#then i can age and probably keep her as a kid

[harringroveobsessed]

Prompt - Moon for @harringrovemicroficandart.

Billy had been here for hours now just watching as the blue faded fast giving way to vibrant oranges and dusky pinks until the only light illuminating the quarry came from the full moon. He stubbed out yet another cigarette as he lay back against the hood of the car allowing his mind to wander, nights like these always brought back memories of his mom. Billy snorted softly to himself pondering how even now he could recite every phase of the moon she ever taught him.

Billy always knew Maria Hargrove was different than the other kids Mom’s even from a young age. While his classmates would share weekend tales of being allowed to stay up past 10pm to watch movies, Billy spent his weekends holding hands with his Mom, rings on each of her fingers combing the streets by moonlight looking for treasures.

Treasures, Billy learned could be anything from a shard of beach glass in a pretty shade of turquoise, a delicate stemmed flower just waiting to be pressed and preserved or dainty little seashells that glimmered cheerfully when they catch the light.

Looking for treasures became such an important part of the time he spent with his Mom that even now, despite the ever present pang in his heart Billy finds himself scanning the floor of the quarry, absentmindedly looking for anything his Mom would declare special enough to keep with the small collection in his glovebox.

Maria Hargrove fancied herself something of a moon child, an astronomer tracking the cycles of the moon each month and teaching him constellations before he could even tell the time. She taught him how the moon turns the tides, how each moon phase lasts only around a week orbiting around the sun before moving and bringing with it a new meaning each time.

He can’t help the small hitch in his breath as he remembers standing in this exact spot almost two weeks earlier gazing up at the First Quarter Moon; the memory of his Mom’s melodic voice ghosting in his ear. “This phase is time for manifestation Bee, it gives you time to reassess, make adjustments in your life, remove what is in your way and move forward with determination”

He supposes she did just that back then; she made adjustments and moved forward without him.

It’s quiet up here at night, not many people bother with the drive once the temperature starts to drop but Billy likes the peace, the quiet crashing of the water below him and only the moon to cast her critical eye over him – he’d prefer the cosmos itself rather than his Dad. He’s sighs heavily about to crawl into his backseat and call it a night when he hears a car climbing up the hill; the sound of the approach he knows particularly well. Unlike the sound of his Dad’s truck, which growing up he came to memorise in order to expect oncoming pain, the tires currently crunching across the gravel ground bring him something else entirely.

“Drove by your house, you weren’t answering your walkie” Steve murmured over the sound of his door slipping closed, the sound of gravel crunching again as he moved towards the Camaro.

“Neil found it” Billy said, shoulders hunching self consciously “wanted to know why I had a stupid kids toy, had to pretend it was Max’s. She’s probably turned it off to be safe. Sorry.”

Billy didn’t even have to turn his head to feel big Bambi eyes full of worry burning a hole into the side of his face.

“Billy, are you hurt? Why didn’t you come to me, you know you can always come to me. I want you to come to me.” Steve said sounding almost pained.

Billy didn’t respond, feeling guilty yet not even sure what the hell for and continued to stare resolutely up at the full moon.

When Billy let the moment drag on without a response Steve huffed loudly pushing himself off the hood and bullied his way in between Billy’s legs. Leaning forward to place both of his hands softly on Billy’s knees, Steve ducked his head trying to catch Billy’s eyes with a concerned expression.

“What are you doing out here Blue?” Steve whispered. Billy took a breath and let it out slowly as he inclined his head to give Steve the eye contact he was striving for.

“’s a full moon is all pretty boy, I’m not hiding from you or anything I-I just… it’s nice out. Stars are out you know, reminds me of home and my Mom I guess”

Steve smiled softly and finally tore his eyes away from Billy’s and set his gaze up to the sky. Billy watched on intently as the reflection of the full moon shone bright in Steve’s hazel eyes; like the world itself knew that seeing the moon through Steve Harrington’s eyes was the only way to view it.

Billy felt his heart clench as he bit his lip and tipped forward to rest his forehead on his boyfriend’s chest.

Steve knew about his Mom and her draw to the cosmos, had pulled it out of Billy with weed and kisses when he found him up here the last time. Billy had expected him to scoff or laugh like the kids did when he was younger, but Steve surprised him, kissed him on the forehead, took his hand and asked Billy to show him the constellations.

Billy really should have learned by now to stop being surprised by Steve Harrington, half of the collection lovingly stored in his glovebox came from Steve. Pretty stones he found that shimmered in the sun, a blue gem Steve found he said reminded him of Billy’s eyes, a red rose from their first date.

Steve draws away for only a minute and returns with a blanket holding out his hand to Billy, they huddle together on the frozen ground of the quarry as Steve kisses his forehead just like last time.

“Tell me about the full moon Blue”

I'm sorry the word count got a way from me a little but this is the first thing I've written in YEARS and I hope someone enjoys it even a little. Apologies for any grammar mistakes, high school was a long time ago.

For @intothedysphoria and @dragonflylady77 who both have encouraged me once upon a time to pick up writing again!

[siolixz]

♔Of Love and Loyalty♔

+18

Part 3: the end.

<Part 2><Part 1>

Pairings: Oz "The Penguin" Cobb x Reader

Reader takes Victor's place in this story. She has already been through enough by now and Oz's ruthless ambition finally meets the satisfaction of power. Hope you guys like it- I spent most of my day writing this and I apologize for any grammar mistakes. I'll fix them when I wake up. Please, remember that MY Oz has been changed a bit from the show Oz- in order to make a "x reader story" I gotta humanize him, while also keeping him at least half true to the masterpiece Lauren created. I have enjoyed writing this story sooo much. Everyone is 18+ and consenting.

Words: 6.2k

Enjoy and give feedback If you want :)

Warnings: mentions of violence, vulgar language, age-gap relationship, smut ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡° )

You don’t remember how you got here. 

First you remember talking to Oz about something on the phone early in the morning after a delivery- then you remember going home to sleep and when you arrived- there was nothing. 

What the fuck happened? There was a guy- he came towards you. Then you looked at him- then he; he punched you? So that’s why you have a splitting headache. Everything felt like a dream- were you dreaming right now?

Are you sleeping? Why is everything so dark? 

You could hear voices, faint voices but they were there. Someone grabbed you by your arm and forced you upright. Now there was light everywhere and your eyes felt like they were on fire. Why is everything so fucking bright?

You blinked a few times and looked around the room; wow, how fancy. Where were you? The walls looked like they were carved and you only saw furniture like this when you looked at the TV. You saw a man there, a big guy; an enforcer, you thought, and in your dazed state you asked him “Where am I?” he looked at you and remained quiet. Great.

Your head was killing you. Jesus. Your hands and feet weren’t tied however- how odd.

