

“How’d you guys even keep it under wraps anyway?” Scott asked.

You looked up to Logan, “Willpower?”

He chuckled, “I don’t know, really,” he rested his hands at your waist, “I guess we got lucky that you guys aren’t too bright.”

Ororo lightly smacked the back of his shoulder, rolling her eyes but holding a smile on her face.

You all piled into the cars you’d came in - you, Logan, Marie and Bobby in one and Jean, Scott and Ororo in another - and made your way home. Logan drove and you sat beside him, his hand in yours for most of the ride.

When you all got home and everyone went off to their rooms, Logan stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Would you, um,” he looked to the floor for a moment, biting back a smile, “would you maybe want to spend the night in my room?”

You and Logan had been alone together a handful of times, but never like that - in his bedroom. The thought made your palms start to sweat. It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought of it - you’d been together about a month now and every time you’d gotten the chance to make out, you usually didn’t have an opportunity to go any further. Someone would call your name, Logan’s phone would ring, you’d hear footsteps - always something to pull you apart. It was torture, knowing you could kiss him till his hands started to creep up your shirt or your hand rested on his belt buckle but never actually get to go any further.

“We don’t have to do anything but sleep,” Logan could see the hesitation in your expression, “whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I’d love to,” you replied, letting him take your hand in his and lead you down the hall. 

“How about this - I'll change into pajamas in my room, you can change in yours and then come down,” he swiped his thumb over your knuckles, “is that alright?”

You almost wanted to insist you could change in his room - let him see you bare in front of him like you wanted for weeks - but you simply nodded and slipped your hand from his grasp as you walked the short distance to your room. After changing into a tank top and pajama shorts, you shuffled up to his door in your slippers and gave a small knock.

He answered in an instant, wearing sweatpants and his usual white beater. You unintentionally let out a sigh, eyes immediately scanning over his muscular torso under the thin white fabric. 

Christ, he’s hot.

“Everything alright, pumpkin’?”

It didn’t help that he was so damn sweet to you.

“Huh? Uh - yeah, I just,” you stopped, realizing there wasn’t much of a need for an excuse, “I like the way you look in that.”

You boldly reached out to playfully tug the hem. He smiled and used your hand on him to pull you out of the hallway and into his room, wrapping you in his arms. 

“Yeah?” He said softly, kissing your cheek and forehead before finally meeting your lips, “I like the way you look in these.”

His hand slid down to the hem of your shorts, hiking them up a little to squeeze your upper thigh.

You giggled, a blush forming across your cheeks.

“And you’re so damn cute,” he led you to his bed, laying down and patting the spot next to him, “c’mere, sweetheart.”

Still, even after all those weeks, the pet names made you feel weak in the knees.

You obeyed instantly, crawling onto the mattress and snuggling up next to him. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, steady and strong. 

Logan had a mirror across the room, coincidentally angled so that, from where you were, you could both see your reflection. He was playing with your hair when he began to stare at your reflection, smiling to himself.

“What?” You interrogated, looking up at him and then back to the mirror.

“We look good together,” he admitted, “well, you look good.”

You clicked your tongue, “are you kidding? Please, girls practically throw themselves at you.”

“Well, there’s only one girl I ever really wanted to throw herself at me.”

“I think you got your wish.”

You still had that spark - the back and forth quips and competitive nature - except that it was always something sweet now.

“I love you, a lot,” he muttered into the top of your head, pulling you as close as you could lay to him with your leg slung over his thighs.

“I love you too, Logan,” you smiled into his shirt, taking in the smell of him.

His hand came to rest on your thigh, gently kneading and squeezing. You already felt your breath quicken and heart start to race again as his fingertips traced the hem of your shorts. 

“Like I said,” he cooed, having picked up on your rapid heartbeat, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Staring up at him, his large hand still kneading your upper thigh, you’d decided - just like in the parking lot earlier - you’d had enough of holding back. You swiftly brought yourself further on top of him, straddling his lap with your knees on either side. You didn’t give him time to protest as you cupped his face and kissed him in a slow mess of tongues and teeth, savoring the feeling of finally having him beneath you. It wasn’t long before his hands found home on your thighs, his fingers already slotting beneath the fabric of your shorts. He then slid his hands up to squeeze your ass, pushing you even further into him while your tongue explored the inside of his mouth. When you finally pushed yourself up with your hands on his chest, he almost looked dazed. 

“I wouldn’t start somethin’ you can’t finish,” he panted, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Oh, I think I’ll finish,” you joked, raising your eyebrows at the innuendo. 

“Yeah? I know you will.”

You squealed and giggled when he flipped you on your back, climbing over you and caging you in with his forearms on either side of your head. 

“Been wantin’ to get my hands on you like this forever, you know,” he continued with a wicked smile, peppering kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, “thinkin’ about you.”

“W-What were you thinking about?” you managed to stutter out, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head when he began to lightly suck and bite at your warm skin.

“Having you here, in my bed. Getting to undress you, having your thighs ‘round my head.”

You nearly choked on your saliva at the filthy way he was mumbling against your skin and squeezing your hips.

“Me too,” was all you could say, lost in the feeling of his hands now sliding under your tank top, resting right below your tits.

“ ‘s that what you thought about?”

You can tell he wanted you to say it, let him know just how bad you wanted him.

“I thought about being in your bed, sitting on your lap,” you took a deep breath, “and having you - having you, uh…”

Your sentence trailed off, cheeks tinted pink.

“What, sweetheart? C’mon, don’t be shy. What do you want me to do, huh?”

He still knew how to tease you, even if it wasn’t out of spite anymore. 

“Fuck,” you swallowed audibly, “want you to eat me out, fuck me - anything.”

You sounded desperate and you knew it. You really didn’t care, too engrossed in everything about him to even consider it. 

“Really?”

Your eyes met his, filled with lust and ambition to please you any way you wanted. His lips were parted in surprise when he first heard your words, slowly turning into a devious smile.

“Please.”

That was all he needed to trail his lips down your shoulders, gently pushing the straps of your tank top down. He sat up to let you pull it off and if he wasn’t already set on worshiping you, he definitely was now.

You’d yanked the garment over your head and onto the floor, revealing your bare chest. 

Logan groaned, laying you back down and almost immediately latching his lips onto the newly exposed and incredibly soft skin. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against you as he took one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you huffed quietly, arching your back to push yourself even further into him.

He was trying to hold back a smug grin, switching between each breast, sucking and biting gently.

“ ‘s good, baby?”

You were lost for words, even more so when you could see the string of spit that connected his mouth to one of your tits.

“Mm-hm,” you hummed, your fingers having found their home in Logan’s hair. 

You whined when he pulled his mouth from you with an audible pop.

“Words, sweetheart,” he told you, his eyes glued to yours while he licked his own spit off his lips. 

“”Fuck, yes, yes -“

You were cut off by your own moan, gasping when you felt the pressure of his thigh in between yours. He slid his hands down your body to grab your ass in an attempt to grind you down on his leg.

“I like it when you make those noises for me,” he muttered into your chest, his hands still kneading your ass when he pulled you forwards.

You wanted him for so long that the reality of being with him had made you over sensitive to his touch. Even through the fabric of your panties and shorts, the feeling was intoxicating.

You were practically whining as he ground you down so hard that you were soaked all the way through your shorts and panties, the fabric of both sliding to the side.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he chuckled a little, feeling the soaked patch on his sweatpants, “all for me?”

You hummed, hands tugging at his hair, “for-for you.”

His hands came around to the front of your shorts, his fingers hooking onto the fabric.

“Can I take these off you?”

“Please,” you responded immediately, already lifting your hips off the bed so he could drag your shorts down your legs. 

When he turned to throw them somewhere on the floor, he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Your chest was heaving and your hair was all over the place from rolling around in the bed. He could see that you were still looking up at him, even when he was turned away.

“I got an idea, scoot up a bit,” he told you suddenly when he turned back to face you. You moved forward on the mattress as he momentarily stood up, stripping himself of his beater. He sat behind you and arranged himself so that he was holding your back against his chest with his arms around your waist, his legs spread out so you could lay between them.

You instantly caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. Your head was leaned back on his shoulder and he planted delicate kisses down your neck.

“ ‘s that why you wanted to sit like this?” you nodded weakly in the direction of the mirror, your eyes nearly fluttering close when he slid one of his hands to rest on the inside of your thigh.

“You look real pretty, I wanna see all of you,” he explained, his middle finger grazing your cunt through your damp panties.

Your eyes were glued to your reflection - your legs spread with his hand between them and purple hickies darkening on your chest. Logan was staring at your reflection too, his mouth still working on your neck.

“Look at you, all spread out for me,” he mumbled into your ear, “so fucking gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. If he kept saying all those filthy things, it wasn't going to take long before you were coming apart in his arms.

You shivered when his fingers hooked around the wet crotch of your underwear and moved it to the side.

You could hear him swear under his breath from behind you, his fingers barely grazing your heat.

“God, Logan,” you were squirming, trying to push your hips towards his hand, “you’re gonna make me beg?”

You could see him smirk into your shoulder in the mirror, “you know what?”

He moved his hands to drag your panties off, nearly tearing them in the process.

“Yeah, I am.”

He let his head fall back to rest on the headboard, lidded eyes staring into your reflection while his hands laid still on the outside of your hips - even farther away from where you wanted him. He really wasn’t going to move an inch until he heard you beg for it, though he couldn’t help himself from digging his fingers into your soft flesh.

You groaned in frustration, “Fucking hate you.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

His lips grazed your earlobe and you wanted to roll your eyes at the smug look on his face, “Now, c’mon, baby. Beg.”

You moved your hands behind you so you could thread your fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

“Fuck, please, Logan - need you.”

“Need me how?”

He really was an asshole.

“Need your hands - need your fingers, please,” you groaned.

“I don’t know, you think you’ve been a good girl? Think you deserve it?”

You would’ve been pissed at him had he not turned you on beyond belief. You gave in, becoming putty in his arms.

“ ‘m good - been good for you,” you whined, using one of your hands on his to try and move it between your legs, “please.”

He sighed, returning his hand back to the hot skin of your inner thigh, “Shit, need me that bad? Huh, pretty girl?”

You were so worked up you could have cried from his teasing. You nodded eagerly, attempting to clamp your thighs together to force his hand to at least graze your cunt that was dripping onto his sheets.

He clicked his tongue and used his strong hands on the inside of your thighs to spread your legs again, “Gotta keep ‘em open for me, sweetheart.”

He dragged two of his fingers between your folds, messily toying with you. You gasped, gripping his arm and inadvertently leaving imprints from your fingernails.

“So fucking wet,” he huffed, gaze glued to the reflection of your spread legs in the mirror, “Pretty pussy’s all mine.”

You were already whimpering and moaning from the slightest touch.

“ ‘s yours - fuck, I‘m-I’m yours,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed.

He hummed in agreement, his fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Please, please, please,” you whined, trying to push your hips forward.

“I think you’ve been real good, angel,” he was slipping his fingers further into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “think you deserve it.”

You were whining and whimpering so loud that you were sure someone had to have heard you by now. You couldn’t help the noises slipping from your mouth, feeling like you’d black out just from the sight of Logan’s fingers slipping between your swollen lips and into your cunt.

When he finally thrusted his fingers into you all the way down to his knuckles, you brought a hand up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle what you knew would be a pornographically loud moan.

He clicked his tongue, grabbing at your wrist to tug your hand away.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he panted into your ear, curling his fingers inside you, “wanna hear you - want everyone to know who’s makin’ you feel good like this.”

His thumb started to draw circles around your clit in rhythm with the movement of his fingers and you could feel the pressure in your stomach starting to build.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his jaw hung open while he watched his fingers disappear inside you over and over again with ease, “takin’ my fingers so well. I think you’d take somethin’ else real well, too.”

The intent of his words nearly drove you over the edge, your mind unable to stop conjuring up images of what it would be like when he finally did fill you like you’d wanted him to.

“Logan, Logan, I’m -,” you groaned, so close to finally coming on his fingers.

Until he slipped them out of you and pulled his hand away completely.

You choked out a sob, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration.

“I’m gonna let you finish, don’t worry,” he promised. You watched him suck his fingers clean before he used his arm around you to rearrange you both so that he was laying on his back and you were facing him with your legs straddling his torso. You could feel his erection poking at your ass and you licked your lips when you imagined being able to take him in your mouth, letting him fuck your throat to the point that your chin and the base of his cock were coated in your drool.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Logan’s voice brought you out of thought and you let him guide your legs up until your knees were on either side of your head.

You looked down at him in curiosity, not yet understanding what it was he wanted to do.

Noticing your expression, he wrapped his arms around your thighs to pull your dripping pussy closer to his mouth.

“I’m gonna let you finish, baby, but it’s gotta be on my mouth. Sit.”

“You…” you hesitated for a second, feeling your face redden, “you want me to sit on your face? What if I crush you? Or suffocate you?’’

He chuckled at your concern, lovingly caressing your thighs, “You won’t, trust me. It’ll feel good, I promise. Besides, If you did suffocate me? I don’t think I’d wanna go any other way.”

You laughed nervously and let him pull you down further, sinking onto his face. His tongue swiped up your folds and you gripped the headboard so you wouldn’t fall forward.

“Jesus, Logan,” you gasped, your other hand gripping his hair, “feels so fucking good.”

“Uh-huh, told you, princess. Jus’ lemme take care of you,” he mumbled into your pussy, eating you like he was starved. He moved his head back and forth and up and down to lick every inch of you he could.

“I think I would’ve - ah, would’ve said somethin’ to you much sooner if I knew you could do this,” you joked a little, your small chuckle turning into a gasp when he slipped his tongue even further down so he was inside you. He hummed into you, his nose nudging against your clit. You began to grind your hips back and forth over his mouth, drunk off the way he moved his tongue.

“Atta girl,” he grunted, “use me, c’mon.”

His hairy arms were hooked around your thighs like a vice, to the point that you couldn’t lift your hips even if you wanted to. When his eyes weren’t trained on you above him, they were squeezed shut in an attempt to savor every second his tongue was in your pussy. He was pulling your thighs forward every time you rocked yourself back and forth, desperate to feel you come on - in - his mouth. 

You could already feel the pressure building in your stomach. The obscene wet noises coming from his mouth messily eating your cunt didn’t do much to ease it, either. Your eyes rolled back and you continued to ride his face, mouth hung open in ecstasy. Logan could tell you were close just from how sloppy your movements had become. 

“Gonna come for me already, honey?”

You hated how hot it was when he teased you, mocked your desperation.

“Fuck, yeah,” you groaned, your hips rolling forward.

“Lemme see it, pretty girl, come for me.”

You gasped at the filth spilling from his lips into you. It was more than enough to finally make the tension snap in your lower stomach, still rocking your hips over his mouth while you whimpered his name over and over again like a prayer.

Logan was practically growling into your cunt, feeling your muscles contract around his prodding tongue. He was trying to catch anything that possibly came from your release. You tasted good, but when you finished? Even fucking better.

“Lo-Logan, too much, s’ too much,” you tried to protest as he kept your thighs locked around his face, still lapping at you without slowing his pace. He hummed in response and finally let you go when he was sure he’d licked you clean.

You lifted your hips and moved to sit beside him on your heels, almost in pain at the loss of physical contact. When you finally got to see his face, his lips were red and raw, his chin and even the side of his cheeks coated in your slick. You watched in awe as he wiped his cheek, bringing his hand up to his mouth after to lick it clean.

“Taste fucking amazing,” he assured you, keeping his eyes on yours when he sucked on one of his fingers.

You caught sight of his obvious and rather large erection and your mouth began to water. Once again, you were lost in the thought of how good it would be to feel the weight of his cock in your mouth.

“You alright, baby?”

“Yeah, I - um,” you sighed, leaning forward on your hands, “can I - can I have it in my mouth? Just for a little bit?”

Your hand rested on his hip, fingers grazing the waistband of his sweatpants, dangerously close.

“Shit,” he huffed, his cock twitching from the anticipation, “you wanna?”

You nodded eagerly, pulling his pants and boxers down his thighs when he lifted his hips.

“Hey,” he tenderly stopped your hand as you reached to touch him, “I’m tellin’ you now, girl -  you can suck it ‘cause you asked so nicely but I’m not comin’ unless it’s in you.”

He let go of your wrist and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, continuing to speak.

“I can fill your throat another time, yeah?”

You were speechless, lidded eyes switching from his face to his swollen cock and back again. You nodded in agreement.

You guessed Logan would be big - he was generally a large guy - but you could feel the drool gathering in your mouth when his cock sprung out of his boxers to hit his stomach. He was fucking huge. You might’ve been nervous if you weren’t so eager to fit him into your mouth. You finally leaned down to wrap a hand around the base of his cock, softly licking at his leaking tip.

Logan threaded your hair between his fingers, gathering as much as he could to form a makeshift ponytail that was held together by his fist. 

“Like seein’ your pretty face. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?”

His words only spurred you on and you gathered as much saliva as possible so you could spit onto his cock. When you did, you started to stroke him in a slow rhythm that had him rocking his hips towards your hand already. His mouth hung open and his eyes were glued to your movements, watching you work your hand up and down. Your spit coated your hand and his cock to the point that it was dripping down his balls.

The moment you finally closed your mouth around him, he was practically a mess.

You took him as deep as you could, relaxing your throat and steadily breathing. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat and he groaned. He watched your head bob up and down while you simultaneously stroked whatever you couldn’t fit into your mouth. He huffed out your name in between cursing under his breath. His gaze caught the mirror he’d nearly forgotten about and he could’ve came just from the sight of your mouth drooling around him.

“So good, baby,” he sighed, licking his lips, “you look so pretty suckin’ my cock.”

You reveled in the praises spilling from his lips. Chasing more, you used your hand that wasn’t around him to cup his balls and massage gently. He actually whimpered and you could feel Logan’s legs start to shake a bit.

“Alright, enough - ,” he grunted, using his grip on your hair to pull your mouth from him and push your hand away.

You almost looked hurt, pouting while looking between him and his glistening cock. Truthfully, you liked the taste of him. Loved it, really, so much so that you had to hold back from diving right back into position. Just the idea had you clenching your thighs together when you thought of it. When your mouth was already on him? You were so wet again that it was starting to smear across your inner thighs.

“Sorry, doll,” he apologized while swiping fallen strands of hair from your face, “too close.”

It felt exhilarating being able to turn big, bad, scary Wolverine into a whimpering mess after only a couple minutes in your mouth.

“I’m gonna come in you,” he reiterated, “gonna make you mine.”

You just about melted into putty from his words.

“ ‘m yours, ‘v been yours.”

Your voice was desperate and you crawled onto him, straddling his hips. Your bare cunt slid against the base of his cock and his hips jerked up.

“Fuck,” he panted, “you wanna know somethin’? Been thinking about this for so long, even when I thought you hated me - I couldn’t help it.”

