#this song has been on repeat in my brain for days now

[askdacast]

EVERYBODY ALL BONKLE FANS SHUT UP STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND WATCH THIS IMMEDIATELY

THEY OPENED UP BIONICLE DAY 2023 WITH VAKAMA (YES) NARRATING AFTER 20 YEARS OF MASK OF LIGHT AND BELOVED BIONICLE S#%&POSTER ESSENGER & CRYOSHELL’S BANGER NEW SONG

[i-am-just-a-skeleton]

for the past few days i've had the same few lines of Strange Frontier by roger taylor stuck in my head, which is mostly fine except for those lines being, y'know, the ones about an ever present threat of nuclear annihilation, and the fact that i often switch between humming the melody and singing the words quite at random. so i'll just be sitting here, absently humming to myself, and then "but there's nowhere you can run" *back to humming again*

[keeps-ache]

brrrba pa pa da de do ♩

[orcelito]

I am so curious what my stats r gonna be for Spotify wrapped. I only started using it in 2021 and so I only know my things for 2 years. Both years, Stray Kids was my top artist bc they're my fav kpop group

This year, I know without a doubt it's going to be IAMX. I have listened to them just about every day for Four Months Straight, often for hours and hours at a time. I have 102 songs liked from them, so I have not grown bored at all.

It's going to be a frankly ridiculous level of minutes played. I'm rly curious where I'm gonna rank in their listeners hfkdhdksbdk

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— ��I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

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

[dutiful-wildcraft]

This one is for all my retail pals

John Price has never worked retail in his life and it shows.

Price x reader, meetcute? if this qualifies

-

You're scrambling, have been since you walked through the door. They were already calling your name by the time you clicked your radio on.

From that moment forward you were hustling back and forth across the store, helping who you could, pulling orders for customer pick ups, trying to answer questions for the seasonal team members who got thrown to the wolves with slap dash training. 

You're tired, you're hungry, and you've been listening to the same 5 christmas songs on repeat since the 1st of November. 

You're trying to make it back to the break room for a quick snack, walking at mach speed, head lowered, praying that those you passed could see the sheer overwhelmed energy radiating off of you in waves and not ask you anything.

But there is always one.

“Excuse me!”

Your blood pressure shoots up immediately. 

You stop short, try to school your expression into something friendly. He's a big man, shoulders wide enough to fill a doorway, with mutton chops that strike you as odd, but suit his face. The man hustles toward you, holding an expensive jacket out to you like a toddler.

“Can you tell me the price of this?”

Everyone thinks you have a scanner.

The chops age him, but a closer look reveals that he must only be a little older than you, pretty blue eyes scrunched apologetically. You think this grown ass man should be old enough to see the scanners staged on every other aisle, the big signs attached to the ceiling highlighting their location. Irritation wells up like a geyser as you pull the garment from his hand searching for a tag. 

You search and search, even fishing around in the pocket to see if some kind soul accidentally yanked it off and put it back.

“Must be free!” Chops chuckles, and you think you should be able to pass out one free throat punch a day for simply working under these conditions. 

It takes effort, not to shrivel up like a raisin over the monotonous comment. Trying desperately to focus on finding the fucking price and ignore the way the big bastard bores holes into your face. He could have looked it up on his phone, you're certain, but instead he's standing a little too close, watching you flounder, at least his cologne is nice. 

A painful silence falls between you when you don't even giggle at his joke. But you must have a scrap of patience left in you because the angel of good will tugs on your ear, reminds you that not everyone stares at this shit day in and day out like you do, and he probably would have trouble finding it online anyway. 

You suck in a deep breath, fish out your own phone to pull up your company's website. 

“M'sorry for the trouble sweetheart” he murmurs, rolling almost sheepishly on his heels, hands reaching at his shoulders as if to grab something that isn't there, falling uselessly at his sides as he hovers over your shoulder. 

The pet name should piss you off, but the rumbly timber of it tickles you somewhere in your monkey brain, he is a handsome thing, and something about the way he crosses his arms, peers over your shoulder like this was a problem he's helping you solve is kind of endearing. 

You feel bad immediately for your bitchy attitude toward the fella. 

“Sorry It's taking a second, I'm trying” 

“I can see that, I appreciate you. I know you lot are busy, think I've seen you make a few laps now.” he teases, nodding to the bustle of people about the store, rummaging through once neatly folded tables like it's a yardsale. 

You type in the style number with a little amused huff. “You have no idea, I get in miles trotting around this place” you joke, scrolling through site’s workwear options to match the jacket in your hand. It's one of the nicer one's the store carries, a sturdy brown canvas with a fleece lined collar and interior. You try to make small talk that you're notoriously terrible at.

“You must work outside.” 

“Something like that” he muses, “been meaning to get the house prepped up for winter, I waited a bit late.”

You snort, “Hell me too, I barely have enough wood left for the stove myself, I'm just going to pile on blankets this winter!”

“Well that won't do.” 

The hard tone of Chop's voice breaks you from your searching. A quick glance confirms he's serious, brows pinched as his posture has shifted to looking directly at you. Chin tucked to his chest.

“What?” 

“You've got no one taking care of you?”

Nosy fuck. You don't know why you get defensive. “I take care of me just fine.” you retort confidently, finally pulling up the stupid jacket and telling him the price. 

“Negative.” is all he replies, looking at you with the same stern gaze. You suddenly feel like a child, wanting more than anything to prove to this man you were more than qualified to handle yourself. You work retail for fucks sake.

He cuts you off before you can smart off again. “You're going to write down that number for the coat, and your number, so I can bring a load of lumber by. I won't have a pretty thing like shiverin’ in the night.”

Something inside your brain purrs at the idea. The idea of somebody looking out for you when you barely have time to keep your clothes washed and body fed was…appealing. Especially coming from a pretty gorgeous stranger. And yet?

“I'm not giving my number to a stranger, sir.” you retort with some semblance of authority. 

Chops is having none of it, he makes a pointed show of raking his eyes down to your nametag dangling against your chest before flickering back up to your face. Your name rolls off his tongue easily, and you can't help the little shiver up your spine at the timber of it.

“John Price” he offers after, big paw curling around your own to shake playfully. “Not strangers now are we?”

[algae-tm]

KILL BILL P.6

Charles Leclerc x famous singer! reader

Warnings : morally grey reader, toxic exes

Author’s note : There are so many x readers where the reader doesn’t do anything wrong, which I love don’t get me wrong but I wanted to write one where she’s a bit flawed. And obvs I cannot hate her cause she’s just in love and this is lossely (very loosely) based around real life events y’all so I get it! And also I love Alex 😭 I was gunna make her the villain but I literally can’t! So this is going a bit of a diff direction, in terms of ending. - Algae 🌱

•••••

INSTAGRAM

y/bff/n

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 678,798 others

y/bff/n : talking about boys over brunch? (tagged : yourusername)

yourusername : feels like I’m 18 again

— user3 : holdup when did y/n and Charles get together?

— user4 : she was 18 and he was 19/20…

— user5 : lmao that’s why he’s got her wrapped round his finger… poor baby hasn’t known any better

— user7 : not you guys acting like Charles groomed her be so serious! they have a 1 and a half year age gap touch grass.

— user9 : you can’t argue with people like this, they’re so chronically online!

— user4 : so how did they meet?

— user19 : google is free!

— user6 : her and Lewis did a fashion campaign when she was 16, and he sort of took her under his wing, cause I think her parents were a bit... I believe she then met Charles when she came to watch a race and watched the f2 race as well.

user1 : y/n telling you about how she’s a slut?

— y/bff/n : only ever having been with 1 man equals slut?

— user1 : going after a man with a girlfriend surely does.

lewishamilton : we love to see it

— y/bff/n : we sure do 😍

— yourusername : not you guys acting like I was dead in a ditch…

— y/bff/n : you were in man purgatory, it’s basically the same thing.

user11 : does Oscar know y/bff/n?

— user12 : No why?

