#this reply is me Trying to Write after a while of Not Writing

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[astralis-ortus]

form of affection

✱ boyfriend!bc x fem!reader

— everything feels... new.

w.count → 0.8k genre → fluff warning → chan and reader both referred to as baby, one use of 'my girl', reader on period :(, minor cussing here and there, not proofread!ㅠ a.n → honestly i don't know what to write atm (aside from the continuation for that one seungmin fic) but i still want to write something lighthearted so... this happens. welp. :] ⋆ if you're enjoying my stories, do send me a ko-fi ⋆ see masterlist

you messed up.

"fuck," you finally muttered under your breath, hand clutching your forehead in frustration. you know you shouldn't have ignored your gut feeling earlier this morning and followed through with the precautions anyway.

again you turned against the mirror, still bearing some hope that whatever you saw earlier was just your eyes playing tricks on you, but no—the damned red spot on your white dress is still there, mocking you through reflection of your boyfriend's bathroom mirror.

"baby?"

you jumped at the sudden knock on the bathroom door, feeling like your heart has suddenly fallen to your feet. fuck—how are you supposed to tell him?

"are you okay? do you need me to come in?"

"no!" you hurriedly replied, only later cursing at yourself for not maintaining your composure. making chris worried was definitely your intention after going missing to his bathroom for quite a period of time, and your reply definitely wasn't helping your resolute.

"are you sure?" chris' voice were laced with concern, and you could even picture the frown that's definitely present on his forehead. "can you crack the door open? just so i'm sure you're really okay."

"it's just—"

"baby," again, the image of your boyfriend's stern gaze immediately popped up in your mind. "please? just one sec. i need to make sure that you're alright."

it's not that you're worried chris would say anything about it—you're well aware of the kind of person your boyfriend of 4 months is, and you completely trust him. it's just that…

you're embarrassed.

the click of lock were soon followed by a soft creak, revealing chris' concerned eyes beyond the slight opening of the door. his relief was audible even to you, gaze softening when he saw the glimpse of your flushed face.

"okay," chris' lips formed a soft smile, as if trying to soothe you, "are you sure all is good? do you need any help?"

"…today."

"hm?" blinking in confusion, chris brought his face closer to you, "sorry, baby, i couldn't—"

"i got my period today," you quickly repeated, cheeks heating up as you heard your own confession, "and i didn't bring any feminine products with me since i wasn't supposed to have it for another week. i also might've stained your couch. i'm sorry."

chris turned quiet, and you could practically see thoughts flashing through his eyes—but you're not a mind reader, and the passing seconds made your heart grew heavy. is he embarrassed to hear that? is he going to send you home? is he going to get upset? should you have not—

"if i'm not mistaken… i think there should be some pads and maybe some disposable underwear under the sink, baby," the sound of chris' voice promptly ceased the vortex of worry growing in your head, your eyes again meeting chris' clear ones, "i bought it a while back for you but i don't remember if i placed it here or in my room. could you check?"

despite the confusion, your body had instinctively moved along chris' request. to your surprise, you do find the items your boyfriend had mentioned, tucked neatly in a small box of necessities. you chest bubbled up in gratitude and filled with warmth—you never expected chris to do this for you, and yet, he managed to come over and beyond any of your expectations.

"found it?"

nodding your head, you swallowed back the tears welling up in your eyes. gosh—period hormones! "yeah, just found them. thank you, baby."

a sigh of relief could be heard from the other side of the door, and you couldn't help but smile—if it wasn't clear before, then now you're determined to find a way to repay chris somehow. frankly, at times you still don't understand the lengths chris would willingly go for you, or if you even deserve to be at the receiving end of chris' gesture of affection at all. the chris you've gotten to know is so full of love, and you don't even know if you have the capacity to love him the way he cares about you.

but in the mean time,

you've decided to try and accept chris' form of affection for you.

"okay," you could hear the smile in chris' voice as he speaks, "i'll go grab a change of clothes for you while you settle down, yeah? oh, and you do know where the towel if you want to shower, right?"

"yeah, i know," you held back a giggle as you reappeared in chris' vision between the crack of the door, clutching the box close to your chest with a beaming smile, "thank you, baby. really. i really appreciate this."

and with a smile equaling to the warmth of a spring's sun, chris chuckled a reply,

"anything for my girl."

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[fastandpascal]

Hi love! I was wondering you’d be able to write a Lando fix where his gf got her period early and she’s really not feeling well so he’s super worried… definitely not inspired by a recent personal experience lmao :))

──── ⭑

The sun was dipping below the horizon when Lando let himself into the apartment, the comforting click of the door signaling his return. Normally, the space felt alive when he came home—your presence a quiet but palpable energy that greeted him like warmth on a cold day. Today, though, something was missing.

He set down the groceries, frowning slightly. The stillness in the air made his chest tighten. Your slippers were by the door, your jacket tossed over the back of a chair, but the usual sounds—music playing softly, or even the occasional clatter from the kitchen—weren’t there.

“Love?” he called out, his voice breaking the silence as he slipped off his shoes.

There was no response.

He found you in the bedroom, curled up beneath the duvet, your knees tucked to your chest. The dim light of the bedside lamp illuminated your face, pale and drawn, your usually bright eyes dull and half-lidded. The sight stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey,” he said softly, his worry sharpening as he approached the bed. He crouched down by the side, studying your face. “You okay?”

You blinked slowly, trying to focus on him, but even that small movement seemed to drain your energy. “It’s just my period,” you murmured, your voice scratchy and quiet.

“Your period?” His brow furrowed. “It’s not supposed to hurt this much, is it?”

You gave him a weak shrug, your face contorting as another wave of cramps hit you. “Sometimes it does. It just… came early, and I wasn’t ready for it.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze shifting to the tension in your curled frame, the way your hands pressed against your stomach like you were trying to hold yourself together.

“Stay here,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm.

He disappeared into the bathroom, rummaging through cabinets until he found the heating pad he vaguely remembered buying with you months ago. Plugging it in by the bed, he slid it under the covers and positioned it against your stomach. The warmth began to seep into your skin almost immediately, and a small sigh escaped your lips.

“Better?” he asked quietly, sitting down beside you.

You nodded, a hint of relief easing your features. “A bit. Thanks.”

But he wasn’t done. He slipped out of the room again, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water and a packet of painkillers. “Here,” he said, holding them out to you.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing against his as you took them. “You don’t have to fuss, Lando,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not fussing,” he replied, his tone light but steady. “I just hate seeing you like this.”

You took the medicine, the water cooling your parched throat. He sat beside you while you drank, his hand finding yours under the covers. His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, a quiet reassurance that he was there.

“I’m going to make you something to eat,” he said after a while, standing up.

“Lando—”

“Don’t argue,” he interrupted gently. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

You shook your head. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before heading to the kitchen.

The scent of soup wafted through the apartment soon after, the quiet clink of dishes oddly soothing in your haze. When he returned, he carried a tray with a steaming bowl, a mug of tea, and a small plate of crackers.

“You’re spoiling me,” you murmured, managing a faint smile as he set the tray down and helped you sit up against the pillows.

“Not spoiling,” he said, settling beside you and watching as you took a tentative sip of the soup. “Just taking care of you.”

You leaned against him after you finished, the warmth of his body a comfort that rivaled the heating pad. He shifted slightly, adjusting the blankets around you.

“Better?” he asked again, his voice soft.

You nodded, your head resting on his shoulder. “Much.”

He didn’t say anything, but his hand found yours again, holding it firmly, as if to remind you he wasn’t going anywhere.