“Me too,” you replied, hands on his chest to steady yourself, “even when I thought you hated me. Used to think - to think about jus’ getting you alone.”

“Yeah?” He teased, one of his hands coming down to align his cock with your entrance, “what did you think about doing when you got me alone, hm?”

“I - ah, f-fuck,” you tried to speak, stuttering when he started to slip himself in as slowly as possible, “letting you fuck me, having - having your fingers in me.”

“So, is it as good as you imagined?”

“Mm,” you tried to respond and only whined from the pressure of Logan pushing you down further onto his cock and stretching you out, “better, it’s better.”

“You think you can take all of it, sweetheart?”

“I need it, please, please, Logan - need you.”

You could rarely recognize your own voice, strained and desperate.

“Only ‘cause you begged so nice.”

In one hard thrust, he pushed your hips down onto his.

Your jaw hung open and your eyes rolled back into your head. You’d never felt so fucking full before, like he reached every inch of where you wanted him. 

“Fucking - Christ, Logan, you - ah,” your sentence was cut off when he began to grind up into you, using his grip on your hips to keep you steady and gently help guide you up and down. 

“Hm? What, baby?”

When you sat back down on him, he used an iron grip to keep you where you were, pushing himself as far into you as he possibly could. The friction on your clit made your pussy twitch and he definitely felt it, pulling you back and forth a little bit.

Again, you couldn’t speak - too distracted by the indescribable feeling of having him sheathed completely inside you. Your eyes started to water, tears forming from the overwhelming pleasure in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck me,” you nearly sobbed, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, “please, please.”

He finally let you lift your hips up and down again and you were a whining fucking mess. Logan could see over your shoulder into the mirror and he marveled at the white ring you left around the base of his cock every time you lifted your hips. You were messy, exactly how he wanted you - he’d probably lick you clean after, if you’d let him.

You were rambling into his neck, panting, “so fucking - you’re so big, oh my god, need you all - ah - all the time.”

He was smirking to himself, smug from how he was able to fuck you to the point that you were just letting go completely - telling him every thought that popped into your mind while you were still on top of him. You worked yourself up to a steady rhythm and he indulged in the image of your tits bouncing above him when you sat up. 

“So good, honey - takin’ me so well, like you were made for me,” he groaned. His eyes never left yours.

“ ‘m made for - for you,” you slurred, rolling your hips.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Who’s this pussy belong to, huh? Tell me.”

“Yours, I - it’s yours, Logan.”

Your thighs started to ache pretty quickly, your pace faltering as he kept steadily drilling up into you. 

“Are you sore, baby? You wanna switch?”

His voice was so soft in comparison to how he was speaking moments earlier through gritted teeth. You nodded and let him lay you on your back, climbing over you and caging you in with his forearms on either side of your head. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, both cheeks, the tip of your nose and finally, your lips. You were absolutely giddy from the sickly sweet moments you shared inbetween the times where he was fucking you so hard you were out of breath. 

Your ankles locked behind Logan’s back to pull him into you while he tried to guide himself with his hand. He slipped back in effortlessly and ground his hips forward, pinning you down to the mattress. One of his arms was snaked around your back to hold you closer and the other was holding your wrists together above your head.

His hips rolled forward and he hit a spot inside of you that made the fire in the pit of your stomach rise.

You choked out a sob and tried to squirm in an attempt to free your wrists, but you both knew there was no way you’d wiggle out of his grip unless he let you. To no surprise, a man made of mostly metal was almost impossibly strong when he pinned you down with his hands and hips.

“I gotcha’.” he panted, so close that your noses brushed together when he thrust forward, “you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.”

As if you’d want to move from your spot underneath him.

Your eyes caught the shining metal of the dog tags hanging from his neck, swinging back and forth over your chest when he moved. When you looked back up to his face, his eyes were boring into yours. His face was flushed and his mouth hung open, sweat accumulating on his brow. He looked fucking gorgeous. You were going to tell him so, try to lean up to kiss him, but he spoke again before you could.

“I’m in love with you - ‘m so in love with you, you know that?”

The pace of his thrusts quickened and you could’ve cried at the sincerity had he not been drilling into you so hard that you could barely open your eyes.

“I - I’m, ah - in love with - with you, too,” you choked out between gasps.

“So pretty,” he muttered, finally letting go of your wrists so he could hold your chin to force you to keep your eyes on him, “i’m so fucking lucky.”

It was all too much - the sincere adoration in his voice combined with the filthy way he was snapping his hips into yours - and you could feel the knot in your lower stomach start to come undone.

“Logan, fuck, I’m -,” you tried to tell him you were close, but his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you.

“God, please - c’mon, c’mon,” he was pleading through gritted teeth, trying with everything in him to hold back from coming before you did. His hand slipped between your bodies so he could draw tight circles around your clit and your eyes squeezed shut in ecstacy. 

You were chanting his name after a couple more strokes, tears rolling down the side of your face while he pounded you through your orgasm. You were practically seeing stars, your legs shaking around his waist.

He could feel your muscles contract around him and his movements became sloppy. He was grunting with every roll of his hips, muttering praises under his breath.

So fucking pretty

Look so beautiful like this

So perfect

He was spilling into you seconds later, animalistically groaning into your ear. His hips slowed to a halt, his arms still wrapped around you. You were both shiny and sticky with sweat, panting with flushed faces. When he pulled his face from your ear, he was beaming like an idiot, already drowsy.

“Was that good, baby?”

He was still out of breath, using one arm to weakly hold himself above you while he stroked your hair. 

“Are you serious? More than good,” you chuckled, “amazing.”

He tenderly kissed your forehead and rolled beside you, immediately wrapping you in his arms.

“Don’t we have to clean up?” you asked, eyes already starting to flutter closed.

“Mhm,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck, “can do it later - wanna cuddle.”

You grinned wide, amused by how damn cute he was. You simply hummed in agreement, resting your hand over his.

“Logan?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

A/N: I had to close my laptop and walk away a a couple time while writing this so I hope it drives you as insane as it did me! I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

If you enjoyed, thank you for reading and pls like/reblog!! <3 and thank u sm for the love on part 1!

[prince-geo]

literally pleased with almost all of the new atla trailer except as per usual, Zuko's scar, idk why studios are so scared to commit to the intensity of the thing, its supposed to be shocking and obvious and textured and the first thing you see... that's the point, Zuko is supposed to struggle with feeling like it defines and brands him before finally coming to the point in his journey where he defines it.

Hollywood/big studios are known to hesitate or straight up avoid properly and honestly and unapologetically showing people with disfigurements/disabilities/facial differences etc. with the realism they deserve. Which is a shame in general for representation and humanization but ESPECIALLY in this case as its minimization actively harms it's narrative purpose as well

I promise making the scar more intense (shrivel up the ear a bit, make it intrude in his hairline, make his eye in a permanent squint due to nerve damage, for god sake REMOVE THE EYEBROW IT WAS BURNED OFF) will not make Zuko "ugly", (the actor is incapable of looking ugly and also the implication that scars make people too unappealing? yikes) but will actually do the character and his journey justice, not to mention really show Ozai's brutality, another essential narrative tool. Especially when he's bald like hello??? It should be even more stark and intense when he doesn't have hair to distract from it and cover his ear!!!

When transitioning from 2D to live action, of course some visuals are up for interpretation but that usually involved ADDING detail because the constraints of having to stay on modeling frame to frame is gone, not minimizing, removing or airbrushing. Doing Zuko's scar right to me is absolutely essential and I'm disappointed they seem just as as scared to go there as I thought they might. It doesn't have to be gory, if you've ever seen burn victims in real life or in pictures or even cosplayers/artists who are skilled in realistic burn makeup you'd know its possible to balance realism with humanity. It's possible especially with their resources to avoid the "scary Halloween makeup" route while not holding back on the brutality of the original injury.

Budget is definitely not an issue, or "scaring the kids" considering this remake is likely aiming to go a lil darker in tone than the cartoon (which was already super dark with its target audience of nickelodeon 7 year olds so no excuses) Audiences SHOULD be unsettled and upset when they see him but not because he's hard/disturbing to look at but because we are human and do not want to imagine someone doing that to a child.

It's a deliberate choice out of the all too common fear/hesitation to allow someone who is destined to eventually become a protagonist and is meant to be sympathized with to be "too ugly" while this hesitation is very rarely applied to straight up villains (again we come back to media's historic villainization of facial deformity). It's a trend that's always ticked me off in fanart too. The boy's face was melted, for gods sake. Zuko was always portrayed as an attractive boy in the cartoon (fire nation girls fawn over him) even with the intensity of his scar which is something I've always admired! People exist with scars similar to Zuko's in real life, and should not only be permitted to be represented as good guys and/or as attractive when their scars are toned down to be "palatable"

Like I said there's more that I loved than didn't love about the trailer, that can be a whole essay on it's own but I needed to get this very specific vent off my chest because it missed the mark so hard and stands out like a sore thumb in comparison to all the other visuals that hit the nail on the head to me

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part three

646 words

one two

Eddie is wearing a white shirt. It wouldn’t be weird if Steve wasn’t so sure that the boy was allergic to color. 

Steve pauses his chewing. He turns to Carol where she sits next to Tommy across from him. “Is white a color?”

She looks at him in boredom. “It’s a mix of all of the colors.”

Steve shares a confused glance with Tommy before nodding slowly. “...Right.”

Anyway, his point stands - Eddie is wearing a white shirt. He also seems to be back in high spirits, and it wasn’t until Steve walked in and saw him in a heated discussion with his buddies at his table that he realized how much he missed the boy’s usual energy.

For as sure as he was that Eddie didn’t not want his notes, it’s relieving to know he’s probably fine. The realization draws him out of his head a bit and puts it all into a better perspective. The world doesn’t revolve around him. 

Over the weekend, Steve invites Tommy over to hangout and when he shows up, he has Carol with him. Steve idly wonders how long that’s gonna last. Tommy has been interested in her for a while. She made him work for it and honestly, Steve thinks they’re perfect for each other. 

He'd thought that whenever they made it official, that Tommy would be spending less time with Steve. If anything, though, the opposite is true. Tommy seems to hang around Steve more now than ever. He goes on and on about what he and Carol get up to, and Steve finds it kind of odd but assumes his friend is just excited. Still, Steve truly doesn’t need to know every detail from when Tommy and Carol hooked up under the bleachers. 

Steve has always gotten along with Carol in school. She’s a bit bitchy but that only means she can keep up with him and Tommy just fine.

The weekend isn’t half-bad but come Monday, Steve is revved up. He’s already had his note written for days. 

He delivers it without a hitch and excitedly waits. 

Eddie it’s hard to look away from you sometimes, i never would if i could get away with that without getting my ass kicked you don’t seem to care what people think about you or the things you like and i find that really impressive i wish i was more like you your books always look really interesting, do you have a favorite? -H

Steve wonders how hard it would be to get his schedule changed so he has at least one class with Eddie in the morning, too. 

Then he comes to his senses and realizes that would make him insanely creepy and weird. Which makes him wonder if he’s already doing that. 

He spirals. 

What if Eddie had looked so troubled because he doesn’t want to be receiving notes from some random person he doesn’t even know, what if the reason he seemed back to normal on Friday is because he’s resigned to live with the unwanted affection, what if he hasn’t even been reading the notes and he just tosses them immediately, what if, what if, what if.

He goes through his morning classes in a fog that only dissipates when he walks into the cafeteria and sees him.

Eddie is reclined in his chair with his ankles crossed and propped on the table in front of him. When Steve walks past him, he hears the boy whistling obnoxiously and rolls his eyes fondly. It's only when he takes his seat and risks another look that he spots the book in Eddie's hands. The boy is making a show out of reading it; he has the book so close that it's covering his entire face.

Steve thinks it's strange until he remembers his note this morning.

It turns out Eddie's favorite book is The Hobbit.

four

tag list (closed)

@sofadofax @noodle-shenaniganery @queenie-ofthe-void @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @devondespresso

@dreamingtheimpossibe @plutoshelm @jaywhohasthegay @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie

@dreamy-jeans137 @justdrugsformethanks @estrellami-1 @travelingtwentysomething @sleepy-steve

@wheneverfeasible @bisexual-and-broke @lil-gremlin-things

sorry if i missed anyone!!

[theoriginalkaminari]

A fluffy little oneshot on Izuku x reader, where he’s just crushing on his best friend?

Lil bro I gottchu

(Hope you don't mind, but I did him as a teenager still)

This is pretty bad reading over it ngl but I can't find the right way to write it???

Enjoy at your own risk.

"Today, they had finished Uraraka's strawberry cake so it wouldn't go to waste." The green-haired boy mutters to himself as he furiously scribbles in his notebook. Izuku had found himself writing more about you everyday. Anything and everything you did interested him, even if it was the simplest thing you did.

He first excused it as nothing, he was just writing down everything you did because it would probably strength the bond you two had!

It wasn't until his mother found his open notebook that the realized be might be in love with you.

"Izuku!" Inko had said, her voice slightly panicked. "Why are you stalking this person?" She asks, holding up the notebook in confusion and worry. "I know you're a teenage boy, and you are going through some changes, but-"

Izuku blushes intensely, grabbing the notebook and holding it close to him. "Mom! No, its not like that!" He stammers, face now a heavy red. "They're just beautiful and sweet and amazing and-" He pauses, seeing the look on his mom's face. "...oh..." He mutters to himself, understanding that his feelings for you weren't platonic.

So here he was. You and the Dekucrew all went out to the mall, and had stopped at the food court to eat. Izuku scribbled down everything you did in intense detail.

Uraraka gasps. "Tsu, look! That dress is so cute! Uraraka says excitedly, shaking her friend. Asui perks up, looking at the mushroom patterned dress. "It is! Lets go check it out." She replies, taking her hand and walking towards the dress.

"Stay in groups!" Iida calls after them as he jogs to catch up with the two girls.

Izuku looks up at this, realizing that you and him were left alone, since Todoroki and Tokoyomi went to go find some food a little bit ago already.

Izuku turns red as you make eye contact with him, his palms beginning to sweat and his heart pounding in his chest.

"So, you good?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. "You've been distant the whole day." You say, genuine concern seeping into your voice. You lean closer, trying to get a read on whatevers' inside his head.

Izuku gulps and looks away, using his arms and hands to cover his face. "Yep! I'm good! Just a little...overwhelmed! By all the people here!" He laughs nervously, not daring to make eye contact with you.

You only become more concerned as you place a hand on his arm. "Hey, we can go back to U.A if this is to much for you." Your soft voice makes Izuku blush even more, his hands trembling slightly.

"No! No, I'm okay!" Izuku quickly says, standing up and stepping back. "Hey, just stay here for a sec! I gotta go find Todoroki and Tokoyomi!" He says, needing an excuse to calm himself down.

You seem slightly disappointed, and this makes his heart ache. "Right. Okay." You say quietly, placing your chin on your palm.

Izuku feels terrible for making you dissapointed. No! That wasn't his goal at all! He wants to see you happy, this isn't happy!

Izuku decides to give you a hug as an attempt to make you feel better, but when he does, he just freezes. He can't let go of the hug. He NEEDS to hold you close forever, he needs to just...stay like this. In your arms, where nothing bad could happen.

Izuku hides his face in your shoulder, his body trembling slightly as he realizes how badly he loves you.

Izuku Midoriya had a crush on his bestfriend.

(This is kinda shitty anon if you hate it you can be honest🙏🙏 love u)

[strangerstilinski]

𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙬, 𝙬𝙚'𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; it’s been a long couple of months, and after a particularly rough night, your ex boyfriend finds his way straight back to you.

warnings; no use of y/n, post s4, exes-to-lovers, description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, emotional sex, unprotected vaginal sex, a lil bit of cockwarming

word count; ~5k

a/n; i meant for this to be a quick little hurt/comfort thing but then my mind kind of ran wild and it turned into.. this. but i think i really like how it turned out sooo, y'know.. leave a comment/tag/reblog if you enjoy!

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

You're not entirely certain who you were expecting to find on the other side of your door at two in the morning, and maybe you should've given the possibilities a bit more thought before unlocking the door and swinging it open wide, effectively exposing yourself to whatever may be waiting on the other side — but you don't. And it's with a sleep-slowed brain, a baggy tshirt resting high on your naked thighs, and bare feet that drag lazy across cold floorboards, that you find yourself staring at your ex boyfriend.

Steve Harrington.

He's standing in front of you looking a little nervous, a little lost, and a whole lot like he's just come from some sort of brawl. The sudden brightness of the hallway lights outside of your apartment makes your eyes ache and you're squinting, one hand coming up to block a bit of the light just as your heart drops as you take him in.

His hair is a little longer than when you last saw him, impossible for him to keep from flopping down over his forehead while the ends curl at the nape of his neck, light shining down on the strands and streaking golden through the locks that you'd run your hands through once upon a time. But you're hardly able to process or file away those small changes when your gaze begins frantically to absorb the more important and wildly more alarming details in his appearance.

The light wash of his jeans is covered in splotches of denim slightly darker than the rest where something's been spilled down his leg, streaks of dirt rubbed into the knees like he'd fallen down, and blood — there are crimson drops of it splattered along the fabric at his thigh, likely his, likely from the split lip he's sporting, or perhaps from his bruising nose.. When those red smears crusted beneath his nostrils had been fresh and wet and had clearly dripped down past his chin and onto the collar of his shirt, which also seems to be stained in an array of red-splotched fabric.

“Fuck. Steve, what-” Your voice shakes through the sleepy rasp in your throat, blood roaring in your ears at the familiarity of it all — the scene in front of you sending that achingly familiar trickle of fear and worry and panic all racing down your spine.

“I- Hey, sweetheart.” His own voice cracks a little like his throat's been scraped raw from shouting. He's got his hands tucked away in his back pockets like he might be able to make himself small enough that you won't start yelling, his eyes sad and a little pleading as he gives you a weak smile. He lets out a small hiss of a wince when the motion pulls at the slow drying scab on his lower lip.

“Stevie..” The nickname slips out before you can swallow it down.

You think that you might be in shock, if the adrenaline shooting through your veins is anything to go by. It's making it a little difficult to think clearly as you stumble through the doorway, hands coming into contact with his chest as you brace yourself. Your thumbs find those drops of blood that are still drying into the fabric of his shirt, shaking fingers dragging over the freckles on the side of his throat on their way to his jaw.

You have to fight the instinct to linger on those faded scars encircling his neck, have to fight to push back the memories of the night that things between you had finally fallen apart — when all of Steve's half-truths and secrets and outright lies had finally pushed you to your breaking point. The night of the earthquake. When he'd shown up on your doorstep in the early hours of the morning, just like this, looking like he'd been to hell and back, in search of comfort and someone to patch him up but apparently not looking to give out any explanations for the state he'd come to you in. Not for the marks on his neck, and certainly not for the horrifying chunks of flesh that had been torn from his stomach and sides.