— user11 : cause bros lurking in the comments

— user1 : lmao you think the skank’s gunna go for him next? (user1 has been blocked)

— user13 : @oscarpiatri trust you do not know how to handle @yourusename

— user11: poor baby she’d eat him alive

user13 : oh to be a fly on the wall for the Charles convo

user14 : trust it was hours long

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, danielricciardo, carlossainz55 and 10,987,843 others

yourusername : boys are awful and grotesque. i had to decompress on an island to get the crazy out of my brain. it’s a good thing mics are portable. Thank you Ephraim! My concierge for finding me a keyboard so I could get you guys this song that entered my brain almost two weeks ago and refused to leave. It’s a good teaser for my album, which is out in TWO days. so without further ado hope y’all like The Weekend!! if you don’t like it I’ll cry.

lewishamilton : oh this gives context to the unhinged messages you sent me at 1 am

— yourusername : I’m an artist, it’s my creative process

— lewishamilton : well this is way more constructive than turning up in Monaco

— user5 : oop- not you clocked by Lewis Hamilton of all people

— user7 : well I’m happy that Lewis doesn’t condone the behaviour of a slag

— user8 : lmao even her friends are getting tired of her

— user9 I think y’all are forgetting that they were together for six years, it was y/n’s first relationship, he dumps her out of the blue gets a new girlfriend within months. I for one would also go a bit crazy and need to be secluded on an island! Too bad I don’t have island money lmao

lewishamilton : I’ve been listening non stop! You truly out did yourself kid 🖤

y/bff/n : thank god you are not in Canada rn

y/bff/n : i was having a heart attack!

y/bff/n : you need to tell me before you travel across the world! We cannot have a repeat of last time.

— yourusername : have I really traumatised you that badly?

——y/bff/name : yes

—— lewishamilton : yes

—— yoursiblinguser : yes

—— friend1 : yes

—— danielricciardo: yes

—— oscarpiastri : yes

——yourusername : now hang on @oscarpiatri I don’t even know you!

— — oscarpiastri : wanna change that?

——- user11 : not you going after your dad’s ex

——-user14 : about to be a messy family reunion

——-danielricciardo : check that Aussie charm 🇦🇺

user7 : okay someone please talk about the lyrics????? Right off the bat it’s unhinged?? “WHY YOU WANT ME WHEN YOUVE GOT A GIRL??!” No cause that is so true like @charles_leclerc why are you still contacting her when Alex is right there?? (Liked by yourusername)

— user8 : ‘knowing it’s selfish, knowing I’m desperate’ oh she’s DOWN BAD!!

— user7 : you get it… cause DESPERATE, you’re describing yourself as desperate?? Bad bitch down in aisle 4 I fear!

user9 : lmao no cause you’ve outdone yourself! What do you mean ‘my man is my man, is your man. Heard that’s her man too’

— user21 : no cause she really is not a serious individual 😂

— user10 : the song is a bop don’t get me wrong but am I the only one who’s thinking about Alex in all this??

— user11 : poor girl hasn’t done anything apart from like a serial monogamist…

— user12 : I mean after this release Alex just needs to count her losses and leave him (liked by alexandrasaintmleux)

— user13 : oop- not her liking… clock it! But at this point I think this is just a messy situation where everyone’s gunna lose. Especially Alex poor girl never stood a chance

user22 : I just keep him satisfied through the weekend!

— user23 : you’re like 9 to 5 I’m the weekend!!!!

— user24 : make him lose his mind every weekend!!!!

sza : please god never let me be this down bad over a man 🙏🏾

— yourusername : now I know you’re not the one talking 🤨

badgalriri : 🖤

donatella_versace : DONATELLA VERSACE 💜

user17 : release the album NOW!

user18 : I’m sorry but weren’t we just mad at her? Releasing a song doesn’t make you automatically in the right? In fact even the song paints her as a bit of a villain :( I can’t imagine poor Alex listening to it.

— user19 : right? She’s practically begging him to cheat with her

— user15 : i really don’t know how to feel about the whole situation but it’s definitely not a good feeling…

••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee @callsignwidow

[antiquarianfics]

Dark and Bloody Ground

So you violently murdered a man? So what? You did it in the name of love.

a/n: This is super loosely inspired by the song "Dark and Bloody Ground" by Ruston Kelly. Great song if you haven't heard it. Anyway, this is super gory and violent, but it's still a little fluffy... Hope you like it.

warning(s): Profanity, gore, extreme violence, sort of a hostage type situation, only kind of proofed.

note: I do not own Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliate characters.

You do not have permission to steal or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

Blood. Blood everywhere. It’s on the ground, on the body, on your hands, on your face. The scene looks as if a toddler was given a box of crayons—all shades of red—and a coloring sheet. It’s horrific. Blood splattered, crayon scribbled—however you look at it.

Your breathing is erratic, heavy breaths shake your body as your lungs struggle to take in air. You’ve over exerted yourself, but you can’t find even a smidgen of a fuck to give.

There’s a dull ache in your knees where you’re sat on them; you lean back to distribute some weight onto your heels. Once your knees are slightly alleviated, you become more aware of the constant ringing in your ears, the ringing that has been constant since the moment you pulled your weapon. Then, you notice the soreness in your fingers and glance down to where your hands are clenched in fists, your knuckles busted and bruised. Looking around, you see a bloodied knife a few feet away: your gun is still in its holster.

You look up at the bloodbath in front of you—the dead men in front of you.

Did I even pull my gun?

The ringing in your ears is deafening, and you can’t focus on anything other than the carnage. Or, you can’t until you hear Bucky call for you. Wait. Bucky.

The moment your brain processes Bucky’s voice, it’s as if someone hits the fast forward button until your brain catches up with what is actively happening around you. The ringing squeals until it doesn’t; your head swivels until your eyes lock on their target.

“Y/N,” Bucky repeats. “Doll.” He slides next to you on his knees slowly, grimacing slightly as he moves.

Bucky’s eyes are filled with worry, his every movement cautious. He takes in your current state, but he saw the whole thing. He saw you kill the man who lay dead before you. He watched as the deceased attempted to fight back, how he got a few minor licks in, and how it was for naught. Still, though, Bucky is cautious as he looks at you--as he tries to make sure you're okay.

"Oh, baby," you say, voice low and hoarse. You smile softly and raise a hand to cup Bucky's cheek. "Oh, how I've missed you."

Bucky smiles sadly, his own hand reaching up to cup your cheek. "I've missed you, too."

"Are you okay?" You ask, concern palpable.

"I am now. You've got me, Doll."

You nod. "Yeah, I've got you."

Bucky looks around the facility he'd been held prisoner in for weeks. The drab appearance had changed quickly in your fury; he'd never seen you like that before.

—

Bucky coughed as the HYDRA operative kicked him in the gut. In most cases, Bucky would have already killed the guy, but he'd been starved and neglected for days, pumped full of a chemical that lessened the effectiveness of the super soldier serum, and his body thus has been struggling to fight off a nasty infection from a three day old stab wound.

"I'll ask again, Winter Soldier. Where is it?" The man in charge, an unassuming man in a pressed gray suit, asks in an even tone.

"I'll tell 'ya again," Bucky spits, "fuck. you."

"Very well. Again." The man waves his hand carelessly in a 'go ahead' motion.

The HYDRA operative kicks Bucky again. That's when the door to the torture chamber opens, and there you stand with a stolen keycard held to the door.

Your eyes land on Bucky on the ground, then they shift to the operative carrying out the torture, and then they settle on the man in the suit. Bucky knows you see red.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward and hit the button to shut the door behind you, stopping an escape. Then, in a flash, you've thrown your knife into the HYDRA operative's head. The operative drops, his body twitching slightly before stilling, and blood slowly begins to pool from his cracked skull.

The moment the knife leaves your hand, you step forward and swing at the man in the suit. The man side steps, lets out a 'Who do you think you are?' before being silenced by your fist to his jaw. You punch the man again and he stumbles backward; he quickly manages to get his footing and takes a swing at you. He lands a punch to your gut and one to your face, but neither deters you. You pivot around him as he lunges forward and then kick him in the back. The man falls to the ground, manages to turn over onto his back, and he is immediately met by another right hook to the face as you jump on him. You straddle the guy as you repeatedly hit him: you feel as the man's jaw cracks, as his cheekbone splinters. You're vaguely aware when each hit feels less solid, when the man beneath you finally stills. You feel weightless, a bit gone, as you slide off of the man onto your knees, sitting back on your heels.

—

"We gotta get out of here," Bucky says, shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts of you murdering for him.

You nod and stand up with a light groan, grasping Bucky's hand and pulling him up with you. You let him wrap his arm around your shoulders, helping him walk as you make your escape.

—

Hours later, you and Bucky have not said much to one another. When you made it back to the jet, you were more worried about patching Bucky up and getting him something to eat than talking. Then, when he tried to say something, you shushed him and told him to get some rest. Now, though, as you're sitting next to his hospital bed in the med bay, and now that you know he's alright, you finally choose to talk about what happened.

"Bucky?" You say quietly, trying not to disturb him if he's asleep. You're hoping, selfishly, that he is.