[24hlevi]

not sure which characters u write about for arcane!! but if you do male characters, could be anyone of your choice where they don’t get the hint you like them or want to take their relationship further (depends if u wanna do sfw or nsfw!!) :) tyyy!

for male characters i write for jayce, viktor, ekko, and silco! thank you for requesting 🫶

— TAKE A HINT

viktor (arcane) x gn!reader

warnings/tags: oblivious!viktor, confessions, fluff, sfw

you thought you were going mildly insane, having a crush on your friend as his second partner to jayce

to be fair, you kinda were, judging how no matter what you did in attempt to give hints just led nowhere

you tried talking to jayce on a few occasions, trying to get some advice on what to do, but he wasn't much help with relationship stuff as he claimed

you tried over and over again to get viktor to notice you more than just a friend, and every time, he couldn't tell

"hey," you say softly, slowly approaching viktor from behind with a hot cup of tea in your hands.

viktor turns his head as soon as he hears your voice draw him out of his work, and a small smile grows on his face. "good evening, yn," he replies.

"i brought you some tea," you set the cup down carefully next to his papers that were scattered along the table. "have you ate anything yet?"

"thank you," viktor responds, his eyes following your hand as you set the cup down. "i have not," he then shakes his head. "jayce tried asking earlier, but i wasn't quite hungry."

"would you like me to try and make you something?" you ask, looking down at him as you fiddle with your hands anxiously.

"mm," he hums, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "i would prefer your presence here with me. if you don't mind, that is."

"i don't mind," you shake your head, trying to fight the smile forming on your face. "just tell me what you'd like me to do."

"nothing," viktor answers, having you look at him with confusion. "you don't have to do anything, precisely. just your presence is enough."

"oh...okay,"

you still couldn't figure out how to get viktor to realize you had feelings for him, you couldn't believe how oblivious he was

after years of liking the male, he didn't ever seem to appear like he reciprocated those feelings, making you slowly give up as time went by

it wasn't until one early morning, that it all finally fell into place

viktor slowly made his way to the lab. it was early morning, the sun hardly peeking out from over the horizon as he hobbled through the hallway. this morning, he was already thrown a bit off his rocker. for he hadn't seen you yet since he woke up. normally, you would be awake and moving before him and jayce, so it was odd to not see you around as he walked down the hall.

entering the lab, viktor turns on the lights, and then stops in his spot. there you were. your body slouched against the table with papers messily filled with calculations that viktor was doing the day prior, seemingly asleep. slowly, he approaches you and stands behind you, silently looking at you. the sun is shining against your face, and viktor comes to the realization that he never paid attention to how much he liked looking at you. you looked so peaceful like this, and he felt an odd sensation in his chest as he peered down at you.

suddenly, you start stirring around, slowly opening your eyes to see viktor standing above you. "mm? viktor?" you groggily mumble.

seeing you wake up, viktor, as fast as he can, takes a few steps back, his face turning red at possibly being caught. "s-sorry," he stutters.

your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. did he just stutter? you rub your eyes with your hands before blinking a few times to look at him clearer. was he...staring at you while you were asleep? while this would be extremely creepy if it were anyone else, you couldn't help but feel somewhat flattered by his reaction. you take a look around and realize you're in the lab. "oh gosh, i can't believe i fell asleep in here," you drag your hands across your face. "i'm sorry, viktor. i was trying to finish what you were doing yesterday."

"it is alright," viktor says after taking a moment to calm his heartbeat from jumping out of his chest. he then realizes what you said, and his face contorts into confusion, looking at the papers on the table. "you didn't have to. i would have figured it out by this week i'm sure."

"i just wanted to help more," you admit with a short sigh. "ever since you and jayce started this new development for hextech...i feel like i've fallen behind." you look down at all the papers in front of you in shame that you still couldn't figure it out.

viktor's expression changes again, no longer confused but a soft look as he notices the tone in your voice change. you sound almost defeated, clearly upset about this. hesitantly, he places a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up at him. "it is okay, yn," he starts, his tone soft like his expression on his face. "you being here is enough for me. you do not need to prove yourself, for i already know how smart you are. do not worry of hextech if you fear you are falling behind. i appreciate your presence more than anything else."

looking up at him, you slowly nod your head and stand from your seat. you don't know what to say, but thankfully for you, viktor continues speaking.

"i have noticed some...changes in my thoughts recently," he says slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "while they are primarily filled with ideas of hextech and how we could evolve the future...they are also about you. i want to create something that will help our future, that will help your future. these past couple of weeks...i have thought of you more. i thought it was normal at first...but the more i thought about what i was thinking about i..came to a realization." he sees the way you look at him with subtle confusion on your face, and he hesitates before continuing. "i believe i may have some kind of feelings for you, yn."

your eyes widen in shock, looking at viktor as he explains his thoughts, and you're not sure what to do. "what?" you quietly let out.

"yes, it appears to be that way," viktor nods. "just now, i have confirmed it. i may not have noticed it fast enough, and i sincerely apologize if i am too late now, but i had to get this off my chest before it would ruin me."

"o-oh," you stutter, a fiery blush growing on your face. "you-you're not too late," you say finally. "i've uhm, had feelings for you for a while now," you admit.

hearing this, a smile makes its way onto viktor's face. "really?" he asks.

"yeah," you nod. "i thought you were never going to notice or were purposely ignoring my attempts."

"ah," he lets out. "i would never purposely ignore you, yn," he says, pushing some of your hair out of your face. "let's just say i am a bit slow when it comes to these things. i apologize if i ever gave you the wrong idea."

"it's okay," you reply.

"well then, shall we establish this whilst we finish these calculations?" he has a smile on his face as he speaks, dragging another chair to sit down beside you.

"yeah," you nod, smiling back at him.

"great."

[novaursa]

The Hound She Loved

- Summary: You loved him and he loved you, but he had to leave you behind. 

- Paring: baratheon!reader/Sandor Clegane

- Note: The reader is the oldest child of Cersei and the only trueborn child from Queen's marriage with Robert Baratheon. This one-shot is based on an anonymous ask I received not long ago and I've managed to find some free time to write it.

- Raring: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air is heavy with the mingling scents of roasted meat, horses, and the distinct tang of sweat from the crowds gathered at the tourney grounds. Robert, your father, is in his element, his booming laughter carrying over the clamor of the festivities. Knights parade past the royal pavilion, resplendent in polished armor and house sigils. But none of this interests you. Your focus is elsewhere—on the shadow looming just behind your chair.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stands like a stone sentinel, his face set in its usual grimace. To everyone else, he is merely fulfilling his duty as your sworn shield. To you, however, he is far more. The knowledge of your shared secret sends a thrill up your spine, though you force yourself to keep your composure.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, careful to make it look casual. His eyes flicker down to meet yours briefly, a flash of something soft in his usually hard expression. It’s a fleeting moment, gone as quickly as it came, but it’s enough. You straighten in your seat, pretending to adjust the folds of your gown, but really trying to steady the quickening of your heart.

"Your Grace," Sandor mutters, his voice low and rough, just audible over the noise.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s addressing you, and you tilt your head slightly in his direction. “Yes, Ser Sandor?”

“Eyes ahead,” he growls, though the corners of his mouth twitch as if suppressing a smirk. “You’re drawing attention.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “I was merely admiring the knights,” you reply, your tone light and innocent. “Surely that is allowed?”

He grunts in response, which you’ve come to understand is his way of conceding the point. Still, his gaze lingers on you for a heartbeat longer before he resumes his stoic vigil.

The day drags on, the tourney unfolding in the predictable manner you’ve grown accustomed to. Your father bellows his approval of a particularly brutal joust, your mother sips her wine with an air of practiced disinterest, and you pretend to watch while your thoughts wander.

As the crowd’s attention shifts to the melee, Sandor leans down ever so slightly, his proximity sending a shiver through you. “The stables,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your ear. “After sunset.”

You don’t respond, but the subtle nod of your head is enough. The stiffness in your body eases slightly, anticipation already building.

The stables are quiet, save for the occasional snort or shuffle of the horses. The scent of hay and leather fills the air, a welcome change from the oppressive atmosphere of the tourney grounds. You slip through the shadows, your heart pounding as you scan the dimly lit space.

Sandor is already there, leaning against a wooden post, his massive frame partially obscured by the gloom. His helmet rests on a bale of hay, and his hair is damp with sweat, strands clinging to his scarred face. Despite his usual grim appearance, there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you approach.