The fear you'd felt that night coils in your gut again. It's the very same fear that you'd endured eight months before the end, when Steve had gone awol for forty-eight hours only to find you the evening of the mall fire. That time, his left eye had been nearly swollen shut, body littered in bruises in varying shades of black and purple. You'd sat with him in the bathtub with your limbs carefully wrapped around him for hours, until the water had gone ice cold, and even after that he'd been glued to your side until morning. You'd both burrowed beneath a pile of blankets despite the summer heat, legs tangled and sweaty bodies clinging to one another. Even though you couldn't begin to understand how the fire could have been the cause of his turmoil, of his injuries, you'd still held him tight, one hand tangled in his damp hair at all times while he'd clutched onto you like you were his lifeline. The hours it had taken for the tremble in his hands to fade had nearly broken your heart.

It's all a little too much, the position that you've suddenly been thrust back into.

“Wh-? What the hell happened?” You question hoarsely.

Why you bother to ask now, you're not entirely sure. You're certainly not expecting him to give you any answers, but as your thumb pushes gently into the swelling softness of his busted lip, the fingers of your opposite hand brushing the hair back from his blood-spattered forehead, Steve sighs.

“It's not.. I was at the bar. Got into a fight.” He admits with another wince as your thumb skates up the bridge of his nose.

“Got into a fight or started a fight?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking slow between his; they're tired and bloodshot, his lashes clumped together like maybe he'd been crying, caramel swirling in the pretty brown depths that you'd been steadfastly avoiding thinking about these last few months.

A huff crackles as he tries to push a sigh from his blood-clogged nose, his hands finally leaving his pockets to hang awkwardly at his sides while he gives a small shrug, “..’was stupid.” He says in lue of a direct answer.

“I'm sure it was,” You grumble under your breath, swallowing your instincts and forcing yourself to take a small step back, your hands falling away so you can hug your arms across your own chest with a sigh, “What're you doing here, Steve?”

“I didn't know where to.. I..” The words don't seem to come and he falters, shrinking in on himself further, “I don't know.” He admits after a moment.

Your eyes close as your emotions threaten to overwhelm you, “I can't-”

“Please,” Steve nearly whispers the word and when you meet his eyes again, his gaze is a little watery, “I know you don't want to see me. I know you're still mad. And.. You have every right to be, okay? But-”

“But what?” You plead weakly, fingers digging a little meanly into your own arms.

“I just..” He struggles for a moment, hands raking through his hair and ruffling it into further disarray, “I just needed.. I..”

The fissure in your heart cracks wide, the slow healing wound tearing open to expose this gaping thing that feels a little like it might be enough to shatter your soul. Even while the more sensible parts of your brain scream at you to shut the door in his face, you find yourself taking his hand in yours, swollen and blood crusted knuckles under your thumb as you pull him into the dark apartment and close the door behind you.

You push him to sit down on the couch, a wordless order for him to stay put implied in the sidelong glance that you shoot him before turning away to move down the hall and grab your first aid kit and a wet cloth from the bathroom. When you return, Steve hasn't moved an inch, just as miserable and small-looking as you'd left him a few moments before. He's got his fingers tucked into the crook of space behind his knees, the tall streetlight across the road allowing stripes of light to cut across his hunched form, late night shadows eating up everything else.

The coffee table is nudged closer to the sofa with your foot as you sit down in front of him, your bare knees brushing filthy denim when you scoot to the edge of the table and bring the cloth up to his blood-spattered cheek. You're gentle with it, wiping at same spots a few times with the lightest pressure you can manage as the mess proceeds to smear, red-tinged streaks of water against his skin lessening with each careful swipe. Once his face is clean, you move on to the knuckles of his right hand, pulling it from where he has it tucked beneath his thigh to softly wash away the crusted blood from his split and bruising skin.

You work silently for a few minutes. The soiled cloth is dropped against the coffee table with a wet slap and you immediately turn to find the alcohol and cotton balls in the messy basket you keep stored beneath your bathroom sink.

You've just begun to open the package of cotton when Steve says your name, nothing more than a hoarse whisper to break the heavy silence.

When you meet his eyes, the desperation you find there has you faltering for a moment. The warmth that seeps into your skin from each point of contact between you suddenly seems so much stronger. Heat and nerves creep up the back of your neck as you blink at him in question.

The backs of his damp knuckles drag up over your calf before pushing into the smooth skin on the outside of your thigh, his thumb pinching lightly at the doughy flesh there, “I.. Can you..” His hand unfurls and he lets his palm settle against you, his fingertips high enough to slip beneath the hem of your oversized shirt and brush the crook where your thigh meets your hip, “I just.. want..”

He seems incapable of finishing his thoughts, but he doesn't really need to because you know. With the way his free hand comes up to push a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing the line of your jaw to your chin before catching against your lower lip in that all too familiar way, you know what it is that he's asking for.

“Steve..” Your accompanying sigh comes out a little shaky as you exhale it over the pad of his finger, your lashes fluttering as something stirs in your gut in response to his soft touch, “I don't think that's a good-”

“Please.” He whispers again — and, how could you possibly deny him when he sounds so pitiful that it wrenches at your broken heart? While his brows are drawing together like he's already bracing himself for your rejection even as his eyes remain soft and pleading?

And when the hand on your thigh pushes up to slide over the bare skin at the base of your spine, when he applies the barest pressure to urge you toward him, when the fingers on your face slip behind your neck — you're climbing into his lap with little encouragement. Your shins push into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs, hands finding the hem of his ruined shirt and guiding it up over his head in an easy movement that has his hair flopping down over his forehead again.

When your gaze drops, you allow yourself all of ten seconds to trail your fingers over the rough scars across his abdomen. The skin is a little puckered and pink, mottled in a way that it probably wouldn't be if he'd found himself at the hospital that night in late March instead of on your doorstep, but they've healed. It's a far cry from the jagged wounds that you'd tried to clean with blood-stained hands, through quiet sobs and glassy eyes. They'd been so deep, as if something had tried to carve out little bits and pieces of him over and over, like something had torn into him, like something had feasted on his flesh then and left behind nothing but the evidence of small, frighteningly sharp teeth.

Your choked questions ring in your ears even now, the way you'd begged for him to tell you what was going on, who kept hurting him like this — but as easily as your own voice echos in your memories, so does Steve's. You can still hear his agonized groans and cries of pain as you'd tended to his injuries, can still remember the sound of his desperate pleas for you to drop it, to just accept that he couldn't explain-

And you'd asked him then, if it was that he couldn't or that he wouldn't. The resulting silence from him had been answer enough.

Now, Steve seems to know exactly where your mind has gone and he covers your hands with his own, pressing your palms flat against the lingering marks on his skin.

“They're healed.” You state quietly through the emotion clogging your throat. The obviousness of the statement rings stupidly in your ears but you're not sure what else to say in the heavy silence.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, voice hoarse, “I had a pretty good nurse.. Cleaned me up real nice so that I didn't, I dunno, die from an infection or somethin'.”

A laugh pushes up from your throat that borders on a sob, “She sounds cool.” You manage, your thumbnail scraping lightly into the healed patch of skin under your hand.

“Oh, yeah, the coolest.” Steve tells you with the barest hint of a smile pulling at the unbruised side of his mouth. “You okay?” He asks quietly after another moment of silence.

“Yeah. Yeah, 'm fine.” You tell him with a shake of your head.

“Sweetheart..” Steve starts slowly, “I want.. Shit, I- I want you so bad right now, but if you don't want this-” When his hands move to the hem of your sleep shirt, his eyes meet yours in silent question, and your head is nodding a little wildly in approval before you can begin to think too hard about it.

His hands nearly burn with every brush against your bare skin as you strip one another down to nothing, his touch leaving behind invisible streaks of something heavy and terrifyingly melancholy, something that you're sure will linger painfully in your chest long after he's gone and left you with a broken heart and an ever growing list of unanswered questions.

“I still have to clean your cuts.” You tell him quietly.

Steve's eyes only rake over your naked body for a moment before his gaze settles back on yours, “Okay.”

You settle over his lap again and wet a cotton ball with alcohol, “It's gonna hurt.” You warn in a whisper.

“I know.” Steve returns just as softly.

Bracing one hand on the side of his neck, you dab featherlight over his split lip. Steve's jaw clenches at the sting as it seeps into the cut and you murmur a soft apology while you continue to clean the area with careful fingers.

Steve's hands settle on your hips and his eyes flick between yours as he waits for you to meet his gaze. When you look up from his swollen lower lip, he gulps, adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“Is this okay?” He asks, fingers digging into your flesh a little as he pulls your hips until your groins align nicely.

“Yeah.” You murmur, dabbing at the cut on his lip again just so that you have an excuse to look away from his eyes.

Your heartbeat ricochets against your ribs sharply as Steve guides you to grind slow over his lap, the warmth of him wedged between your spread folds. The way he manhandles you isn't rushed, the movement not nearly as desperate as you'd been expecting from his plea for intimacy. It's slow and quiet and filled with a weight that you wouldn't quite be able to explain if you tried.

It doesn't take long for his cock fatten up and grow stiff underneath you, his length and the patch of hair surrounding it both streaked with slick where your wet cunt has been dragging back and forth. You're both breathing a little heavy as you finish cleaning the cuts on his lip and the bridge of his nose, your faces close though neither one of you make any move to close the distance.

Steve curls an arm around the back of your thigh as he reaches around to guide himself toward your entrance. A breathy sound falls from your lips when you roll your hips back and feel his tip catch, just barely pushing in. He's as thick and warm and perfect as he's always been, and that hunger to have all of him spreads down the back of your tongue like warm honey, but the moment you spread your thighs a little farther to take more, Steve is stopping you.

“Wait, wait, wait. You.. Are you sure you're okay with this?” He asks suddenly. His fingers are digging into your hips, holding you in place to keep you from sinking farther down onto him as he awaits your response.

“Wh-?” Your jaw trembles with something like petulance, a little desperate yourself now that you can feel the fat head of his cock inside you, stretching you wide despite barely breaching your entrance, “You said that you-”

“I do. Fuck, I do, I just want to make sure you're sure.” He says it so soft, so earnest, and his concern has you feeling something resembling whiplash. The two of you haven't spoken in months, but he'd shown up at your front door in the middle of the night and practically begged for you; for your presence and your care and your body.

You want to feel angry with him. For looking out for your well-being now, for being Steve, for bringing up so many feelings that you'd tried so hard to bury, but he's looking up at you with imploring eyes — a gaze that says if you climbed off of his lap now, he wouldn't be upset with you, if anything, he'd be upset with himself and..

It has you reeling a little bit, that blooming affection crawling like rapidly expanding ivy inside your chest.

You brush that stubborn chunk of hair back and off of his forehead again, your fingers combing through to the back of his head until they can toy with the bits curling at the nape of his neck. Your mouth finds its way to the space between his brows, a shaky exhale masked by the kiss you press to his skin before dropping your foreheads together.

“I am. I'm sure.” You promise in a whisper.

When you sink down, both of you groan in synchrony, breathy and guttural. The stretch hurts more than you were expecting, but it's been months since you've done this, so you suppose that the sting from him filling you up is warranted. Your hips settle against his and his arms curl around your back to hold you in place, to hold you close. His chest is flush to yours, scattered hairs on his pecs pressed to your breasts, the tip of your nose still barely avoiding brushing against the bruised bridge of his own.

The sensation of being so full leaves you feeling a little overwhelmed, the intimacy of the moment suddenly too heavy. His breath mingling with your own and his soft hair tangled up around your fingers brings pinpricks of heat to your eyes that you stubbornly attempt to blink back.

“Hey.. Hey, honey,” Steve murmurs softly, one hand coming up to swipe a thumb along your watery lashline, “What's wrong? You okay? You hurting?”

Another strangled sounding scoff of a laugh tumbles from your lips, a weak sniffle as your fingers find their way to those smooth, faded lines along the front of his throat again, “I should be asking you that. You're the one who's had the shit beaten out of him tonight.”

“I'm fine. Two weeks n' I'll be good as new,” Steve assures you with carefully crafted nonchalance, his tear-stained thumb dragging back and forth along the apple of your cheek, “Now what's goin' on in that beautiful head of yours, huh?”

“I just..” You huff out a sigh, rolling your hips experimentally to test the ache between your thighs, “I missed you. Fuck, I- I miss you so much, Steve.”

A few tears do manage to break through then, something about the way the patchy light coming in through the windows casts a glow over his battered face, the browns in his eyes shining golden in the dark.

“Me too, I miss you too,” He rasps desperately, “Shit, honey. If you think I don't miss you every goddamn second- You're everything. You're my everything.”

He's holding your face in both hands now, palms cradling your jaw so gently, arms trembling like he's trying to fight the urge to hold onto you tighter. His restraint and his words twist sharply in your gut, something akin to dread weaving its way inside of you.

“I'm scared,” You admit, voice quiet and buried beneath tears, “I'm so scared-”

“Scared?” Steve repeats, concern flashing in his eyes, “What're you afraid of?”

“Losing you.” You gasp.

“Sweetheart-”

Your chest is heaving a little with the labored breaths beginning to tumble past your lips, “I'm gonna lose you all over again, because I can't.. It- It is terrifying. To see you hurt and bleeding and not know why. To worry that the next time might be even worse than the last and have you keep skirting around the truth or outright lying-”

“Hey, hey. Honey, hey,” Steve gives your cheeks a soft shake under his hands and your gaze falls back to his, “I'm sorry-”

“Jesus christ.” You bemoan quietly as another tear falls, halfheartedly pushing at his arms to dislodge his hands.

“No, no, I mean it,” Steve pleads softly, “I'm so sorry I kept you in the dark, I just- Shit, it's so complicated, I-”

“Asshole.” The interruption comes out a grumble under your breath, and you're gearing up to climb off of his lap entirely when his weak chuckle meets your ears.

“I am,” He nods, brushing your hair back from your tear streaked face, “I'm an asshole and I'm sorry. I- I'll tell you everything, alright? I will. I will.”

“Promise?” You hate yourself for how small you sound, how unsure and broken.

“I promise.”

You crane your neck and tilt your head to brush your lips featherlight over his, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on the mess of purple and black and red along the bridge of his nose, your thumbs gravitating yet again to drag over those smooth, barely visible scars around his neck.

“Does your mouth hurt too much, or can I-?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking between his.

“'course you can,” His hand pushes into your hair behind your ear, cupping your head to guide you forward carefully, “C'mere.”

Your mouths come together with all of the gentleness you can manage and you leave one soft peck, then two, then three. You begin to work your hips over his all the while, and neither of you can hold back a keening noise of pleasure at the slow drag of his cock inside your warm walls.

You ease back from his mouth to drag the pads of your index and middle finger lightly over the bruises coloring his skin.

“Did.. Did you really get into a bar fight?” You can't help but ask, even as you're lifting up and dropping back down hard enough to have you both letting out a breathy whimper.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, his fingers trailing along your ribs and stomach like he's trying to re-familiarize himself with every inch of your skin, “I.. It's possible I have some unresolved anger or something from- After everything that happened. Sometimes it kinda takes over, like tonight, and then I pick a fight I know I can't win, but.. 'm not lying to you anymore. I mean that.”

You nod and his arms curl around your back to pull you impossibly closer. Trapped in his embrace, you can't do much more than grind on him with slow swivels of your hips, the head of his cock rubbing at that spot on your inner wall that has your brows pulling together in pleasure.

He's so close like this. His chest hair drags against your bare breasts and your tummies are pressed together and the sweat on his forehead mingles with your own. You feel warm — in the physical sense, yes, but also in your stomach, in your bones, in your heart.

“I love you.” Steve says with emotion, like he's feels that warmth too.

Your eyes prickle a little traitorously, fingers toying with the soft ends of his hair, “I love you,” You manage in a choked gasp, “I love you.”

“Ho- Shit..” Steve groans, chin tipping up toward the ceiling for a moment as he throws his head back, “You feel so fuckin' good, honey.”

“Y'r cock feels good,” You pant in response, “So good. So big. I- Fuck.”

“So tight,” He mutters, sitting up a little straighter to meet every roll of your hips, “So perfect. 's like you were fucking made for me, you know that? Take me so well. You were made for this, for me-”

The way that your clit is rubbing against the thatch of hair on his pelvis has you a little dumb already, and his lust-fueled rambling only intensifies your budding orgasm, both of your thighs slick with how fucking good it feels to have him inside of you again. You nod in agreement to his words and manage to give a small whimper, but it seems that he's not done yet.

“-Missed this so much. Missed you, missed this.. Fuck. Honey, I love you. I love you. I-”

“Steve,” You whine, “Love you too.”

His tanned cheeks have gone a little pink beneath the dusting of bruises on his face, breathy groans fanning out past his busted lip. The pretty little noises of pleasure that he can't seem to hold back have you reeling, your gut twisting with heat at the sight of him, the sound of him.

“So goddamn wet for me, honey,” Steve grumbles, his voice catching in a way that has your cunt clenching down on him, “Listen to her. You hear that?”

You do. There's a lewd squelch emitting from the place where you're joined, the sound filling the otherwise quiet apartment every time that your hips roll at just the right angle. It happens again just then, his cock stretching your hole wide enough for the drag of slick and air to create a mildly embarrassing noise that has Steve giving another needy groan, his hips bucking up into yours.

“God, fuck, please tell me you're getting close,” He nearly whimpers, lifting up off of the couch to drive up into you again, “Please, I'm getting so close, babe. Need you to come.”

Euphoria licks up your spine in a white-hot flame, your weight bearing down that much harder to apply more pressure on your puffy clit. Sweat trickles down your spine, disappearing beneath Steve's forearms where they're looped tight around you.

“Mhm,” You hum, the sound catching in the back of your throat, “M'gonna come, Stevie. Y'r gonna make me come.”

Your hips roll a little faster and Steve continues to buck up into you, his cock pressing so, so nicely against the spot that has your brain whiting out a bit at the edges.

“Come on, sweet girl. Come for me,” Steve moans, warm breath fanning out over your lips, “Please, honey. Please come on my cock. Shit, I need it. Need you t' come, please.”

“I am, I am, I am,” You babble desperately, “M'gonna, fuck, fuck, 'm-”

The knot of pleasure in your gut twists sharply and you cry out, face burying in his neck with a whiny gasp as your orgasm crashes over you. Your cunt tightens and trembles around him and a deliciously choked sounding moan tears past Steve's lips as he finally lets his own release wash over him.

The warmth of his come coating your insides has you fluttering around him further, your hands grappling restlessly for any part of him to hold on to, his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders, his biceps. Breathy little whines and gasps and groans tumble from both of you as you ride it out, the trembling tenseness in your muscles releasing all at once as you go limp in his arms.

It takes a minute, but you eventually come back to yourself a little, peppering a delicate kiss to that infuriating strip of scar tissue along his throat before you're pushing up with weak limbs to look at the man underneath you.

“Hey.” It comes out in a murmur, a breathless little thing that leaves you feeling kind of silly, but your brain hasn't yet recovered enough to work at its full-capacity.