You rapidly lifted your head when you heard the sharp sound of a pair of heels on the expensive floor, the door opened and- Oh, it’s her. 

“Look who’s awake.” Sofia softly smiled at you, she’s gonna kill you probably. Why does she have a plate of food?

“I brought you breakfast- you’ve been gone quite a while you see.” She walked across from you and placed the plate down on the table. 

“I bet you’re wondering what you are doing here.” she came over and sat next to you- crossing her legs and leaning back “You and I have a lot to talk about.”

She looked you up and down. You looked like the complete opposite of her, in your jeans and t-shirt, you were sure your face was smeared with blood too- where you got punched.

“Are you nervous?” she asked- her eyes were examining every inch of your face, trying to search for any signs of anxiety or sadness. You shook your head- “No.” you said. 

She said your full name and gave a long description of your family- what they did, what jobs they had, she mentioned your sister too, your poor sweet sister- how dare she speak their names. 

“When I saw you at Oz’s apartment or at the club, I didn’t get a good look at you. But I did see the way he looked at you.” a small smile danced on her lips “ like he would look away and you would be gone, like in a dream. How fascinating I thought. Some girls spend their whole lives wishing someone would look at them like that.” You listened to her and she came closer to you.

“You know, I really never noticed at the time- how young you are.” She once again looked you up and down, her voice became quieter

“Guess this is the same old tragic story, ‘orphaned street kid falls prey to some maniacs silver tongue’ . Yours won’t be any different, I can assure you. Maybe you believe it will- but it won’t.” She got up again and walked towards the table. She picked up a piece of toast and sat back down next to you.  

“W-why am I here?” you asked her, your throat was sore and that stupid headache was still there. 

“Why?” she looked surprised “Didn’t you figure it out by now? You’re our bargaining chip- you’re gonna help us. Greatly. Sal already has Oz, now all we need is to find a way to kill him.”  There was an indescribable emptiness in your stomach at her words

“Of course after I make sure he feels the same sort of sadness he inflicted on me-that’s where you come into play. ”

You looked down at your feet, trying to find words to pronounce. This is what this sort of life brings you, death. Only death and pain.

“What ma-makes you think he’s gonna su-suffer as much as you?” you muttered- more to yourself really. 

“The way he looks at you and sure- looks ain't enough, but the way he talked to me about you.” She exhaled loudly, like a schoolgirl talking about a crush, mocking you.

“Some people could only dream about that. You know, he talked about you at my brother’s funeral and the way he would compliment you before the deal at the club; but besides that-” her face got serious.

“-you’re the closest person to him. The only person who knows the in’s and out’s of the massive drug operation he built; his second in command, you have his ear and loyalty. You’re the last thing he has got left in this world, without you, he’s all alone.” she leaned back again.

“I almost feel sorry for you.”

You blinked, trying to make sense of her words- she continued, disgust laced in her words “You’re just a fucking kid.” 

There was a silence that followed that only made the gravity of her words more apparent.

“He put this on you. It seems to me- like you had a pretty good life- before all this. You studied well, you had a lot of friends- it seemed like your life couldn’t get better. Then the floods came and you turned into a street rat. Now you think him saving you was what you needed- but no. He’s a manipulator and a liar and he will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.” She took another deep breath and squinted her eyes at you in judgment.

“I mean, don’t you ever think what your parents would say? Seeing you with a man like that?”

“Don’t talk about my parents-” she was pressing your buttons and you knew that lashing out at her was at the cost of your own life right now.

“What would your mother say? Huh? I bet she wanted her little girl to find herself a good man, with a nice job, but no.. she found herself a drug lord.” Sofia snickered, half in disgust and half in pity. 

“You kn-know… Oz-“  you started and she cocked her head to the side

“He’s gonna kill Sal, just like-like he did his wife and son and th-then he’s coming straight for you.”  

“You have a lot of faith in him.”

“Yes I do.” Yes you did. If there was one thing you knew about him is that he was unstoppable, one way or another- he was going to get his way and he was going to win in the end. He had to. 

You lowered your tone and leaned closer to her “He’s always-always two steps ahead. He will come for you.” There was a twinge of something on her face, was it- was it fear? 

She got up and left afterwards. Thank god. You didn’t want to see her again.

Some time passed; your stomach was rumbling but you didn’t eat the food she prepared, you had time to think- think about what she said. 

What would your mom say? It almost brought tears to your eyes thinking about them. 

Late at night before you would go to sleep, since you were young she would always come in and kiss your forehead. That was your ritual. 

You smiled before it was quickly wiped from your face when you remembered what sort of life you had now. What would she think?

“My little girl” she would say “so brave” she’d probably be disappointed, so disappointed. Her and your dad too. They despised people like Oz, people shouldn’t murder and cheat their way to the top. He was the complete opposite of the man they were hoping you'd be with. 

They loved Robert, always inviting him at home to eat together, he was a good boy, he listened and he studied well, it’s better he left Gotham.

They would probably be frightened by Oswald, afraid to even look at him. This man couldn’t look acceptable to the parents of a young girl like you in a million years, from the big scar on his face to his gold teeth and manner of talking. 

They would rather hope for him to be your sugar daddy than you loving- loving him?

You knew at this point there was no going back, you loved him- you did. However wrong this was. You loved all of him and you were disgusting, both of you. 

You blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. 

Was he gonna be sad you were nowhere to be seen or heard? Was he turning the place upside down when he saw you were gone? Was he for a split moment thinking you tried to leave, and this time, you were successful? Was he thinking all those nights and days spent by his side, next to him- over him and under him were all a facade when you stopped responding to his texts?

Someone called out your name.

 “I’m doctor Julian Rush... I am a psychiatrist” He looked at Sofia who was also next to him then back at you “I’m here to help you.”

Dr. Julian Rush weirded you out, severely. He put you down on a sofa and started asking you things, about your family, about how you felt- he had this ginormous light that would flash red that only worsened your state of defiance. It induced this sort of feeling in you- seeing it. 

It toyed with your emotions and feelings; it made you remember. You remembered everything.  

You told them everything.

From your earliest memories in Gotham, to your latest. Riding your bike down the street as a kid, running with your friends to your favorite diner before it closed, family nights, the happiness you felt when walking in your home, even if your parents or sister sometimes annoyed you- you were so rich in their love and warmth- so happy.

 You told them how you saw your apartment get swallowed up by the waves- how you tried to call; warn them, but to no avail.

At this point you were definitely crying your eyes out- holding yourself and trying to find some comfort.

Living in a FEMA camp was a nightmare, a nightmare that was never ending and it seemed to only become more like reality every damn day. You scraped by, you had to eat and live not just survive. So you joined some of the local boys there when they said they were going to find something to sell.

