#the second one is by far my favorite out of all of them

[mixingandmelting]

Inconspicuous Relationship

Summary: Everyone in the family thinks the two of you hadn’t tied the knot and keeps playing matchmaker. He, being the troll he is, decides to roll with it

He told you it was going to be fine. To leave it to him; his plan was going to be flawless. Flawless his ass. You’re dying from second-hand embarrassment and Jason’s not helping with that shit-eating grin on his face. 

“You know, Gotham Park is apparently considered one of the prettiest in the city during all four seasons.” Steph starts, sending you a look across the dinner table. “Wouldn’t it be so romantic to go there, especially for a first date?”

You beg to the higher beings that your cringe isn’t visible in your smile as you hummed in agreement. You’ve been enduring this since the beginning of the family dinner where the siblings kept dropping obvious hints for the two of you to get the ship sailing. And Jason being Jason, went along with it all the while ignoring the secret glares you give him. For Pete’s sake, he was even playing footsies under the table!  

“Didn’t you say you had a plan?” You hiss under your breath as Tim and Dick, surprisingly, voice out in agreement how Gotham Park was the last place to go on a date, their expressions speaking for the horrors they’ve seen there. 

“Yeah? Why? You don’t like how my plan’s going so far?” You scowl, kicking his foot away when he prod your foot again with his. He gives you a cheeky smirk in response. 

Checking and seeing Steph getting into a squabble with the other over the apparent controversial site, you lean closer towards him. 

“You call this a plan?”

“If not, then what is it?” He chugs the water in his glass, waving a hand towards them. “Besides, over half of them are grown ups. They’ll get it one way or another.”

If you’re not dying from embarrassment, you’re dying from stress. It’s clear as day that he’s in it for the chaos while you’re simply wanting to rip the bandage and get this over. Just when you’re about to snap at him, you catch Damian staring at both of you across the table. Quickly, you compose yourself, the same smile you had on for Steph now directed at the fourteen year-old.

“What’s wrong Damian? Need something?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, his gaze blank and revealing nothing. You can feel sweat accumulate in your hands, the urge to swat at the man beside you getting stronger at the coughs he lets out that’s meant to cover his laughter. 

“I simply don’t get it.” The teen then takes a bite of his steak and thoughtfully chews on it. “Why can’t Jason simply ask you out for a date when he’s completely smothered for you?” 

Cue the room going completely  dead silent. Well, sans Duke pounding his chest from choking on his food. You would’ve, at least, chuckle at had it not been for you steaming up. 

“D-Damian? Damian buddy?” Dick calls out from his seat, his voice slightly pitched. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t be the only one that’s getting tired of them beating around the bush, Richard. I’m simply spelling it out, that’s all.”

“Damian-“

“No, Damian’s right.” All eyes set on Jason, who puts the silverware down and leans back on his chair. “It’s not like I’ve been really meaning to hide it anyways so,” he turns toward you, “what do you think of Saturday, 1:00 PM at your favorite place you like going to?” 

…You can’t do this. This man and his theatrics; you wanted to scream how he had already asked about it last week. Tell them they’re getting scammed,  it’s not even the first date-! 

But Damian’s words keep echoing in your mind and the fact Jason knows that you know that it’s true is messing with you so badly. It prevents you from trying to calm everyone down, the family up and arms at the “horrible” confession Jason gave as he merely shrugs and asks what else he was supposed to do.  You further baffle them when you muster a nod, your hands still covering your very much burning face. 

Later on, when Bruce comes back from the supposed emergency phone call, he pulls you and Jason to the side. It was one thing to hear Bruce Wayne giving his approval and blessing (for some reason) for you two’s relationship. It was another when finding out this whole thing was indeed staged by both Jason AND Bruce to get back at the rest of the family for a prank that occurred last week during a joint mission as the older man asked the younger if everything went accordingly. 

You decide to give Jason a piece of your mind once the two of you got home which led to him to follow you around and ask you to reconsider calling him by his full name for the rest of the week.

[corameiwrites]

𖦹 searching for love 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: your shift at a small bookstore is about to end when a handsome stranger walks in five minutes before closing

wc: 2k

A far off chime sounded from the old grandfather clock, signaling the passing of another half hour. That meant it was 8:30, and more officially, 30 minutes past closing time. Normally, you would have been packed up and locking the door by 7:58, eager to get home to your grouchy cat, messy room, and half-written research paper. There was nothing normal, however, about the six-foot something man with biceps the size of your head, meticulously browsing the shelves of your bookstore. 

Well, not yours, but the number of shifts you picked up having to pay the bills for your not-so-cheap Gotham apartment had basically made this place your second home.

So when the very fit and handsome stranger walked in a mere five minutes to closing, you lingered a little. Behind the counter at the front of the store, of course. It was far too scary to go and ask him if he needed help—you would run the risk of embarrassing yourself further. 

Earlier, when he had entered, you made the mistake of welcoming him with a rushed “Good Morning” despite the full moon visible through the store windows. He had glanced in your direction, nodded, and walked further into the store, going to start his long search of whatever it was he came here to look for. 

Which, by the looks of it, he found. 

He set the books down near you, looking at an assortment of random trinkets and bookmarks displayed on the counter. 

You smile, recognizing the titles. “Are you a fan of Austen?” 

His head sprung up as though he hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.” 

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” Looking up the titles on the rather out-dated computer, you ring them up on the register. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.”  The corners of his mouth twitch up in a semi-smile as his hands retreat into his leather pockets. An odd choice to zip a leather jacket all the way to his chin, but who are you to judge? It's only now you're looking that you notice the scars littered across his face, as well as the few wisps of stark white hair across his forehead. You look down into his eyes, and though it was only a fleeting moment of prolonged eye-contact, it made you feel far too vulnerable.