Steve only grins, his lips curling to reveal perfect teeth, a pretty smile pulling at his busted and bruising lips. His eyes twinkle in the patchy darkness of your living room, a pretty mosaic of brown and gold and speckles of green catching in the light and forcing your heart rate to tick up in adoration.

“Hey, honey.” He returns sweetly, one arm uplooping from around your spine so he can reach up to push the sweaty flyaways back from your face.

You can't help but shift over him, sore legs flexing where they're spread over his hairy thighs, a trickle of warmth leaking out from where you're still joined and dripping down into the thick hair at the base of his cock. It feels dirty and intimate in the best way — his come mingled with your own, your fingers in his sweat-dampened hair, his wide palms rubbing softly from your hips to your spine and then back again.

“I kinda want to stay like this forever.”

Your whispered admission has his eyes crinkling softly and he drops his forehead to your chest, his breath fanning out over your breasts as he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“You won't hear any complaints from me.” Steve mumbles into your skin.

You never want to leave this moment. Your nose pushes into his hair and you pull in the familiar melding of scents, of expensive shampoo and hairspray and an underlying smell that's just Steve. You want to stay right here, in this perfectly imperfect bubble, but you feel Steve wince when he burrows his face into your chest just a little too hard and the serenity cracks.

“Steve?” You murmur softly, fingertips scraping gently against his scalp despite the nerves in your stomach.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You steel yourself with a deep breath, “You know I'd do anything to protect you, right? You.. You know that I'll do anything for you.. Know that.. That you can trust me?” It comes out in a rush, and your nerves increase tenfold when Steve pulls back to look at you, “..Right?”

“Honey,” The endearment comes out laced with something sweet and sticky that makes it sound an awful lot like an apology, “Of course I do.”

His eyes are so soft as they flick between your own, his hands smoothing up the length of your spine in a soothing drag of skin on skin. One hand leaves his hair only so that you can trace your thumb over those two wide freckles on the apple of his cheek, a self-deprecating sort of smile pulling at your lips.

“And.. And you're gonna tell me what's been going on with you?” You nearly whisper.

His mouth finds yours to press a featherlight kiss to your lips, “Yeah, honey. No more secrets. No more lies.”

“Promise?” You ask again, lips pulling into a smile where they're still brushing his own. Your faces are so close it's hard to focus on the way his eyes shine with adoration when he looks up at you, the bruises on the bridge of his nose blurring in the darkness.

“Promise.”

[batbabydamian]

BATMAN AND ROBIN (2023) #14 by Phillip Kennedy Johnson and Javier Fernandez! rambling about the new team and arc!! a jumping-on point for anyone wanting to read recent Bruce and Damian comics 🦇🐥

setting the stage with action!! mystery and intrigue!! expectations for further character exploration for Damian!!

if that's not enough to pique interest, here's a rendition of one of the many cute grumpy Damian panels

first of all THE OPENING ACTION SCENE OH MY GOD (this splash page hello!!)

i love...the collaborative effort in comics...it shines through right from the start, especially when it involves traditional inks 😭

using this single panel as an example from Fernandez’s ig:

Fernandez lays out most of the groundwork in his inks - the fully inked silhouette of the driver in the foreground, the shading suggesting the lighting, the white ink/paint lined and splattered for the rain!!

then off to colors with Marcelo Maiolo!! he elevates the panel to emphasize how it's a shot from within the vehicle looking out the windshield - the lightly tinted inks, the bright lighting from headlights, and the slight window sheen + bokeh!!

one more similar example, with comparison by the man himself - Fernandez already implying the glare, scraping white against Batman and Robin's silhouettes. then punched up with Maiolo's colors/lighting!! WOW!!

OKAY SORRY ONE MORE along with Steve Wands’ consistently lovely lettering, Fernandez included his own sfx in his inks of this page!! not sure how often he does it past this, but SO cool!! ever since seeing Juni Ba's sfx lettering in his inks, it's such a sick extra detail to me 😭

ANYWAY i can go on about what i love about each panel for this scene but gotta move on from the explosive intro of Batman and Robin to the more grounded side of Bruce and Damian (which ends up being just as explosive)!! 🥺

there's small details carrying over from Williamson's run like Bruce making Damian vegan meals and Damian creating comics; otherwise, we have a much more engaging writing of the two almost reminiscent to Tomasi and Gleason's run!

one example being his attitude towards a fancy event interrupting his and Dick's patrol in Batman and Robin (2009) #20

the first line from Bruce and Damian's disregard for a fundraising event is a bit of head scratcher to me when Damian is plenty compassionate, BUT for the sake of a jumping-on arc for new readers it’s a clear point of reference for Damian’s character - a kid who believes more in Batman and Robin work than what could be done outside of those masks. it becomes a matter of how Damian's perspective might change around this subject and how he'll take action in helping outside of Robin 🤔

another similar Tomasi-esque moment is Damian's snark about his grandfather lol, a sentiment that carries over from Batman and Robin (2011) #1

PKJ references his Ra's al Ghul story from Gotham City Villains Anniversary Giant! especially curious when the final line by Talia is "...you will see my father again", when Ra's is currently dead. a fun lil callback or also a convenient nod to future plans? 👀

NOW THE MYSTERY AND INTRIGUE OF IT ALL...

Bruce's attention is caught by this man shouting "You sit atop the wheel" which i'm guessing is in reference to the Wheel of Fortune, especially if we're going by a literal interpretation of the rich and poor (depicting the group among tents and carts).

i'm really reaching here, but wondering if Bruce calling himself “Jack” at some point is also related to the arcana. the only relation i could find is the Page of Wands, and the Jack once being referred to as a "knave"

EDIT: an anon reached out to inform me that Bruce called himself “Jack” during his training! seems to be first introduced in Batman: The Knight (2022) #4

THE REVEAL OF THE NEW VILLAIN, MEMENTO...the first page opens on a deceased person's face, and the last dialogue is "We will see your face again." AND OH BOY WE CERTAINLY DO! 😭

the flames casting a harsh light against the plaster (or stone??) of Memento's mask, and how he looms over Bruce...SO EERIE...

FINAL RAMBLY THOUGHTS

Damian being colored with noticeable melanin...🥺 i can only assume this was a deliberate choice made by PKJ since the editors haven't changed, and for the past issues Damian's colors have been independent to the colorists - the only edit being after Rex Lokus gave him green eyes in #5 but were returned to blue in #6 (for consistency ig). along with the classic teen asian haircut, this feels intentional on PKJ's part and i hope Damian will continue to be colored brown here and other books 🥺👉👈

one of the things PKJ teased in an interview was the idea of Damian wondering if he even wants to still be Robin, much less Batman (begging this is where main canon Damian gives the Batman mantle up lol). so presenting Damian here as someone absorbed in that life makes me wonder what triggers those thoughts - is it going to be this incident or later? more currently, will Damian be able to protect the civilians that Bruce entrusted him with? especially after getting familiar with a few, however reluctantly?

anyway, a banger first issue that leaves you with just enough crumbs to know what you're expecting but still beg for more: what's the mysterious new group/villain, and their connection to Bruce? will Dr. Bashar and the Wayne grandparents have more to do with the story? how will this all affect Damian outside of being Robin? Talia and Ra’s?? so many questions!!

[yeostars]

When ATEEZ members get jealous as ur bfs, reaction post !

Hongjoong:

• tbh, he gets jealous quite often, even at the smallest stuff but most of the time he manages to conceal it well.

• He's immediately besides you and whoever that guy is that you're enjoying talking to so much, my man would literally burn holes with his eyes whenever he's jealous. seriously, he gives such an intense stare to the person he perceives as a threat, although he trusts you a lot, he tends to get a little too protective of you...... cuz he loves you so much, ofcourse. He clings his arm with yours, sending a signal that you're ready to go.

•"Who even was that?" He asks, annoyance oozing in this voice as you turn back to him. Or "I didn't know you were that close...." would be his classic statement whenever a guy he doesn't know seems to get a little too close to you.

Seonghwa:

• Seonghwa tends to get a lot more clingy than usual whenever he's jealous. Not just clingy, but he'll purposely call you as "honey" "sweetheart" "babe" repeatedly in front of whoever made him jealous and protective of you in the first place.

• Something like "babe, we're getting late, let's go." he says, while entering the scene, emphasizing on the word babe a lil too much.

• As he says this, he'll eye up the guy in front of you up and down, almost in a judging manner, and effortlessly snakes an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer to him, as if sending him a signal that you're his and his only. After you're done conversing with that guy, he'll literally jump on you, asking "what did he say to you?" demanding all details of your convo with him.

Yunho

• Another one who gets jealous more often than he wants to. If y'all remember, yunho himself admitted once that he "gets jealous too much/often" soo it's safe to say that he would be quite possessive of his s/o.

• When he notices that you're taking too much time conversing with whoever is your "new company", he crosses his arms, sighing as he watches you both, and matches towards your direction with a blank expression and sour smile (which looks kinda scary tbh)

• And then, voilà, you're getting dragged impossibly closer to him by the waist. His arm slides under your waist sideways, his grip firm and tight and that has goosebumps forming all over your skin. He doesn't even make eye contact with the guy in front of you, practically avoids him and once you're both alone, he says "do you talk to him often?" sensing that you do and he hates even the thought of you being close to him.

Yeosang

• Yeosang isn't really the jealous type. That's just how he is, and even if the slightest pang of jealousy hits him he conceals it so well that you've never seen his possessive side before.

• One day, you literally asked him out of the blue "you've never gotten jealous before, seeing me with some other guy, have you?" and yeosang laughs, literally LAUGHS because that was so random. but you sounded serious so he had to stop laughing and give you a reply. "what, you want me to get jealous? possessive? wouldn't that be annoying though?" he replied, staring at you. "why would it be? it shows how much you want me. i would actually love it if you act a bit possessive of me sometimes." you say, pouting, and yeosang just kisses your cheek, saying "alright, I'll try."

• And when the day comes when you ACTUALLY witness him being jealous for once, you're satisfied with his reaction. Yeosang noticed that you were gone away for quite a long time and went looking for you, only to find you talking to a guy he didn't know and you seeming to enjoy talking with him. Interwining his fingers with yours in a heartbeat, he asks "Hope I'm not interrupting? Y/n, love, let's go now, it's getting late." And when you're both alone, you pull his cheeks playfully, praising him and begging him to act more jealous like this cuz that's HOT of him (did I lie)

San

• He's literally both cute and scary when he actually gets jealous. He tries his best to not get jealous of the smallest stuff but sometimes he cannot hide his jealousy.

• He's the type to become restless when you aren't around. Literally staring at you both while sending death glares to the guy in front of you, his feet tapping impossibly faster on the floor.

• When he decides that it's his last straw when he notices the guy trying to get closer to you, he's there besides you in no time, smiling sweetly at you, not even acknowledging that guy. Placing a soft, quick kiss on your cheek, he brings your hand to his, suggesting you to check out those other food stalls with him.

Mingi

• He's DRAMATIC when he's jealous. When the princess itself gets jealous? It's over for you. You have to give him hundred times more kisses, cuddle him the entire night and hold his hand till eternity, all until he feels better ;D

• He'll barge in when you and the unknown guy are having a convo, introducing himself as your boyfriend. He'll literally tug on your arm sleeves, a small cute pout forming on his face and he stays like that until you exchange your goodbyes with that guy, finally alone with him.

• Rarely, he gives you silent treatment when he gets jealous. And you're always able to tell that he's jealous from the way he gets too quite rather than being talkative as usual. He denies it when you ask him about it, but immediately dissolves into a fit of giggles and a precious smile when you kiss him firmly on the lips and murmur I love you all over again. Really, that's all it takes for mingi to feel assured and happy.

Wooyoung

• 100 % scary when he's jealous. A little dramatic, might I add. He gets jealous quite often and doesn't shy away from showing that he's possessive of you.

• His last straw would be when you're flashing your incredible eye smile to that guy in front of you while talking to him, a smile that's reserved for wooyoung only. He appears being you in no time, back hugging you and wraps his arms around your waist tightly, placing his chin on your shoulder, sending death glares to the guy in front of you, not letting go of you unless that guy finally decides to leave.

• "What was so funny that you were laughing at literally every word he said?" Wooyoung asked, bitterly, lowering his eyes. "Don't worry, babe, he wasn't as funny as you. No one makes me laugh like you do, that was just a....fake laugh." You assured him, pulling his cheek playfully. He shrugs if off and makes sure to cling to you like a koala the entire day.

Jongho

• Something tells me that jongho hates admitting that he's feeling jealous. He does get jealous sometimes but it's mostly when something he senses someone else getting physically closer to you. He usually doesn't have a problem when you're just having a conversation with someone.

• So, when someone does try to get physically closer to you, he's there besides you immediately, snaking an arm around your shoulder. otherwise, he doesn't approach the person you're talking to since he doesn't want to come off as clingy to you.

• "I don't get a good vibe from him. He was trying to get close to you all the time." He admits, not out of jealousy, rather protectiveness. "If he was, i wouldn't let him. Don't worry babe, he was just an acquaintance." You assure him, kissing him lightly on the lips, causing jongho's cheeks to heat up as he hums, satisfied.

[joelsrose]

Drunk Confessions

No warning just tension, angst, and fluff xx enjoyyyyy Side note: I think my kink is men taking care of me xx READER is early 20s Joel is hot dilf age - ALSO I lowkey did not proof read this soooo

Summary: Joel is seeing someone and you’re jealous, you get a lil drunk and feelings are revealed ..

You’d known for a while that there was something between you and Joel Miller—something unspoken but undeniable. He was Sarah’s dad, your best friend’s father, and that should have been enough to keep any feelings at bay. But it wasn’t. It was there in the way he looked at you—deeply, knowingly, tenderly. How his voice softened when he asked about your day, like he wanted to hear every little detail. And in those fleeting moments when your hands brushed, his touch lingering just a bit longer than it should have.

It wasn’t anything you could put into words, nothing either of you had ever dared to speak aloud, but it was real. You both felt it. It simmered beneath the surface, bubbling up in those quiet moments when no one else was looking.

Like the time Sarah teased you about a boy at the kitchen table, laughing about some guy from your class who’d been texting you. You’d tried to laugh it off, but the whole time, you felt Joel’s eyes on you. When you glanced over, his brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. The look he gave you wasn’t exactly angry, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. Sarah hadn’t noticed—she was too caught up in her teasing—but you had. The way Joel’s eyes darkened, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly—it said more than words ever could.

Or the time you’d come by in the pool, just casually hanging out on a summer afternoon. You’d felt Joel’s gaze on you the moment you stepped out of the water, your skin glistening in the sun. His eyes had lingered, unable to tear away, and for a moment, you’d felt the heat of his attention as clearly as the sun on your back. He’d quickly averted his gaze when Sarah splashed him, but you saw the way he looked at you from the corner of his eye, the way he shifted in his chair, trying—and failing—not to be obvious.

Then there were the movie nights. The three of you would settle onto the couch, a cozy tradition that never felt quite innocent when Joel sat beside you. His shoulder would press against yours, his knee brushing yours, the heat of his body radiating through the small space between you. Sarah would always be sprawled on the other end of the couch, completely absorbed in the movie, but you?

You couldn’t focus. Not when Joel was so close, his presence overwhelming, consuming every ounce of your attention.

And then there were those moments—when Joel would lean in, his breath warm against your ear, whispering something about the movie, but neither of you were really watching. His voice would send shivers down your spine, and you knew it wasn’t the words that mattered.

It was just an excuse.

An excuse to be close, to share something quiet and intimate that no one else could see.

Every time he whispered, you’d nod or laugh softly, even though your heart was pounding too hard to really process what he was saying. The nearness of him, the way his arm would brush against yours, or how his leg seemed to press just a little closer—it was all a silent conversation between the two of you. You both knew.

You weren’t really watching the movie at all.

That’s why it hit you so hard when Sarah casually mentioned over lunch that Joel was seeing someone.

•••

It had been a normal afternoon. You and Sarah were tucked away in your usual spot at the café, sipping iced lattes and catching up on the week. The conversation was light, filled with laughter, until Sarah said something that made the ground shift beneath you.

“Hey, did you want to order takeout tonight? Dad’s not home, so we’ll need to figure something out for dinner,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

Your heart sank slightly at the mention of Joel, though you tried to play it off. “Oh... sure. Where’s he going?” you asked, aiming for casual.

Joel wasn’t the kind of man who liked to go out much. His routine was simple—come home, shower, have dinner, maybe watch some TV, and then call it a night.

Sarah didn’t even look up from her phone as she answered.

“Well, he’s been seeing someone, so I think they’re going out to dinner tonight.”

Her words knocked the air right out of your lungs. You froze, your coffee halfway to your lips, suddenly unable to breathe.

You and Joel had never defined what was happening between you, but you had felt it—knew it was there. And the idea of him seeing someone else had never even crossed your mind.

You felt nauseous, a sharp wave of jealousy twisting in your stomach, making it hard to think straight.

You blinked, the words not quite sinking in. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Sarah continued, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “I think one of his buddies introduced them. She seems nice.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. “Your dad… is seeing someone?”

Sarah shrugged, still scrolling through her phone, as though she were talking about the most casual thing in the world. “Yeah, I guess? They’ve only gone out once or twice, but he mentioned her again last night, so I think they’re still talking.”

Your chest tightened, a sharp pang of jealousy slicing through you. Joel, seeing someone? You couldn’t even process the thought.

It felt silly—he was at least 15 years older than you, your best friend’s dad. Did you really think something could happen between you?

The truth was... yes. You had.

What you felt with Joel didn’t compare to anything you’d felt with past flings or boyfriends. The connection between you was deeper. It wasn’t just lust—it was something you couldn’t quite explain, something that made your pulse quicken every time he was near.

And yet, here you were, hearing that he was spending time with another woman. A woman. Someone his age. Someone who had her life together, who had a career and a future. Someone he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with. The thought gnawed at you, an uncomfortable truth you couldn’t shake. Of course, she made sense. You were... what? A girl with messy emotions, clinging to a connection that maybe you had just imagined?

You nodded, forcing a tight smile, your voice barely steady. “Well... that’s good. He deserves someone nice.”

“Totally,” Sarah said, barely paying attention now. “He hasn’t been this happy in a while, you know?”

That word—happy—hit you like a punch to the gut. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was nod, your thoughts spiraling as jealousy churned through you. You ached at the idea of Joel being unhappy, of him coming home to an empty house, no one to share the intimate moments of his life with. You’d seen it in him, the loneliness he never spoke about. And part of you had wished—hoped—that maybe you could be the one to fill that space, even if you never said it out loud.

But now... now someone else had stepped in, and all you could do was sit there, trying not to fall apart.

•••

When you got home, you couldn’t stop thinking about what Sarah had said. It played on a loop in your mind, refusing to fade, no matter how hard you tried to push it away.