You never thought you would be stealing; you knew it was wrong and evil, but you did what you had to do. Life is cruel. 

You tried to remember everything. Not wanting to lose even a bit of detail. 

You had to be quick. Until he comes back. The first look at the Maserati waiting out there was like a piece of pie ready to be eaten- one of the boys went “wow” when he saw it and you were next to it like some hyenas soon enough.

At the first shot, you saw everyone scream and pick themselves up to run. You acted too slow that night, too busy with doing a good job to notice you were the one closest to him. 

The first time you looked at Oswald, you thought he was the scariest man you’ve ever seen in your whole life- especially because it was night time and because he just tried to fucking kill you. 

You told them how he made you do all those things. How lonely he was- how he touched you and looked at you sometimes. You told them you found kinship in one another, how you weren’t that lonely anymore and how utterly frightened he made you feel. Every.Damn.Day.

How you cried yourself to sleep all those nights, how you wanted to be better- be something more and this was the only way. This or death.

You told them about Robert too- how you hoped he had a better life, find someone who will love him and treasure him. How he tried to make you go with him and you tried to. By God you did, until he came back that night at the club. How he pushed a gun in your face and-and-

You blinked yourself out of it slowly, you knew you wanted out. This sick piece of shit was toying with you. With your emotions.

She brought you back in, reminded you about how he looked that night- what he said about you “you can remember, just tell us” the Doctor said.

His smell and all of him. A sick man, he was sick.

He wanted you all to himself and would kill you if that’s what it takes. 

You remembered your mother’s words to you at every family gathering or dinner “She’ll find a good man, one who takes care of her. I know it. Maybe a doctor, let’s hope.” You heard everyone laugh; so clearly- like they were there with you.

It seemed like they were taunting you now.  They expected so much more from you. 

You felt better whenever he was around you, how he would talk and walk to his jokes and smile. He was everything to you now. Late at night you would talk about all the things you wanted to do or have. You told him about your biggest dream in the whole world:

“A pen-penthouse” you whispered next to him as you were looking down at your fingers from your place on the couch. Maybe he thought it was stupid, how could someone like you ever achieve that?

“Yeah?” he turned to you “That what you want?” he asked, a small smile was gracing his lips.

“Yes. No one is above you or beside you; the c-city skyline.” If you closed your eyes, you could picture it—clear as day.

“With b-big windows so I can look outside and great big rooms with high ceilings- like in the movies.”

Julian told you Oz took all of that from you. Your old life- if he cared, if he truly cared he would’ve let you go that night. The bastard.

Sofia told you he manipulated you, he molded you into the woman he wanted you to be, you’re just a kid. You should have no part in this. 

It must’ve been hours since you haven’t eaten or drank anything.

You wanted to go back to Crown Point, have him tell you it’s all a bad dream “Let’s cook something, I’m starving-” he’d say and you two would chat until late at night. You slept the best with him in bed with you, even if he snored and it was hard to get him to turn over on the other side. You missed that. 

They grabbed you again- taped your mouth shut and stabbed you with something tiny, like a needle; it felt like a pinch. You proceeded to drive into the city and they shoved you through the back door- and then you saw him.

Tied down to a chair with tape, a towel shoved in his mouth, he started yelling and struggling when he saw you- making a gesture towards Sofia- like he wanted to strangle her.

This felt like a movie, like something you weren’t experiencing yourself- more like something you were watching from afar. Was this it?

The last moments of your life; they got you two and now everything has gone to shit again. 

Well you couldn’t say you weren’t close to getting what you wanted. 

You looked at him as they sat you down on a chair, trying to remember everything you could about him. You felt like crying but no tears came out.

“So, now that everyone is gathered here-” Sofia started “-I wanted to bring some stuff to the surface. Shine some light regarding some things.” She walked around you and back towards Oz.

He looked at you then back at her; confused. 

“Oz, while you were getting beaten blown up- me and your ‘Bonnie’ had a talk. It was a real eye opener, I would say.” she glanced back at you

“Do you wanna tell us why you decided to spare her life that night? Let’s have your side of the story.” Sofia took the towel out of his mouth-

“What the fuck is this shit? You’re a sicko- ya know that? Jesus Christ” He yelled while looking at you and her.

“-Oz, you wanna tell us, huh?-”

“Fuck you!” 

“Alright. Well I already know everything. Your little girl here sang like a bird-”

“-Fuck did you do to her?”

“Nothing. We just had a conversation, girl to girl.” she gave him a smile “She told me everything.” 

Oz looked at you, confusion clearly written on his face. You couldn’t even shake your head no- something was wrong. You could barely lift it. Did they give you something?

“You think she’s in love with you-” Sofia cocked her head to the side “-I’m here to tell you, she’s not. This whole thing that you two have- fear, fear ties her to you. It was all a lie. All of it.”

Oz looked at you again. Fuck you could barely lift your head, it looked like you were staring at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with him, your vision became blurry too.

You tried to blink away the feeling of falling asleep, what was happening?

Oswald called out your name and you heard him yelling at you that he was going to get you out of here. 

“You’ve ruined her life. Because you’re selfish and greedy and lonely. That night at the club- she wanted to leave- to escape, and you brought her back. You held a gun to her face and told her she’s not going anywhere-”

“Fuck you-”

“You know what Oswald? I think she would like an apology. Right here and now. An apology for the life she could’ve had.” 

You don’t know how but you managed to lift your head and look him in the eyes. You tried to move your legs- tried to wake the fuck up. 

“She wanted this.” He said. 

Julian grabbed your hand and placed it on the table. “From which hand was the finger that you cut? The left or the right- It was the left.” Sofia said.

It must’ve been the pain that woke you up halfway from the episode you must’ve been having because your eyes fully opened when you realized that they were cutting your finger. Shit, shit, shi-

You heard Oz call out your name and throw profanities towards Sofia. “All you gotta do is apologize, Oswald.-”

“-She knew what she was getting herself into I-”

“-Say you’re sorry-”

“-I told you I ain't got-”

“-Just say you’re fucking sorry!” 

The pain almost made your ears ring and you screamed into the tape that was on your mouth, trying your best to get away from the pain you were feeling. 

“This is fucking insane!” 

The pain stopped and you grabbed your hand, trying to get some relief. 

“You would’ve let me cut it.” Sofia’s voice was filled with disgust “Rather than admit you made her life worse, you would’ve let me cut it…you’re fucking despicable.”

You saw Julian grabbing something from his suitcase and bringing it closer to your arm. It looked like- like a needle. 

“I never realized it till now but this is almost like a high for you, isn’t it?” Sofia's voice was almost a whisper “Having someone so utterly dependent on you, her sole reason for existing is because you let her. You have her whole life in your hands… you’re a fucking bastard. What were you thinking huh? One day you were gonna make her Mrs Cobb and you two would live happily ever after?” 