 Looking away and vaguely remembering some staff meeting about professionalism, you read the total amount due to him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” His face blanks, and he blinks twice before digging through his pockets. His brows furrow. “Sorry, I…” his hands pat down his cargo pants before his shoulders slump. His face turns to one of slight annoyance. “I lost my wallet.”

“Oh.” Frankly, you don’t know what to do in this situation, and by the looks of it, neither does he. It's a little awkward—do you suggest he trace his steps? Call the bank to pause all his cards? But he’s paying in cash. Oh god, a thought crosses your mind. Is he a criminal? Fortunately, your mouth speaks before you even process what's coming out of it. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, and it's embarrassing the way your eyes track the movement. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. “I work tomorrow and Wednesday until closing if you want to come in around this same time, but I could tell my other coworkers of the situation if you come in a different day or time.” 

Silently, he stares at the poster. You recline back to your standing position, mentally slapping yourself for sharing your work schedule with a complete stranger who could very well be a criminal. A hot criminal. 

“...You close at eight?” 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” Thank you for finally showing up, customer service voice. He frowns, lifting his arm and pushing the sleeve of his leather jacket up before looking at you in shock. 

“You're closed right now?” he asked, though it sounded more like a state of a fact. 

You start to fidget with your clothes. “Technically speaking, yes.” 

His hand flies to his face, semi-face palming. “Shit,” he starts to back away slowly towards the door. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You smile at his panic, feeling a little amused despite yourself. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

“No, it's horrible, I’m horrible.” You can’t help but let out a small chuckle at his apologetic demeanor. By now he's halfway out the door, but turns back at your laugh.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up Pride & Prejudice, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

To that he nods, leaving and walking down the sidewalk in a rush. You stand for a minute, replaying the strange yet exciting interaction, hoping that the man would come again to claim his books. 

You were absolutely going to text your best friend about this when you got home. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♥  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Jason Todd had lost track of time. Maybe it was the warm lighting that made the strain on his eyes decrease, or the soft music soothing his aching head, or the various earth-tone decorations that made him stay longer than he intended. He had only meant to hide for a couple minutes, enough to get Condiment King off his trail and onto Tims. That was until he spotted Pride & Prejudice on a shelf with the exact cover of the one he read in Bruce's library when he was younger. Blaming it on nostalgia, he picked it up, and before long the quaint bookstore became less of a hideout and more of an actual store. 

In all honesty, he could have spent the rest of his patrol in the place if not for an angry text from Tim cursing him out; something about going MIA and getting the mustard and ketchup smell out of his suit. Snapped back into reality, he found himself with a rather large amount of books he definitely couldn’t fit into his motorcycle bag. 

Through little internal debate, he lowered the amount to three books, Pride & Prejudice, 1984, and This Is It, chastising himself as he made his way to the front. It was reckless spending so long hiding when he was supposed to be out on patrol. Hell, his helmet and guns were thrown behind a dumpster in an alleyway down the street! For all he knew, they could be stolen and pawned by some homeless person. 

But there was just something about this store and its ability to make him lose track of time. 

He hurried to the register, glancing at the super-hero themed erasers. He spotted some of his family's personas, grimacing inwardly. Ever since coming back to Gotham, they had been pestering him to join them at the manor outside of vigilante duties. Personally, he would rather be shot ten times before–

“Are you a fan of Austen?” 

He looked up, a little spooked. Did he totally forget that there was another person here, working? Maybe. Scrambling his head for a response proved a daunting task, and that smile you were giving him wasn’t helping. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.”

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” You looked through the books, ringing them up on your computer. You seemed almost pleased with his choice in literature. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.” That knowledge, for some reason, makes him happy. From what he remembers, he also enjoyed the tale of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy when he was younger. 

He put his hands in his jacket pockets, slouching a little more than usual as he studied your clothing and your face. You were young, probably around his age and good looking, working at a bookstore; definitely not anyone dangerous. He knew his height and build tended to intimidate people, and despite its uses when he wore the mask, off-duty he rather disliked it. He didn’t look kind or soft the way you did. Conscious of his build and the darkness outside, he did what he could to hopefully put you at ease. 

You turn back to the register, clicking a few buttons. “That’ll be $14.33.” you look back up at him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” Legally, he couldn’t use cards since he was supposed to be six-feet under. He moved his hands around in their pockets, trying to find his wallet. “Sorry, I…” Patting down his pants, he inwardly groans, remembering leaving his wallet in his safehouse of the week before going out for patrol. “I lost my wallet.” 

“Oh.” Yeah, he's a dumbass. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” Your voice is hesitant and he swears on everything he will always check if he has money in his pockets before entering another establishment ever again. 

Running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he picked up on, he waves you off. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. You're still talking to him, but he looks at your face, noticing small details he hadn’t before, like the unique slope of your nose, the shade of your lips and how delicately your lashes fall over your eyes. When you stop talking, he averts his gaze at what you pointed to. 

“Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M., Sat.---Sun. 12 P.M. to 5 P.M.” He reads it again, trying to remember the day. Damian wasn’t on patrol, so it was a weekday. “Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.” He rereads it once more in confusion. Given the darkness outside, there's no way it wasn’t past eight already. 

“...You close at eight?” he hesitantly asks. 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” If you were closer, he probably would have teased you about the customer service voice. He checks his watch. His whole body freezes as he reads the time. 

8:34

His head whips to you in confusion. “You're closed right now?”

“Technically speaking, yes.” You seem almost bashful as you answer.