Hours had passed since you left Sarah’s, but you hadn’t been yourself. Sarah had noticed—you could tell by the way she’d looked at you, concerned, asking if you were alright. You’d brushed it off, made some excuse about being tired, but the truth was, your mind was trapped on a single, unbearable thought: Joel with someone else.

Joel was seeing someone.

You lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the room dark and silent around you, but your thoughts were anything but calm. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind betrayed you, spinning images you didn’t want to see - The thought of Joel holding her, of his lips on hers, of him kissing her neck in that way you could only imagine... your chest tightened painfully, your breath catching as nausea bubbled up inside you.

What if he brought her home? What if he took her to his room? What if, right now, as you lay here, they were together, his hands tracing her body the way you wished he would touch you?

You tossed restlessly under the covers, trying to will the thoughts away.

It was ridiculous.

You felt ridiculous, like a naïve girl who had been foolish enough to think a grown man could ever see you as anything more than his daughter’s friend. You shouldn’t feel like this—jealous, aching over something that was never yours to begin with. But the jealousy burned through you, sharp and bitter, twisting in your chest and leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Every thud of your heart reminded you just how deeply this hurt, how much you had let yourself believe in something that was never real.

Joel wasn’t yours. You had no right to feel this way, but the ache in your chest was undeniable.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, hot and unwelcome. You hated this.

•••

The next evening, you found yourself back at Sarah’s house, but everything felt different this time. There was a strange weight in the air, something unspoken lingering between you and your own thoughts.

You and Sarah had plans to hit a new club with a few friends—a night out that was supposed to be fun, carefree. You told yourself you were excited, eager even, to drown your thoughts in music, drinks, and the chaotic blur of a crowded dance floor. You just wanted to get Joel out of your head, to lose yourself in the noise and forget the ache that had been gnawing at you since the day before.

As you stepped through the front door, the low hum of the TV filled the air, barely audible over the soft clink of ice in a glass. Joel was there, relaxed in his usual spot, sipping something dark—whiskey, by the looks of it. The sight of him hit you like a wave, your chest tightening with that all-too-familiar ache. He looked impossibly good, the dim light casting shadows that highlighted the rough edges of his face. You forced yourself to stay composed, to hide the way he made your pulse race every time you saw him. But it wasn’t easy—it never was with Joel.

Joel glanced up as you entered, his dark eyes immediately finding yours, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a slow, familiar smile. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice a low rumble, smooth and warm like the whiskey in his glass. There was something about the way he said it—so effortlessly affectionate—that always seemed to tug at you. His smile was genuine, the kind that made it seem like he was truly happy to see you, as if your presence brightened his evening. But tonight, you barely managed more than a fleeting glance in his direction, your response a simple nod.

You could feel the weight of his gaze following you as you moved across the room, thick with unspoken tension, but you kept your expression steady, your back turned as you avoided the magnetic pull of his eyes. You weren’t letting him see how much he affected you—not tonight. Even though the air seemed to hum between you, charged and waiting for something to break, you refused to give in to the tension that stretched in the silence.

He noticed. You could tell by the slight furrow in his brow, the subtle way his gaze lingered on you, longer than it should have. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was something more, maybe concern, maybe confusion, burning quietly in the space between you. His eyes tracked your every movement, waiting for a crack in your composure. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you brushed past him, your heart pounding a little harder than you’d like to admit, and made your way upstairs to Sarah’s room, the tension between you two left unresolved, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Inside Sarah’s room, the familiar comfort did little to quiet the storm swirling within you. You exhaled slowly, hands trembling slightly as you unzipped your bag, pulling out the dress you’d been thinking about all day. You’d chosen it with care—something that hugged your body in just the right places, a dress meant to turn heads. As you held it up, it felt a bit foolish, maybe even childish, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the truth. You wanted Joel to see you in this dress—to see you—and understand exactly what he was missing.

•••

You and Sarah were in her room, music blaring as you both got ready for the night. She was dancing around, fixing her hair in the mirror, while you finished adjusting the straps on your dress. When Sarah finally turned around and saw you, she let out a low whistle, her eyes widening in appreciation.

“Damn, girl! You’re gonna have some boys’ heads turning tonight,” she teased with a grin, looking you up and down.

You gave her a small smile, but inside, you didn’t care about anyone else’s attention. The only head you wanted to turn tonight was Joel’s.

Sarah, still humming along to the music, grabbed her makeup bag and headed toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna finish up real quick,” she called over her shoulder. “Be right back.”

The moment Sarah disappeared, the room seemed to quiet, despite the muffled pulse of music in the background. You stood in front of the mirror, your heart racing as you took in the way the dress hugged your body, the fabric clinging to every curve. It made you feel powerful—an unfamiliar but intoxicating sensation. Your thoughts drifted to Joel downstairs, likely still lounging on the couch, the cool rim of a glass pressed to his lips as he took another slow sip. You could almost see the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes lingered on you earlier—something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. You couldn’t help but wonder: Was he thinking about you now, too?

Then came the knock.

You froze, turning toward the door just as it cracked open, revealing Joel standing in the hallway. His eyes flicked down to the dress, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as he leaned casually against the doorframe, but his gaze betrayed him. It wasn’t just a glance—it lingered, dark and heavy.

“Can I come in?” His voice was low, husky, with a rasp that made the question feel more like a suggestion, something intimate.

You swallowed, your breath catching in your throat, but you forced yourself to sound casual. “Sure,” you managed, though your heart was pounding, wild and out of control, as you pretended to calmly fasten your earrings.

As Joel stepped inside, the room seemed to shrink, the air around you growing warmer with every step he took.

“While you’re here... zip me up?” you asked, your voice dropping to a soft whisper as you glanced at him through the mirror, catching his gaze.

You turned your back to him, pulling your hair to the side, exposing the open zipper of your dress and the bare skin beneath. You weren’t wearing a bra, and you knew—you knew—he’d notice. The thought sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted him to notice.

There was a beat of silence—thick, charged—before you heard him step forward, the sound of his boots against the hardwood floor sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat radiating from him as he stood close behind you, the space between you disappearing.

His fingers brushed lightly against your bare skin as he took hold of the zipper, his touch deliberate but achingly slow. You could feel every inch as he pulled the zipper up, your eyes glued to the mirror, watching the way his gaze lingered on your back, his brow furrowed in concentration. The soft sound of the zipper filled the room, like a quiet confession neither of you were ready to make.

When the zipper reached the top, his hand didn’t move. Instead, it lingered at the nape of your neck, his fingertips grazing your skin, sending waves of heat through you. You kept your eyes on him in the mirror, the tension between you palpable, so thick you felt wobbly at the knees.

“Thank you,” you murmured, trying to break the silence that had grown heavier with every passing second. Your voice was soft, shaky, and did nothing to ease the pounding of your heart.

But Joel didn’t move, his hand still resting at the base of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not seriously going out like that,” he muttered, his voice low, rough, each word laced with something that felt like barely contained frustration.

You could feel his hesitation, his restraint, but also something more—a pull that neither of you could deny, even if no one was willing to say it.

You turned to face him fully, your heartbeat quickening as your eyes locked with his. The tension between you seemed to thicken, the air growing heavier. His expression was guarded, almost unreadable, but you didn’t miss the flicker of frustration beneath the surface. It simmered there, unspoken emotions straining to break free, though neither of you dared to acknowledge them. His gaze was dark, intense, and unwavering, holding you captive as if he were on the edge of saying something, but not quite ready to let the words escape.

“Why do you care?” you asked, the bitterness slipping through. The question hung between you, heavy with all the things you hadn’t said, all the mixed signals and lingering tension. You weren’t accusing him, but there was a challenge in your tone, one that dared him to answer.

Joel’s eyes flickered with something that made your chest tighten. Sadness, maybe. Hurt. Whatever it was, it passed through him so quickly that if you hadn’t been looking so closely, you might’ve missed it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch, his jaw tightening for a brief moment. His gaze dropped, like he couldn’t meet your eyes for too long, and when he finally did look at you again, that flash of emotion was gone, replaced by the familiar guarded look he always wore.

“You know why,” he said, his voice rougher now, but quieter, almost resigned. There was a heaviness to his words, like he wasn’t just talking about the dress anymore.

But before you could say anything else, before you could unpack whatever was behind those words, the sound of Sarah’s footsteps echoed down the hallway.

The tension between you and Joel hung in the air, thick and unresolved, as Sarah emerged from the bathroom, humming along to the music. She barely noticed the charged atmosphere in the room, oblivious to the silent exchange that had just occurred.

“Ready?” Sarah chirped, grabbing her purse and slipping on her shoes.

You nodded, trying to compose yourself, smoothing out the fabric of your dress as if that could ease the pounding of your heart. You could still feel the heat of Joel’s gaze on your skin, the weight of the words you had thrown at him lingering between you.

Just as you and Sarah reached the door, Joel’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“You two be careful out there,” he called, his tone casual, but when you turned to glance at him, his eyes were fixed on you. His gaze lingered, darker than before, filled with something unspoken, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as your eyes locked with his. The tension was unbearable—like you were both standing on the edge of something, teetering on the brink of an unspoken understanding that neither of you dared to name.

“We’ll be fine, Dad,” Sarah replied, rolling her eyes playfully as she grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the door.

Just as you and Sarah reached the door, you felt Joel’s eyes on you again. There were no words this time—no warning or direct instruction—but the weight of his gaze said everything he couldn’t. His eyes locked on yours, dark and intense, silently pleading with you, filled with something unspoken. You felt it—his concern, the tension, the possessiveness that simmered beneath the surface.

It wasn’t something he could say out loud, not with Sarah there. But the message was clear: be careful. He wasn’t just telling you to stay safe—he was telling you that he cared, even if he didn’t have the right to admit it.

Then, with one final glance, you turned and walked out the door with Sarah, the weight of Joel’s unspoken words still lingering in the air.

•••

The party was loud, chaotic. The bass thumped in your chest, the flashing lights casting wild shadows around the room as bodies moved in rhythm with the music. It should’ve been fun—Sarah was laughing, wrapped up with the guy she’d been seeing for a while, completely lost in her own world.

But for you, the noise, the people, the alcohol—it was all too much. You felt disconnected, like you were going through the motions, doing anything to drown out the ache gnawing at you from the inside.

You downed another drink, the bitter taste barely registering as the alcohol coursed through your system, numbing the edges of your thoughts. Boys came and went, flirting, dancing, pulling you into their arms, but none of it mattered. You didn’t care about them, couldn’t even remember their names. You were drunk, too drunk, swaying to the beat as if it could drown out the burning jealousy and hurt that had been twisting in your chest ever since Sarah told you about Joel seeing someone else.

Your skin felt too hot, your vision blurred, and still you kept dancing, moving through the haze. Every touch, every laugh felt hollow, and you knew you were only making things worse, but at this point, you didn’t care. You just wanted to forget.

But no matter how much you drank, how much you let the boys’ hands linger on your hips, the ache stayed—Joel stayed—burning at the back of your mind. The thought of him with her, laughing, touching, kissing her... it made your stomach churn.

Stumbling out of the crowd, you clumsily pulled your phone from your bag. You didn’t think about what you were doing, didn’t care. Before you knew it, you were dialing Joel.

The phone barely rang once before his voice came through the line—deep, steady, and filled with concern. “Hello?” He answered so quickly, you almost hadn’t realized the call had connected yet.

You didn’t speak right away, your head spinning, your breath shaky. “Joel...” you finally muttered, your voice thick with alcohol and something more—something vulnerable.

His tone shifted immediately, the worry in his voice unmistakable. “What’s going on? You okay?”

You let out a soft laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your ears. “I’m fine. I just... wanted to hear your voice. Your stupid Texan voice.” The words slurred together, but you couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You leaned back against the wall, your eyes fluttering shut as you mimicked him in a poor imitation of his accent, laughing softly to yourself.

“Where are you?” Joel pressed, his voice firm now. “You don’t sound fine. Are you drunk?”

You ignored his question, brushing it off. “I just missed you, Joel.” The words came out slurred, softer than you intended, but you didn’t care. The alcohol made everything feel more honest, more raw.

Joel exhaled slowly. “You’re drunk,” he said quietly, more of an observation than a judgment.

“Yeah,” you admitted, feeling the tears prick at your eyes, though you weren’t sure why. “I guess I am.”

There was a long pause. You could almost hear the tension in his voice when he spoke again. “Tell me where you are.”

You blinked, your vision blurring as you looked around, struggling to remember. You slurred the name of the club, your words barely making sense, but Joel caught enough to understand.

“Stay there,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m coming to get you.”

You stumbled out of the club, the music and laughter fading behind you as you made your way to a pair of stairs just outside. The night air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat inside, and it sent goosebumps rippling across your skin. You sat down heavily, your head in your hands, the world still spinning from the alcohol.

The breeze tugged at the hem of your dress, and you quickly pulled it down, feeling suddenly exposed as a few men walked past, their gazes lingering longer than you liked. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to make yourself smaller, wishing you could disappear into the night.

It hadn’t even been ten minutes before you heard the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck pulling up. The sound cut through the haze in your mind, and despite everything, your heart leaped at the thought of him. You lifted your head, squinting through the dim light to see him step out of the truck.

Joel’s truck came to a stop, and before you could fully process it, he was out and striding toward you. His eyes swept over you, taking in your disheveled state, the way you were sitting on the stairs with your head in your hands, and the mess of emotions written all over your face.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, but it was mixed with shame. The alcohol had dulled your senses, but not enough to quiet the guilt gnawing at you for calling him in this state.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough, thick with concern but free of judgment. He crouched down in front of you, his hands reaching out to gently cradle your face, tilting it up toward him. “I told you to stay inside, sweetheart.” His fingers were warm against your skin, steadying you, and the simple touch made your heart stutter in your chest.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft and tender, the gentle concern threading through his words deepening the ache that had been sitting in your chest all night. His deep brown eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you weren’t telling the truth.

You blinked up at him, the haze of alcohol making it hard to focus, but you nodded, a goofy smile spreading across your face. “Yeah... I’m okay,” you slurred, giggling softly. Then, without thinking, the words tumbled out, light and silly. “My prince... you’re here to save me.” You giggled again, your voice playful and unfiltered, like the alcohol had stripped away all your usual inhibitions.

Joel’s brow furrowed for a moment, but his lips twitched into a small, amused smile. “Alright, princess” he muttered under his breath, his concern still evident, but you could see the hint of affection in his eyes as he shook his head slightly at your antics.

Joel exhaled, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek for just a second before he pulled back. “Come on,” he murmured, standing up and offering you his hand. “Let’s get you home.”

You took his hand, the warmth of it grounding you as he helped you to your feet. The world wobbled beneath you, your heels making it even harder to stay upright. As you started to walk, you stumbled, your legs unsteady and your shoes doing nothing to help.

Joel watched as you stumbled again, his lips quirking into the faintest smile, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re not gonna make it far in those,” he teased softly, his voice warm and laced with affection.

Before you could even protest, Joel came to a sudden stop in the middle of the street. Letting out a soft sigh, he muttered something under his breath, too low for you to catch, and then, without hesitation, he knelt down in front of you. "Let’s get these off," he said, his voice a low, comforting rumble that seemed to vibrate through you. His hands were already reaching for your feet, gentle but determined.

Your breath caught as you stared down at him, your heart skipping a beat. There he was—Joel Miller, kneeling on the sidewalk, unbuckling your heels with the kind of care that made your chest tighten. The world around you blurred, fading into the background. It was just him—his rough, calloused hands easing the shoes from your feet with such tenderness, the warmth of his touch calming the chaos swirling in your mind.

Once your heels were off, he stood, holding them casually in one hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Without saying a word, he offered you his other hand, slipping it into yours. The way his fingers intertwined with yours felt like a quiet promise, and the warmth of his touch melted through you, steadying your heart as much as your feet.

“Better?” he asked, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar softness, the corner of his mouth lifting into a tender, almost-smile that made your chest ache.

You nodded, unable to say much as you held his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. Barefoot now, you felt more grounded, the cool pavement beneath your feet a stark contrast to the heat building between you. His hand never left yours, and you followed him without hesitation, each step feeling a little more certain with him by your side.

When you reached the truck, he opened the passenger door for you, his hand still resting against your waist. His touch lingered there—gentle, protective, and full of something unsaid—as he helped you inside. For a moment, everything felt quiet, the only thing you could focus on was the warmth of his hand, the way it stayed just a second too long, like he couldn’t quite let go.

Once you were settled in the seat, you leaned your head back against the headrest, the familiar scent of the truck calming you slightly. The ache in your chest was still there, but for now, it was dulled by Joel’s presence and the steadying comfort of his hand in yours.

You relaxed into the seat, your body easing against the soft hum of the truck as it rumbled beneath you. Once inside Joel’s hand wrapped around yours again, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles against your skin. The simple gesture sent warmth spreading through you, soothing the turmoil inside your chest.

You turned your head slightly, letting your gaze linger on him. In the soft glow of the streetlights, Joel looked perfect—like something pulled right out of a dream. The flickering light highlighted the strong lines of his jaw, the stubble darkening his skin, and the quiet focus in his eyes as he watched the road ahead. He seemed so calm, so steady, but there was something about him that made your heart race, something more intense under the surface.

His music played softly in the background, some low country tune that matched the rhythm of the night. The gentle vibrations of the truck beneath you, combined with Joel’s presence, lulled you into a strange kind of peace.

Then, as if sensing your gaze, Joel glanced over at you, his eyes catching yours. A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “See something you like?” he teased, his voice low and amused.

You blinked, the alcohol in your system making you bolder than usual. You didn’t break your gaze, your lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah,” you murmured, the word slipping out before you could stop it. “I do.”

Joel’s smirk faltered, his eyes flickering with something unreadable for just a second. But then, he chuckled softly, shaking his head as he looked back at the road, his thumb still tracing those slow circles on your hand. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he muttered, his tone gentler now.

For a while, the world outside the truck didn’t matter. It was just you and Joel, the low hum of the engine, the soft country music, and the steady rhythm of his thumb against your skin. It felt safe. It felt like home.

By the time the truck pulled into Joel’s driveway, the exhaustion had hit you full force. The alcohol was still buzzing in your veins, making everything feel soft and blurry, but the warmth of his hand in yours and the gentle rumble of the truck had lulled you into a sense of safety. When Joel parked and turned off the engine, he glanced over at you, his eyes soft, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re staying here tonight,” he said, his voice firm but gentle, as if there was no room for argument.

You nodded, too drained to protest, even if you wanted to. Joel got out of the truck and came around to your side, opening the door and helping you down. “You okay?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Yeah,” you mumbled with a grin, “just glad I didn’t puke in your truck.”

Joel smirked, shaking his head. “Well, I’d call that a win,” he said, his tone light but still laced with that underlying concern. His arm wrapped around your waist as he steadied you, guiding you inside. The cool night air brushed against your skin, making you stumble slightly, but Joel’s grip tightened, keeping you close.