“You’re late,” he rumbles, though his tone lacks any real bite.

“I couldn’t just leave without a good excuse,” you retort, crossing your arms. “My mother has eyes everywhere.”

Sandor snorts, pushing off the post and closing the distance between you. “Your mother doesn’t scare me,” he says, his voice low and rough, though there’s a flicker of something akin to amusement in his tone.

“She should,” you reply, though the edge in your voice softens as he steps closer.

His hand, calloused and rough, reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face. The gesture is uncharacteristically gentle, and it takes all your willpower not to lean into his touch. “And what about you?” he asks, his voice quieter now. “Do I scare you?”

You meet his gaze, the intensity of his brown eyes pinning you in place. “No,” you say softly. “You never have.”

His hand lingers, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your cheek before dropping to his side. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. Then, unable to resist any longer, you close the distance, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that is as desperate as it is tender.

Sandor’s hands come to rest on your waist, his grip firm but not unwelcome. You feel the tension in his body, the way he holds himself back, as if afraid of breaking you. But you press closer, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, silently telling him it’s okay to let go.

When you finally pull away, your breathing uneven, he rests his forehead against yours. “This is madness,” he mutters, though there’s no conviction in his words.

“Maybe,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s worth it.”

He huffs out a breath that could almost be a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me, girl.”

You smile, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw. “Not today.”

The moment is short-lived, reality creeping back in as the distant sounds of the tourney reach your ears. Sandor steps back reluctantly, his hands falling away. “Go,” he says, his voice rougher now. “Before someone notices.”

You hesitate, your heart aching at the thought of leaving him. But you know he’s right. With one last lingering glance, you turn and slip back into the shadows, the memory of his touch burning like a brand on your skin.

As you make your way back to the royal pavilion, your mind is already racing with thoughts of the next stolen moment, the next fleeting chance to be with him. For now, though, you wear the mask of the dutiful daughter, hiding the fire that burns within you—a fire only Sandor Clegane can stoke.

The road stretches long and dusty before them, the air thick with the heat of the sun. Sandor Clegane trudges ahead, his armor clinking faintly with each step, while Arya Stark stalks beside him, her eyes sharp and observant as always. It’s been days of travel, days of Arya’s barbed remarks and Sandor’s gruff retorts, yet an uneasy companionship has formed between them.

For the better part of the morning, the two have walked in silence, the rhythm of their boots on the dry earth the only sound. But Arya is not one to remain quiet for long.

“You talk in your sleep, you know,” Arya says suddenly, her tone casual but her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Sandor’s head jerks toward her, his scarred face twisting into a scowl. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Arya insists, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You said something last night. Something about a ‘princess.’”

Sandor freezes for a fraction of a second before resuming his stride, his shoulders stiff. “Mind your own business, girl.”

Arya falls into step beside him, undeterred. “Was it about Joffrey’s sister? The one everyone says is so beautiful?” Her voice is laced with mockery, though there’s genuine interest beneath it. “Did you have a crush on her or something?”

Sandor stops abruptly, turning to glare at her. “Watch your tongue,” he growls. “She’s not like that little shit you called a king.”

Arya blinks, caught off guard by the vehemence in his voice. Her curiosity flares brighter. “Then who is she?” she presses. “You care about her, don’t you?”

Sandor exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he seems to wrestle with himself, his scarred face a storm of conflicting emotions. Finally, he mutters, “She’s the only one I’ve ever cared about.”

Arya tilts her head, her brow furrowing. “The princess?” she asks, her voice softer now, less teasing. “What happened?”

He hesitates, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if the answer lies somewhere in the distance. “I had to leave her behind,” he says at last, his voice low and rough. “When I left King’s Landing, I couldn’t take her with me. Couldn’t drag her into this.”

Arya is quiet for a moment, studying him. She’s seen Sandor angry, sarcastic, even vulnerable in fleeting moments, but this is different. There’s a rawness to his voice that makes her pause. “What was she like?” she asks eventually.

Sandor’s lips twitch, the faintest ghost of a smile playing across them. “She was… everything the rest of them weren’t,” he says, his tone unusually soft. “Kind. Honest. Didn’t care about how I looked or what people said about me. She saw… more.”

Arya frowns, trying to picture it. The idea of someone like Sandor being cared for, being seen as more than a killer or a brute, is strange to her. “If she cared about you so much, why didn’t she leave with you?”

Sandor’s jaw tightens, his expression darkening. “She couldn’t. She’s tied to that place, to her family. And even if she wasn’t…” He trails off, shaking his head. “She deserves better than this. Better than me.”

Arya crosses her arms, her sharp eyes narrowing. “That’s stupid,” she declares. “If she cared about you, she’d want to be with you, no matter what.”

Sandor snorts, though there’s no humor in the sound. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“You’re the stubborn one,” Arya shoots back. “You think you’re doing her a favor by leaving, but all you’re doing is making her miserable. You said it yourself—she saw more in you. Maybe you should start seeing more in yourself.”

Sandor’s gaze snaps to her, startled by the unexpected insight in her words. For a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, the weight of his regrets laid bare. But then he shakes his head, the walls going back up. “Life’s not that simple, girl,” he mutters. “Not for people like me.”

Arya doesn’t respond immediately, but her mind is whirring. She files this revelation away, this glimpse into the heart of the Hound, the man who had once been her enemy but now feels like something more complicated. She’s seen too much of the world to believe in happy endings, but some part of her hopes Sandor might find a way back to his princess, even if he doesn’t believe he deserves it.

As they resume their journey, the silence between them feels different—heavier, but not unpleasant. Arya glances at Sandor out of the corner of her eye, her curiosity sated for now. She knows there’s more to his story, more to the princess he left behind. And maybe, just maybe, there’s more to Sandor Clegane than even he realizes.

[yelenasdiary]

I usually stay up late (right now is 3 am and I still have things to do) programming and doing stuff.

I thought about this fic idea and you popped into my mind.

How about we mostly work in IT for SHIELD/the avengers so we mostly stay with computers or we are in workshops. The thing is we are with yelena and in general we get along with everyone. Lately yelena has noticed that we are more tired than usual, because us being a workaholic person can’t just stop working. One night yelena finds us sleeping on our computer while we were programming/hacking, she tries to gets us to sleep and we try to deny it. Next day yelena has some words with nick fury.

This is probably bad written but right now my brain is not braining sorry

Workaholic

Pairing: Yelena Belova x GN! Reader

Summary: You’re a workaholic that doesn’t realise how drained you can get. 

Fluff & Tiny Angst

Warnings: None, if there is any, please let me know. | 1.7K

Translations: Detka (baby)

AC: Thank you for sending this! I know it has taken me FOREVER & I do apologise for that. I hope you enjoy this! x

She watched in silence every morning when you would drag yourself out of bed to the kitchen for breakfast before leaving for work and she would watch again when you would finally come home late at night, hair slightly a mess before you’d take a shower and crash almost instantly the minute you sat down on the bed. She didn’t know what was going on at work, but she knew it was draining any energy you had left. 

Anytime she would meet you for lunch or when she would see you for the short period of time before and after work, you were just tired. Conversations were flat and short; you began to work later than usual which led to you going to work earlier than normal.

At first, Yelena just assumed it was something really important that Nick Fury, your boss, needed you to get done but when she found you one night, asleep at your desk, it raised more concern and worry for you.

Yelena sighed lightly to herself as she leant against the doorframe of your office, her brows frowning with concern at the sight of you slumped over your desk, the blue light from the monitors didn’t seem to wake you, your fingers still lightly pressed on the last letters you had pressed before resting your head. Lines of coding ran across the multiple screen system surrounding you, these were things she knew she would never truly understand how they worked. 

“Detka” she said softly, attempting to wake you. You stirred slightly, giving her a light groan but no real signs of opening your tired eyes. “Let me take you home so you can get some real sleep” you heard her Russian accent ever so softly speak. Unintentionally, you groaned once more, this time your eyes flickering open, the brightness of your screen making them sting. 