"Hmm?" He hums, turning his head slightly and opening his tired eyes to look at you.

"I'm sorry. About today. I, uh. I know that was a lot..."

"Sweetheart, it's okay. You saved me. I should be thanking you; you shouldn't be apologizing."

You give him a tense smile.

"It's just. When I saw what they were doing to you... I saw red, Buck. I was so angry at them for hurting you, and I was scared. I just... I didn't think. But they didn't have to do all those awful things to you."

"I know."

"It makes me sick to think about."

"I know."

"You deserve so much better."

"I know."

You raise an eyebrow, disbelievingly.

"You do?"

"Well, I better. My girl violently killed two men because she thinks so."

You giggle. Despite everything, you giggle. Bucky smiles.

"Anyway," Bucky says, a light tone enveloping his words, "you know what they say."

"What's that?"

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he teases.

"Especially when she has on her killing shoes," you laugh lightly.

"Mhmm. C'mere, Lizzie Borden." He holds out an arm for you as he scoots over to make room. You climb into the small bed with him, tucking yourself away into his embrace.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I love you, too," he replies, pressing a kiss into your hair.

[goodoldfashionlovercorpse]

Casual

pairing: Sirius Black x slytherin! potter! reader

parts: 2,

summary: Y/n Potter has been in love with Sirius for as long as she's known him. During their 6th year at Hogwarts, they start hooking up. Sirius declares it casual, but are they both truly ok with this secret?

a/n: hey! this is my first series involving Sirius!. it's on Chappell's song "Casual." hopefully you enjoy it. The reader is James's sister and is friends with most Slytherins.

warnings: smut, angst, secret fwb situationship, jealousy, explicit language

In this world, love was a blessing. True love, that is. Casual lust and scattered “I love you”s were commonplace at Hogwarts. That’s just how it is; if you place a bunch of teenagers in a huge castle, you’re bound to be lied to. Sirius Black was the main culprit of said lies. He’d tell anyone he’d love them for an hour of relief. Unfortunately, his lie was towards his best friend’s sister. Y/n Potter. She’s in the same year as him, unfortunately, she’s a Slytherin and a Potter. Not to mention, she’d been in love with him for years. Not lust, not attraction, just pure and genuine love for the man. 

Her friends called her a fool for falling for it. “The only thing he loves is his reflection, which’ll only last until he’s 20.” She knew they were right. Sirius only told people he loved them to get in their pants, she was no different. The Potter name didn't help her either. Her brother had yet to know, thankfully Remus kept his mouth shut. 

She was somewhat different, though, at least from his other hook-ups. She wasn’t a one-night stand. Sirius and her had gone on like a game of hide and seek that never ended. Maybe she was a fool, a loser as Marlene called her, but she doesn't mind. Not when it was her name Sirius was whispering, it was her legs he was in between, it was his bed she was on.

“Fuck… you’re beautiful, Y/n.” he groaned in her ears as his hips hit her own. He kissed her neck and went up her cheeks then her lips, just as he’d done yesterday and the day before. Hitting all the right spots, telling her sweet nothings as the world they knew became one of moans and cries. “All this just for me, love. I feel so special.” The effect this man had, he knew what those words did to the girl. Building her up, literally and figuratively, then tossing her. He always came back, it was the same pattern as always. 

Sirius drew her these worlds, so pretty and perfect. Dreaming what life with him could be as he fucked her brains out, only to then have her leave by kissing her goodnight. Soon he came inside her, filling her up with hopes of commitment. “Here,” he offers her his hand as his cock leaves her, she’s now cold and empty once more. She grabbed his hand, guiding her through the empty room and into the bathroom. They showered together; she cleaned his hair the way he liked while he cleaned her body the way she liked. They weren't strangers, even before the arrangement. Sirius is like a brother to James, but he is the universe to Y/n. He held himself as the sun, yet she was a mere human who could only stare at him through rose-tinted glasses. Even now as he caresses the marks he left on her neck, he’s miles away. Soon they get dry,  kiss goodbye, and he says calmly, “No attachments, baby,” then closes the door. She goes down the stairs, past the portrait, hiding from Filch, and then going to her bed. Sound asleep, wearing his shirt and her favorite bottoms, her best bra under his bed with the rest. It’s casual. It always is. 

————————

“What’s between you and Sirius? I’ve heard rumors, you know?” Lucius said, a mouthful of eggs nearing his lips. His eyes carried a hint of worry as he ate, never once looking away from the girl.

“Nothing, he’s my brother’s friend. What more could it possibly be?” truthfully, her eyes glistened at the thought. She remembered the night before and knew it was bound to repeat again. She was looking right at the black-haired man, but he sat with his back to her, not even sparing a glance. Her brother waved and smiled as always, unbeknownst to the betrayal, yet his best friend didn’t even look back. He just continued to talk and laugh. 

“Well, someone said they saw you leaving his dorm…”

“You can’t  trust Gryffindors, Lucius, you know better.”

The blond shrugs and continues eating. Occasionally he glances between Sirius and Y/n, noticing her pupils fill with love contrary to the frown her mouth holds. “You Potters and your words.” he sighs defeatedly. 

The friends moved along, talking about classes, family, their plans for summer, etc. Even after the bell rang, the two moved like a pair of conjoined twins. For once she didn’t notice the holes burning into her friend’s skull by the eyes of a certain member of the Black family. 

James swung his hand around the other’s shoulder, “What’re you looking at, mate?”

“Just Slytherins, nothing special.”

“Better not be talking bout my sis.”

“I’d never.”

“Good. I’d have hexed you. Just an older brother thing, you understand.”

  Yet Sirius didn’t understand, at least not when it came to the aching feeling in his chest when he saw those two. They’d been like this since first year, it’s been bothering him since first year. He knew they were friends, and both confirmed it, yet he couldn’t help but feel cheated on. “Yeah, yeah. We’re still on for the Ravenclaw party right?” Sirius looked up at James, quirking his head to the side.

“Of course! Evans is gonna be there, I hope. At least that’s what Y/n/n says, she told me to wear something casual.”

Casual. Of course.

[sweetstars-posts]

SKINNY,

M. STURNIOLO x FEM!SINGER!READER

(if you don't want to be a singer, it could be anything in the public eye, it’s only mentioned a little!!)

WARNINGS — mentions of eating disorders, depression, anxiety, ALSO pet names (bc apparently that triggers ppl or smth).

a/n — this is a deep story based on billie eilish’s new song, skinny. as someone who faces troubles with eating, i wanted to make this for me and for those who need it <3

word count — 1.5k

(not proofread)

The rain is hitting the glass of my bay window as you stare helplessly out of it. The window opened a crack; the smell of fresh rain wafting into your room.

Your eyes are dull and lifeless — like you’re waiting for something that won't ever arrive. There's an aching feeling in your stomach, one that isn’t just nerves.

Your body ached as you haven’t moved from the soft plush cushions of the bay window for a couple hours.

Nothing in life felt appealing right now. The constant bodyshamming from the public eye got you back into a seemingly never-ending spiral.

People only seem to like you if you’re skinny. Eating was always a struggle, but now it almost feels like a game. Competing with yourself over and over again for trying to reach a certain weight goal that you won’t realistically achieve.

Everyone keeps saying you’re happier now. But are you? No. Complete sadness overtook you, but it was okay, because now you’re skinny.

But you also felt guilty.

You haven’t spoken to your boyfriend Matt in a couple days. You’ve been dating for 3 years and he knows every single thing about you. You still don’t have the energy to get up and try to find your phone which is nowhere to be found at the moment.

But knowing Matt, he probably knows what’s happening again. This seems to always happen. It’s like a record player that keeps repeating and repeating until the vinyl slowly starts to scratch and warp.

Your eyes falter slightly but they never seem to fully close. It’s like they can’t.

Your mind is racing 20 miles per hour but you can’t seem to comprehend a single word going through your brain.

The phone rings, the sound coming from somewhere in the mess of sheets on your bed.

A little while has passed and your phone still hasn't stopped. The obnoxious ringing made you even more aggravated. Yet somehow you felt stuck, like you couldn’t move to get your phone.

The sound absorbed into a dull hum from all the thoughts racing through your head.

You felt numb and lifeless. Like you were viewing yourself in a VR headset.

Time shaped into nothingness as your bedroom door creaked open. Your boyfriend, Matt’s, head peeks through the door.

His eyes soften as he sees your fragile figure on the soft cushions.

He closes the door behind him as he walks into the room. He makes a mental note to clean your room for you later. As he nears you, he sits on the floor, in front of the bay window.