Instant mortification fills his body, and he could hit himself for what he’s done. Not only did he unintentionally skimp out on patrol with Tim in a bookstore, potentially scaring the innocent and hot worker, but he wasted that workers time by wandering around for thirty fucking minutes past closing.  He starts to leave, apologizing to you, and despite your assurances, he can’t bring himself to face you knowing he’s kept you working later than you should. He's halfway out the door when he hears you laugh, and he momentarily pauses, turning halfway to face you. 

You’re smiling.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up a book, waving it at him, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

His throat seems to close up, and whether it's from embarrassment or that smile, he can’t tell. Nodding, he quickly leaves the store, walking in long strides back to his gear. Guilt, shame, and confusion all pile up inside him as he puts on his thigh straps, holstering the guns he put a little more care into hiding. Zipping down his leather jacket, he puts his helmet on, which immediately reconnects to his line with Red Robin. He's met with instant accusations and threats. 

“Wait for me down Fourth and Main, I’ll be there at nine.” He murmurs quickly, grappling to the top of the nearest building before disconnecting from the line. He perches over the edge, watching the lights in the bookstore shut off before you run out, closing and locking the door.

He takes extra care to keep himself hidden from your sight, ducking behind various rooftop structures and grappling to different buildings, silently protecting your late walk home. It’s only when you’ve entered your building and he sees a corner apartment window light up that he leaves. 

He’ll return to that bookstore tomorrow.

[loafysainz]

His Mistress | CS 55

carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: mdni, possessive, harsh carlos, cheating

please do not read it uf youre not into dark fic!

Carlos Sainz had it all. The last name, the wealth, the looks, the charm. His family owned one of the largest automotive empires in the world, and Carlos? He was their golden boy—successful in his own right, running his own business in the same industry. Everyone loved him. The media adored him, his parents were proud, and people saw him as this picture-perfect man—humble, respectful, and effortlessly charismatic.

And now, with the news of his engagement to Rebecca, an insanely gorgeous and world-renowned model, the public’s obsession with him only grew stronger. Power couple, they called them. A match made in heaven. Everyone was convinced Carlos had the perfect life.

Everyone, except one person.

Y/N.

Because unlike the rest of the world, Y/N knew who Carlos Sainz truly was.

And she knew, because she was the secret he kept locked away.

No one else knew about the luxurious house tucked away in the hills, far from the noise of the city. No one else had ever seen the woman who lived inside. A woman so stunning, so unreal in her beauty, that Carlos had never been able to let go. He met her years ago when she worked as his personal assistant, and from the moment their eyes met, he knew. There was something about her—something addictive, something he wanted to keep to himself.

So he did.

Y/N hadn’t stepped out of this house in years. Not because she couldn’t, but because Carlos wouldn’t let her. No one else got to see her. No one else got to have her.

She was his.

—

Carlos stormed into the house that night, his jaw tight, his patience worn thin.

He had just come from a family meeting—one where his parents and Rebecca’s team had gone over details for his wedding. His future. As if he even gave a shit about any of it. He hated the idea of marriage. Hated feeling trapped.

And now? He needed an escape.

Needed her.

The moment he saw Y/N standing there, he crossed the room in three long strides, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into him. She barely had time to breathe before his lips crashed onto hers, his hands gripping her like he needed to remind himself that she was real. That she was still here, still his.

And she let him. Because what else could she do?

The room was silent after. Only the sound of their heavy breaths remained, mingling in the space between them. Carlos was still lying beside her, his arm draped lazily over her bare waist when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Rebecca.

He exhaled sharply, grabbing the phone and unlocking it.

She had sent a series of messages, asking for his opinion on which wedding gown to wear.

Carlos barely glanced at the options before passing the phone to Y/N. “Reply to her,” he muttered.

Y/N hesitated, staring at the screen.

“Now.” His voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed out a response, picking a gown at random.

Moments later, Rebecca called.

Carlos didn’t even hesitate before answering, his voice soft, sweet, nothing like the man who had just pinned Y/N down minutes ago.

“Hi, cariño,” Rebecca’s voice chirped through the speaker. “I’m so happy you picked this gown. It’s my favorite too.”

Carlos forced a small chuckle, eyes flicking to Y/N. She was staring at the ceiling, trying not to react.

After a few more seconds of Rebecca’s excited chatter, the call ended.

The second the screen went dark, the temperature in the room shifted. Carlos turned his head, his gaze dark, sharp, cutting straight through Y/N like a blade.

“What gown did you pick?” His voice was eerily calm.

Y/N swallowed, then slowly showed him the picture.

Silence.

Then, “Why did you pick that one?”

She hesitated, then spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… beautiful.”

Carlos let out a dry laugh. A humorless, mocking sound.

His fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Did you pick it because you like it?” His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “Did you think about yourself in it?”

Her breath hitched.

“Did you think,” Carlos continued, his grip tightening, “that one day you could wear a dress like this?”

Y/N’s lips parted, but no words came out.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though there was no warmth behind it. He leaned in, voice dripping in something cold, something final.

“Never.”

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, almost gently. Almost.

“You don’t get to dream about that, cariño. You don’t get to think about a life where you wear a dress like that.” His voice was sharp now, biting. “You belong here. With me. And only me.”

A single tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek.

Carlos watched it fall, his expression unreadable.

And then he kissed her again—slow, deep, claiming.

As if sealing a promise.

As if reminding her—

That no matter what, no matter who the world thought he was, no matter how perfect he seemed—

She would always be his best-kept secret.

[rekino2114]

If I'm not too late, could I please ask for Valentines prompt 17 with M!Reader and Makima rewatching their wedding video (bonus points if it's with their child Nayuta)?

Love your work!