Julian managed to get the needle in your skin and you felt a warmth spread across your whole body. You looked at Oz and saw how hard he was struggling against his restraints and the look of fear on Sophia's face when he actually freed himself.

What was she thinking- binding a 250 pound man with duct tape on a chair as old as this restaurant? You heard the commotion and you tried to stand up but black dots started to appear in your vision-

“She fell and hit her head- “ you felt like you were dreaming but you could hear and feel certain things. Like when he put you in the back of the car or when he placed you on the hospital bed. Maybe you died. 

“She’s gonna be alright, yeah?” 

“We’ll do anything we can, sir.” 

You thought you died and instead of the devils in hell torturing you for all the injustice you have done- there was nothing. Nothing. Just the sound of something beeping and the sound of voices sometimes, you could also smell- was this a hospital? 

There was also yelling and a voice. You knew that voice. 

“C’mon doll, open those big eyes for me. Please.” a hand brushing your hair back and one touching your hand.

“I did it. I’m the fucking king- all this shit ain’t gonna mean anything if you don’t wake up.” you heard him whisper.

“Please open your eyes, sweetheart. Please” 

When you finally woke up, it must’ve been late in the afternoon. The sound of rain softly touching the window and the beeping of the monitor was the only sound in the sterile room.

You swallowed, trying to wet your throat.

Your eyes felt like they were opened for the first time or like when you want to take a short nap in the evening and you wake up at 12am, they felt like they were sewed shut and only now you could open them.

You looked around the room and saw that your hand was being held- There he is, you thought to yourself. 

He was sitting on a chair, his head uncomfortably placed on his shoulder- ouch- that's gonna hurt later. You raised your right hand; placing it on your stomach and squeezed his with your left.

Once and then twice. 

“O-oz, Oz.” your voice was hoarse like you yelled all night long, you squeezed his hand again- harder this time. 

He finally lifted his head and looked at you. His eyes were so red and bloodshot; he must’ve been crying. 

Oswald looked shocked and then relief flooded his face- his eyes lit up- “Hey-” he said, then kissed your forehead.

“-you’re finally awake.” He hugged you and you placed your arms around his neck, slowly- but you did. 

“I did it.” his voice was muffled by the pillow and your neck “I showed all those sons of bitches.” You rubbed his back- not knowing what exactly he meant by that.

“I thought you weren’t gonna wake up.” he lifted his head and looked at you “They gave you something, pento- something. I thought-” He was getting choked up. This big strong bull of a man.

“Ye-yeah well, I was halfway to hell when I remembered I forg-forgot you here so…” you whispered.

He started laughing at that- touching your foreheads together; gold teeth gleaming.

After you left the hospital you told him you just wanted to sit and talk. So he drove you to a park, it was very secluded- you two sat on a bench overlooking the river.

 He explained to you everything he had done, from throwing Sofia in Arkham to getting all the crime bosses murdered by their second in command and now having something to hold over a congressman- Oswald would be running in the upper circles as one of them, not a lieutenant or a cripple- one of them.

 “What a smart man” you said while hugging the jacket you had on closer to you. Winter was already here. The city lights softly illuminating his face, he had the expression of a man who won it all- he was on top of the world. 

“Fuck- ya' know, I couldn’t have done it without you.” He looked at you softly and with admiration

“You are really something special kid.” he smirked at you, leaning back a little- trying to take all of you in. 

“Oz, you’re like fam-family to me.” You told him and saw as his expression shifted- something laid beneath his eyes- you couldn’t place a finger on what.

“You see - “ he grabbed your body and pulled you closer to him, his face mere inches from yours “You showed me, doll- you can be my greatest strength. But the thing about family is… they make you fight harder than you ever thought you could. They show you what you’re really capable of- even when you’re not seeing it.” he grabbed the side of your neck, gently brushing his thumb over your face. 

He was hesitant, a man so full of words and phrases was left without any in this moment. 

“It weakens you too and I think- I think all of this would not mean as much if you weren’t by my side.” He kissed you. 

You never in a million years thought you were ever gonna drive a Maserati- now you were in a Rolls Royce.

 A gorgeous purple color, something that once only showed his flamboyance now signals his power and influence over everything that moves in the underworld of Gotham, he was “the king” and you couldn’t be more proud of him and you. When the car rolled down the street people stopped and stared at it, talking among themselves and taking pictures. 

He told you that night, after a very expensive dinner- he had a surprise for you “Somethin’ real special” he got. 

You entered a very fancy apartment complex, the opulence of the place immediately striking you as the elevator whisked you up.

In the mirrored walls of the lift, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, catching a glimpse of the two of you.

 “You two look like a match”, you remembered Roxy’s words from the club. You were both dressed in black—the most expensive dress you owned, a gift from him- and Oz, who looked as if he had stepped out of a Fred Astaire movie. So poised, so polished. People with your kind of money didn't even open their own car doors.

You’d asked him where you were going, and he only replied, "It's a surprise," with that familiar glinted smile of his.

Oz was a man who relished in the influence his newly acquired power gave him. He’d been rapidly reconstructing Crown Point, making a name for himself not just among Gotham's underground elite but also rubbing shoulders with the high society.

It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that one day he’d run for mayor- and you’d be right by his side.

The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped out into the apartment, breath catching in your throat.

It was... breathtaking.

The entire space was so grand, it felt almost unreal, as though the world had bent its will to cater to him. To you. You almost couldn’t take it all in at once.

The high ceilings stretched above you, the living room expansive and bathed in the soft glow of a fireplace, the crackling warmth spreading throughout the room. But it was the view that stole your breath. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed all of Gotham, its lights twinkling below like a blanket of stars.

You moved toward the window, your feet almost moving on their own as you absorbed the beauty. The city spread out endlessly, like a maze of lights and possibilities, and here you were—at the top of it all.

The heat from the fireplace surrounded you, making the space feel so warm, so alive, and for a moment, everything outside of this apartment, faded away. This was your world now. You could hardly believe it, after everything that had happened.

After everything he’d done to get here.

Oz stood behind you, his presence so steady and unwavering. You could feel his eyes on your back, his gaze warm, yet calculating, as if he was still analyzing the moment.

"Ya' like it?" His voice was soft but full of that familiar edge- he wasn’t just asking about the apartment.

You could tell there was something deeper in his question, an unspoken desire to know if you truly liked the life he had built for you, for the two of you.

You turned to face him, the firelight catching his features, casting soft shadows across his face. His eyes were dark, intense, as though he was trying to read your every emotion.

You met his gaze, the warmth of the room matching the heat you felt in your chest.