“I..I’m fine” you mumbled, sitting up straight, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Detka, you can’t keep doing this. What is so important to Fury that has you falling asleep at your desk?” Yelena asked, her brows frowned with worry. 

“I just need like 5 more minutes, I promise” you replied in your groggy state.

“More like another 5 hours” Your girlfriend muttered before she reached for your computer mouse before you could even string together where things were. “I’m not letting you make yourself sick for whatever this is” Yelena added, her voice low but firm, “you need sleep. No more hacking for tonight” she said as you watched the little arrow on your screen close down your opened tabs. 

“Yelena!” You spat, “I can’t! I have too much do to and you just shut it down?!” You added, annoyed by your girlfriends actions as you looked up at her. Yelena shook her head, “if you write another line of coding, you’re going to become the damn coding!” 

“You don’t get it, I need to get this done!” You frowned. 

“And you get do it tomorrow” Your girlfriend said, crossing her arms over her chest. Your eyes dropped slightly, there was no fighting her one this, not even you felt your eyes grow heavy once more. 

“Fine” you sighed, tiredly, “just let me close everything down properly before we go home” you added. 

----

The next morning, you woke up in a panic. The sun light creeping in through the crack of the curtains, you reached for your phone to find out your alarm had been switched off. You sighed before throwing your head back down on the pillow before covering your face with both of your hands. 

Yelena was giving her daggers a sharpen when you asked her why she had turned your alarm off. 

“Because, detka, you needed a real sleep” she said, not batting and eye at you. 

“Yelena, you made me late for work! I don’t even know what to tell Nick when I get there” you argued. 

“I already told him you’d be running late today” Your loving girlfriend replied, looking up at you, “I’m worried about you” she added. One look into her green eyes and you were reminded of the worried look she had on her face late last night when she found you at your desk, asleep. 

“You’re working yourself too hard, you come home and have a re-heated meal then shower and go to bed for a few short hours. Natasha and Wanda both said that you don’t even leave the compound for lunch, not even to get some fresh air. You are consistently at that desk working until early hours of the morning” Yelena said in a soft but firm tone. 

“Baby, it’s my job” you said, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Yes, it is but your job isn’t 16 hours a day” 

Your eyes dropped to your feet, “I know, I just….i just want to make sure I’m doing the best I can for Fury. All the coding and hacking I do, it’s not easy. It’s time consuming and I need ot be on top of my game all the time” you explained in hopes it would help Yelena understand. 

“You’re not going to be on top of your game if you’re falling asleep at your desk and barely function outside of work. Detka, I hate to say it, but you’re a workaholic” Yelena replied. You cocked a brow at the blonde, “I am not” you said, making Yelena chuckle. 

“You are detka, a hard, smart working workaholic” she teased, causing you to playful roll your eyes. “Think whatever you want Lena, I’m going to go get ready for work”

“I’m taking you today” Yelena said just before you pushed yourself off the doorframe, “and I’m picking you up at 5pm” she added. 

“Lena, you can trust me to come home at the end of my shift today” 

“I know, but Nat is dragging me in to help her with some training thing so why not carpool?” She replied with a rather proud grin on her lips. You playfully shook your head at her before making your way to the bathroom to get ready for work. 

----

You and Yelena walked into the compound, hand in hand before Yelena placed a soft kiss on your cheek and wished you a good day as you both parted ways, she waited until you were inside the elevator before she turned on her heels and headed towards Nick’s office. 

Nick, busy as usual was sitting at his desk with a stack of paperwork beside him. His focus so deep on the document in front of him he didn’t even hear the knock on his door. 

“Fury” Yelena said lightly, her accent coming in thick. 

Nick looked up before leaning back in his chair, “Belova” he acknowledged with a raised eyebrow. 

“I need to talk to you, it’s important” Yelena began, “it’s about Y/n” she added. Fury nodded, “come on, take a seat” he replied. Yelena closed the large wooden door behind her before she took a head on the typical office style chair. “What can I help you with?” The head of S.H.I.E.L.D asked. 

“They’re pushing themselves too hard for whatever it is you have them working on. This is shield, right? Not some tech startup company. They need a break” Yelena said firmly. 

“Right” Nick nodded, “and you think that I’ve been keeping them prisoner to their desk?” He added as he stood up from behind his desk and wandered over to Yelena, taking a the empty chair next to her, “Y/n is one of my hardest working IT employees, they are dedicated to their job, I admire it, I will all my IT employees would put in half the effort Y/n does. This job isn’t easy, there isn’t a real shift time start or end. We may need them at 4am if a mission goes south and they know that” he explains. 

“But they are here early every day, and they leave later than anybody else. You can’t tell me that every mission over the last month has gone to shit” Yelena argued.

“No, but, like I said they are dedicated to their job. Look, I’ll have a look at the clock ins and outs. If Y/n is doing too much unneeded overtime, I will have a word to them but if they aren’t, I’m not going to get in the way of somebody who has a drive to work” 

Yelena sighed lightly, “have you even seen them lately? They are exhausted, last night when they didn’t come home, I came here and found them asleep! At their desk! I’m not asking you to check their clock ins and outs, I am asking you to give them the break they deserve and need” Yelena said firmly, not backing down. “You can go a few days without them here. A few days is worth it then not having them at all” she added. 

Fury remained silent for a moment, contemplating Yelena’s request. He knew Yelena was right; losing a little of something is better than not having it at all. “Okay” he said, finally breaking the silence, “I will speak to them on their lunch break” he added. 

“Thank you” Yelena said, giving him a polite nod. 

“You’re just like your sister, stubborn” Nick muttered with a cocked brow. 

“I am when I need to be” Yelena teasingly grinned. 

----

When 5pm came, you didn’t want to keep Yelena waiting, you shut down your computer and made sure your desk was tidy for tomorrow morning before you wandered the main hall of the compound. You smiled softly when you locked eyes on her leaning against her blue pick-up truck talking to Natasha, Bucky and Sam. 

“What’s the gossip today guys?” You asked with a light chuckle. 

Natasha was the first to turn and smile at you, “hold on a moment, are you unwell?” She asked, jokingly. 

“Ha, Ha, very funny” you replied, playfully rolling your eyes as you stood next to Yelena, leaning your head on her shoulder. “Somebody couldn’t help themselves and spoke to Fury today” you added. 

“Ohhh! Yelena went to the big dogs!” Sam laughed. 

“She did and honestly, thank you” you said, looking up at Yelena. 

“You’re welcome” she smiled softly.

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[puck-luck]

congratulations on 1k!!!! you deserve it:) i am wondering if i can request 7 of diamonds w matt rempe? but if you don’t want to write for him quinners is just fine ☺️ maybe like him trying to persuade you not to go out with your girlfriends that night

i don't normally write for matt, but i had already written this prompt for quinn, so i didn't want to completely nix your request! i did what i could! i don't fw matt rempe that way, but i hope this was fine <3

warnings: no actual p in v, but matt is trying REAL hard to make it happen. over the clothes touching, a lot of sensual kisses, persuasion (begging?) from matt

wc: 592

“You have to go?” Matt groans, following you into your bedroom. You’d just finished touching up your hair for girl’s night, so now you have to do your makeup.

“You sound like Barron Trump,” you tell him. “‘I have to go to school now? Now I have to go to school?’” 

“Hardy har,” Matt says with a sarcastic and low laugh. He sticks his tongue out at you, standing behind you when you sit down at your vanity and putting his hands on your shoulders. “I can’t believe Alley got you hooked on that TikTok sound. It’s not that funny.”

“I like it,” you reply with a shrug as Matt starts to massage the area where his hands rest. “It is the only light in the darkness, Matty.”

“What time do you have to be there?” Matt asks, watching your face in the mirror. 

“Speaking of your sister, she’s picking me up in an hour.” You rub primer into your skin, the first step of your routine. Since it’s just Alley and a few of your friends that you’ve known forever, you don’t plan on going full glam today. You’ll probably just do some foundation, concealer, eye makeup, and your lips. 