You and makima rewatching your wedding video

Pairing:makima x male reader

A/n:this takes place in the nayuta daughter au

Valentine's prompt#17

Prompts list

If there's one thing makima loves....then it's you but if there are two things she loves...then it's you and nayuta, but somewhere on that list is watching movies.

She always liked movies, but especially now that she has someone to watch them with she loves those moments even more, and she doesn't mind rewatching for the 7th time whatever Disney movie nayuta is currently obsessed with. She even buys her daughter merchandise of them that she brags about to everyone at school.

But her favorite "movie" to watch is by far your wedding video. Just remembering that day causes her heart to beat faster than usual, and watching it is just amazing it feels like reliving that beautiful moment, so much that it had become a tradition to watch it on valentine's day, even after nayuta was born.

"Daddy, mommy, the movie is about to start"

Makima giggled and placed nayuta into her lap while using her other hand to pull you closer to her

"It's not a movie nayuta, it's a recording"

"Oh......of what?"

"Of the best day of my life"

"*gasp* it's when I was born right?"

"No, sorry sweetie, that's the second best day of my life"

"Then what's the first one?"

"Just watch and see"

Nayuta started eating the popcorns you made her, which had way too much butter to be considered a light snack but quickly coughed because of the gasp she emitted when the video started playing

"It's you mommy! And you're a princess!"

"Oh am I?"

"Yeah, yeah, that dress is definitely a princess one"

You smiled and looked at the video, makima really looked beautiful in her black dress. She always looked beautiful but on that day she was special just like everything else

"Seems like I'm not the only one who liked that dress"

"I think I know exactly why you liked it, dear"

"Can you blame me? You looked stunning"

The video continues with makima walking down the aisle and coming face to face with you

"*gasp* it's daddy too!"

"Yes and he looked stunning too"

Makima gave you a loving look that you reciprocated and got even closer to you, continuing to watch the TV attentively

"What are you doing now?"

"Reciting our vows"

"What does that mean?"

"It's like.....promises that you make to the person you love and that you have to keep forever"

"Really? Forever? Isn't that tiring?"

"It's not, it's just promising to love each other forever and in any condition, and saying how much their love changed you"

"Daddy changed you?"

"More than you can imagine"

Makima continued stroking her daughter's hair while watching the video, she remembered all of it like it was yesterday. the joy she felt seeing you there,the music, the people, she just felt pure happiness in that moment.

When you read your vows to her, she felt so loved and genuinely happy. All your promises and declarations made her heart and soul warm, and her eyes water a bit. However, she vowed herself not to cry during such a moment, so she didn't. She had a lot of experience in hiding her emotions, but of course, she didn't hide the widest smile she ever gave to you, she wanted you to see how happy you made her, it was only when the ceremony was over and you were alone in your room that she truly cried tears of pure happiness while vowing to love you and never leave you again, she felt loved and she wanted nothing more than to give you that love back, she wanted you to see all the emotions you made her feel, the pure happiness and love you made her feel bot through smiles and tears.

Just watching the kiss again and thinking about it made her feel exactly like that again.

"*gasp* daddy! Mommy is crying"

Makima snapped out of her thoughts and touched her cheek, how did she not notice the tears until now?

"Are you alright makima?"

She looked to her right to see your concerned face, the face of the person she loved and wanted to give the world to, the fact of the person who she had a child with, the face if the person she married.

She wiped her tears and looked at you with a wide pure smile, very similar to the one she gave you on the day that was playing on the tv

"It's nothing darling, I'm just so happy"

[traflawgar]

love is in the air

crocodile x f.reader

what kind of date is crocodile planning for valentine's? is it a romantic date? and adventurous one? keep reading to find out!

and if you want to find out what the other one piece men have planned for you, check out the event masterlist.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ event masterlist ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

TAGS: established relationship. fluff. modern au.

crocodile - wine tasting tour

The sweet smell of grapes drifted in the air as the vineyard, the third on this little tour, came into view. It was bigger than the previous two and, from what your fiance had told you, it also offered a private experience, complete with a beautiful view of the sunset and a wide variety of cheese and meat to enjoy along with your wine.

Crocodile, one hand on your thigh and the other on the steering wheel, glanced at you analytically. So far, you hadn’t made a comment, positive or otherwise, about how much you were enjoying the date he’d planned. He was beginning to second guess his plan, a feeling rather unwelcomed and unusual.

As if you could sense his discomfort, you shone a bright smile his way, before all but jumping out of the car and telling him to hurry up. He heaved a sigh of relief. One purposefully slow walk and a kiss later, Crocodile was guiding you towards the entrance, a calloused hand placed gently on your lower back.

The hostess that greeted you, upon hearing the name on your reservation, gave you an extremely wide smile, her voice suddenly growing saccharine and high-pitched as she told you to “follow me”. 

The room she took you to had a beautiful view. Grape vines stretched so far you couldn’t see the end. Behind them, the sun got ready to give way to the moon. Orange bled into pink and plum, faint stars scattered here and there.

“Its beauty is almost as exquisite as yours,” he whispered in your ear, the deep rumble of his voice sending shivers down your spine. He offered you a glass and poured a little wine in it. His hand travelled back to the small of your back once it was free. 

You took a sip, letting the wine sit on your tongue for a second before you swallowed it. A complex mix of flavors danced on your tastebuds, earthy and with a hint of something too fancy for you to articulate. Imitating your fiance, who knew much more about wines than you cared to learn, you let out an interested hum. Upon tasting the next wine, you simply shook your head at its tart taste. Then a frown for the overly fruity one, secretly your favorite, and an appreciative hum for the expensive-tasting one—you might’ve not known much about texture and body and all that when it came to wine, but you could still recognize an expensive one by the taste and your fiance’s reaction to it.