This is it, you thought. The beginning of everything, everything you’d ever wanted. And somehow, it felt like the end of something else.

You took a step closer to him, and for a moment, you simply stood there, breathing in the air between you. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heady. 

“Of course” you proudly announced. You loved it- every inch of it.

Oz stepped forward, closing the distance with one smooth movement. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, the simple touch sending a shiver down your spine.

His voice was low, only for you to hear, “I made it happen for you... for us. All of it. Tell me, doll... you proud of me?” He came closer to you, grabbing your face. 

“Of course,” you said. Excitement gripped you and you knew him asking that sort of question meant he was in need of some love and appreciation. 

“You know-” you got out of his grip.

“-I actually want to see the master bedroom- maybe the sheets are purple too.” You laughed- the adrenaline you felt when his face changed to one of excitement as well turned you on and you left your shoes near the staircase that went upstairs- to the second floor of the massive penthouse. 

The icy cold feel of the floor didn’t matter to you as you almost sprinted to one of the doors upstairs - you heard him climb the steps and your heart started pumping. 

Even after all this time of making love to Oz, the electric rush that shot up your spine every time you saw that wild spark in his eyes- made you crazy.  You quickly took your panties off and got on the gorgeous bed. The bedding was so comfortable- like a cloud.

The door opened and you saw him. 

“You got some nerve, runnin’ away like that.” he said as he came close to the left side of the bed and grabbed the upper part of the dress, almost testing how easy it was to pull it off, you simply giggled at him. 

How were you ever afraid of this man? 

You rubbed your hand on his hard on and he gave you a shaky breath- still crazy about you. 

"Wouldn't be the first time you tried to disappear." He paused, eyeing you intently, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips "Turn around."

He unzipped your dress and undressed you- gasping when he saw you weren’t wearing anything underneath. You got on your knees and helped get him undressed too- before he would always leave his clothes on, always preferring to have only you naked when you were with him. Things change.

He climbed on top of you and you welcomed him between your legs. This man- all of him, you loved him so much. He gave you the whole world. You both groaned when he entered you and set a very gentle pace while kissing your neck. You put your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

“Tell me you’re proud of me.” He whispered in your ear

“I’m so proud of you- “ you gasped as he pressed himself even harder inside you “You’ve done so much for us-” he did it again, harder this time “And I love you” he started fucking you even harder, the feel of his greater thighs touching the underside of yours and the sound coming from your pussy were louder than your soft moans and his groans of pleasure. You squeezed his body with your legs.

“There’s-there’s-” the feeling of having him in you, while he pressed himself deeper and deeper, his body over yours as he was holding himself up on his forearms next to you- you’ll never get tired of it “There’s nothing-nothing standing in your way.” 

He kissed you, putting his tongue in your mouth “You’re so beautiful, doll” He kissed all over your face as he said that and squeezed your breasts as he pounded into you. “So fucking beautiful” his eyebrows were furrowed and eyes closed, deep in thought about how you felt around him. 

“Fuck- com’ here” he pulled himself out and got on his back, slowly touching the side of your body as you lowered down on his penis with your lips. 

Oz wasn’t the sort of guy that enjoyed small kisses near his manhood and soft touches, if he wanted you to suck him- he wanted you to get to business. 

He grabbed hold of your hair- not for dragging you up and down him but to help you. You climbed on his leg- to pleasure yourself while you’re at it, no? 

Your lips enclosed around his head and as you bobbed your head up and down him you tried to breathe through your nose and help yourself with your hands. One cradling his balls and one on his penis, up and down. 

His moans were like music to your ears as you pleasured him, whenever you would stop at his head and lick the underside of it, he would press himself even higher in your mouth.

“I love you, doll. I love you-” he would chant as you took him. 

You rubbed yourself on his thigh as you sucked him, your legs were almost shaking.

“You take me so good- you’re such a good girl- my good girl.” This man and his words. 

When you would get off of him to breathe, he would push your head down to lick his balls and then make you get up to suck him again. His grip on your hair was becoming even tighter, bringing you down on him until you almost choked and then back up again.

 He would thrust up into your mouth as he got closer to his peak, chanting your name and how much he wanted to fuck you.

“I wanna fuck you so bad-” He pulled you on top of him and you gave him a giggle as you sat on top of his cock- only exciting him more.

“You wanna ride daddy baby?” it was a new nickname he enjoyed to give himself, you don’t know what changed in him, maybe the way people in society looked at you two, Oswald Cobb and his much younger woman. You nodded excitedly and grabbed his length from down below.

Fucking such a powerful man- he was the king, you should be proud of yourself.

He ran the Gotham underworld with an iron fist, everyone was afraid and respected him while also loving him too- he gave them jobs, he gave them a place to sleep- he took care of people. 

“Oh, baby..” he pulled you out of your daydream as he grabbed your waist and dragged you up and down him “I wanna get you pregnant doll” 

Your stomach twisted when you heard that-in a good way. You felt butterflies in your stomach and your pussy only got wetter. His eyebrows were furrowed and his groans were becoming even louder- you loved how loud he would get when he got close to cumming.

 He grabbed your breast in his hand while the other held your waist- fingers gripping into the skin there and you grabbed his chest to steady yourself as you rocked yourself on him. 

His fingers readjusted themselves on your body, gripping even harder this time- he would push himself into and his movements became erratic when near his climax. You smiled at Oz as you saw him gasp and hold you still. 

As he held you in his big arms that night, you had a clear view of the city from the bedroom window- you couldn’t believe you were here.

After everything you had to go through- finally, maybe your parents wouldn’t be disgusted with you. 

You had everything you ever needed here, with him, he was gonna keep you safe from now on.

 Maybe your mom, dad and little sister were happy- their girl found herself a man who fought tooth and nail to get where he was now; his ambition never ending and his resilience like iron, he loved you, he was going to give you children and give you a life you only ever imagined in your wildest dreams. 

Was he a bad man? Mayhaps, for some. His profession required him to be- but he was also sweet and kind and good. People weren’t black and white. 

Your eyes were slowly closing with the soft snores of your soon to be husband lulling you to sleep.

Gotham winked at you from down below- reminding you it took you right where she wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note: AHHHHH its been so much fun writing this- thank u for reading and I hope it was good. Thank you to @fat-bottom-demons because I don't think I would've been this quick in writing this big ass chapter without her nice words.

The Finale made me feel like I got punched in the throat lol. I hated Oz, like I didn't even look at the scene in order to reproduce it here in this chapter- something I usually do and poor Sofia, hope she wrecks his shit in the movie.

I wanted to keep Oz's nature of a manipulative and horrible man in this story as well- it's just that he CAN love and he can make himself vurnelable enough to love someone like he loves the reader- which he is also kinda obsessed with.