“An hour?” Matt asks. “You’ve got so much time! Come lay down with me, c’mon. Please,” he drawls out, pouting at you and batting his eyelashes. “Alley won’t mind if you’re a little late.”

“I can’t always be late,” you admonish, frowning at Matt in the mirror. “That’s why I’m getting ready so early, M. So that I’m not late.”

Matt groans, exaggerated and long. “When you finish your makeup, will you come lay with me?”

You know that he’s going to keep asking, so you relent. “If I have time, I’ll come lay with you.”

Matt grins and kisses the back of your head, bending at the waist to do so. He’s so much taller than you when you’re sitting– it’s kind of hilarious. He goes to lay on the bed, sometimes scrolling on his phone and sometimes admiring you while you do your makeup. 

You finish with plenty of time, already wearing the outfit that you’d planned for tonight. You stand from the vanity and walk over to Matt, poking him on the thigh and telling him to scoot over. 

Matt does, then he rolls so that he’s halfway on top of you. He presses you into the mattress and breathes in your shampoo. He grabs his phone and lays his arm over your stomach, touching his forehead to your temple as he continues to scroll on Instagram. It isn’t long until he starts to kiss your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck. His kisses get more and more wet as he moves south, finally pulling your shirt to the side and escalating to leaving a hickey on your skin.

“Matthew,” you scold, pulling him away from the juncture of your neck and shoulder by his hair. “What are you doing?”

He groans like he’s been found out, although his actions were anything but sneaky. “Let me give you a reason to stay in bed,” he persuades, sneaking his hand under your skirt and petting over your panties. “C’mon, Alley won’t mind.”

You fix him with an unimpressed look, but he’s smiling and still touching you. 

“You know you want to,” he teases. “And I’m headed on the road soon, we can’t waste any time.” He nibbles at your neck after that and you start to laugh.

“You’ll have plenty of time with me after girl’s night, Matt.”

[ghostmoon1]

Day Nineteen - Putting on Ointment

Ghost x Soap

Master List

Gonna try and finish these, I stopped writing while my Tumblr account was terminated cause it took quite a toll on my mental. But I'm back and gonna finish these as best as I can! This si taking longer than I wanted, so it might be a bit slow still but I'll try. School's getting tough

CW: Mentions of injury, blood, Simon is stubborn asf

Words: 1,099

“Simon, sit yer ass down,” Johnny huffs from his place in the chair sat next to the hospital bed. “Just because you ain’t injured enough to be on bed rest, doesn’t mean yer gonna’ ignore the treatment.”

Simon, who was pacing around the room huffs in annoyance. His arms were crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face, visible through the mask even. The gash on his arm was visible through the gauze, dried blood surrounding it after he refused for it to be cleaned fully. His excuse was that he didn’t need it, he wouldn’t die from a scratch. Even if it was far more than a scratch. 

“Don't need it, it’ll heal by itself,” Simon mutters. He continued to pace the room, the sound of his boots a never-ending soft thud against the cold, hard floors.

Johnny sighed and played with the tub of anaesthetic cream in his hands, rolling it between his palms in slight annoyance. “And what are yer gonna do if it gets infected?” Johnny mutters with growing annoyance. 

He watches Simon pause his pacing and tense. He knew he was right, but he was too damn stubborn to acknowledge he was. “I’ll clean it later.”

Johnny raises a brow at him. He knew his words were nothing but bullshit, he was just putting it off. He was usually good with this sort of stuff, but he was agitated at the moment, he didn’t want to sit still. “Y’know that's a lie. Let me do it for you then you won’t need to worry about it later. Least you don’t gotta worry about the nurses when I’m here.”

Simon huffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’ll scare them away.”

“Mate, I think it’s you that scares them away.” He pauses and watches how he struggles to even move his arm, the roughly wrapped bandage making it a struggle. His heart lept to his throat as he studied the dried blood and the new blood still slowly oozing out and staining the bandage. He sighed, knowing it was probably a lost cause to be arguing about this, but he knew he had to try. “C’mon Si, just let me. Y’know I’ll be gentle.”

Simon tenses slightly as he listens to Johnny’s plea. He knew he had to. He was being as stubborn as a mule right now, but he didn’t want to let himself be so vulnerable. He was Ghost, Ghost was big, strong and scary. He didn’t ask for help, he grit his teeth and pushed through whatever the horrors of his job threw at them. He didn’t want to break that wall down to be vulnerable. That was something that scared him, that’s how you hurt yourself more when those walls crumble. He was afraid Johnny was already pulling them down around him, and he didn’t even need to do anything to do so.

He reluctantly moves back to the cot to sit on the edge of it, placing his arm on his lap so Johnny has easier access to it. “Fine… just get it over and done with.”

Johnny hums softly in victory, moving the chair closer so he can have a better look at the wound. His eyebrows knit together as he focuses, his fingers gently moving the bandage to check if it is stuck on the wound. He winces as Simon hisses in pain. “Sorry, just need to get it off. If yer let me clean it earlier…”

Simon grunts and moves his arm, but has it pulled right back to his lap by Johnny. It was too late to escape now. He watches as Johnny’s hands move slowly and carefully, managing to start unravelling the bandage. He grimaces as he notices just how much blood has soaked through. 

“Really should’ve let me do this earlier…” he mutters again, his eyes trained on the bandage as he works it off.

“Shut up,” Simon replies, although there is no bite to his words. If anything, his words were laced with guilt more than anything. He gasps slightly as Johnny gets to the last part of the bandage, slowly peeling it away from the wound. The dried blood and scabbing come with it, making them both wince. 

He throws the bandage away, grabs a cloth and dabs the wound down with some water to clean the area up a bit. “You’re doing well… it’s alright…” he mutters under his breath as he focuses on cleaning the wound.

Simon grits his teeth as pain shoots through his arm, trying to deal with it as much as he can. He reaches out with his good arm, grabbing onto Johnny’s arm in an attempt to ground himself. Johnny smiles and lets him grip his arm as tightly as he needs to deal with the pain. Once he finishes with the bloodied cloth, dabbing away the blood that he drew to the surface with the scabs gone he picks the ointment back up and unscrews the lid.

He takes a dollop onto his fingers, letting the ointment coat them well. He rubbed them together slightly before carefully dabbing it onto the wound, trying to cause as little pain as possible. “Yer doing well… just this then I’ll wrap it up again.”

Simon nods, trying to stay still as the cold ointment coats his wound. He watches Johnny's face screw up in concentration, the way his brows knit together and his eyes narrow. He adores the way he presses his lips together, wanting nothing more to run his thumb along his jawline and lips and savour the way he feels.

Johnny hums at his accomplishment as he finishes applying the ointment, wiping it off on his pants and screwing the lid back on. He picks up a new roll of bandages, taking the end and pressing it against his arm to start wrapping it. He hums to himself as he slowly and gently wraps the bandage around his arm, trying not to tie it too tight. “This feel okay?” he murmurs, his eyes darting up to check on Simon for a moment.

Simon grunts softly in response and nods, movinghis arm slightly to get a better feel of the bandage. “Yeah, thats okay.”

Johnny nods and continues to wrapp the bandage until the whole wound is dressed neatly. He ties it off and gently brushed his fingers against it. “Gotta be more careful, Si.”

Simon hums softly, meeting Johnny’s eyes for a moment. “I got you to look after me, don’t I?”

He huffs slightly, slipping his hand into his and squeezing. “Yeah, you do.”