“I like this one,” you admired, fooling no one. Crocodile shot you an amused glance, and proceeded to pour more of the sweet, fruity wine you’d liked. You gladly received the new glass.

“You act as if I don’t know you, love,” said softly and with a kiss on your cheek.

With a laugh, you complained, “At least pretend you’re fooled by my performance, I worked hard to seem like I knew what I was doing.”

Crocodile stroked your cheek, thumb trailing dangerously the corner of your lip. A lazy smile played on his lips. “You’re lovely, my dear.” Taken aback by what you expected to be teasing words, you failed to come up with a response.

It didn’t matter, though. Soon he kissed you so hungrily you couldn’t have formed any thoughts anyway.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ taglist ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

@softlypaintedseafoam

send an ask or leave a comment to be added to the taglist!

NOTES: Crocodile is an elegant man, and so he planned the most elegant date out of all of the one piece men.

[softrosekisses]

~𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝓃𝒾𝓰𝒽𝓉~

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 - Ellie sees you at a museum and becomes obsessed~

𝓃𝓸𝓉𝓮𝓈 ~ !!! my first story i've ever posted🙈 i'm so nervous for people to read it honestly😭 but if you enjoy it, let me know! feedback is appreciated🎀

(also i used a prompt to come up with this! so els is a creepy vampire stalker and not very canon~🫣 )

Ellie shivers as she adjusts to the change of coming into the warm museum from the chilly outdoors. Even though the temperature doesn't affect her, she still has to play the part.

She's at a museum event tonight; she's been in need of some art inspo, and due to her... condition, she's been stuck at home for a few weeks. You see, she's a vampire, a very stubborn one at that. She thought she'd be okay without feeding for some time, and that ended up being false. She'd probably still be there if it wasn't for her southern charm and good looks helping her convince the naive young city girls to follow her home. She'd made sure they got home safely, of course; she's no monster!

She walks leisurely through the halls and takes notes, studying some of her favorite pieces. The famous "Starry Night" by Van Gogh caught her eye, or more so the beautiful girl admiring it. Her thick coily hair sitting perfectly at her shoulders tied in a cute little bow, the museum lights illuminating her soft skin; oh how Ellie wanted to feel it..she's never seen anyone as divine as this mystery girl. She continues to watch the girl as her eyes wander the painting, looking so amazed, and when she smiled, Ellie swears she felt her heart stop…again.

She ends up following behind the girl as she walks through the gallery. She tells herself that it's just a coincidence that they keep ending up at the same place. Every second she gets more obsessed with needing to know this girl, she completely forgets about finding inspiration; if anything, she thinks she just found her muse.

Lost in thought, something-someone bumped into her

oof

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!

Are you okay?"

Ellie was ready to give sass to whoever bumped her but stopped when she saw who it was.

"oh shit" she mumbled

"Ah yeah, no I'm all good, don't worry about it."

If it were possible Ellie’s ears would’ve gained a red tint.

“You sure? Sorry, I can get so caught up in the art and get distracted..” The girl smiled a little, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Yeah, I’m totally fine. I should’ve been paying attention. Are you okay?” Her eyes travel the girl's body, checking for any injuries.

“Oh yeah i’m fine, i’m pretty clumsy so i’m used to it.” She says, shaking her head and chuckling to herself.

Ellie wanted to thank whatever god that made this interaction possible. She thought about properly introducing herself to fill in the awkward silence that began to set between them.

“I-“

“Well, sorry again!” The girl waves and walks away to whom Ellie assumes is a friend, with a little bounce in her step.

Ellie silently cursed herself for not being quick enough as she watched the girl’s skit sway away. She needed to have her. Slowly, she prowled behind her, making sure to keep a safe distance away but never too far. She watched her every move and wondered about the other girl she was talking to. Was she a sister, a friend, or something more? She thought about what the girl’s favorite piece of art might be and whether she created art herself. She wanted to know everything about her: all her quirks, what made her smile or cry, her deepest fears—everything.

And she intended to find out.

[monstersdownthepath]

Mega Milestone Monster: Blood Queen of the Kuru

CR 12

Chaotic Evil Medium Humanoid

Isles of the Shackles, pg. 17 (Art is from Brenochadams on Deviantart, though they've deactivated; this pic was salvaged via the Wayback Machine)

It's been a while since our last Mega Milestone, hasn't it? And compared to the ones we've seen thus far, the Blood Queen hardly measures up to any of them. They've all been CR 20+ creatures with demigod (or, in one case, nigh-divine) power! But the Blood Queen here was chosen for two reasons: The first is that she's one of my favorite monsters in Pathfinder, and the second is because of the distant yet terrible shadow she has cast on my Skulls and Shackles campaign, a campaign which has been going strong for a little over five years at this point. I've held off on reviewing the Blood Queen as not to spoil anything for my players just in case they ever encounter her, but this year--with the party rapidly approaching the final book in the AP--I have decided to go ahead with it.

For some background, Skulls and Shackles takes place in the titular Shackles, a chain of islands on the northwest quarter of Garund, a comparatively tiny speck on the map compared to the Eye of Abendego just to its north, a titanic, perpetual hurricane that throws devastating oceanic storms in every direction with alarming regularity. It is a haven for pirates seeking the lucrative trade routes entering the Inner Sea, who use the Eye to propel their ships north and escape reprisal back south, but as time passed, the area became increasingly settled by people from all walks of life and from all points of the globe--though Garundi travelers are the most common--who wish to, for one reason or another, leave their homelands.