Maybe I will revisit this story- once we see what he's up to in the movie ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

The Demigod On Earth - Steve Rogers x Reader (Love and Thunder)

Summary: Thor pays you a visit and your family expands by one.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Light Angst! Mention of Character Death! Talk of Cancer Thor: Love and Thunder Spoilers!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Love and Thunder

Summer was probably one of your favourite times of the year, especially now that you had less work over the summer vacation and more time to spend with JJ. Today Steve also had the day off from work so the three of you had decided to spend a day at the pool. 

You were just about to leave when a spaceship of all things landed on your front lawn. 

“Were we expecting any visitors today?” Steve muttered quietly to you. 

“Not that I’m aware of” you muttered back, you didn’t even recognise the ship. 

The door to the ship finally opened and you had your answer “Uncle Thor!” JJ exclaimed running off towards his uncle before you had a chance to stop him. 

“JJ careful!” Steve shouted after him before furrowing his brows “Who’s the girl?”

“Huh?” you hummed before spotting the little girl who looked to be a similar age to Thor walking off the ship behind him. 

“Little man you’ve gotten so big!” Thor boomed as he lifted JJ up. 

“Thor, I didn’t realise you were visiting today. Who’s your little friend?” you asked as you and Steve walked over to him. 

“I did send a raven, did you not get it?” Thor frowned.

“Not a raven no… did you send an email?” Steve answered. 

“No, ravens are more reliable and faster,” Thor said shaking his head “Anyway this is my daughter”

You choked on some air “Daughter?”

“Yes, I adopted her just a couple of weeks ago and thought we’d visit for your birthday” Thor explained nodding over to Steve.

“My birthday was two weeks ago” Steve pointed out.

“Oh my apologies, it’s been an eventful couple of weeks,” Thor said with a visible gulp, his voice breaking slightly. 

You instantly picked up that something was wrong and this visit was more than just introducing you to your niece “Um Steve why don’t you take the kids out to the backyard i think me and Thor have some catching up to do” you said putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“But what about the pool?” JJ pouted. 

“We’ll go later or tomorrow, why don’t you show your cousin all the tricks you’ve taught Scout?” you suggested.

JJ’s face instantly lights up “Ooh yes c’mon!” he said gesturing to the girl to follow him. The two kids hurried to the front door, Steve following closely behind. 

“Remember no lasers Love!” Thor called out as she went, making Steve look back over his shoulder in shock. 

You gave him a reassuring smile and thumbs up “We’ll keep watch from the kitchen” you told him before returning your attention back to Thor “I’m sorry I just realised I didn’t catch her name”

Thor furrows his brows in confusion “I just said it, It’s Love”

“Right my mistake” you muttered “Why don’t we go get a drink and you can tell me more about my new niece” You patted him on the shoulder and guided him inside. 

Thor followed you inside and to the kitchen. You paused by the kitchen window looking out to quickly check on the kids and Steve outside, no laxer burns anywhere yet which was good. 

“Do you want a drink or anything?” you asked turning back around to face Thor. 

He shook his head and took a deep breath “Have you spoken much to Jane recently?” he asked.

You furrowed your brows at his question, unsure of the relevance “Oh um, no not really” you said shaking your head as you moved to sit down at the kitchen island “Not through lack of trying, I reached out a couple of times but assumed she was busy, why’d you ask? I know you guys haven’t been together since before the snap”

“Ah right well um we haven't but we crossed paths back in New Asgard” Thor explained clearing his throat as he shifted from one foot to the other.

“New Asgard? What was she doing there? Research?” 

“She was looking for this” Thor answers holding out his hand, to your surprise instead of Stormbreaker appearing, Mjolnir did instead. 

Your jaw dropped as you looked at the hammer, you could see the cracks from where Hela had destroyed it yet it had been fused back together “I-I don’t understand I thought it had been destroyed” you muttered in disbelief. 

“Me too, but turns out I put an enchantment on it to protect Jane so when she touched it, it healed itself and her” Thor explained.

“Her? What was wrong with Jane?” you asked shaking your head. 

“She had terminal cancer” Thor sighed, swallowing thickly as he looked down.

“Oh gods that’s awful, it’s a good th-” you started before your brain caught up. Thor had used the past tense, he had the hammer with him now and his demeanour didn’t convey happiness that she’d been cured “Wait… you said had” you said voice becoming thicker “What-”

“She passed” Thor answered without you needing to finish your question.

If you hadn’t already been sitting, you would have needed to because you felt yourself deflate at the news “shit… I– I- Thor I’m so sorry” you muttered.

Thor gave you a small nod before letting out a shaky sigh “Yeah- um I’ve changed my mind, you don’t happen to have any ale do you” he asked weakly.

“No, and you know that would be a bad idea anyway,” you told him with a sympathetic sigh, you didn’t have alcohol in the house full stop, with you pregnant and Steve’s hiccup with Asgardian liquor during the snap you only got it in for special occasions and in small quantities “come sit down and tell me everything” 

Thor sat down with a heavy sigh but to your relief told you everything that had happened the past couple of weeks. You tried your hardest to hold back your tears as he told you everything but with the hormones, it was a losing battle. 

“I’m so sorry you went through all that Thor, you did all the right things though and I know as hard as it is to hear it but Jane is in a better place now, she won’t be suffering anymore,” you told him softly, resting your hand on top of his.

Thor nodded “She’s in Valhalla now”

“Exactly, but please reach out more if you need me, I don’t want you to go back to that dark place” you said. 

“I won’t I promise, having Love… it’s something to focus on, a light in the darkness” Thor told you making you smile softly. You knew that Steve had felt the same about JJ when you were gone. 

“She is, and if you ever need us we’re here” you promised him. 

“Thank you sister” Thor smiled. 

The backdoor opened and the two kids ran back in, Steve following close behind with an apologetic look on his face. 

“Mom, is it time to go to the pool yet?” JJ asked as he came to a stop next to you. 

“Yes sorry, we’ll just need to get Love a swimming costume on the way” you told him.

“Yes! C’mon” JJ said getting Love to follow him, Thor went with them leaving you and Steve in the kitchen. 

“You okay?” Steve asked putting his hand on the small of your back as you stood.

You took a shaky breath and nodded your head, “yeah” you said your voice breaking, it wasn’t true and Steve definitely knew that but you just weren’t ready to talk about it.

The rest of the day at the pool Steve periodically checked in on you. You stayed out of the pool on the sunloungers with your book which Steve could tell you hadn’t actually read a single page of. Whenever he looked over to you from the pool you were either looking off into the distance or watching the kids play with a sad look on your face. 

He wanted to know what it was that Thor had told you that made you so upset but he wasn’t going to push you. You clearly needed some processing time and he wasn’t going to ask Thor either.