His soft hands, grab your hands lightly, “I got you, it’s okay,” he finally breaks the silence.

Short jagged breath’s release your mouth, as you finally move your eyes away from outside, to him. He slowly moves to hold your head between his hands.

Tears slowly start to prick your eyes, yet you still don’t look away from him. Tears flow and flow, you have no control. Strangled breaths release, as you struggle to catch air.

“Hey, hey, I got you,” Matt’s fingers brush your tears away, his cold rings sending a series of chills down your spine.

Matt brought you into a warm embrace, lowering you down from on top of the seat, to his lap. He cradled you as if you were a broken fragile doll.

He pressed kisses towards your head, letting you release all those pent up emotions.

Neither of you knew how much time had passed, nor did either of you care.

Your breath’s evened out, and your tears died down. And Matt was still there by your side.

“Do you wanna talk?…” Matt questioned after a while.

“I’m just….tired” Your small tired voice let out.

Matt kissed your nose lightly before slowly standing up, pulling you up with him. He made his way to the bathroom connected to your room.

Upon setting you on the counter, he turns on the bath, letting it run for a little. He got everything ready — your clothes, a brush, and got all the small essentials, as you got in the tub.

He washed your hair, lathering the shampoo lightly. He then grabbed your brush and slowly brushed through the large matted knots.

“How about…after this we go back to mine? We can watch Inside Out because I know how much you love that movie,” His offer makes you smile, “And then we can work our way from there, how does that sound?”

You nod in response, too exhausted to speak.

After finishing up, Matt slowly helped you into one of his large sweaters and some pajama pants. Matt started to grab your phone and small things you would need to stay over (although most of your things are already at the triplets house).

“You ready, baby?” Matt extends his hand out towards you.

You grab his hand with a little small smile. Whatever joy you had in you was put towards Matt right now.

Matt led you to his car, opening the passenger seat. You could tell Chris sat there last. The seat was reclined and the seat was altogether far. You smiled at the way Chris left it.

“This kid doesn’t know how to fix his seat, I swear” Matt complained, as he helped you fix the seat.

Matt soon got into the driver side soon after closing your door.

“Where too?” Matt asked gently.

You looked at him in confusion. Weren’t you going to his house?

“C’mon, baby, we’re going somewhere to eat. Even if it’s something small, just… get something in your system.” Matt rubbed his hand against your knee.

The thought of food makes you want to throw up on the spot. You hated that he knew, but you loved that he cared.

“Nowhere..” You mumble quietly, head against the window.

You didn’t want to make this harder on Matt. But the genuine guilt fills you by just thinking about laying a finger on food.

“Sweetie, you need something.” Matt started the car, but ended up driving towards his house, “When we get home, you can have some toast. Even one slice, okay?”

You silently nod.

Matt pulled into the garage. As you and Matt make it inside, you can already hear Chris and Nick yapping about some movie they are watching in the living room.

As much of a bad mood you could be in, those triplets will always put a smile on your face.

Matt’s hand rests on the lower section of your back, gently guiding you through the basement. The two of you slowly walk up the stairs.

Chris and Nicks heads snapped towards the stairs as they heard footsteps, obviously Matt had told them.

Nick came running up to you guys first. He pulled you into a light hug, holding the back of your head with his hand, rocking you ever so slightly.

He pulled away, his hands resting on your face, “I’m so glad you’re okay, kid.”

Chris pushed Nick out of the way, “HEY! My turn”

Chris pulled you into a bone crushing hug, way more strong than Nicks. You smiled slightly into his shoulder.

“We were all so scared,” Chris whispered quietly.

As you guys pulled away, Matt grabbed your hand again, walking you towards his room, but not before bidding a small bye to Nick and Chris.

Matt closed the door behind him, as you went to sit on your designated side of his bed.

“I’ll be right back okay?” Matt kissed your head gently, before walking out of the door.

Matt had started to make a small piece of toast. Knowing you won't want to eat the other half, he put it on a plate for Chris to eat later.

Matt walked the short trip to his room, pulling the door open.

“Here, love” Matt put the plate on your lap.

You slowly grabbed at the piece of toast. Guilt swarmed you like a bunch of bees. Instead of taking a bite, you just stayed there.

Matt was now seated on his side, “It’s okay, Baby, it’s fine,” He rubbed your arm encouragingly.

Slowly but surely, you ate the piece of toast. Matt put on “Modern Family” while you ate. He never pushed you to eat faster, he was comforting and only wanted you to be comfortable.

“Good job!!” Matt’s large smile was contagious, it made you smile too.

As some time passed, you guys just stayed in each other’s presence. Not many words were said, but it was a comforting silence that everyone needs in their lives.

You and Matt were all cuddled up, your head resting on his chest. His hand rubbing your back gently.

His soft touch and actions, that lured you into a soft slumber.

“Goodnight, my love” Matt kissed the top of your head, himself feeling awfully tired.

At the end of the day, all you needed was a loving soul to guide you through your troubles. And Matt was that person. He was the light in your dark cave.

[bisexualiteaa]

Nobody Gets me, You Do

Older!Logan Howlett x Fem Reader (ANGST TO FLUFF)

CW: post Deadpool and Wolverine, breakups, brief mentions of seggs in the past, mentions of alcohol, mention of death, mutual pining, cursing, kissing, angst w/ fluffy ending! Possible spelling and grammar errors

AN: came across this song again after a while of not hearing it and it just all came to me. It came to me very quickly so my apologies if it isn’t up to par with my usual works! 😅 I don’t own the song or characters. If anyone has any requests for our men Logan or Wade, please feel free! My asks are open! Enjoy!! 🥰

The song followed him everywhere since the break up. When he would get in the car, the radio would come on and play it for a few moments before he could switch the station to his usual 80’s rock. When he would come to the bar to drink, it would play at least once per night, making him groan each time he heard it begin to play. Sometimes he would even hear it in the stores he went to, and it pissed him off how much it managed to wedge itself into his brain. It was an ear worm that perfectly managed to place salt on a wound that could never truly heal. Losing you. It was a fitting song he had to admit, recounting the days of when you were together and how you used to cherish every memory and now all he has of you are those memories to look back on. It made his heart wrench in his chest and his throat fill with bile at the thought that he managed to chase you away. The one person who cared for him the most, not only in this time line, but in his previous one too. The only person that brought him a semblance of happiness and he managed to fuck it up completely. He’d come to learn that he was quite good at fucking things up, perhaps it was just the curse he carried with him. He managed to take a healthy relationship, with someone who felt like his most perfect match and fucked it up completely. He hated to admit it, but out of everything, there was one thing the song got right.

“Nobody gets me, you do”

One night he decided enough was enough, the lyrics had been lingering in his mind like a haunting memory. He needed it out, needed to just sit down and fully listen to it so he could rid himself of the sound on repeat. He grabbed his phone, getting lost in the picture of you two together on his lockscreen. You were both so happy then. The way you looked at him with all the love in the world, and the way his hand rested upon your hip that told you he would always keep you safe. The smile that rested on his lips as he looked down at you, it was gorgeous. It wasn’t the best picture, but it was a candid moment Wade managed to capture out on a mission together in the woods. One he’d never forget because it was the last one he’d get with you. Once he could manage to tear his eyes away from the picture, he searched up the song, bracing himself for the emotional rollercoaster that was bound to come with. He gave a deep sigh as he sat up listening to it on the couch, a beer in one hand, looking down at his dog tags that you had given back to him the day you left in the other.

Took a long vacation

No makeup, just Jay-Z

You were balls deep, now we beefin’

Had me butt-naked at the MGM

So wasted screamin’, “Fuck that,”

Love me now, but I’m anythin’

Hurry now, baby, stick it in

‘Fore the memories get to kickin’ in

That portion of the song reminded him of the last time you were intimate together. His mind wandered to the way you both came barreling through your apartment door, so ready to pounce on each other that you could hardly get to the bedroom and decided to do it on your couch. He remembered the giggles of excitement, the gasps, moans and groans as you lost yourselves in one another. He remembered the way that you complained of the pain in your legs and lower back the next day from how long you two stayed up going round for round. He was never very good with intimacy, but with you it felt natural. With you, everything felt natural, everything felt like he was in his own personal heaven.

It’s too late

I don’t wanna lose what’s left of you

How am I supposed to tell ya?

I don’t wanna see you with anyone but me

Nobody gets me like you

How am I supposed to let you go?