This population of pirates and settlers has had an impact on the people who were here first, the ones who lived among the island chains long before more "modern" people began to move in. Some have moved to the smaller, less-inhabited islands, while some relocated to quiet villages along the coastlines or isolated deep within the various jungles on the larger islands. Some assimilated, some fled the Shackles entirely... and then there's the cursed Kuru, who were far from the only ones to retaliate against the settlers, but were arguably the most "successful," beseeching eldritch forces left behind in the Ghol-Gani ruins they inhabited to transform their warriors (and, eventually, their entire population) into red-eyed, cannibalistic superhumans. Despite the horror of their transformation and the dark appetite it has given them, the Kuru have managed to retain an entire chain of islands along the southwestern Shackles for themselves, a chain that has come to be known as the Cannibal Isles.

it is on the largest of the isles that the Blood Queen can be found, this foul "living goddess" of the Kuru said to be responsible for their transformation in the first place, calling upon the power of abandoned gods centuries ago to perform the transformative rite. Stories abound in the Shackles of people meeting the Blood Queen, either in person or via her bizarre Surrogates, Kuru who appear to be entirely insensate and helpless unless she is projecting her consciousness into them, which turns them into a nexus of profane power that grants nearby Kuru impossible strength and fortitude... but none of these stories are true. There is exactly one man in the whole of creation who has seen the Blood Queen in person--a legless, traumatized vagrant in the Shackles city of Quent who rarely leaves the bars he finds himself in if he can help it--and he will tell any party brave enough to seek him out the truth of the matter: The "Blood Queen" present among the Kuru public is no more than a mouthpiece for the true abomination, a creature of such nightmarish power that she is the true Milestone Monster, not the 12th-level high priest or the 10th-level high priestess whose 'stats' and page number I posted above. For the five people in my Shackles game who have read this far, this is your last chance to avoid being spoiled on the horrible truth.

THE TRUE BLOOD QUEEN

CR 23

Chaotic Evil Gargantuan Outsider

Isles of the Shackles, pg. 44-45

When the scholars of the ancient Ghol-Gani empire sought knowledge from beyond the safety of sanity and known space, it was one such emissary sent by foul and nameless gods, "gifting" the population of cyclopses with vile powers and profane knowledge that sent them spiraling into depravity and, eventually, collapse. Even now, it remains deep within a grandiose temple whose every entrance and exit was fortified to protect its larval self from the assassins of rival factions... though now that it has ballooned into a grotesque, towering abomination, those very same defenses prevent it from leaving, much to the fortune of all beings in the Shackles. Abandoned by the very gods it once served and trapped in a temple venerating them, the Blood Queen has become something of a cruel god itself, ruling over its tiny sliver of the Shackles and the lives of all the Kuru it created from its kingdom-turned-tomb.

Its rage at being abandoned and frustration with being trapped within its own throne room means that any Kuru which disappoint it are just as likely to be thrown into the pit as any captured sacrifices are so it can properly vent its timeless anger. Any being thrown in is often toyed with and tormented for hours before they're granted the mercy of death. Most beings meeting the Blood Queen face-to-face aren't anywhere close to powerful enough to even harm it, let alone kill it, and those who ARE, it's often prepared for. Those aforementioned Surrogates are the hosts for a parasitic and telepathic link which allows the thing to both communicate through them AND utilize their senses to keep track of the goings-ons around its islands. The unmoving Surrogates are carried around on palanquins or sat in thrones with commanding views of their surroundings, assuring the Queen sees everything it needs to and assuring that there are no surprises coming from anywhere. In addition to the surveillance the Surrogates offer, they also allow the horror to form a powerful Blood Link with any Kuru nearby, driving up to 23 Hit Dice worth of Kuru into a rage and granting them a +4 morale bonus to their Str and Con scores while also insulating them from further mental invasions, rendering them immune to mind-affecting effects. Any affected Kuru are also prompted to make a DC 28 Will save, and failing this causes them to become completely enslaved to the Blood Queen's will while the Blood Link remains in place, allowing it total command of their bodies and wills.

Dangerous enough because it allows the beast to wordlessly coordinate them, but it's even worse if the Kuru in question was trying to escape the Blood Queen's grasp somehow. Kuru are a playable ancestry in Shackles campaigns, and it's even said that one of the Cannibal Isles furthest away from the Queen's temple is home to a tribe of Kuru that is slowly breaking away from its control and learning to control their hideous appetites... but a single failed save is all the abomination needs to seize total control of them again, ruining their chances at ever being anything but its playthings. There's no restrictions on what sorts of commands it can give to linked victims, so if it finds out they're plotting against it, it can have them walk into the ocean, the blades of loyalists... or right into its mouth, which can lead to a fate worse than death. We'll get to THAT later, though.

Any being battling the Blood Queen will have to contend with not only the beast itself, but its raging sycophants, giving it an upper hand on action economy as they come flooding into the gore-slicked cathedral to protect their progenitor. It's no Time Stop into Summon, but these Kuru minions very often have class levels, and if nothing else can serve as roadblocks between it and an adventuring party or offer it support... not that it particularly needs support, because the number of creatures in all the Shackles who approach the bloody demigod in power can literally be counted on one hand, though without the safety net of any divine patrons, the Blood Queen takes very few risks. The opening move against any creature that prove it's capable of harming it is likely going to be its 1/day Mass Suffocation, a spell capable of killing an entire party in a single shot if they fail their save, with anyone who survives the initial blast needing to make DC 32 Fortitude saves every round for 23 rounds to avoid death.