That evening after saying goodbye to Thor and Love and putting JJ in bed, Steve found you in bed curled up as best as you could on your side. Steve climbed into bed next to you, wrapped his arm around you and pulled you gently into his side. You rested your head against his chest and started sniffling.

“You ready to talk about it?” he asked softly.

You sniffled and wiped away your tears “Jane died” you whispered.

“Oh,” Steve muttered, his shoulder dropping.

He didn’t know Jane as well as you but knowing she was gone was hard to hear. He knew the two of you were pretty close following your fight against the dark elves even if you fell out of contact throughout the years.

“Turns out she had terminal cancer, I just can’t believe I didn’t know, that I couldn’t be there for her,” you said shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I know you would have done everything you could of, did Thor know?” Steve asked as he rubbed your back soothingly. 

“Not until just before,” you said before recounting everything that Thor had told you.

“Well as hard as it is to hear it seems like she didn’t want people to know and we have to respect that decision even if it hurts” Steve sighed as he held you close. 

“I know I just wish I had reached out more” you sighed as you snuggled further into him. 

“I understand, when people die it makes the people that are less behind regret all the things they didn’t do” Steve sighed “I regretted not telling you that I loved you more, I regretted everything that happened with the accords and that we couldn’t move into this house when I originally planned, I’m just glad I’m getting a second chance”

You smiled softly up at him “I love you too, every day for the rest of our lives” you whispered.

“I love you too” he smiled as he kissed you softly “And when we get an opportunity we can go visit and say goodbye” Steve suggested.

You smiled and nodded your head “It might have to wait until this one comes along but I’d like that” you said running your hands over your bump. 

“Sounds like a plan” Steve smiled. 

The two of you relaxed together, Steve grateful to feel you relaxing in his arms. He replayed the day in his mind unable to quite comprehend everything that had changed in less than 24hr. He had a niece now, something he didn’t think would ever happen. 

“I know we’re supposed to love family…” Steve started “But love is terrifying” he said making you burst out laughing. He smiled and laughed along with you, glad to see you smiling again. 

Sharing is caring so please reblog if you enjoyed this and maybe even leave a comment to make my day!

I have no schedule, please don’t ask when I will be updating!

Masterlist / Masterlist

I don’t have a tag list so follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary​ and turn on post notifications for updates!

[intomybubble]

I started getting YT recs for Sims 4, and this is the start of my downfall.

I checked on steam, and the base game is F2P. I download the game and it’s basically the only thing I’ve been doing for the last 3 days, despite the fans in my laptop being put on blast.

Like, games with skills to level and autoplay? I am absolutely watching my screen for hours on end, only to realize several hours just disappeared for my life. I remember playing (and still have yet to finish) Persona 5 Strikers, and I am still in the 3rd dungeon and I already went ahead to max all the available characters skills bc it bothered me that they weren’t.

Seriously, I really should take advantage of cheats in the Sims so I’m not starting at my computer screen (literally not even mulitasking a game on my phone or Youtube on the side) waiting for my Sim to get better at gardening for an entire day.

[ineed-to-sleep]

Some sketches I did to try to get a feel for what I want my Rook to look like 🤔

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

why does everything have to be a hecking issue with my sister

[waitineedaname]

I think the thing that gets me about the LQG-LMY age gap is the implication that SVSSS martial sects serve to sever your ties from your family. This is admittedly skewed by our protagonist being SQQ, but at no point do we hear about any of the Qing Jing disciples getting visits from family members. SQH's family doesn't even get a mention. And so LQG is making a conscious decision to go back to meet this baby (a girl, even, in what isn't ancient China levels of misogyny but is still PIDW) and spend enough time with her that she chooses to follow him up this mountain away from everything she knows. I don't think it was For him but it was something that registered as desirable to her because he was there and able to tell her about it, you know? No wonder PIDW LMY is so ready to avenge him, when he clearly was the one to choose her first

actually, we do hear about the Qing Jing disciples getting visits from family members! Ming Fan mentions his family visiting during the fake jade fight, which is why he had his own little jade trinket to show off to Ning Yingying -- because his family brought it. I think he's the only one to mention getting visits from family though, so maybe that's just a Ming Fan thing lol

even still, it definitely seems like a big deal that Liu Qingge would have any relationship at all with his baby sister! I mean, he was head disciple if not peak lord when she was born, he was probably busy. he could've very easily responded to the news that his parents were having another kid by just being like cool 👍 and then moving on, but he apparently didn't since they have some semblance of a relationship! I mean, they're described as not super close but still having a good relationship, and she still ended up in the same cultivation sect at him, and still apparently teamed up with Bingge to avenge him in PIDW, so they definitely care for each other despite the age difference!

[seokmattchuus]

So vcha really is gonna promote in korea?

[kindafooey]

So hey, remember when I ventposted about the group project where I was the only one in the group who had any level of basic knowledge about media education, which is literally the master's degree these studies are part of? Yeah, well. It turned out to be a Whole Thing. The basic gist of it is that due to a change in legislation that redefined the terms of qualification in preschool education a couple of years ago, kindergarten nurses with a trade school-level degree as their only educational background are no longer qualified for certain pedagogy-related job positions, which has affected their pay and terms of employment significantly. So now a lot of them are trying to achieve the required qualifications by taking masters-level courses as so-called bridge studies, and I mean...

Like, it's not their fault. You can't expect people with a trade school background to have the skills needed for academic studies. The point here is that out of the three other people in my group, two of them are so completely out of of their field that normally they wouldn't even be able to apply. However. More students means more funding for our small, financially struggling university. So what they've decided to do is they've lowered the standards significantly. The profs have been pressured to simplify the contents and themes of their classes to help the people without academic background to keep up. And the results so far have been lectures that suck shit, and research-driven studies (that is to say literally the core of university as an institution) have been replaced with group projects that are basically like some kind of bizarre office job simulations and have jack shit to do with academia.

*draws a deep breath*

So yeah. This sure has been a learning experience, and by that I mean learning how deeply fucked the faculty of educational sciences is as it stands. Don't know if it's this bad nationally, but it sure as hell is bad here. Kinda want to do a whole, like, investigative podcast on this now. Or something.

Anywayyy yeah in case anyone was wondering how the group project is coming along. Well, it's coming along all right. I'm doing like 85% of the work but like, I'm literally acting as a media educator, so I guess the shoe fits? 😅 I don't mind tbh. I mean, I got to make a Goncharov podcast as my own contribution to the project, so like. Hell yeah man.

[confusedshades]

Oh. So its a thing. With all the Robins. Is it tested out in the safety of the cave first in case the the cape/hood combo doesn't hold the kid's weight? Like the reinforced stitched gives out? Is there training for this?