[silverskye13]

Dude dude dude I’ve been reading all the snippets that aren’t on AO3 and because of how they were sent to me I couldn’t reply then (also like- I figured it would be maybe a little annoying to get 12 messages about them when I could send one longer one)

All of them are just so incredibly wonderfully written god I could go on for hours about the deconstruction of every single sentence, but one stood out as a favourite:

“The best seat” for exactly one reason: THE END POEM LINES!!!! Stunning!!!!!! Incredibly spaced and the repetition and the way it repeats the ‘universe loves me more’ theme and OUGH feeling shrimp emotions about these guys, Wels might be a little BITCH but he’s a damn poetic one

Also the delivery ficlet on AO3 (Red and Renbob) MAN those two are so goofy I love them- comedic timing can be hard to get right in writing but the whole paragraph of Renbob speaking with emoticons and the reader (or at least me-) thinking “how is he doing that??” And then immediately Red wonders the same thing? I was cracking up

Also this changes depending on who’s appeared most recently, but my current favourite character is The Hand- he’s just so *close* to Martyn (normal) that you start to forget he’s not until something happens and you go oh. *oh*. And the differences hit you like a knee to the stomach

The whole fic the whole world you’ve made- just absolutely stunning, incredible, for certain it has permanently changed my brain chemistry and I cannot wait to see how it continues and finishes <3333

So like, just so you're aware, when I first received this ask I was stuck on the highway after my tire exploded [literally, it was in ragged tatters when I got to the shoulder]. It was snowing and freezing and the jack slipped off while I was changing the tire [unharmed] and it took the roadside assistance guy 2 hours to get to me after promising "just five more minutes I swear" and "I just passed you I'm coming back around, two minutes," three, four, five goddamn times.

And you know what? This made me smile. It was a smile I desperately needed, sitting on the busy road watching it snow and waiting for literally anyone to help. So thank you for your kindness, and for writing kind words, and for being excited. You have no idea how positive of an impact that had on a truly grueling day.

I'm glad!! You liked the end poem Wels perspective fic. I was writing it to "Put it on Me" by Matt Maeson [recommended to me by countthelions] and I was trying very hard to emulate the feeling of circling and inevitability the song has. There's a very waltz-like meter in the song and it's very very fun to work with.

And! I'm glad the comedy from the Red/Renbob one landed! I mostly use comedy to break tension in fics, so doing a completely upbeat/comedic centered fic had me a little nervous I couldn't land the tone. I am so so stoked you enjoyed it :3

[n0vazsq]

Winner | Lamine Yamal x Reader

pairing . . . lamine yamal x gf!reader

summary . . . After watching your boyfriend play a match, he invites you over to the field so he can teach you how to play

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.5k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . idk why it took me sm time to write this like it could've legit taken me like 40 mins but idk </3 I HOPE YOU LIKE ITTTT! i forgot i was writing a fic halfway through the football tutorial so lets ignore that <3 I YAPPED MY ASS OFF IN THIS LIKE OMG

taglist . . . @barcapix (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The football field was still buzzing with energy as the match wrapped up. The sound of boots pounding against the turf, the cheers from the crowd, and the sharp whistle from the referee all began to fade as players gathered around, stretching and cooling off.

You had been watching from the sidelines, eyes glued to Lamine as he darted around the field with the kind of ease that made his talent look effortless.

The excitement from the game was still fresh, but your mind wandered back to the way he had been glancing your way every time he had a chance. You’d been there to support him, of course, but you couldn’t help the little excitement that ran through you each time your eyes met his.

As the final whistle blew and players started to make their way to the sidelines, Lamine broke away from the group, his expression lighting up when he spotted you. A quick wave, a playful grin, and then he jogged over to where you were standing.

"You're watching or you're playing?" Lamine asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Watching," you replied, offering a smile. "You guys were amazing out there."

"Not as amazing as you," he replied with a wink, brushing his sweaty hair out of his face. His gaze softened as he looked at you, his hands resting gently on your waist.

You smiled, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. "You’re my favorite player, Lamine. Always." you said, your fingers lightly tracing his jawline.

The air between you two shifted, the teasing and laughter fading into something more affectionate. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, the kiss slow and easy, like you both had all the time in the world.

He responded instantly, his hands moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, and for a brief moment, everything else disappeared, just the two of you, the feel of his lips against yours, and the quiet hum of the evening.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested against each other, and you stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the quiet closeness. "I love you," Lamine whispered, his voice low, sincere.

"I love you, too," you replied, your voice soft. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, his heartbeat steady and reassuring, and in that moment, everything felt right.

"You know," he said with a mischievous smile, "you should try it yourself."

You raised an eyebrow, unsure whether he was serious or joking. "Try what?"

"Football," he said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "I’ll teach you. We can make it a proper football weekend."

A laugh rose up from your chest. "I’ve never played before, Lamine. I’d probably mess it up."

He leaned in, the grin on his face widening. "You won’t mess it up. I’ll teach you. You’re smart, you’ll catch on quickly. Plus, it's just for fun."

You hesitated, but the enthusiasm in his eyes was impossible to resist. "Alright, fine. But only because you asked nicely."

Lamine led you to a quieter part of the field, away from the hustle and chaos of the game’s aftermath. The soft sound of the ball bouncing on the grass as the remaining players finished packing up and heading off was the only noise. It felt peaceful, almost surreal, like this was a private moment between the two of you.

"So, first things first," Lamine began, positioning the ball on the ground in front of him. "The basics. You kick the ball, try to keep it under control, and-"

You interrupted with a mock roll of your eyes. "I know how to kick a ball, Lamine."

He laughed and nudged you lightly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "Just making sure. But do you know how to pass, control it, and dribble without tripping over your own feet?"

"Fair point," you said, stepping up to the ball and kicking it lightly, feeling it roll a few feet ahead. "Like this?"

"Not bad," he said, his tone approving. He came closer, showing you how to position your foot, his own demonstrating the proper technique as the ball gently tapped the grass and spun away. "Like this. You want to keep the ball close to you, not too far ahead. And don't worry about looking perfect, it’s just practice."

You tried again, this time focusing on keeping the ball close to your foot as you tapped it forward. Lamine stood close by, offering tips and making sure you didn’t get discouraged when you missed or sent the ball off in the wrong direction.

"See? You’re getting it," he said after your fifth attempt. "You just need a little more practice."

"Easy for you to say," you muttered, smiling despite yourself. "You’ve been playing for years."

"Doesn’t mean you can’t learn," he said confidently. "Everyone starts somewhere. And you’re a quick learner. I’m impressed."

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride at his words, even if they were just about kicking a football around. It was nice to be noticed, especially by him. You had always admired his dedication and skill on the field, but seeing him take the time to teach you felt… different. It made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand.

"Okay, now for the dribbling," Lamine said, stepping back to give you more room. "It’s all about control, and… well, not letting the ball get too far away from you."

You focused hard as he demonstrated, showing you how to move the ball with precision. After a few tries, you started to get the hang of it. You felt more confident, and that confidence seemed to spark something in Lamine.

"Hey, not bad at all," he said, grinning. "You're a natural."

"Maybe I’m just good at listening," you teased, wiping the sweat from your brow.

He laughed, stepping a little closer to you. "You’re good at more than listening."

You tried to ignore the warmth that spread through you at his words. Lamine had always had this effortless way of making you feel special without even trying.

"Alright," he said, pushing the ball toward you with his foot. "Let's see if you can get it past me."

You gave him a skeptical look. "What, now we’re playing against each other?"

"Why not?" He shrugged, clearly enjoying the playful challenge. "Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you."

"Well, aren’t you confident?" you said, laughing as you readied yourself to try and dribble past him. The challenge had you on edge in the best way, and you focused on the ball, taking a deep breath as you tried to maneuver it around him.

The two of you danced around the field, him weaving around effortlessly, showing off his moves while you stumbled after him, trying to keep up. But each time you managed to get close, he'd use his quick footwork to steal the ball away with a teasing laugh.

"You’re getting better!" he said, as you finally managed to get a little too close for comfort, kicking the ball out of his reach.

"Don’t get cocky now," you shot back, smiling.

He walked over, clapping you on the back lightly. "You’ve definitely got potential. Who knows? Maybe we’ll make a footballer out of you yet."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You weren’t sure if he was joking or not, but the idea of spending more time like this with him, laughing and learning together, felt… nice. More than nice.