Only like myself when I’m with you

Nobody gets me, you do

You do

Nobody gets me, you do

You do

Nobody gets me, you do

You do

Nobody gets me, you do

Those lyrics hit him the hardest, because they were true. He clung to the last little things he had of you, from the still lingering smell of your perfume on some of his shirts, to the pictures he had of you together in his wallet. Even down to the dog tags he held in his hand. You always kept them tucked under your shirt, keeping it “as close to your heart as you kept him” you would always say. The day you handed them back was the day he knew he lost you for good. He hoped that maybe somehow you still had a space left in your heart for him to reside once more, praying someone else hadn’t come along and taken his place. He couldn’t bear the thought of you with someone else, the thought leaving a sour taste in his mouth. You were his girl, he would always see you that way, even if you didn’t want him anymore.

Took me out to the ballet

You proposed, I went on the road

You was feelin’ empty, so you left me

Now I’m stuck dealin’ with a deadbeat

If I’m real, I deserve less

If I was you, I wouldn’t take me back

I pretend when I’m with a man, it’s you

And I know that it’s too late

I don’t wanna lose what’s left of you

This one wasn’t far off, he understood after everything that he said, after the way he treated you if you didn’t want to take him back. He didn’t even like himself, how could he expect someone to love him in such a state? Closing his eyes, he thought back to the times before your break up, allowing the song to finish.

How am I supposed to tell ya?

I don’t wanna see you with anyone but me

Nobody gets me like you

How am I supposed to let you go?

Only like myself when I’m with you

Nobody gets me, you do

You do

Nobody gets me, you do

You do

Nobody gets me, you do

You do

Nobody gets me, you do

Nobody gets me, you do

He released a long shaky breath, feeling his eyes begin to grow wet with tears he hadn’t noticed began to well in his lash line. He tipped his head back after he took a drink of his beer, trying his hardest to fight the tears from escaping but he could only do so much to stop it as the song played on repeat.

“Well, now that’s a sight I never thought I’d see” Wade said, making Logan groan as he took another hefty swig of his drink. “Fuck off” he responded coldly, but of course, this was Wade he was talking to. Things were never that easy with him. “Easy Wolvie, I’m here for you” he said, placing a hand to the man’s shoulder only further agitating Logan as he shrugged it off. “I’m fine” he replied, trying to get him to leave but as usual, his efforts were fruitless. “Yeah, totally. Listening to a sad song on repeat while drinking is exactly the definition I think of when someone says they’re fine” Wade quipped, making him roll his eyes at his sarcasm. “Fuck you” Logan responded, not wanting to put up with his bullshit but lacking the energy to fight back full force. “I still live in my angsty teenage years every now and then, though I didn’t picture this to be the music of choice for you” Wade said. “It’s fuckin’ everywhere. Like I can’t get rid of it. It’s followed me everywhere since…” he started to say before stopping himself, not wanting to share with Wade of all people but he really didn’t have anyone else. “The break up?” Wade asked, making Logan grunt in acknowledgment. “Yeah” he answered.

It happened so long ago now, but he remembered it like it was yesterday, the sour memories of your usually soft, sweet voice screaming at him. The tears that streamed down your face not only from sadness but from anger. It haunted his dreams at night on repeat, hearing those words leave you as you stormed out, and hearing the awful response he only wished he could take back. You had every right to be angry with him, to break up with him like you did. It was his fault after all. He’d left you in one timeline already, dying before you had the chance to even tell him one last goodbye, and then he nearly left you in this one. Sacrificing himself to try and save Wade and his world without a second thought of leaving you behind again. So this time you left him. He couldn’t be mad at you, not when your anger was completely justified. “Want me to invite her over? Give you the chance to talk with her?” Wade asked, genuinely wanting to help. It was a wishful thought, but your relationship didn’t end the way Wade’s did with Vanessa. A simple meet up wouldn’t take back the hurtful words he’d said to you and he knew that. “Even if you did, she wouldn’t want to see me. Not after everything I said that night ” Logan replied, finishing off his beer. “Can’t be that bad! Right…?” Wade asked, making Logan look at him. “Good god man, what did you say?!” He asked, making Logan sigh. “Told her I was just trying to help, but that if she couldn’t handle me and the dangerous shit that comes with me, then to find someone else. You can imagine the rest” he answered, making Wade hiss in pain at the words his roommate said. “Ouch” he commented. “Well…it could still be worth a shot. How long has it been?” He asked. “Eight months, haven’t heard a fuckin’ word from her” Logan replied gruffly. “Double ouch” Wade said, making Logan shoot a glare in his direction. “Oh fuck off. Stupid of me to think you of all people would fucking help” he grumbled angrily. “No, no, no! C’mon you helped me, let me help you. Just trust me and give it a shot” Wade begged him, making him sit and think on it. Or at least pretend to, he didn’t need to think on it, the idea of speaking to you finally after so long left him anxious but he wanted you back so badly. “And if it doesn’t work?” Logan asked gruffly. “You can brutally beat the shit out of me and get black out drunk and forget it even happened” Wade responded, leaving Logan rather skeptical but at least it was worth a try. “Let’s turn off the sad music though, you’re scaring the hoes” Wade joked as he text you and asked you to come over.

When Wade invited you over to his place, Logan could hardly believe that you actually showed up. He figured you would rather be the farthest away that you could possibly get from him after everything that had transpired between you two. Yet there you were, looking as gorgeous as ever. A little tired maybe, like stress had been hounding you for some time, but otherwise you seemed to be doing well. He wished he could say the same about himself but he’d been nothing but a wreck since you left. Your eyes flit across the apartment, subconsciously searching for Logan. You found him in the kitchen, cooking what looked to be his own dinner, seeing as Wade and Althia got high, while drinking a beer, and the sight made your chest grow tight. You missed coming home to see him like that on occasion, missed when he would cook for you, especially on holidays or your anniversary. You thought back to Valentine’s Day when he made you dinner after a rogue mission gone sour, walking into your apartment to the smell of your favorite meal being made after a long and troubling day. You missed coming home to him, sharing your bed with him.

You missed him.

You weren’t sure how to speak to him after everything you’d said, and with the distance between you, you hadn’t spoken to him since the night you left. He could hate you for all you knew. You couldn’t blame him if he did, you’d hate yourself too if you were told the awful things you’d said. You couldn’t help but pray that somewhere deep down in that gruff exterior of his, that maybe he could forgive you. That maybe he would take you back, allow you a chance to apologize and mend what had been broken. The scent of a warm, hand made meal snapped you from your thoughts, filling the air as you bravely stepped into the kitchen. The minute you did, your heart slammed against your chest, unsure of where to go from here. “You came” Logan said, sounding almost surprised to see you here in front of him. You were thankful that he started the conversation for you and spoke first, you felt almost as if all words were trapped in your throat. “You called” you answered surely, looking at him with a kind, almost apologetic smile. “Wasn’t sure if you would” he replied, and it made your heart ache to know you made him feel that way. “I’m here now” you answered softly, your hand coming to rest gently on his upper arm, making him look to you with an expression that held so many emotions you didn’t know which to read first. Tension hung in the air between you as you stood and looked at one another, this was the first time standing before each other in nearly a year. You could see longing in his gaze, sadness in his body language, but an unrelenting passion in his eyes. He looked as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the words to say it. So this time you spoke for him.

“Smells delicious, I see you’re still a wonderful cook” you complimented with a nostalgic smile, trying to start up a conversation the best you could with him to see where you stand. “Want some?” He asked without hesitation, tilting his head towards the food before grabbing a plate for you. You didn’t even need to answer. Maybe he didn’t hate you like you first thought, maybe this could go well after all. You surely hoped it would at least. “That’s your dinner, I don’t want to take it all. I know how much you love that dish, I don’t want to take it from you” you said, reminding him of all the times you would make sure he ate, always fussing over him. At the time he used to tell you he could take care of himself and that you didn’t need to worry yourself over him but now? He’d give anything to hear your sweet voice beg him to eat, to be safe, and take care of himself again. “There’s plenty, bub. ‘sides, I remember how much you liked it too” he replied, making you smile a little at the fact that he remembered how much you liked his cooking before fixing you a plate and then himself one. God you fucking missed him. “Thank you” you responded as you sat down and ate with him in peaceful silence that was only interrupted by the occasional small talk. A few stories here and there, some shared laughs, all almost felt completely natural again. Like you’d fallen back into your normal routine as if it had never been broken, but you knew the pining glances hadn’t gone unnoticed. You needed to talk with him, really talk with him. You couldn’t go about this life without him anymore.