He led you upstairs, his hand steady at your back, and as you reached the landing, you realized where he was taking you.

His bedroom.

Not Sarah’s room like you’d expected, but his.

•••

You’d never been in Joel’s room before. It was simple yet felt so unmistakably him—cozy, masculine, lived-in. The dark wood furniture had a worn-in charm, the edges softened from years of use. A sturdy dresser stood against one wall, a few framed photos resting on top, slightly tilted as if they had been placed there without much fuss. The photos caught your eye—snapshots of moments frozen in time, perhaps memories of Sarah or long-gone friends. They were subtle reminders that this space, though private, was full of history.

Among them, one stood out—a Polaroid of you, wearing Joel’s oversized cowboy hat, tilted haphazardly on your head, your smile wide and genuine. The sight of it made your heart lurch. He’d kept it, placed it here, in his space, like you belonged among the memories that meant the most to him.

The soft scent of him lingered in the air, enveloping the room in a mixture of soap, cedarwood, and something distinctly Joel. It was a scent that was comforting yet intimate, drawing you in and making you feel even more aware of his presence. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows and giving the space a warmth that made your heart flutter.

It was his space—private, understated, but deeply comforting. It felt like stepping into a part of Joel you hadn’t seen before, a part that was both vulnerable and unguarded.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of the day finally settling in your bones. Joel knelt in front of you, his hand gently resting on your knee, giving a soft, reassuring squeeze. “Stay here,” he said, his voice low and soothing. The tone wasn’t a command, just a quiet promise that he’d be back.

As if you’d go anywhere else.

You sat there, staring down at the soft folds of his sheets, the smell of him lingering in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Being in his space felt overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It was intimate, comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. You could still feel the imprint of his touch on your knee as if he’d left a part of himself with you in those few moments.

A moment later, Joel returned, a glass of water in his hand. He handed it to you, his gaze steady, watching carefully as you lifted it to your lips. Your hands trembled slightly as you took a sip, but his presence was grounding, his silent reassurance calming your unsteady nerves.

“You wanna get out of these clothes?” he asked softly, his voice gentle yet filled with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability wash over you, before nodding. “Yeah... can you help me?” you murmured, the alcohol still fogging your mind as you reached clumsily for the hem of your dress. But your fingers fumbled, and before you could struggle any further, Joel was there.

His hands were steady, so sure, as he carefully took over, guiding you out of the dress with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. There was no awkwardness, no tension—just Joel, completely focused on making sure you were comfortable, his movements deliberate and respectful. He pulled one of his old t-shirts from the dresser, the fabric soft and worn. As he slipped it over your head, the scent of him—clean, earthy, undeniably Joel—surrounded you, comforting in a way that made your chest ache with something unspoken. The intimacy of it all made you blush, the closeness overwhelming.

By now, you were barely keeping your eyes open, your body heavy with sleep. But when you glanced at yourself in the mirror across the room, you caught sight of your reflection and winced. You looked like a mess—your makeup smudged, your hair a tangled wreck.

You frowned, your voice barely above a whisper. “I look awful.”

Joel chuckled softly behind you, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. Without a word, he disappeared into the hallway, his absence leaving the room feeling colder. A moment later, he returned with a makeup wipe from Sarah’s bathroom.

He crouched down in front of you again, his presence grounding you as he gently tilted your chin up with his hand. You could feel the warmth of his fingers, steady and reassuring.

You stared at him, your breath catching as you shamelessly took in every inch of his face—the lines of his jaw, the softness in his eyes, the way his brow furrowed with quiet focus. You memorized it all, imprinting the image in the back of your mind, like you were afraid you might forget this moment.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, pulling you out of your trance.

“Wait,” you whispered, stopping him mid-motion. “Let me look at you.”

Joel paused, his eyes widening slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard, but you had a way of doing just that.

Without hesitation, you reached up, your hands gently cupping his face. The alcohol made you bold, disinhibited—you didn’t care about the rules or how vulnerable this made you. All you cared about in that moment was him.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmured, your words soft but honest. Joel blinked, clearly thrown off by the compliment, a deeper blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Pretty, huh?” he finally joked, once he regained his composure, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, pretty, handsome, whatever you wanna call it,” you replied, giggling softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “You’re the prettiest man I ever saw.”

Joel stared at you, momentarily speechless, his eyes searching yours as if trying to process your words. The teasing faded into something deeper, and you could feel the weight of the moment settling between you both.

Joel’s smirk faltered as he looked at you, something more serious flickering behind his eyes. “And you’re drunk,” he said again, his voice low, but this time, there was a weight to his words, like he was trying to remind himself just as much as you.

“Pfft, so what?” you replied, your voice slurring slightly, but the alcohol only made you bolder. “Drunk words, sober thoughts... or whatever they say.” You smiled at him, but there was something fragile beneath the playfulness, something you couldn’t quite hide anymore.

You stared up at him, your fingers still resting on his face, tracing the line of his jaw. The question slipped out before you could stop it, softer than before. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Joel froze, his breath catching, his eyes darkening as they searched yours. His grip tightened on your hand, but he didn’t answer right away. “Don’t...” he muttered, his voice rough, strained, like he was trying to pull himself back from a line he wasn’t supposed to cross.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly, and you leaned in, closer, the tension between you thick, almost suffocating. “Do you?” you repeated, but this time, it wasn’t just about being pretty. You were asking him something deeper, something you didn’t even have to say out loud.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling sharply as if he was trying to gather himself. “You’re drunk,” he said again, his tone more gentle, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze flickering down, unable to meet yours. His jaw tightened, like he was fighting with himself, struggling to keep control.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper now, your heart pounding in your chest as the tears started to well in your eyes. “Do you feel it too?”

Joel’s grip on your hand trembled slightly, and his jaw clenched. He finally looked up, his eyes locking with yours, and for a moment, you saw everything in his gaze—all the things he wasn’t saying, all the things he was holding back. “Of course I do,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the way he said it—the weight behind his words—made your chest tighten, like you’d been holding your breath for too long.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, his tone soft, almost pleading this time.

You did as he asked, your heart fluttering as he carefully wiped the smudges of makeup from your face, his touch so tender it made your chest ache. Each slow swipe of the wipe felt like a quiet act of care, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he was doing this.

Before you could help it you opened your eyes, “Why are you doing this?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Someone’s gotta take care of you,” he teased, his tone light, though there was an undeniable tenderness behind his words.

But then, his expression shifted, and the playful edge faded. His eyes softened, and the air between you grew heavier, more serious. “Because I care about you,” he said quietly, his voice low, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should be saying it out loud.

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. For a moment, you felt your heart swell with hope, but then the doubt crept in—the memory of Sarah’s casual mention about him seeing someone else twisting in your chest.

“But... you’re with her,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Joel’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. His eyes searched yours, trying to make sense of what you meant. And then, slowly, you saw it—the realization dawning, his expression shifting as he pieced it together.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head, his voice gentle but resolute. “We’re not... anything. It was just a couple of dinners. My friend—” He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, frustration briefly crossing his face. “My friend practically dragged me into it. But... it wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything.”

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you like a quiet revelation. The jealousy that had gnawed at you, the hurt, the confusion—it all melted away, replaced by a wash of relief that left you almost dizzy.

Joel’s eyes softened as he knelt in front of you, reaching for your hand. His touch was warm, steady, his voice quieter now, a hint of something raw in his tone. “It’s not what you think,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours, full of quiet intensity. “She... wasn’t what I was looking for.”

Joel’s thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, his eyes searching your face, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. “You’re what...” he began, his voice rough with emotion, but the words trailed off, unfinished. He didn’t need to say it—the meaning hung heavy in the air, unspoken but crystal clear.

His gaze locked onto yours, raw and unguarded, and even without finishing the sentence, you could feel the depth of what he meant. He didn’t have to say it, not completely.

The weight of his words hit you like a wave, your heart fluttering, breath catching in your throat. You wanted to respond, to say something, but the flood of emotions left you speechless.

Before you could fully process his words, Joel stood, the moment slipping away as his expression shifted, becoming more guarded. It was like he was pulling back just before he let himself fall, retreating behind the familiar walls he’d built. “You should get some rest,” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with reluctance, as though he wasn’t ready to leave the moment behind.

His eyes lingered on you, the hesitation clear in his gaze. “We’ll talk more in the morning... when you’re sober,” he added, his tone a little rougher now, like he was reminding himself to hold back, to wait.

But as he turned to go, a surge of panic rushed through you. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand catching his before he could step away. “Don’t leave,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability thick in the air.

Joel froze at your touch, his breath hitching as he turned back to you, his eyes meeting yours. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you electric and thick with everything unspoken. Then slowly, his expression softened, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he gave a small nod.

“Alright,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight, a promise.

Without another word, Joel climbed into bed beside you, slipping under the covers. You instinctively curled against him, your head resting on his chest as his arm wrapped around you, holding you close. The steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body, grounded you in a way nothing else had. You could smell the familiar scent of him—soap, wood, and something uniquely Joel—and it made you feel safe, like you belonged right there.

Joel’s fingers found their way to your hair, slowly running through the strands, a soothing, absent-minded gesture that sent shivers down your spine. His other hand rested gently on your back, keeping you close, as if you were something precious he wasn’t ready to let go of.

After a while, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. It wasn’t hurried or unsure—just quiet, gentle, like an unspoken confession of everything he wasn’t saying. “I’m here,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and comforting, a promise wrapped in those two simple words.

For a moment, you held your breath, your heart pounding in the stillness of the room. The warmth of his kiss lingered on your skin, sinking deep into your bones, and suddenly, everything felt a little less heavy, a little less uncertain. The ache in your chest eased, replaced by something soft, tender, and real.

“I’m here,” he repeated, his lips brushing lightly against your temple before pulling back, his hand still resting on your back, a steady anchor in the quiet.

And as you lay there, nestled against him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, you realized that for now, it was enough. Words could wait, but this—this moment, his arms around you, his whispered promise—it was enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, he’d always be there.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

1.) Height comparisons? Tallest to shortest? I ways felt that Danny was tallest with Randy as the shortest, but Ben feels small too? And Rex feels giant.

2.) What would Jenny and Rex look like with Upgrade on them?If you have any concepts of them?

I love these little guys, btw they make me so happy!

1.) I actually have a height chart I never posted! I am STILL not completely locked in about them, but I've been holding onto it for a year, so I think I can post it since Ive not worked on it much. xD So while small details might vary in any future plot development, this is a rough height comparison for the HoMies:

My reasonings are that canonically (? at least according to Wikias) Jenny is at least 2 meters tall in the show. Which is a lil questionable, but I just headcanon her around that height, but it can vary depending on her transformations. In any case she is a tall Amazonian Mechanical Goddess.

Both Danny and Zak have very tall genes from both sides of their families. Jack F. is a freaking tank unit of a man, and while Maddie is probably somewhere above average height, her sister Alicia is built af, so there are some tall genes on their side of the family. Doc and Drew are both pretty tall, and Doyle too, so chances of Zak being on a taller side are very good.

Jun canonically has very long legs (which was mentioned as too long for an 11 y.o. to which I relate a lot, because I was very tall at 11 too xD) & Randy is a very noodly boy, so I feel like they will grow pretty tall. But Randy is also very slight in built which will make him seem smaller.

Ben in his alt futures is supposedly very tall, but Omniverse throws a curve with him suddenly seeming smaller at 16, so?? I kinda settled on him being kinda average male height, which can go either way when he gets older.

Rex is kinda opposite, because at 16-17 he is pretty tall, but not overly huge (considering that he is still shorter than Six but only a little taller than Holiday on heels, so he is taller than average female height), but I headcanon him having grown tall very early. So I kind of settled on another average that can go either way as years go.

And yes, he is a little taller and buffer than Ben, because when they swapped jackets in Heroes United, Ben's jacket is tighter on him and that fact is forever my favorite headcanon. xD

Jake and Kim are short monarchs! Well, compared to others, lol xD. In reality they are only a few inches/cm lower than average heights! I am a big fan of Jake being a short powerhouse (its also supported by his genetics, mainly by his grandfather Lao Shi, who is pretty short even when he was younger) in his human form, which doesn't affect his dragon form. Kim is a small lean power machine - she is small, agile and fast, for a normal human.

2.) Oh! I did have another idea I sort of toyed with (A sort of 'fusions' for HoMies for another old ask I got, but I never got around to drawing them lol sorry), but I never actually drew anything like that! This is a fun idea to doodle-

After the finale Rex has changed and I would like to think that Ben will notice! After all becoming a god temporarily would be something of an upgrade! xD And tbh I think Jenny, as a sentient machine would not particularly enjoy being Upgraded! It would feel a little bit like possession, but with a side effect of your guts being rearranged without your consent, like?? yikes

Aaaaaa, thank you!!! I'm so glad people get joy from this crossover, even if im so inconsistent with actually posting staff for it QvQ <3

[sillyandquiteawkward]

sillys (not so) lil info dump about how to be a human being. smiles

htbahb is an album from glass animals, of which notably, all the songs align with different people's lives, perspectives, and feelings, also of which are shown on the (various) album covers. so the easiest way to go thru the story is song by song. but i will show you the album art so you can get a gist of things before we go into details.

these are just some of the various album covers for htbahb, theres a bunch of them, but we dont need to see all of them to see the different lives of our characters.

1, Life Itself

this is our main character for life itself. you can call him a bit of a nerd if youd like. apparently his name is chuck rogers. they dont all have names.

hes an inventor, loves ray guns and strange technology, but as noted in his song, feels like he was raised with expectations hell never be able to achieve. his father as a child said he would be a superstar, but nowadays, he cant get a job and he lives with his mom. hes struggling with finding himself and his place in society and hes doing drugs and feeling like hes absolute rock bottom with everyone being against him. he feels alone and attacked and retreats back into his car or grandmothers basement and keeps folding back into himself.

in the music video for life itself, hes only seen in a few scenes, leading the charge against [popular st] with a smoke bomb as [mamas gun] watches knowingly from the sidelines as perhaps the real leader behind the assault. they seems to be accomplices with each other, as they ride in the car together and seem to be specifically looking for [youth].

2. Youth

now the main character for youth is tricky, it seems like we have two characters for youth, the small child, and assumedly, his mother the waitress. i think i like the interpretation that the mother is the main character for this song, and the child represents the album as a whole. alternatively i also like the idea that the child is youth, and his mother represents [premade sandwiches]. but for the most part, they are just both the characters for youth.

youth is a mother talking about her child, and to her child, almost in a detached sort of way as if they arent able to see each other. a mother speaking her hopes and dreams to her child. somehow these two have been separated when the child was young, perhaps through giving up to adoption, or hinted in the music video, abduction. she wishes best for the child, urges them to feel their mother at their side, and notes that theyve got her eyes. she lists off her wishes for them to be happy and have friends, and be silly. this perhaps is for the best, that they can be happy even without her. i particularly like in this song, the wordplay makes it sound like the singer is counting one, two, three, four, five, when they are singing other words like boy, to, free, funny, and fly respectively.

in the music video for youth, the child is seen almost haunting the mother as she works as a waiter, appearing in several locations playing and running around as she remains dutiful to her job. they briefly sit looking at each other in the same hotel room he had been taken to in life itself's music video.

3. Season 2 Episode 3

this is the main character for season 2 ep 3 and i think one of the cool changes between album covers, as we see a fully done up girl all put together with her make up on, and in the other, someone a bit more silly with her makeup removed. this might be the way she sees herself vs how other people see her.

the song is the lament of a boyfriend to his girlfriend, who seems to be glued to the couch, watching shows, getting high, not changing her clothes, and eating day old leftover food and most notably, mayonnaise straight from the jar. at the beginning of the song, the two of them are high together, however he soon sobers and realizes she refuses to get sober along with him. he tries to convince her that their relationship wont work if she keeps being like this and doesnt try, but she wants him back the way he was (high as well) and views him as a nag. she still makes him happy, but sometimes she makes him sad to see how she lives. even after an acceptance from the boyfriend that she wont change and will never be vertical and golden like he wants and that the relationship will never work out, the song ends hinting that hes picked up getting high with her again due to her calling him a killjoy and wearing him down.

in the music video we watch the girl splay out on the sofa, surrounded by her mess watching tv and doing nothing. halfway into the video, we are brought into the game she plays, as she battles [life itself] [cane shuga] and [the other side of paradise], all of which are men who could possibly be the boyfriend figure.

4. Pork Soda

this is our main character for everyones favorite pork soda. hes an older man, who for the most part seems pretty happy. wonder if hes harboring some long lost feelings or something.

the song opens with a street performance unintelligible to a normal listener, its like passing by a conversation, you are only able to hear bits and pieces of the spoken words. once the song starts you hear a story about this guy's girl who used to be fun and adventurous and would take him along with her. in the same breathe hes begging to go back to the days they were happy together. it seems like they fell out of love, or are in a struggling relationship bereft of communication or the passion it once had. shes only happy when theyre having sex together, and just looking at each other causes him heartache. the song talks about pineapples in my head, and being brain dead, as well as other references to diminishing mental facilities, that perhaps in their age, theyd forgotten about each other.

the music video gives us probably the most clear story line, as we see the wife prepare a meal before sending it through a dumbwaiter into the basement for the husband. there he sits alone, watching tv. up above the wife plays with their dog, imagining the dog is the younger version of her husband. all of her time is dedicated to the dog, and all of his time is dedicated to the tv. they have forgotten they love each other and live in the same house, but live in separate worlds. only after the dog destroys his tv and the husband destroys the floor above him and under her feet, do they finally get back together as he catches her as she falls, surprised and exhilarated for the first time in forever. and things seem to be better as they finally occupy the same room together again.

5. Mama's Gun

This is the main character for mamas gun. shes a victim of the perception of her mental illness. i think this is my fav song of the album.

during the song, the woman initially admits that she took her gun and made her husband go to neverland. however she also says she loved him a lot and he was perfect. through bits and pieces of the lyrics you can come to the conclusion that she has some sort of psychosis, or perhaps schizophrenia in particular as she notes many different voices and figures talking to her. the song references dr swango, a doctor who killed his patients, however he insists to her that him and all the other voices in her head are too from neverland, and that she was a murderer just like him. is she really guilty of murder? what really happened? the flute played during various instrumental parts of the song is a sample from the carpenter's mr. guder, a song about a man who does what hes supposed to in society and his job and gets nothing from it. karen carpenter herself was a victim of her own mental illness and they say that theres a specific purpose for the sample chosen. once the lyrics pick back up, the voices again pipe up and tell her she was a murderer, even the voice who had never spoken says so, so he must be telling the truth right? during the final bit of the song, it seems like her husbands voice joins into her collection of voices, as he bears a cheshire smile and asks her to lay with him once again, and that hes waiting for her. in the end, its unclear what happened with her and her husband, as she goes back and forth saying she was violent, she was doing nothing. this song was inspired by a story they heard of a woman going into a drug induced black out for a month and reappearing in another state with no memory, and the lingering fear that shes done something terrible wrong, and never being able to have the closure of knowing what happened.

theres no music video for this song, but we see her appear in life itself. she and [life itself] drive to the hotel where [poplar st] is holding [youth] captive and attempt to break into the room hes in.