Hurting the thing at all to prompt that dramatic counterattack is going to be a challenge for the average party; the Blood Queen has DR 15/Epic and Lawful in an environment where carrying an Axiomatic weapon is inadvisable, and its Regeneration 10 is only shut off by a Good-aligned weapon... again, in an environment where players are expected to be pirates, if not cutthroats. It's also CR 23 in an Adventure Path that ends at level 15, which should be a hint enough that the Blood Queen is meant to be invincible threat the players are supposed to escape, not bravely face. I think if they don't get the message when their weapons fail to damage it (if not because of the DR, then certainly because of its 38 AC), then they'll probably figure it out quickly when anything their spellcaster tries to do crashes into 38 Spell Resistance, and the thing's +24 to Will saves and +28 to Fortitude saves will likely shield it from anything that somehow manages to get past. It's also utterly immune to Electricity and Sonic, normally very reliable forms of damage, AND it has immunity to all mind-affecting effects. Combined with 120ft of Blindsight, there are very, very few tricks a player can pull to distract the beast from its wicked games.

One of the most reliable, however, is simply leaving as fast as possible. The stone caverns that surround the abandoned aberration's throne room are littered with traps, wrathful dead, and who knows what else, but they're LESS dangerous than the beast they were meant to guard, and it's too large to fit through the hallways out. Despite having towering Fort and Will saves, the worm has a pathetic +9 to Reflex saves and a movespeed of only 10ft (difficult terrain may as well be impassable), allowing players to outrun it and/or set up impediments it will have to navigate through or around before it can attack them. This is NOT a sure thing, as the monstrosity still has a few ways to keep anyone from fleeing its torturous ministrations, including the ability to loose a Horrifying Bellow up to 3 times a day that can potentially paralyze anyone within 30ft for 1d4 rounds if they fail a DC 34 Will save. In addition to this painful scream and the Kuru minions called to bar the easy ways out, the Blood Queen has a handful of potent spells in its repertoire to both protect itsself and stop sacrifices from escaping, such as Cacophonous Call and Deeper Darkness 5/day each to nauseate a target for minutes at a time or make the arena impossible to navigate, respective. At 3/day, it can use the incredibly dangerous Greater Command to force any creature to follow a one-word order for 23 rounds, such as preventing a caster from talking, a frontliner from holding their weapons, or ordering a ranged attacker to get within its formidable 40ft threat radius (20ft space/20ft reach) so it can rip them apart without needing to move.

The Blood Queen's melee radius is a nightmare, with 12 entire attacks to dole out against anyone in its reach. Its monstrous bite and flailing, stinging tentacles both deal 2d6+10 damage, but the tails also deal 2d6 Electricity damage AND have a critical hit range of 19-20 alongside Bleeding Critical to tack an extra 2d6 bleed damage, allowing for potentially startling burst damage and some damage over time as well... but few things are quite as startling as the cluster of biting, grasping tendrils that can flick out of its mouth, up to six of the limbs lashing out for 2d8+5 damage with every strike and potentially Grabbing any unlucky soul they hit. Any creature grappled by the Blood Queen needs to get out as fast as possible, because if they can't, they may end up swallowed whole and subjected to that "fate worse than death" I mentioned a few paragraphs back. Its churning gut deals 15d6 Acid damage every round to everything inside, but if the horror so wishes, any unconscious creature in its stomach (either because it was swallowed while unconscious, or fell unconscious from the Acid damage) can be moved to a special chamber within its body where it no longer takes damage. 1d4 rounds later, the creature is ejected from the opposite end, helpless within an opaque, slimy cocoon.

At any time, the Queen can cause one of these cocoons to rupture, dealing 6d6 Acid damage to the creature within and all other creatures within 15ft, potentially killing the target outright. If, instead, the victim is allowed to undergo an Unholy Gestation for a full 24 hours, the cocoon can be split open to reveal a brand new Kuru Surrogate, another holy figure among the Kuru. Another pair of eyes for the Blood Queen. Another victim stripped of their mind, their soul pitifully trapped within their own living body, unable to escape until death releases them... or they receive a Heal spell or similar. But the chances of that, given that they were allowed to exist near the Blood Queen for 24 hours, are slim to none.

There is some mercy from Paizo, a mercy I can only assume was given because the Blood Queen is meant to be a setpiece monster: that 10ft movespeed. It also lacks Combat Reflexes or Stand Still, and even if it did it doesn't have a Dexterity modifier to speak of, so a party member that can tank a single AoO opens the way for the rest of the party to escape the horror's threat radius and force it to creep glacially towards everyone to try to re-engage or burn its standard action using its spells. ALL of its ranged options are spell-likes meant to pull people back into its melee, and though the DCs are high, they're not unbeatable or impossible to dispel if they do land. The most major decision that needs to be made is whether to go down into the ancient ruins, or risk climbing back out while being shot at by Kuru priests eager to witness their goddess feed. In most cases? You want to go down.

Being caught and fed to the Blood Queen presents a very unique situation to a party, where the begin a dungeon delve in the chamber of the final boss and have to fight their way backwards through the dungeon because they're likely nowhere near powerful enough to meaningfully harm it. The least painful way out is down, through the winding tunnels of long-forgotten ruins meant to venerate sadistic, alien gods... but before they can even think about what horrors may lay below, they have to escape the worst of them all, the one right in their faces! The first few rounds are likely going to be spent in a panic, hoping and praying the party can make their saves against the Greater Command and have some way to navigate the Deeper Darkness, and things aren't going to get any easier from there... because even if they DO escape the ruins, they still need a way off the Cannibal Isles, or the nightmare is just going to start all over again.

You can read more about it here.

[rk1k-moved]

DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN | MARKUS

[bunnieswithknives]

sorry if idk this but what do you think about Wordgirl now in 2024 do you still like it do you still want to make art or talk about it or are you just done with all of it forever and plus i seen that you haven't made art of it since 2022 so you just done with all of it oh yeah and what about The Magnus Archives + Wordgirl ao3 fic too like is that just going to be and i know that your working on 2 au's now just wanting to know that's all

My interests tend to come in intense bursts and then fade. Unless something like, big happens like it gets a reboot its unlikely I'll be coming back to it anytime soon. As for the fic I don't have any current plans to finish it unfortunately.