A warning given from previous mantle holders that's dismissed out of hand until it happens to them in the field?

Is that Batman's version of a child leash/handle?

[cuteniarose]

It’s almost 6 a.m and I can’t sleep because I’m being plagued by thoughts of The Latest OC

[adreamfromnevermore]

Love the slight AUs where Bruce as Batman has been a member of the league for ages, but he's somehow managed to keep his assortment of children under the radar.

Because it sets up the wildest misunderstandings within the league. He routinely talks about his babies, his children who are all so sweet and kind and occasionally assholes yes but only because they are young (and traumatized) hell I don't think the league would even be aware that they're adopted. So they're all thinking literal children

Barry: Bats really loves his kids.

Hal: I mean they're babies, wait till they hit the angsty teens and I'm sure we'll be hearing the opposite

Which means the day they finally meet Nightwing they don't know wtf to think. For one thing, how old would he have been when he had this kid???? Should they be worried about that???? And for the other, that is not a baby, that is not a precious little thing.

He could break someone in half. Like a twig.

He won't, but he could. And they can see that. (He's bat trained, they have seen what the bat can do they are not fools)

And they're like, okay. Okay maybe he isn't the baby (he is). He's got younger kids right? He's never said how many, they have 0 clues. They've been expecting 1 child, maybe 2 because he'd said kid in the plural exactly once when comforting an older woman while they were searching for her children in the aftermath of a rough battle.

And then a week later they run into Red Hood. In his leather, with his guns. And he drapes himself across Batmans back with all the self confidence in the world and starts whining about the "Brat" breaking into his safe house.

To steal his dog.

And yet again. He is not baby. He is bigger than Batman. He could probably break Batman in half given the bat didn't put up a fight. But Batman looks at him with probably the softest expression they've ever seen on that mans face and tells him very earnestly that the kid just wants to spend time with his older brother, next time they should try a walk. Maybe go to the zoo.

But probably not one of the babies. They're kind, and gentle, and at least one just loves reading and Bats has been trying to encourage that!!!

And then a day later he mentions his "babies" going for a walk in the park and they all instantaneously lose their minds at the confirmation.

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[intomybubble]

aaand now I dont have enough space for HSR on my laptop (65+ gb) and now I'm retired from playing again.

I literally only went back to playing (after running out of space on my ipad months ago, which prioritizes Genshin) for Jiaoqiu since his JP VA is one of my favorites (I got him to E1L0 from what I saved up) and the only thing I was anticipating was the release of Sunday, next patch. Now, I'm prioritizing Sims 4 on my laptop and which I went from 16 to 70 gb of available space.

[corkinavoid]

I'm pretty sure this has been done before (and several times), but brain going brrr, so

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids

Bruce doesn't even get to say anything when the door to his study opens with a slam against the wall, and before he knows it, he gets an armful of kids. As in, a bouquet of them.

"I'm so done," John Constantine breathes out, raspy and exhausted, looking like a trainwreck incarnate. Granted, the man always looked like one, but right now, the effect has been greatly worsened. The dark circles under John's eyes are, in fact, black, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

Bruce looks down to the small gaggle of children in his lap that he caught in his hands by sheer reflex.

All three of them look up at him with identical, sky blue eyes. They could be twins if it was not for their obviously different ages - the girl looks no older than three, while the boys are probably around five and six.

The older boy scrunches his nose. The girl pouts, but it looks directed at Constantine rather than at him.

Bruce looks back to John, a silent question in his eyes.

"They are- Well, not mine, for starters," the man begins, placing his hands on the table right over the sheets and documents, and leans on it, hanging his head down. Then, he raises one hand up and waves it in the air, "Not yours either, thank the Gods for that." He takes a deep breath.

Bruce's eyebrows raise all the way up to his hairline. The girl starts trying to wiggle out of his hands, but the middle boy holds her back, keeping her in Bruce's lap. She pouts harder.

"And you've brought them here why?" Bruce breaks the stretched out silence, gently repositioning the kids into a more comfortable hold. John raises his head up at him, and the magician's eyes look straight up pleading.

"You're the only person I know of who is, one, a parent, two, acquainted with supernatural, three, a man of great patience, and four, owes me a favor." Constantine lists off reasons that don't really make sense all together, especially regarding kids. Then he thinks for a moment and adds, "Five, owes a shitton of liquor."

"John, what-"

"Listen, I've been dealing with them for a week, I'm at my limit," Constantine interrupts him, desperate and close to whining, "I haven't slept in more than three consecutive hours for days. I don't remember the last time I ate. Or took a shower."

Yes, Bruce can see that. Or, rather, smell it. But that answers none of his questions as to who, why, and how.

"I would kill for a bath," John admits, like it's some sort of a secret. The middle boy opens his mouth, but Constantine points an accusing finger at him, "No, the puddle of melted ghost ice does not count for a bath. And don't come at me with your death puns."

The child rolls his eyes but closes his mouth back and slumps. Bruce resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but only because he is holding three kids. His hands are full, quite literally.

"John, I need you to explain," he asks, somewhere between a demand and a careful inquiry. Because, really, the man looks on the brink of losing his sanity, that much is evident. Bruce might not like the man, but he can at least partially sympathize with dealing with kids.

His bare minimum of sympathy - and isn't it a bizarre thought, emotionally sympathizing with John Constantine of all people - does not ease his growing worry and irritation. The girl starts trying to get out of his hold again.

John takes a very deep breath, holds it, and then-

"I stole them," he says, looking Bruce dead in the eye, with a sense of resigned, if a bit unhinged, determination. And, before Bruce is able to ask literally anything else, he keeps going, "Their parents are shit, a branch of government is out for their guts - as in, literal guts - there was- there is a backdoor to the afterlife in their basement, and also they are dead and because of some Realms fuckery and their spiritual granddad being a huge pain in the ass, they are all wrong ages."

Bruce blinks. Then blinks again. Processing that sentence turns out to be a lot harder than he estimated.

The oldest kid in his lap gives John a middle finger, nearly sneering. The girl starts snickering, somehow making it soundless.

"Oh, and they are under a silence charm because if I hear one more references to fucking Ghostbusters I will shoot myself," Constantine finishes matter-of-factly.

Distantly, Bruce wonders if John can make that spell into some sort of an amulet. God knows, Dick really needs one sometimes. Steph does, too. And Jason. Actually, all of them need one.

He looks over the kids again. They don't seem scared or unsettled, neither by the fact they are sitting in a lap of a stranger nor by Constantine's bullet point version of a summary to their lives. They mostly just look annoyed and grumpy, and a bit embarrassed in case of the middle boy.

Bruce sighs and decides to start somewhere.

"Do they have names?"

[part 2 ->]