6. Cane Shuga

this is our main character for cane shuga. hes exactly how he seems, a rich white guy who is, of course, using that cane shuga all day everyday.

cane shuga presents a dialogue from two parties, two people in a relationship. the singer promises he wont do coke anymore, that he wont be a john doe in the hospital. the chorus however is the high he rides on, where he thinks hes hot shit, hes 007 james bond, hes as powerful as kim jong, with a popped collar as he looks into the glare of the mirror and hypes himself up after using in the bathroom at work. hes untouchable. the second chorus is his partner, giving up on him, their love has burned up, just like his drugs. theres a humorous line of putting their foot down saying ive had quite enough, but corrects themself and sarcastically says or lack there of, that they arent being given anything anymore by him. regardless, their verses and conversation is short. the chorus of his high is the main focus of the song, and repeat over and over as the days continue.

[cane shuga] appears in season 2 ep 3's music video as [season 2 episode 3]'s potential lover. their stories do seem to entangle, they both are drug users dealing with partners who want to stop using. some people say that he is her partner, that he stops using for her, but falls back into the habit. however this doesnt exactly line up with her song, as she doesnt want him to stop. i think its part of that unreliable narrator theme weve seen in previous songs. people have different experiences with each other and get different messages due to the issue of communication. im not exactly on board with these two being together, but i do understand where people are coming from with this take.

7. [Premade Sandwiches]

this is a spoken word interlude, sped up and pitched down. there doesnt seem to be a character paired with this song, and on cd this song is simply a bonus track hidden behind cane shuga. on first listening its very difficult to catch what is being said, but over and over the speaker is talking about standing in line for various things. this song discusses mindless over consumption of drugs, of buzz words, of natural foods for your dog, watches, new clothes made to look old, the junk drawer filled with phones you dont use, with pens that dont work, with random shit you never needed just piling up. people stand in line and they dont even know why.

8. The Other Side Of Paradise

this is our main character for the other side. hes gonna be a basketball player and make it big babyeee.

so its a bit unclear and vague in the lyrics, but it seems our narrator and the basketball player used to be close friends. he even seems to be in love with the basketball player, calling him my love. but the basketball player leaves their home in new orleans to go chase his dreams out west and make it big, leaving our narrator's side. he told the narrator not to worry but after phone calls, it seems like basketball boy got a girlfriend. hes gloating to the narrator, hes got a girlfriend now, hes got a gold camaro, hes made it big, meanwhile our narrator is at the payphone hearing all this and his world turns in slow motion. no longer is the basketball player his baby blue anymore. hes moved on, hell never have another chance to love his friend. hes so angry and hurt, but he balls up his fist almost in a fight or flight reaction, and settles for the ghost of his love. hed always hoped for a paradise where they could be together but it seems like fate had other plans. he laments the basketball player for ditching them, saying here in new orleans people dont leave and ditch their lady (him). he wants to be loved and pampered by him, not her. heres where the vagueness comes back, the narrator seems to be so distraught that he rather kills himself, or finds that his body looks wrong, perhaps that hes not a girl that couldve been loved by the basketball player.

he only ever appears in the music video for season 2 ep 3 as one of the bosses [season 2 episode 3] defeats, claiming ball is life. there is a music video that was recently released for this song, however it does not depict the basketball player.

9. Take a Slice

this is our main character for take a slice, hes a bit of a slut but he makes it work :) the spoken intro to this song is the real recording the band took while talking to a male fortune teller, so the sausage candle is rather real or a lie from the fortune teller.

take a slice regales the story of a young man who finds pleasures in the sultry sexual aspects of life. hes sucking on cigarettes in a way freud would roll in his grave, hes painted his nails dark, has piercings, hes asking for another slice of cherry pie, cherries being a symbol for all things sex and lust. hes smitten with the idea of being a prize to be sought after, and after trying sex work for the first time, realizes this is the job for him. hes going to fuck his way through college, and sleep during class dreaming of you. wink. hes rolling in the dough, hes got a gold car, hes maybe dabbling in drugs too, and hes filthy and he loves it.

10. Poplar St

ms moore is the main character of poplar st, and shes a cougar, and not the good kind.

a young boy lives a typical suburban life. hes got bandaids on his knees and hes climbing trees. but one day, he sees mrs moore and mr keats have sex. immediately this drags him out of his childhood, hes such a man now that he knows what sex is. this is the first step of her grasp around him. as he gets a bit older, his mother calls her prosti-tits and looks down upon her. but the boy looks up to ms moore, despite his mothers words. mrs moore sees his desperation and pulls him into her clutches. theres a very specific voice crack when her teeth sink in deep and the note hes singing falls flat. this bit of pain expressed is highly contrasted with the chorus coming back in, the boy once again considers himself a real man, a true romantic, this is what all men dream of, isnt it? but there are dead flowers in the sand, hinting that these roses arent just romantic. the next bridge plays and interesting word switch up. it starts out with her begging him for more as she sits in her underwear, and then switches to him begging her for more in his underwear. theyve both wasted their days, but when it comes to his youth and her age, the only one wasting their childhood is him. the song concludes with mrs moore calling him up collect (so he has to pay for the phone call, not her) one day and breaking up with him. and then it all gets pulled out from under him and hes just a boy again. this tells the sad tale of how men and boys' sexual assault and grooming often is pushed to the side because they think this is how things are supposed to go, that they are supposed to have sex and to be used and abused from a woman is supposed to be an achievement. but really all it is, is abuse that leaves him feeling terrible.

11. Agnes

this is agnes :) i think it was mentioned at some point that he takes pictures of people when they arent looking, so to me, i like to think hes the one capturing everyone pictured in this album. bear witness to other humans.

the song starts out where the singer is appearing to try and comfort agnes. how did it get this bad, agnes used to just take pills and smoke a little, somethings changed perhaps. the singer notes agnes is just going through the motions every day, numb, and nervous, but hes swelling with emotion all the same. here the singer laments he wants to hold agnes like hes mine. theres a longing sadness in the lyrics. the next verse confirms the worst, while agnes was perhaps a genius when it came to the romantic, he was a deeply depressed and lonely person. he started to rely on the drugs and the alcohol he used to use recreationally, just to live a normal life. and he ultimately commited suicide. the singer wonders where the agnes he used to know went. however the singer reconsiders, and accepts that agnes did his best, life must feel so unbearably long when its soaked in sadness, living a false life filled with depression. so it goes, the singer thinks, but cant help but to feel lost. the only thing he can think of is agnes, perhaps considering all the art agnes made, all the photos he took of other people, perhaps just thinking about his friend in any aspect. grief is funny like that. on the vinyl record, this song's last seconds repeat over and over until you stop the machine from playing, like a lingering memory you cant stop thinking about.

the agnes music video is much different than the others, as it focuses on the singer, dave bayley as he sits in a centrifuge and attempts to sing the song. this causes a very physical reaction and he struggles to even lift his hand, by the end of it hes sweating profusely and unable to catch his breath, but he persists and continues singing. he mentions this was a mere fraction of what someone going through depression could feel like. during the music video as well, he appears to be looking across from a mannequin, perhaps the stand in for himself once hes put himself in agnes' shoes.

thanks for reading if you did i love being insane. all of these are my personal thoughts on the album, and might not exactly match up with your interpretation, but i have tried to keep to what we believe is what glass animals had in mind for the album and these characters.

[luveline]

hi lovely :) i have a request for you!!

i’m thinking spencer reid x reader (and platonic!bau team if you don’t mind!!) where reader is having a bit of a rough time with mental health, but is 1 year clean and they have a lil celebration? thank you!!

-🍓 (this is my application for being an emoji anon lmao)

hi, thank you! ♡ fem 1k

cw implied drug use

You're expecting your boyfriend's voice when a hand touches your shoulder, but it's actually Hotch that speaks. "Good morning. Are you feeling alright?" 

You meet his furrowed brow with a softer expression. "Morning, Hotch. I'm good, I'm," —you stretch your arms out in front of you in a lie— "just really tired." 

"Take it easy today, okay?" You nod quickly. "Okay. And Y/N? Well done." 

You enjoy the shoulder squeeze he gives you and hide your abject puzzlement as he heads up the steps to his office, briefcase in hand. It's always nice to be doted on, but what's today? 

"Hello," a new voice says, a hand again on your shoulder, ducking down to kiss you behind the ear. Here's your expected boyfriend, Spencer's voice low and spectacularly sweet, "Good morning. You're here early, I haven't even made you coffee." 

"That's okay, I can make it." 

His arms cross over your chest. He touches you so confidently, his lack of hesitance a great encouragement; it's hard to find room to feel insecure about things when Spencer seems to see no faults in you. Hard, but not impossible. 

As though he can sense your rough morning (rough week, rough month), he holds you that second longer than usual, lips like angora silk where they touch to your cheek. "I'll make it, thanks. It's the least you deserve today." 

"Right," you say. He strokes your shoulder with his thumb in farewell, leaving you wondering. Today isn't your birthday, you'd probably know if it were. 

"Hey, good morning!" Emily says as she arrives, thrusting her bag and her travel mug onto her desk before she descends on you. 

It's her hug that breaks the camel's back, so to speak. You give her hands an absent minded hold but pull back in her embrace. "Emily," you say, frowning at her, "what's so special about today?" 

She blinks like she's worried to tell you, but she gets it together and hugs you again. "You're one year clean today. Everybody's so proud of you," she says quietly. 

You almost bite the tip of your tongue off. "How do you know that?" you ask. The thing about staying clean is that it haunts you until it doesn't. Some people can't ever beat it, and some people can. It's been a huge struggle for you, but eventually relapsing stopped feeling like an option, especially while you've been with Spencer. You can't do anything to jeopardise your safety while you're with him, you just can't. (That doesn't mean you haven't desperately wanted to.)

"Well, I knew it would've been around now, but Spencer sent us a memo. Nothing too detailed, you know, but we all…" She smiles at you wryly. "We care about you so much, and we didn't get it right with Spencer." 

No, they didn't. Spencer didn't get half the support he deserved, so he's making sure you do. 

There's something of a mental block in you that doesn't allow you to cry, but this shakes you roughly. Emily gives you a sorry smile and a last quick hug, apologising that she has to go and speak to Hotch before the work day officially begins. You lean back in your chair and click dazedly on an email from Penelope detailing how deeply loved you are and wondering if you'd like to go shopping. I know today might be really hard, so if you need me you know where I am. Love Pen. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks, placing your coffee in front of you on the desk. 

"Come and sit with me for a bit." 

You don't sound like you're asking, but you are. Spencer hears the need in your demand and immediately grabs his chair to sit next to you. You're surprised he didn't squat. 

You turn your face, lay your cheek on the short back of the chair uncomfortably, and take him in. He looks great these days, the memory of a young man firmly buried beneath a well-fitting suit, a cropping of facial hair, and the subtle, lean lines of muscle especially evident as he sits back to copy you, curls falling into his eyes. "You told everyone about my anniversary." 

"Your accomplishment," he corrects quietly. "I did." 

"I do want them to know, just… I feel a bit raw." You hardly remembered yourself, though you knew it was soon. 

Spencer takes your hand, pulling the joined pair between his knees. "It's something to be extremely proud of. And there's nothing wrong with celebrating it." 

"It's embarrassing–" 

"It isn't." He sits up as someone comes closer and you follow suit. This is a complicated conversation and your simple intimacies are necessary but inappropriate in the workplace. "I'm sure there are a ton of people who find sobriety embarrassing, but those are all people who don't know what it feels like to have to do it. We," —his voice softens— "do. I know exactly how it feels, and I know exactly how you've been feeling lately, so I'm proud of you and everyone else should be too." 

"How I've been feeling lately?" you ask. 

"Come on." Spencer stands and takes your face into his hands. One is warmer than the other, and he uses it to stroke the baby hair's at your ear very gently. "You do a really good job at hiding how you feel, but you can't hide from me." 

"I'm not trying to." 

"Good," he says, leaning down to kiss you. A soft, brisk connection. "I love you." 

"Not as much as I do, loverboy!" Morgan says as he arrives, giving Spencer a little nudge as he needles his arms behind your back and kisses your cheek. 

"You're squeezing me." 

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" Morgan asks, squeezing your harder. 

"Morgan, she knows you know." 

"Know what?" 

"You didn't see the memo?" Spencer asks. 

"What memo?" Morgan grins at you with pearly white teeth and scrubs at your shoulders until you're squirming at the pressure. It's nice. "Looking good, gorgeous." 

[mxmarsbars]

obsessed with the to die for au tbh I would love to hear more about it 👁️

I’m so glad you like it!! :D

basic premise is bdubs is a starving artist and needs to get an “actual job” to keep himself afloat until his freelance stuff picks up, and that job just so happens to be at a local graveyard

he was confused why the pay was so good and the competition was so low until his first night when he quickly discovered just why nobody else wanted the shift

(it’s haunted. like mega haunted.)

the au doesn’t have a coherent story as of now, it kinda just follows bdubs as he learns to make do with the supernatural beings pestering him. I imagine it would be similar to an anthology series, something more silly lil moment based but still adhering to an overall plot!! it also gives off monster prom and vague dating sim vibes to me but it’s not a strictly romantic or platonic au ^_^ it’s up to interpretation currently

I plan to do some fun stuff with it since I actually quite like the idea (and it seems like some other people do as well, which I’m very grateful for), whether it be dumb comics or a long oneshot or series of lil drabbles detailing their adventures

I also plan to do some world building eventually!! all I know is scar runs the graveyard so do with that what you will ^_^

but yeah :3 here’s just a couple doodles I did earlier today!! might not be able to pump anything digital out for a bit because of a scary brain thing so I hope this is good for now :,) I would’ve explained it more in depth but thoughts are hard at the moment >_<

I’ll make an actual master post about it once I get more stuff figured out!! :)

[7ndipity]

“I Missed This”

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi catch up on some alone time together after the arrival of your baby.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: +18 mdni, soft smut, protected sex(wrap it up, folks!), Yoongi’s a lil sensitive, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to @vicky-chaos for this request! Love you!

Masterlist

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You don’t know why you were so fluttery as you straightened up the bedroom for what felt like the tenth time that evening, biding your time till Yoongi got home from the studio.

Everything was set, the bed was made, you’d done your hair and put on a touch of makeup, you were wearing one of your simple pajama sets that you knew Yoongi liked, you’d even lit a few vanilla scented candles to set the mood, now all that was missing was your sweet husband.

As you waited, you tip-toed across the hall to check on your daughter, Soyeon, who was still sound asleep in her crib. You leaned against the railing, feeling your heart swell as you watched her little chest rise and fall with each breath.

When you married Yoongi, you didn’t think it was possible to love anything else as much as you loved him, but you’d both found out it was very much possible when those two little lines had appeared on the pregnancy test. Somehow, your heart had managed to expand, growing to hold your love for both of them, your perfect little family, your universe.

Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the front door open and close, quietly slipping out of Soyeon’s room and back across the hall, situating yourself on the bed just before Yoongi walked in.

“Hi.” You smiled at him.

“Hey.” He returned your smile tiredly, coming over to kiss you gently before settling beside you on the edge of bed with a sigh. “How was your day?”

“Mine was good,” You said, moving to rub his shoulders. “What about yours?”

“Long, rehearsals took forever.” He hummed, leaning back into your touch. “Is Soyeon asleep already?”

“Yep, I managed to get her to sleep a bit early tonight.” You pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, making him release another soft sigh. “Thought we could use some time alone together tonight, just us.” You mused, trailing a hand down across his stomach.

He stilled, turning to look at you wide-eyed, searching your face to make sure he was understanding correctly.

“Are-, are you sure? I mean, it’s not too soon or-?”

“I had my six week checkup yesterday.” You assured him, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth to calm him. “Everythings okay, we’re good to go.”

That was all the conformation he needed, falling on you with fervor, kissing you with so much intensity it took your breath away. He swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, begging for entrance into your mouth, which you readily granted. His hands were everywhere, seeming unable to decide on what part of you to focus on first, finally settling on your waist as he pushed you to lie back on the bed so he could hover over you, settling between your legs.

“Fuck.” He breathed, eyes roving over your form, taking in every little detail of your appearance.

He always thought you were beautiful, but something about you like this, kiss bitten lips and flushed skin, made you look positively divine.

Yoongi had always handled you with a certain level of gentle reverence, and ever since you’d gotten pregnant, it had increased tenfold. Watching you navigate pregnancy and delivery with such strength and grace had left him in complete awe, and seeing you with Soyeon had made him fall even more in love with you, if that was even possible.

He suddenly understood why women were so frequently depicted as divine beings. You were the closest thing to a goddess that he’d ever seen; so caring, resilient, beautiful. And you were his, a fact that continued to leave him in disbelief.

“Yoongi.” You whined, tugging at his shirt in an attempt to get him to do something.

“Alright, Baby, I’m sorry.” He chuckled, shaking out of his trance, leaning down to kiss you again, much slower this time, savoring your taste as he delved back into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours.

You used your grip on his shirt to push it up over his abs and chest, Yoongi breaking away from you just long enough to get it over his head, throwing it somewhere in the room before diving on you again, fumbling slightly with the buttons on your pajama top in his eagerness. Once he got it open though, he couldn’t hold back the low groan that rumbled in his throat at the sight of the lacy black bra you were wearing underneath, one of his favorites.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He groaned, making you giggle as his eyes fell closed for a moment, trying to compose himself but immediately failing as he moved to tug your shorts down revealing nothing underneath but your glistening cunt, already wet and needy for him.

Yoongi prided himself on always being so controlled in bed, so seeing him so close to falling apart already over just the sight of you, chest heaving and eyes blown wide as he spread your legs further apart, was a massive ego boost for you.

Slowly, he brought a hand down to your core, swiping two fingers through your slick folds before bringing them up to his mouth, another low noise leaving him as he tasted you.

Pushing yourself up into a sitting position, you pulled his hand away so you could claim his lips again.

“We have to be quiet.” You reminded him shakily.

“You have to be quiet.” He growled against your lips. “I’m not the screamer in this relationship.”

He pressed you back down against the mattress, kissing down your neck and chest slowly, pausing suck a spot on your collarbone as he let his hand creep back down between you to circle your clit gently, making you arch up into his hold.

Just as you felt the first hints of your release beginning to course through your body, he pulled away, causing you to let out soft whine.

“I’m sorry baby, hang on.” He said, digging around in the bedside drawer for a moment before pulling out a condom and quickly putting it on. “Wanna go with you, okay?”

You nodded, letting out a small shudder as his length rubbed against your wet heat.