"Thanks, Lamine. For everything," you said, glancing up at him.

He flashed a grin, his usual cockiness replaced by something softer. "Anytime."

"Hey, get the ball, it's rolling away." you laughed, pointing behind him.

Running to get the ball, Lamine walked back to you, a troublesome grin playing on his lips. "Well," he said, pulling you into a side hug, "I think it’s time for my reward for teaching you football."

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. "And what would that reward be?"

"Well, first," he said, his voice dropping lower as he gently kissed your temple, "I get to kiss you again."

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing small patterns on his chest as you looked up at him. "Seems like a pretty good reward to me."

His grin widened, and without warning, he cupped your face, gently guiding you in for another kiss. This one was more urgent than before, his hands finding your waist like usual. You melted into him, your hands slipping around his neck as you deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of him.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, and a playful sparkle flickered in your eyes. "Is that all I get for my efforts?"

Lamine laughed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "For now," he teased. "But I think I’ll find more ways to show you just how much I appreciate you later."

You smiled up at him, holding his hand in yours. "I look forward to it," you said, leaning into him again, content in the warmth of his embrace.

Lamine might've won the football match, and maybe your heart too. But until now, you've won in life.

And maybe won his heart too.

[corrosivewednesdays]

Eyes on me !

Sypnosis: Just Micheal teasing you about your failed attempts at toasting ft. Micheal Kaiser cw: none, purely SFW

a/n: it’s been a while since I last posted, but I’m back :) I’ll try to write exalting pieces rather than just headcanons. I’ll be taking it easy. Happy to be back!

Celebrating a victory of Bastard München, you found yourself with a glass of cold beer and sitting at the dinner table with your lover MICHEAL eyeing you smugly as always, except it was even more accentuated, in front of you. He seemed to take pleasure in seeing your feelings plastered all over your face all the time when he looked at you in a lousy manner. His hands firmly went to grasp at the handle of the cup, his gaze still entranced with yours, as you raised your glass to collide with his.

“Prost, meine Schnecke,” he grinned while clinking, his blue eyes never leaving yours.

“Prost!” You replied, unknowingly shifting your gaze to the wall from fear of the somewhat awkward intensity of his stare.

A slight tilt on his head while his look turned from excited, to pensive, to mischievous. Something told you he had some sort of scheme brewing in his mind. His lips curved into a smirk, his brow arching.

“Schatz… what have you done?” His playfully serious voice hit you like an enchantment spell gone awry, pulling you back to reality. “Is something wrong?” You asked, puzzled.

“You didn’t look me in the eyes! Now we’re going to have bad sex for seven years,” he let out with a huff accompanied of that goddamn playful smirk on his face. Never would he let go of an opportunity to tease you and, this moment was certainly not an exception.

“I didn’t know it meant so much to you,” You groaned.

“It’s tradition, don’t you know?” He declared with a huff, before his smile returned. “I guess we’ll just have to practice it until you’ve got it down then?” His grin somehow grew wider after each passing second. you started to wonder why you even decided to get with this Cheshire-like person. “This time I’ll guide you through it, no need to thank me,” Curse his bloated ego at times. He gently trailed his hardened hands up to your chin and leaned in, zeroing in on only your face.

Unsolicited thoughts raced through your head, you weren’t sure if he was teasing you or leaning in to kiss. However, as his hands slowly guided your gaze, it turned out it wasn’t any of the above, as he casually tilted your head straight, facing him before leaning back and admiring you.

“Now let’s try this again,” he chuckled while raising his cup to clink with yours again, which in turn made you smile back from his tease.

“Prost!” You both go, as you tried your hardest to stay focused on his ocean eyes and his hardcore eyeliner that was somehow more punctual than your arrivals.

A moment of silence washed up before a slight cracking from his face apparated as he stepped back and burst into laugher. “Schatz,” he paused while looking down to you, a look dripping with much amusement. “You blinked,” you could tell he really got off on your second mistake.

“Are you serious?” You deadpanned at his jab, unamused.

“Do I seem to be joking?” He smirked and shook his head while setting his glass back down.

“Slightly. So now it’s 14 years of bad sex then?” You sighed as he seemed to be revelling in your consecutive slip ups.

“More than 14 years if you keep this up. I suppose you need some more… hands on education then,” his amusement seemed to peak as he straightened up, this time, for real. For once, he didn’t resemble like his usual prick-self. His fingers held your jaw in place, he stood closer to you and looked into your eyes, not as a tease anymore, but rather in a genuine manner now. “Eyes on me, schatz,” he reminded you one last time with a gentle smile, his voice losing its playful edge. You raised your glass, matching his gaze as best as you could, and clinked it against his. “Prost.”

“Prost,” he reciprocated, his smile lingering, before the two of you finally fell into a comfortable silence. Together, you both settled into the moment, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around you like a soft embrace.

[nightmarerosely]

Jayce x Viktor Fluff

Okay, I came out of retirement just for this ship. I wasn't really interested to write anything, but now that problem is solved.

Viktor sat hunched over his desk, his shoulders and neck tense after hours of relentless work. Loose strands of hair fell into his face, and he pushed them back whenever they bothered him, trying to keep himself focused. He held a pen between his teeth, while notes and blueprints lay scattered across the table in a chaotic mess. The remnants of an abandoned attempt at organisation were barely visible beneath the sea of papers. In his hands, he held a pulsating, blue-glowing device etched with runes—the Hexcore.

Frustration etched across his face, he turned the Hexcore in his hands, taking a look from every possible angle. Viktor brought it closer to his face, narrowing his eyes and taking a close look at the runes that are carved into the surface. The concentration in the room was broken by a sudden clatter—his cane, leaned against the table, had slipped and fallen to the floor. The sharp sound startled him, and he nearly dropped the Hexcore onto the ground. It tumbled onto the table, and Viktor froze as its glow intensified, pulsating with energy. Does it react to impact? Viktor wondered. Testing the theory might give him minor progress, but the risk of damaging the Hexcore was too great. Reluctantly, he set the idea aside, his mind racing with safer possibilities.

He pinched his eyes keeping them closed for a moment. Viktor knew research and progress weren't easy, but this was the most frustrating dead end he had ever reached. This thing was powerful, but he wasn't sure how to safely utilise it.

"Are you trying to make us run out of paper?" Jayce said. He pushed into the room carrying a plate and two coffee cups. Viktor barely looked up which concerned Jayce. He often saw Viktor frustrated over work, he was a perfectionist and often gave himself hard times. Just when he wanted to ask the other if he was alright, he got a reply from him. "One of us has to make progress while the other hunts for recognition." The comment was dry almost sarcastic.

Right after, a terrible cough overcame him. He tried to turn away as if he could hide it from Jayce. The other man quickly frees his hands and gives Viktor a cloth. "If you collapse because you don't rest, you won't make any progress. You should eat and take a break."

"That's what I'm afraid of—what if I collapse, and it's all for nothing?" Viktor's voice was unsteady, his eyes betraying a flicker of desperation as he instinctively clutched the Hexcore tighter.

Jayce carefully pried it from his hands, his movements direct but gentle, like handling something as fragile as Viktor's research pride. "I won't let that happen," he said firmly, his voice softening as he placed the Hexcore back in its container. "But you have to let me help you."

Viktor's lips parted as if to protest, but Jayce didn't give him the chance. He pressed the warm mug into Viktor's hands, sliding the plate closer with a quiet insistence. "You're right," Viktor mumbled after a moment, his tone heavy. "But I… it feels like the progress is mine to bear. Like it's like sand slipping through my fingers, and you—you're out there, and I'm left here alone with it."

Jayce leaned in, his gaze steady and confident. "You're not alone." His words were resolute yet laced with a tenderness that Viktor couldn't ignore. The weight of that assurance was almost too much, and Viktor's grip on the mug tightened as his gaze fell, unable to meet Jayce's earnest eyes.