Some time had passed after you both finished dinner, the tension between you and Logan had dwindled a bit as you both made your way over to the couch but there was still an invisible wedge between you. One you weren’t quite sure how to cross. You watched as Wade picked up a set of keys from the kitchen counter and made way for the door, claiming he and Althia were going to get dinner for themselves. “We’ll leave you two alone, but try not to wreck my apartment if you decide to have messy make up sex, ‘kay?” Wade said, making Logan almost snarl in anger and you even shot him a nasty glance. “Wilson!” Logan barked, sending Wade flying through the door with a giggle to be out of his line of sight and potentially his wrath. “He never was the king of reading a room” you said, making Logan scoff in amusement and agreement before taking a swig of his beer. “I did want to talk to you” you both said simultaneously, making you chuckle before you both stumbled over telling the other to go first. It was like being a teenager in love all over again.

“Logan I-“ “you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. I don’t deserve an apology, not after I hurt you” he said, making you look to him with sympathy in your gaze. You knew that you were hard on him, but you didn’t realize truly how hard you’d been. “But you do” you responded softly grabbing his hand in yours, making him look down at your smaller hand wrapped around his much larger one. “I was selfish to be mad at you. I was selfish and cruel for saying the things that I did. What you did was something beyond heroic, something that I’m sure no one else would have ever even contemplated doing, much less actually have done. You did it because you knew what it was like to lose everyone that ever mattered to you in your timeline, and you didn’t want Wade to have to suffer the same” you added. “I was so blind by the thought of losing you again that I didn’t stop to think what a wonderful thing you’d truly done” you continued, shame lacing your tone as you admitted your wrongs, hoping and praying that he would accept your apology as you presented yourself at the most vulnerable you’d ever been. “I should’ve thought of what I would be leaving behind” he tried to say, and you stopped him before he could finish. “No, you have no need to apologize to me or think that way. I was wrong for treating you as if you’d left me that day, because you didn’t, you’re still here. You’re alive” you replied, your hand coming to rest softly on his cheek as you spoke to him, looking deep into his honey brown eyes that enchanted you since the first day you’d met him. “But I hurt you. I screamed at you, said terrible things that I regret every fuckin’ day. You had every right to walk away” he tried to say but again, you weren’t taking it. “Walking away from you was the worst mistake I have ever made, and I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am for making you feel wrong for trying to help someone in the way you helped Wade and this whole timeline” you replied, seeing what looked to be the starts of tears welling in his lash line as he looked to you while you spoke. “I’m so sorry Logan. And I know those words will never be enough undo the wrong and the hurt that I’ve caused but I hope you know that I mean it” you added, searching his eyes for any means of anger, any means of rejection. Yet you didn’t find it. All you found was longing. “I love you Logan. I love you so fucking much and I’m so fucking sorry” you apologized, hands cupping his face softly and tears welling to your eyes as a sob caught in your throat, praying it wasn’t too late to mend the bond you broke. “I’ve missed you so much…I don’t want to live this life, or any life without you in it. Nobody gets me like you” you spoke, your voice cracking slightly as tears streamed down your face. “I don’t want to lose you…” you whispered repeatedly through your cries, feeling him press his forehead against yours gently. “You won’t. I’m here, I’m right here bub” he said, and it was everything you needed to hear for so long.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere bub, I’m here” he assured, making you pull back enough to gaze into his eyes. “You promise?” You asked through sniffles and hiccups from your cries, searching his eyes for deceit but once again, you found none. “I promise. Missed you too much to ever do that” he said, making you smile the best you could through your tears. “C’mere pretty girl” he said, his large hand pulling you in closer before his lips slotted against your own. You were quick to loop your arms around his neck and keep him close against you as you kissed him back. It was passionate, filled with desire and warmth but intimate all the same. You chased each other’s lips with your own, not caring for the need for air that made your lungs burn from oxygen deprivation, caring more for the way you finally had one another again. Once you did part, you both panted to try and catch your breath, looking to one another as if to ask what next. “Think this belongs to you” he spoke, holding his dog tags out to you, making you chuckle as you looked down at them. “Are you sure?” You asked, but before you could even finish asking, he was already slipping it over your head, admiring the way it dangled from your neck. “Never been more sure” he answered, making you smile as you held it in your hand before kissing him once more. “I don’t deserve you” you said, pressing your forehead against his once more. “No, I don’t deserve you” he said, making you chuckle. “Yet we get each other in every timeline. Funny how that works, isn’t it?” You replied, making him laugh. “Wouldn’t want it any other way” he responded making you hum as you closed your eyes to enjoy the peacefully intimate moment with him. “Good, I don’t wanna see you with anyone but me” you said, making him laugh again at the irony that it was a lyric from the song that haunted him for the past eight months. “Don’t worry, never gonna happen” he responded, and for a moment he understood the perfect response.

“Nobody gets me like you, bub”

[linghxr]

My 2023 in Mandopop/Chinese music (update & recs)

It’s been too long since I last shared some music recommendations/updates on what I’m listening to! Admittedly, I haven’t been discovering as many new artists because I’m busy listening to 薛之谦 on repeat. But we'll focus on the new.

You can check out my Spotify playlist featuring these songs (plus bonus ones). In addition, I’ve included YouTube links below.

五月天 / Mayday 五月天 is a legendary band, so of course I knew of them and had heard a few of their songs over the years. But I never proactively sought out their music until recently. I still haven’t had time to dive into their back catalog, but I’ve already found some songs I really love.

《我又初恋了》 I actually really didn’t like this song the first time I heard it, but it wormed its way into my brain. It’s just a lot of fun! Non-serious songs can be good too.

《转眼》 My favorite 五月天 song <3. I’m probably too young to fully appreciate the lyrics, but they make me feel so nostalgic and bittersweet, like transitioning to a new chapter of life and leaving the old behind.

《因为你 所以我》 This song didn’t stand out to me at first, but it grew on me! I caught myself humming it a lot. It‘s kind of corny, but it sounds so full of hope.

陈奕迅 / Eason Chan I first started listening to 陈奕迅 a couple years ago after my Album a Day August challenge, but I’ve found that his music has grown on me over time. I believe I’ve only mentioned him once before, so I thought now was a good time to highlight my favorite of his songs.

《之外》 This is probably my favorite 陈奕迅 song. The lyrics convey a sense of hopelessness, but the overall song has a smooth, light sound.

《娱乐天空》 You know a song is good when it’s over 6 minutes long but feels like it flies by! It makes me want to get up, get moving, and be productive.

《烟味》 This song is dramatic, and I love it for that. Also has a hint of orchestral flavor.

《淘汰》 One of 陈奕迅’s most well-known songs—for a good reason. It has big Cpop ballad vibes but is definitely livelier.

白举纲 / Bai Jugang You’re going to notice several mentions of 披荆斩棘 in this post. That’s where I “met” 白举纲. I instantly liked his voice and loved seeing him with his “brother” 高瀚宇 and “dad” 张晋! You may also see his music under his English name, Pax Congo.

《被动失控》 This is the only song on the list you could headbang to.

《Shy Boy》 I love this song because it’s cute and includes a children’s rhyme that I learned as a kid: 找啊找啊找朋友 找到一个好朋友.

苏诗丁 / Su Shiding At some point last year I did a one-month free trial of Apple Music. It was an interesting experience because the recommendations were very different from what Spotify tends to show me. I’m glad Apple Music led me to 苏诗丁!

《LUCIFER（傲慢宗罪）》 All I can say is that this song exudes coolness and confidence. It also has a fair bit of English, but honestly I had to look up the lyrics to tell what some of it was.

《梦幻病》 This song is from the same album. It’s dreamlike but gets more frantic as it builds. Overall, it’s just a bit…unsettling.

队长 / Young Captain I learned about 队长 from a random post on Instagram about his concert in Malaysia. I think these songs might have gone viral on 抖音 or something. I was surprised I liked them so much because they both have some rap (I’m not a rap fan), but it was love at first listen.

《11》 I love how this song builds towards the end. I spend the whole song waiting for the crescendo, and it’s great payoff.

《楼顶上的小斑鸠》 This song is like the slightly mellower sibling of the one above. But I ended up liking this one even more.

金志文 / Jin Zhiwen 金志文 was another artist who Apple Music recommended to me. I definitely need to explore his discography more but haven’t had the chance to do so yet. But he has some good stuff so far!

《自娱自乐》 Smooth and relaxing but in a fun way. Simple and no-frills but will put a smile on your face!

《远走高飞》 This one feels like enjoying the breeze on a beautiful sunny day. I also enjoy the duet with 徐佳莹 version.