[theclearblue]

I was told by a friend that Fishman Island was one of the worst arcs in One Piece, and now I have really really high expectations for the new world cause um. This is a really strong first half and the Fisher Tiger and Otohime flashback was so good and such an amazing moment for Nami?? Y'all are sleeping on this arc.

[arolesbianism]

Some au antag doodles

[icewindandboringhorror]

more photo diary posts.. various life images...

[ronanlynchbf]

sisterhood of the...sisterhood of the hunting heart necklace 🥴😖🤐....

[killjoy-prince]

So I'm on playthrough #4 of this game playing as Astarion this time around with the intention of romancing Wyll and man, picking all the good and heroic options as Astarion especially in Act 1 really is a case of "He would not fucking say that" bc Wyll likes all the good and heroic options and Astarion is. not that lolol

One thing is by chance I found a workaround on how to not make Wyll a devil and still keep Karlach alive. It worked but now im wondering if making him a devil would of been better narratively? Also I just got used to the horns that I kinda miss them. I do have a save thats right before doing the workaround but I did quite a bit of stuff so is it worth it?

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[shiftthemoon]

reality shifting isn’t hard. you’ve been told it’s hard because everyone’s too scared to admit it’s not. they cling to their 800-step methods, their must-have crystals, their perfect conditions because they think that if they let go of that control, they’ll fail. but here’s the thing: the more you try to control the process, the more you convince yourself it’s out of your control. and that’s the problem. that’s why so many people feel stuck. shifting isn’t some big, far-fetched thing. it’s just you. it’s always been you.

we’re conditioned to think we’re powerless. think about it—school, work, society, all of it drills this idea into us that everything has to be proven, earned, validated. so, when you hear about shifting, your brain freaks out and says, wait, wait, this is too easy, this can’t be real. and then you spiral. you overcomplicate it. you make yourself think you need the “perfect” script, the “right” subliminal, or that you have to meditate for three hours while the stars align perfectly. like, no… you don’t. all of that? it’s fluff. it’s noise.

at its core, shifting is belief. just belief. no, really, let that sink in. you don’t need to “do” belief perfectly. it’s not something you master through sheer willpower. it’s something you already have. you’ve believed in things your whole life. you believed in gravity without needing proof. you believe your favorite songs are beautiful without needing to explain why. belief is natural. it’s effortless when you stop overthinking it. that’s the energy you need to bring to shifting—trust. trust that your mind knows what it’s doing, and that if you let it, it will take you there. every single extra thing you pile on? the overthinking, the doubt, the need for guarantees? that’s what’s slowing you down. not the “lack of progress,” not some mythical “block”—it’s you convincing yourself it’s harder than it is.

and let’s talk about social media for a second. oh my god, the shifting community on social media… i get it. it’s comforting to see other people on this journey. but let’s be honest—how much of that content is actually helping you? like, really? 90% of the time, scrolling through shifting advice isn’t inspiring; it’s overwhelming. everyone’s got their own opinions, their own “best methods,” their own rules. one person says scripting is a must, another says it’s a waste of time. one person swears by affirmations, another says visualization is the only way. and before you know it, you’re sitting there questioning everything you thought you knew, wondering if you’ll ever get it “right.” spoiler alert: you already know how to shift. you don’t need a thousand voices telling you what to do. in fact, the more you listen to them, the harder it becomes to hear yourself.

take a break. seriously. log off the apps. give yourself space to breathe and think. ask yourself: why do i want to shift? what’s stopping me? what feels right to me? no tiktok trend, youtube guide, or reddit post can answer those questions for you. only you can. and i know that sounds scary. we’ve been conditioned to think we need external validation for everything, but shifting is a deeply personal thing. you don’t need a step-by-step tutorial. you need to trust your instincts. that’s it.

and let me be clear: i’m not saying methods or subliminals are bad. they’re fine if they help you feel aligned. but they’re not what makes shifting happen. you are. methods are just tools. if you use them, great. if you don’t, that’s great too. because the truth is, shifting isn’t about doing things “right.” it’s about letting go of the idea that you need to.

so let me break it down for you. the only things you really need to shift are:

1. a desire. you have to want to go to your desired reality. no brainer, right?

2. belief. this is the big one. you have to trust it’s possible. no “what ifs,” no “but hows.” just trust.

3. persistence. if it doesn’t happen right away, that’s okay. don’t give up. if you’ve ever learned to ride a bike, you know that falling doesn’t mean you can’t do it—it just means you’re learning. shifting is the same.

that’s it. no fancy rituals, no endless research, no “perfect” conditions. the process is simple because it’s natural. you’ve probably done it before without even realizing it— the only reason it feels hard now is because you’ve convinced yourself it has to be.

stop making it harder than it needs to be. shifting isn’t this unattainable, mystical thing reserved for “chosen ones.” it’s something anyone can do. you can do it. your mom can do it. that anti-shifter lurking in every crevice of shiftblr could do it. you’ve always been capable. but you have to stop getting in your own way. stop doubting yourself. stop relying on others to tell you what’s possible. this is your journey. own it.

and above all, be patient. shifting is not a race. it’s not about how fast you can get there or how perfect your dr is. it’s about trust, intention, and focus. log off, tune into yourself, and let it happen. shifting has always been yours to claim. it’s not something you need permission for. it’s not something you need to earn. it’s just you, your mind, and your belief. always has been, always will be.