Jayce leaned against the table after picking up the cane. "The council expects me to know everything about the Hexcore. They involve me so much, and I'm worried I'm letting everyone down—especially you, Viktor. I wish I was a better partner to you. At first, I loved all the attention and recognition, but now I feel lost with it." Jayce placed a hand on Viktor's shoulder without thinking about it. Viktor looked up, and in his tired eyes, there was a soft sort of affection, something he had never seen before.

"Maybe there is still reason left in you," Viktor said, taking a bite from the food Jayce had brought to him. "Was that a compliment?" Jayce asked with a bright smile on his face. Viktor's eyes slightly edge up in a smile. "Don't get used to it."

"Viktor, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," Jayce began, his tone thoughtful. Viktor glanced up from his mug, his expression neutral but his eyes faintly curious. Jayce knew that expression, he wanted to know more, but would not ask.

"It's never too late to start," Viktor quipped, his dry wit sharp as ever.

Jayce chuckled softly, warmth flickering in his chest. This—this sharp humor, this brilliance that Viktor held so effortlessly—was part of what he admired so much about the man. But more than that, it was the things Viktor couldn't see in himself that Jayce valued most. His skill, his resilience, his quiet strength—traits Viktor dismissed too easily because of his imperfections.

Jayce would never understand how Viktor could see his flaws as something that made him undesirable when, to Jayce, they were nothing. Everyone had their imperfections, and that was okay. Why couldn't Viktor see that?

"I thought a lot about us. I know that I should have been here more. This is our project after all." Viktor turned to Jayce who was playing with his cane, letting his fingers run gently along it. For a moment they were both silent, they stole glances at each other but didn't speak. "You' are my best friend J-"Jayce didn't want to hear what Viktor had to say. They were never just friends, yet they both kept repeating it to make it the truth, to erase the electric feeling between them, the heat when they looked at each other. The way they always tried to find the other in a crowd.

Jayce placed his hand on Viktor's jaw, his thumb brushing against the edge of his cheekbone as he tilted Viktor's face upward. Their eyes met, and Jayce leaned. He could feel Viktor's breath against his lips. Viktor's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he tried to steady himself.

Jayce angled his head slightly, closing the distance until their lips met in a soft kiss. His fingers slid into Viktor's hair, threading through the strands as his hand cradled the back of Viktor's head. Viktor froze, his thoughts momentarily gone, unsure of how to respond. Yet, he didn't pull away. Instead, he let himself feel a warmth he hadn't expected—and didn't want to lose.

"Jayce," Viktor began, his voice quieter than usual. He couldn't bring himself to finish what he wanted to say, but he did not have to. "You don't have to say anything," Jayce murmured, his voice soft. He let his forehead rest gently against Viktor's, grounding them both. "I just… I needed you to know. You're not just my best friend, Viktor. You never have been."

Viktor exhaled shakily, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You are a fool," he said, his dry humour masking the vulnerable warmth in his tone. "But at least you are my fool."

For once, Jayce didn't need words to know what Viktor meant. And for the first time in what felt like years, Viktor didn't feel like he had to push Jayce away.

Viktor let himself stay because to be with Jayce, he was enough the way he was.

[lavenderclownwritesanddraws]

🐍 Hair Care (Jamil X Long Hair! Reader) 🐍

Writer’s Notes

- Fluff

- I write this for fun am currently on a trip in another country. So might be a bit simple.

- Yes I am one of the people who thinks Jamil calls his S/O “habibi/habibiti”

- the reader goes by she/her pronouns so it is a bit OC? 😭

- Enjoy 😊

Jamil sighed, reclining on the couch in his dorm room. For once, there was no Kalim, no spontaneous parties, and no responsibilities weighing on his shoulders. He glanced across the room, where his S/O sat on his bed, flipping through a book with long locks spilling over her shoulders. The soft lamplight gave her hair an almost ethereal glow, though it was clear she had done little to maintain it that day.

His sharp eyes instantly picked up on the faint dryness at the ends and the slight tangles forming in the waves of her sheep-like hair. He frowned, sitting up.

“You didn’t brush it today, did you?” Jamil asked, narrowing his eyes at them.

She glanced up from her book, blinking innocently. “Brush it? I did! …Sort of.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow. “Sort of doesn’t count. You’re going to ruin your hair if you leave it like that.”

“It’s not that bad,” she protested, running a hand through their hair, only for her fingers to catch in a knot. She winced.

Jamil sighed, exasperated but already moving to grab his stash of hair care products. “Not that bad, huh? Sit up. We’re fixing this.”

“But I’m already in bed!” She whined, trying to burrow into the blankets.

Jamil crossed his arms, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “If you don’t get up, I’ll do it while you’re lying down. Trust me, it won’t be comfortable for either of us.”

With a dramatic groan, she sat up, letting her hair cascade down the shoulders. Jamil gestured for her to sit on the floor in front of him.

As she settled, Jamil began working his fingers gently through her locks, carefully detangling the knots. His hands were deft, practiced, and surprisingly gentle, the faint scent of the lotus hair oil (he got from Najma) filling the air.

“You’re such a perfectionist,” she murmured, leaning slightly into his touch despite her earlier protests.

“It’s not about perfection,” Jamil replied, focused on his work. “It’s about taking care of what’s yours. You’re lucky your hair is naturally soft, but even that has limits if you don’t take care of it.”

She hummed softly, enjoying the sensation of Jamil’s hands in her hair. After a moment of comfortable silence, she tilted her head slightly to look back at him.

“Jamil?”

“Hmm?”

“What does habibiti mean?”

Jamil froze for a split second, though his hands didn’t stop moving. His gaze flicked down to meet theirs, his expression unreadable.

“It’s… Arabic,” he said finally, his voice steady but softer than usual.

She smiled, their curiosity piqued. “And? What does it mean?”

Jamil’s fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their work, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. “It means… something like ‘darling’ or ‘beloved.’ It’s a term of endearment.”

Her eyes widened slightly, warmth spreading across her face. “You’ve been calling me that this whole time?”

He shrugged, focusing intently on a particularly stubborn knot. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It just… slipped out one day, and it felt right. If you don’t like it, I can stop.”

“No!” She said quickly, her softened their tone. “I mean… I like it. A lot.”

Jamil’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, though he didn’t look up. “Good. Then I’ll keep saying it. But only when we’re alone.”

She leaned back slightly, resting her head against his knee as he continued to work on her hair, a comfortable silence settling over them once more.

“Habibiti,” he murmured after a moment, almost as if testing the word again.

She closed her eyes, a content smile on her lips. “I heard you.” And smirked “I can get used to this.”

Jamil chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Don’t get too used to it. You’re still brushing your hair yourself tomorrow.”

[repotting]

people who don't normally read sci fi have such bad taste in sci fi 😭

[crossbackpoke-check]

I just need you to know I was reading your tags on the Sillinger/Fantilli Deadpool/Wolverine gifset going "YES THE EYE CONTACT! AND COLE'S WHOLE FACE JOURNEY! AND *OH MY GOD* ADAM'S HAND ALMOST BUT NOT GRIPPING AT COLE'S BICEP" like that near grip Adam took had me fainting like a fucking Victorian era man who saw a woman's bare ankles like W.H.A.T.

I neeeeed to write them omg.

ANON. ANON!!!! please. write them!!!!! and send me a link if/when you do 😇 i’ll prepare my fainting couch (the floor)

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

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

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

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

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

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

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

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

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

Allison:

bitch 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah… that you knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

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

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither.”

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

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

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

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

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

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

(But you aren’t.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck had just happened?

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

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

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

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

Your savior complex strikes again!

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

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

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

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

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

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

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

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

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

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

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

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

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

You could die at peace.

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

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

“Now why would you think that?”

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

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

“You don’t have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I beg to differ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I give you some space?”

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

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

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

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

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

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

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

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

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful.”

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

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

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

“Get your hands off her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

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

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

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

“I don’t have a phone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

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

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

“Right here? On the counter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“L-logan–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who had given him a damn script for this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

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