163braces 163braces started out as a YouTuber posting song covers. I have watched a couple of her covers, but they didn’t leave much of an impression on me. I was pleasantly surprised by her foray into original music. I look forward to hearing what she does next!

《控制》 The song I would want as my “soundtrack” if I were a video game character. It’s energetic and loud.

《murmur》 Honestly this song is pretty similar to the first one. Sometimes I have trouble distinguishing them. But hey, if ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

小鬼 / Lil Ghost 小鬼 did what I can best describe as “pulling an MGK” by going from more rap to kinda pop-punk? That MGK album was my guilty pleasure when in came out, so I’m all for 小鬼’s new direction.

《Last Day》 This song really gave me MGK vibes. It’s about half in English, but I often don't even notice when he switches between languages.

《不良少年》 I just know I would have loved this song so much in high school. It’s an angsty teen anthem. 

《为明天写封信》 I can totally imagine this song playing at the end of a 2000s teen movie! Maybe while showing a montage of the main characters graduating.

《无所求必满载而归》 by 陈粒 / Chen Li This is technically cheating because I have recommended 陈粒 songs before, but it was at least a couple years ago. I heard this song covered on 披荆斩棘的哥哥 and immediately looked up the original. Honestly I should have known it was a 陈粒 song because you can totally tell it’s her style.

《轻红》 by 曹杨 / Young I keep coming back to this song! It’s from a drama soundtrack. I was super surprised the first time I listened to it because I thought it was going to be a typical ballad based on the first ~45 seconds or so—it wasn’t. There is also another version by 陈雪燃 (the king of cdrama OSTs). But I actually prefer the 曹杨 version.

《时光机》 by 吴克群 / Kenji Wu I was introduced to 吴克群 via 披荆斩棘2. He was instantly one of my favorite contestants after his team’s amazing 《新地球》 performance (check it out). This song is bouncy and a little dreamy. I kinda want to hear a remix with Harry Styles’ As It Was. I just wish it were longer than 3 minutes!

My Spotify Wrapped

I have a tradition of sharing my Spotify Wrapped, and I wanted to continue the streak in some form. So here's a quick rundown.

Top genre: 华语流行音乐 Representative city: Taipei Minutes: 21,750

Top artists

薛之谦 / Xue Zhiqian

林宥嘉 / Yoga Lin

五月天 / Mayday

李荣浩 / Li Ronghao

陈奕迅 / Eason Chan 

Top songs

《木偶人》 - 薛之谦

《狐狸》 - 薛之谦

《骆驼》 - 薛之谦

《转眼》 - 五月天

《后来的我们》 - 五月天

Also, fellow Mandopop fans should check out the Mando Gap newsletter. I stumbled upon it this year, and I know it’s going to be a great resource for discovering new artists in 2024!

[sarawritestories]

My Beautiful Angel

Cassian X Plus Size Fem Reader

A/N: This was written with the song Beautiful by Bazzi and Camilla Cabelo basically on repeat.

Summary: Cassian comes home from a mission and Y/N is happy to see him. He insists that the IC goes to Rita's. Y/N finally wants to tell him her feelings to find that he's flirting heavily with the bartender and she leaves. The General follows ands clears the air

Content Warning: 18+ Minors DNI, P in V, Oral M receiving. Smut with little plot, Fluff

Word Count: 3.8k

Masterlist

Sitting in the dining room eating my dinner alone, Azriel went to the townhouse to see if anyone needed anything, Cassian was out on a mission Rhys sent him out for last week. The house was lonely without those two stomping about and finding some petty thing to argue about, which always turned to them ganging up on me. I sigh thinking about how I miss Cassian, he hasn’t been out on a mission for this long since before the war. The way he wraps his arms around my soft stomach and pulls me close and always stays close during outings, especially with meetings from other courts.

I shake my head clearing my thoughts of the Illyrian general and dive back into the book Nesta let me borrow. Diving into a love story about a prince and a mermaid, the mermaid gaining legs during the day found her lover and he pressed her against the wall mouths colliding with a reverent fervor. I adjust in my seat trying to mask the arousal that is beginning. The prince’s hands roam down the mermaid’s body grazing across her slick center.

A warmth kissed the shell of my ear, “You know that’s going to rot your brain. Right.” The low rumble of Cassian’s voice jolted me from my seat, slamming my book shut. I stood up and was about to scold him for sneaking up on me but before I could he grabbed my waist and spun me around. When he stops, he pulls me close to his chest. “Oh, I missed you, Sweetheart,” He kisses the top of my head.

He puts me down and I smile patting his cheek, “I missed you too, Cass. How was your trip?”

He rolls his eyes, “A standard mission.” He wrapped me in his arms again, “I’m just happy to be home.” I wrap my arms around his waist and place my head on his chest. My heart skips at the contact I must remind myself that touch is one of the ways he shows love and that this isn’t him wanting to just take my scent in. “So, we’re celebrating my coming home by going to Rita’s.” That got me squirming out of his grasp, but he holds me tighter. “You’re coming, too.”

I groan and get out of his grasp, “But I wanted to finish my book tonight.” I grab my book and immediately it’s taken out of my hands. “Cassian!”

Cassian waves the book above his head and bends down to make eye contact with me, “You can get it back when we come tonight.” He gives me a shit eating grin that I want to slap right off. “Now, go get dressed and meet me back here so we can meet everyone at the Townhouse.” I glared at him, and I quickly try to jump and grab my book, but he stands to his full height, and I fall short. The general extends his arms to the hall leading to the bedrooms, and I stick my tongue out at him and head to my room to change.

I picked a silver silk gown that has thin straps and a corset back that accentuated my generous cleavage the bodice rouching to beginning the skirt had a slit that starts at my hip down as the skirt flows down to the floor it highlights the stretch marks on my thighs that I enjoy. I place my hair in soft curls pinned half my hair in a bun, letting the rest of my curls flow down. With a pair of heels that I laced around my ankle I make my way back to the dining hall, where I see Cassian with his hair down, black slacks and a white button up shirt that the top unbuttoned his chest tattoo peaking out. I give a low whistle, “Looking good, General.”

Cassian grins and looks up and his face falls into something I don’t recognize. His Hazel eyes graze down my body from the diamond choker around my neck to my dress and zeroes in on the slit of the skirt and his eyes darken, I wrap my arms around myself unintentionally pushing up my chest. “Something wrong, Sweetheart?” Cassian asks his voice sounds like he is gritting out the words.

I bite my lip, “I feel like with that look on your face I need to change, you know I think I will go do that.” I’m about to turn when a calloused hand grips my wrist.

“I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that dress, I’ve never seen it before.” He kisses my cheek, and I can feel the heat rushing to them. “You look beautiful.” He scoops me up in his arms and gives me a saccharine smile, “Ready?”

“The things I do to get my book back.” He pinches the pinches my side and I giggle, “Lead the way General, just don’t mess up my hair.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And we take off into the skies.

Once we get to the house, I notice familiar shadows and I hop out of Cassian’s arms before his feet touch the ground. “Azriel!” I leap into his arms, and he laughs wrapping his arms around me.

“Brother, I think she gets lonely when we’re gone.” Az says to Cassian as he pulls away and looks at my outfit, “Y/N are you trying to get Males and Females on their knees tonight. You look ravishing.” A growl emits from somewhere but when I turn in that direction, Mor, Feyre and Cassian were beginning to walk towards Rita’s.

Rhys kisses my cheek, “What did he do to get you to come out? You hate going out to Rita’s?”

I meet his violet eyes and cross my arms, “He is keeping my book hostage.”

Azriel snorted. “Smart. I should try that.” I scowl at him, and he loops his arm in mine, “Come on, we’re going to make you earn that book back.”

The three of us finally met up with the rest of the group, the music in Rita’s thrumming in my ears. Mor flagged us down and Rhys says, “I’ll get the three of us drinks.” with that he walks over to the bar as Azriel, and I go and sit with out friends. A seat is open by Cassian and he pats the spot next to him. I sit and instantly Cassian splays a wing around me and he nudges his knee against mine and I give him a smile.

Rhys comes back with drinks and a round of shots for everyone once everyone has a shot glass in hand, “To Cass and Az coming home.” We all cheer and take our shot, a shiver racks down my spine from the burning sensation. I sip my drink and the drinks keep filtering to our table. After a few drinks, Mor grips my hand, “Come on hotstuff, we are dancing.”