His eyes shot back up to yours at the movement.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, searching your eyes intently for any sign of discomfort. “It’s okay if you wanna wait, I can just use my fingers if it’s too much-”

“Yoongi, If you don’t get inside me right now, I’m going to fucking combust.” You giggled, bringing your hands up to cradle his face, stroking his flushed cheek with your thumb.

“I’ll be okay, please.” You whispered, pulling him for a soft kiss, lips ghosting over his as you spoke, making him shudder. “Yoongi, please.”

“Fuck, don’t beg.” He groaned, dropping his head against your shoulder. “I won’t last.”

“Then don’t make me wait.” You replied, combing your fingers through his hair.

He lifted his head to meet your eyes again, a ghost of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth at your words. “Okay.”

He lined up with your entrance, hesitating for only a second as he glanced up at you one last time before pressing his hips forward slowly, sucking in a sharp breath at the feeling of your warm walls wrapping around him tightly, threatening to push him over the edge before he was even fully inside.

He inched his way into you at a torturously slow pace, pausing every time your face scrunched even slightly at the stretch, shuddering as he finally bottomed out, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Shit,” He hissed, arms shaking as he held himself up. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” You nodded, eyes closed as you adjusted to the feel of him. “Move, please.”

“Just a second.” He grunted, trying to compose himself. “If I move right now, it’s over.”

“Are you serious?” You giggled, looking up at him surprise.

“Don’t laugh.” Yoongi whined, burying his face in your neck. “This is serious.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You cooed, stroking his arm soothingly. “Take your time, Sweetie.”

Collecting himself, he rolled his hips against yours experimentally a few times before pulling part way out and thrusting back in gently, causing you both to moan in unison.

Slowly, he built up a steady pace, angling his hips to find the spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

“Y-Yoongi.” You whined.

“You okay? You feeling good?” He panted.

“Mhm,” You nodded. “Faster, please.”

He did as you asked, bracing himself up on his elbows to stay as close to you as possible as he rocked his hips into yours. “I’ve missed this.” He breathed.

He made the mistake of looking down at where your bodies connected, watching his cock slide in and out of you smoothly, shining with your slick.

“Fuck, I can’t-, I’m close again.” He huffed, almost frustrated with himself.

“ ‘m close too.” You whined, holding onto his arms tightly.

“Cum for me, please.” He said desperately, fingers seeking out your clit to push you over the edge with him.

Your whole body twitched as if he touched you with a live wire. “Fuck, Yoongi!” You whimpered as your orgasm hit.

As soon as he felt your walls beginning to spasm around him, he lost it, a choked moan leaving his mouth as he found his release, hips stuttering as he tried to push you both though your highs.

He stilled as you both fought to catch your breath, a few tears escaping from your eyes as you came down, immediately raising Yoongi’s anxieties again.

“Are you okay? Does something hurt?” He asked softly, hands fluttering over you, trying to find somewhere to touch without causing further harm. You caught them in your own grip, intertwining your fingers with his.

“I’m okay, It’s just a lot.” You assured him, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I missed you.”

He looked at you confused. “I’ve been here.”

“I meant like this.” You gestured to the way he was still half laying on top of you, still connected.

“Oh,” He flushed, suddenly shy. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

You chuckled, but didn’t comment further, laying together quietly, basking in the peace of the moment, before you eventually sighed.

“We need to get cleaned up before Soyeon wakes up.” You said softly.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Yoongi nodded, pulling out gently and helping you up.

You quickly cleaned up, just finishing up when, right on cue, you heard Soyeon beginning to stir.

“I’ll get her, you rest.” Yoongi said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before heading for the door.

“Hey.” Your voice made him stop, turning back to look at you.

“I love you.” You smiled.

“I love you too.” He grinned.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[arahdow]

WHO?! pt. 1

Pairing. Sonic x reader. Shadow x reader.

Content. fem reader. they mention another girls name as a prank. insecurities, angst but most of all hurt to comfort bcs in this house we appreciate aftercare after a sad moment. mhm humor.

Word count. 1.7 k

A/N. this is a two part post!! the reason i divided it was bcs i’m having a lot of trouble writing for silver and knuckles (i’m thinking on adding scourge too) 😫 so i’m trying to give myself some more time BUT in the meantime please have this and forgive me for not posting something of mine in a while 🤧 i assure you i’m working on different requests and ideas, so pls be patient and wait for the best!!

+ no beta read anddd a lil too ooc maybe

Sonic was always a prankster, but his prank backfired? That’s new…

Another tiring day at work, helping her coworkers get their job done even when she had her own work, doing extra hours, even walking home felt like a burden. She only wanted to lie down for at least the whole weekend. 

Sighing, she opened the door of her shared home with the blue hero, Sonic the hedgehog. He called himself a hero, something along the lines of ‘blue justice’ and she always laughed at his antics. She wanted nothing more than to hug him and sleep in his embrace.

As she walked to the kitchen, she heard Sonic humming and washing the pots he used to make dinner. He wasn’t used to cooking, but he liked to treat his girlfriend, especially when she went overtime.

“Hello.” She greeted, her voice weak as she noticed the delicious smell of the food he made.

Wiping his hands, he turned to his girlfriend, kissing her on the forehead. “Go and change, I'll be waiting darling.” 

The girl nodded with a sleepy smile and went to their room, before she could enter, Sonic yelled: “Be sure not to get asleep, Amy!” 

And it’s like her whole world crashed. Feeling like a cold splash of water running down her body, she soon felt her stomach drop. Amy? Why Amy? Was Amy there before? Why was he mentioning her? What?

A whole world of ‘what’s’ and ‘why’s’ ran through her head. Still, it wasn’t enough for her to stop feeling hungry, so, even if she wanted to stay by herself now, she knew if she didn’t eat she'd probably pass out in their shared room. 

Feeling a sting on her chest and throat, the girl changed herself and walked to the kitchen again. Her appetite forced her to meet her lover, but was he really tough? Was he still… Hers?

In silence, she sat beside Sonic starting to eat. The man looked at her confused but followed her movements without a word. She always thanked him for the food and let him have the first bite. It was a cute tradition between them and now she just went straight to eat. He couldn’t blame her, so he accepted it and kept on eating.

Sonic almost forgot the prank. Honestly, he was expecting some kind of teasing back, as his lover always had a callback, but now? She seemed too tired to add something of her own so he left it at that. 

He was ready to talk about something else when he noticed tears staining her face. “Dear? Wha-” He hurriedly went for a napkin and gave it to her. “What is it?”

The girl refused the napkin and turned away from him, her tears running free. Then he stared at her barely touched food. “Lov-”

“Why Amy?”

Sonic bit his tongue, looking at her. Amy?

“What’s with-”

“Do you love her? Again?!”

The man flinched a bit at her broken voice. His chest constricted with pain. 

“Listen, I-”

“I don’t…” The girl scoffed and braced herself. “I don’t want to know the details, just, have you fallen in love with Amy again?”

He reeled back, inhaling with insight. Oh. He. Fucked. Up.

“No, love-”

“Then why mention her? Why is her name in your lips when I’m the one you swore to spend your life with?” Sonic was already panicking inside watching the meltdown his girl was having. 

“It’s not like that!” He managed to say, stumbling on his words to prevent her from cutting him off again. “Love, it was a prank.”

The girl looked at him, her tears suddenly stopping, it almost looked humoristic if it wasn’t for the whole reason she was crying.

“I’m sorry you’d thought I could do that to you,” he explained, standing up and wiping her tears by himself with the napkin she refused to grab. “I was trying to be funny like we always are but… I guess it wasn’t the right timing.”

“No shit.” She replied, a sarcastic tone in her voice as she sighed, the weight on her shoulders disappearing. “Ah, thank chaos.”

“I mean, how could I do that to you when I already have an engagement ring somewhere in my room?”

“Yeah,” She nodded. Wait. “Wait what?”

“What?” He echoed, the atmosphere in the room changing completely as he winked at her. They were in for a long night, but first, he had to make it up to her, and he knew exactly how.

Sonic told him about it and said it was funny, so Shadow mentioned it while his partner was venting because he thought it was good timing. spoilers: it wasn’t.

“Can you fucking believe it, Shadow? My sister wants me to attend this stupid gathering, I told her it was fucking useless, I don’t give two shits about them because of what they did in the past, they never… They’ve never even fucking apologized! I’m just so mad right now, how can they be so stupid? Idiots! But you know what’s worse? The fact that…”

Shadow looked at his partner, listening intently at her venting. His gaze went in between her and her hands folding the laundry. His mind somewhere else as he recalled a conversation he had in the morning with his blue copy.

“This is a good way to cheer your girl up! Believe me! I’ve tried it before and it totally works.” Shadow looked at him, a skeptic look in his eyes. 

“Are you sure pranking her is the best way to cheer her up? But why if it’s something vulnera-”

“Naaah, I don’t think anything is that bad that you have to care too much about it.” Sonic explained while munching on his fifth chili dog of the day. “And besides, it’s just a simple harmless prank, she’ll laugh and it’d be alright.”

“...And I was like, ‘You remember what auntie said the last time I was there, why do you want me to go so fucking bad?’ ugh, it’s like a nightmare, I can’t wrap my head around it, really!”

He knew it was something serious because she was cursing a lot, or maybe she felt kind of free now that she was letting it all out? Was it a great time to do that prank? Maybe she’ll stop running in circles and just give herself some time…

“That sounds hard, Sora.”

Silence.

His face was stern, his position sitting on the bed seemed relaxed, but on the inside he was gauging her next words or actions in response to his words. Pressing his lips, he waited for her reaction, but it seemed like the world just stopped, did he stop time unconsciously? No, because the ceiling fan was still moving over their heads. 

“What did you just say?”

But he didn’t reply. More like he couldn’t. He already wanted to say it was a prank, but he stopped himself. Maybe if he waited a bit more… He could hear the sound of her cries.

Her cries?

His mind shifted violently, attentive to the sound of distress coming from the girl. Shadow took a step, horrified at the scene. She covered her face with her hands and dropped to her knees as she kept on crying.

That was his sign. Kneeling in front of her, Shadow took her by the wrist, relieved that she didn’t push him away instantly. 

“Shh sh, it was a prank, I'm sorry, I wasn’t being serious.” He said, trying to reason with her. That seemed to make the trick as she stopped for a bit, head still on her hands as she seemed to take a deep breath. The calmness didn’t last long as the girl shook her head and kept on crying, her face still fully covered.

He tried getting her hands away from her face, trying to get a glimpse of her eyes, wanting his point to come across, but she wasn’t budging.

Shadow just stared at her, his capacity of dealing with emotions almost close to none as he tried to find a way to solve this situation he himself caused. Lucky for him, her cries started to die down, not because she was less sad, but because she was tired from crying.

Being able to see her eyes eased him for a bit, but something still pulled at the strings of his heart: what would she say now?

The girl got up from the floor, walking out from her room straight to the kitchen. Shadow followed silently, afraid of her next move or word. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and drank. Two, three gulps and then she stopped, closing the bottle again. Shadow felt his heart beating hard against his chest with suspense, when she turned at him, her red eyes from crying staring deeply into his. 

And then she smiled.

“Damn,” she said, sighing. “I needed that.”

Shadow blinked a few times trying to register her words. “What?”

The girl chuckled and wiped the tears off from her face, staring at him. “Yeah, you think I believed you?” a sarcastic laugh fell from her lips. “Chaos, you seemed so nonchalant trying to convince me you really had another girl, that was so funny!” 

“Wait, you… You faked it?” He asked, still not being able to wrap his head around the entirety of the situation.

“Yeah! Woah, I really needed to cry, I feel lighter now, thanks for the push, Shadz.” She said, winking at the black hedgehog, walking past him to their room again. “And, I recommend you practice your facial expressions, you seemed scared even before I started crying, if you plan on pranking Sonic, you’ll need to try harder.”

The man stood there, shocked as he then turned and questioned. “What the- Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” She asked, stopping before entering the room, turning her head at him.

“That! I-“ He suddenly felt the weight of everything on his chest, making him almost suffocate from the whiplash of emotions he just experienced. “I almost had a heart attack.”

With a playful glint on her eye, she nodded before turning around and keeping on walking. “Suits you right.”

[b-o-e]

paint me like one of your french girls

Wally Darling x Reader

Warnings: you aren’t very good at painting lol

although it is not necessary, I highly suggest reading my fics in their recommended order for the best experience! here is the link to all my silly lil wally fics in order. this is #2 :)

You weren’t the best painter, nor were you the best at picking up hints…

“... this is atrocious.”

You were not a painter. You were finding that much out right now.

“Well, don’t say that. It has me in it, so it can't be that bad, ha ha.” Wally jested.

Ehhh…

“Are you almost finished with it, neighbour?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m finished, but I’m almost ready to give up, yes,” you grumbled, the bristles of your brush carefully swiping some more paint onto the canvas. Yikes! Not carefully enough, it seems.

Wally noticed your grimace, laughing lightly. “It’s going to look good, I know it,” he claimed.

“You’re easily pleased, though,” you huffed, eyes flickering to him in a half-hearted glare. He giggled, shaking his head.

“I am honest,” he grinned, raising his right hand to swear on it. “Cross my heart, always and forever,” he promised, drawing the ‘x’ over his chest with a happy smile.

“At least I think I did Home some justice,” you snickered with a shrug. “You, not so much, Wally. I think you can still tell it’s you, though?”

“I’m sure I look amazing. Handsome!”

“I wouldn’t use that word for it, but the real you is?” You offered.

“Why, you’ll make me blush.”

You laughed lightly as you continued to paint, Wally remaining as still as a statue in his chosen position in front of home. His eyes never left you.

He loved the expressions you made. He just adored the twitch of your brow when you don’t quite approve of a detail, the silly grimace you wear when you’ve made a ‘mistake’, the way your tongue poked out a little when you were extra focussed... You were so entrancing!

“... going to start being a bit less uptight now,”

Wally hadn’t caught the first part, but figured out what you were saying.

“I guess I should probably give myself a little more credit than I am.” A little smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Oh! He enjoyed that expression most!

“I’m happy you say that,” Wally said, “I do mean it when I say I believe I will like it. Everyone has their own unique style. It’s nothing less than that,” he added, “plus, it’s made by you. That gives it extra special points!”

“Special, alright,” you joked quietly to yourself. It was definitely a unique piece, your painting.

“I just need to remind myself I don’t have much experience with this,” you sighed, “I need to cut myself some slack. I know practice is necessary to be as good as someone like you at this, and I haven’t put much of that in,”

“And if you were ever interested in such, I would always be around to offer my help if you so desire,” Wally assured.

“Thanks, Wally,” you tore your eyes away from your work, looking over at him. “I appreciate you. Always so sweet to me,” you sighed out dramatically. Unfortunately, your gaze didn't stick on him long enough to notice the redness growing on his cheeks from your compliments.

“Alas, I think I’m all done now,” you giggled, stepping back from your work. Now that you look it over, it really wasn’t too shabby, especially with your limited skill!

Wally stood up from his spot, starting his way over, as you turned the easel around so that he and Home could both see it. When Wally was close enough, he leaned forward a little, examining the painted canvas. Despite the knowledge that Wally would never judge you, your nerves twisted a little in your stomach as you watched his eyes study it with such intensity.

It was silent. He’s observed it for at least a minute now, not a word said.

…

“I know it’s-”

“It’s wonderful,” Wally cut you off, straightening his posture, his smile growing. “The absolute most, as is its creator,” he added as he looked at you. “Can I have it?” he asked, head tipping to the side.

“You… Want it?” you giggled sheepishly, peering over at your goofy little creation. Was it really nice enough for him to want to keep it?

“I love it, so of course I would like to have it. If you allow me to, of course,”

Your painting wasn’t much. To you, at least. To Wally on the other hand, it truly was extravagant.

It was cute. He and Home were nicely depicted together, Home painted quite well, and in his opinion, he himself had not looked nearly as bad as you’d been letting on.

His face had a cute, simple little smiley on it, as did the sun in the sky, two silly little features among others that you had added when you decided not to care so much anymore. It made him giggle. Overall, it was just yours, and that’s what really sealed the deal on his love for it.

“Hmm… where should I hang it, though? Maybe by the couch?” He wondered aloud, tapping his chin. “What do you think, Home?” He turned to face it, receiving quick excited waves and squeaks from the door. “Ha ha. I think that, too.”

“You actually want it?” You questioned,

“Of course,” Wally nodded. “Oh no! How impolite of me. I should be offering some sort of payment,” he realized.

“For this?” You laughed, looking back at the artwork. “I dont think it’s worth a whole lo–”

“Mwah!”

…

Huh?

You gaped at Wally, hand on your flushed cheek, right where his lips had been moments prior.

“Will that do?” He smiled.

You could only stare in disbelief, mind working overtime to process what had just happened.

“Neighbour?”

You laughed. You laughed, and you shook your head, hands covering your face. Oh, those silly little thoughts of yours!

“Oh my goodness, Wally,” you snickered. “Be careful with that! Someone might take it the wrong way,” you warned, a little giggle following.

“What do you mean, neighbour?” Wally questioned, brows furrowed. “Is kissing not a good thing?”

“I mean, it is, but there's two ways it can be perceived: platonically, or romantically,” you explained, rubbing at your face in an attempt to get rid of your blush with a cheeky smile.

“Think of it like this. Eddie and Frank kiss as a way to show their romantic love for each other. That's because they’re a couple,” you continued. “Are they who you learned it from?”

Wally stared at you for a moment, trying to comprehend all that you’ve said. Finally, his shoulders slumped slightly as he answered.

“... Yes,” he admitted, a bashful smile on his features.

“I figured,” you sniggered. “I mean, I’m not saying I didn’t like it or anything, but just keep what I said in mind,” you joked lightly with a playful wink, “but, we should find a place for this painting, shouldn’t we?” You placed your hands on your hips, looking between him and the piece.

“That sounds like a good idea, neighbour,” he agreed, carefully picking up the dried painting, grabbing the easel in his other hand.

“Let’s do that, then,”

…

“So, how did it go?” Eddie asked, placing a toasty mug of hot cocoa in front of a sulking Wally. “Not that great, I presume..?” He smiled sympathetically.

“They said to ‘be careful’ because ‘someone might get the wrong idea’...” he gave a gloomy smile. “But they also said they ‘didn’t dislike’ it?” He offered.

“So they thought the right idea, but brushed it off as being wrong,” Frank snickered, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation while he sipped on a mug of his own.

Eddie sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck with a chuckle. This was harder than the couple originally anticipated…

You two would be the death of this neighbourhood if you didn’t perceive your feelings for each other soon.

yyyello!! I hope you enjoyed reading this!

here is a link to my silly lil wally fics in their recommended order if you would like :) these can also be found on my ao3 B) I also have a ko-fi if you'd like to support me! likes and reblogs are very much so appreciated B) (again, gimme dopamine boost, RAHHHHH) until next time <3

Posted Tuesday, April 25, 2023 at 11:29 AM