 I groan and face the General a playful smirk on his face, “You owe me.” He chuckled as Mor pulled me and Feyre to the dance floor. Once we reached the dance floor the music consumed me, and I let my body lose and began to sway my hips to the beat. Mor and Feyre were following my lead as we twirled and swayed, and I found myself laughing, enjoying myself and letting myself feel beautiful in my beautiful dress. I feel confident enough to tell Cassian how I feel.

“I’m so glad you came out tonight, even if Cassian had to keep your book hostage for it.” Mor yelled over loud music. I gave her a nod and a thumbs up in agreement.

After a few songs I make my way to the bar to grab water. Sweat coating my brow as I got closer to the bar, I saw Cassian and saw him laughing with the bar tender. I walk closer to him, and the bartender grips his face and presses her lips to hers. Shock runs through my system followed up with hurt.

Rhys, I’m going home, tired, tell everyone bye for me.

Rhys responded quickly, want me to take you home?

No, I’m going to walk. Thanks.

I sever the connection and make a bee line out the door. The cool breeze cooled my overheated skin. I cross my arms as bumps raise on my arms in response to the rapid chill and begin making my descent home.  Thunder booms across the sky and one drop falls on my cheek, and another and the sky opens on a down pour. “I should have stayed home.” I murmured.

I feel dumb, I have always interpreted Cassian’s touches and actions as him being interested when Cassian has always shown his love through touch. I can’t help but let my worst insecurities rise to the surface, he was a general well trained, his body a weapon. My adventures only fell in books and stories told from my friends and I have seen the females Cassian has taken to bed and they are drop dead gorgeous with bodies of warriors. I have always carried more weight and I never have felt shame or ugly because of it but-

A firm hand grabs my arm and spins me around and I meet Cassian’s eyes. “I tried calling you like 3 times.” He shouts over the rain.

“Sorry. It’s just loud. What are you doing out here?

Cassian’s brow furrowed, “You left, Rhys didn’t say why. I was worried.”

I waved him off, “Don’t worry about me I was overheated and tired. Go back and have fun I’ll be good.” I turn once more but his grip on my arm tightens slightly, and I turn back, and his white shirt is completely see through his abs and tattoo on full display. “Cass.”

“It wasn’t because you saw the bartender Kiss me?” He asks to close the distance between us.

I shook my head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look away from his gaze as his arm snakes around my waist. Neither one of us disturbed by being drenched in the rain.

“Sweetheart, I was blindsided by the kiss, her lips were not the one I wanted tonight.” He curls a finger under my chin and makes me face him, his eyes dark no hint of hazel.

“No?” I whisper.

Cassian smiles and highlights his chiseled tan face, and my knees feel weak, “No. I was hoping a vision in silver would kiss me.”

Oxygen flees from my lungs as I slide my hands up his chest, “Cass.”

“Y/N,” His hands glide down to my plump ass and digs his fingers in, and a gasp escapes my lips, “May I?”

I almost whimper, “Please.” He bends down and crashes his lips into mine. His lips wet and warm in contrast to the cold ran against my skin. He nips my bottom lip and I moan in his mouth as he squeezes my ass again.  I pull away from him and he growls in protest as I kiss his nose and his eyes flutter shut, “Take me home, Cassian.”

Cassian eyes meet mine and there is playfulness there as he scoops me in his arms and launches into the skies. In mere moments we land on the balcony that leads to his room and he opens the doors and only when we are by his bed did, he set me down. The house closes the door and Cassian’s lips are on my again. His one hand grips the back of my neck, the other sneaks through the slit of my dress his knuckles grazing my bare center. He groans as he finds no underwear there and slides a finger in and I gasp, and Cassian takes it as an opportunity to slide his tongue in my mouth. He begins to slide his finger in and out and Cassian moves his lips from mine and slides toward my neck and he adds a second finger.

“Cassian.” I moan as I lean my head back. His canines bite the tender flesh of neck and his thumb rubs my clit. I began moving my hips, meeting his pace in stride. “Mother spare me. I reach up and grab my breast to get more friction the cold rain already stiffening my nipples.

Cassian releases my neck with a pop and I his voice is lust filled, “Look at you, riding my fingers, wicked little thing, aren’t you.” He picks up his pace and circles his thumb on the sensitive bud and I move my hips in time with his fingers. “Come for me, Pretty girl.” He curls his fingers and I release a lewd moan as stars flicker on my vision as my release overtakes me. Cassian takes his fingers out and licks on as he makes eye contact with me. He closes his eyes and moans, “You taste delicious, Y/N” He holds his finger to my lips my arousal flooding my nostrils, “Open, Sweetheart.”

My heartrate spiked as I opened my mouth for him as he slides his fingers in and suck my juices clean off his fingers, His free hand caresses my cheek, “So fucking beautiful.” I close my eyes and hum at his compliment.

He pulls his finger out and he pulls undoes his pants and pulls them down until his cock springs to attention. I look at the plush reading chair in the corner and an idea form “Go to the chair, General,” He quirks a brow but walks over to the chair and picks up his wings to get comfortable sitting. Once he rests his wings, he spreads his legs.

I prepare to untie my heels when Cassian voice goes, “Those stay on along with that Choker, Sweetheart. Everything else off.”

I begin unlacing my dress and once its loose enough, I slowly pull down the straps facing Cassian, I tug down and turn quickly as I reach my breast, turning my head to give him a wing and slowly remove my dress swaying my hips for him until the dress is pulled at my feet. I step out of my dress and drape my arm over my chest and turn to him. He is breathing rapidly, and his hand is fisting his cock. His white shirt no longer covering his beautiful body and lust over runs my brain as I slowly lower to my knees and his eyes widened. I lower my arm and place both hands on the floor, my breast on full display and the focal point of the general’s gaze. I begin to crawl to him, and he groans leaning his head against the chair. “Fuck,” he moans.

When I reach him, I grip my hands on his calves and slowly raise my hands to his as sit myself in between his legs, “Do you know how long I have wanted to do this, Cassian?” He moans as my hand replaces his. “How often I touched myself thinking about a moment like this?”

Cassian’s eyes met mine, and he smirks, “Show me, Y/N.” I returned his smirk and while maintaining eye contact, I lick from the base all the way up to the tip of his cock his hips jerk slightly. I let my tongue swirl the tip the taste of his precum inducing the lust as I begin to take him in my mouth. His large hand slides through my hair as I take him deeper and deeper. I relax my throat to prevent me from gagging. Cassian fists my hair and pushes my head lightly, “Tap my thigh twice if it’s too much. Tap once if you understand.” I tap his thigh once, “Good girl.” I begin bobbing my head and he moans, I hollow my cheeks, and lift my eyes to meet his pure desire over his handsome features.

I picked up the pace drool pooling at the corners of my mouth and after a few moments Cassian tugs my hair, “That’s enough, I want to be inside you.” I take him out of my mouth as a line of spit that connects from my mouth to his tip. He leans forward and swipes my bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful.” I could feel the heat creep up my cheeks. He stands and holds out his hands, sliding mine into his own he lifts me up and with ease lifts me up and I drape my arms around his neck as my legs wrap around his waist. He presses his lips to mine and I tangle my fingers in his hair. His kiss is urgent and hungry, and he digs his fingers in my soft skin as he walks us to the bed.

Cassian lays me on the bed gently and pulls away from our kiss, he stands removing his pants completely and his soaked shirt. His tattooed tan skin and brood muscles are on full display. I watch as his eyes glazing over my heavy breast, my round stomach and the stretch marks and cellulite that brushes my skin. I instinctively cover myself with my arms he gently grabs my arms and pull them away, “Don’t hide, Sweetheart. I’m just admiring your stunning body,” He kisses my hand, “You’re fucking perfect, Y/N,” and he leans down and kisses my stretch marks on my thighs and moves up to the ones on my stomach, and he moves to my breast, and he places my nipple into his mouth swirling his tongue causing me to arch my back. His large, calloused hand grips my other one and squeezed it and I moaned and lifted my hips.  He releases my nipple with a pop, and he kisses up my neck and my cheek. “I fantasized about having you in my arms, in my bed for so long.” He strokes his thumb across my cheek.

My breathing became labored, “Really?”

He kisses my lips so reverently and he presses his forehead to mine, “Gods yes, since that first day we met, the first time you smiled at me I wanted you. I just knew that you needed a friend first, so I tampered off my feelings.”

I cup his face in my hands and whisper, “I’m yours, Cassian, I’ve always been yours.”

Something primal stirs in his chest, and slants his mouth over mine, his thighs move to spread my legs apart. The kiss is possessive, and tongue and teeth and I grind my hips to try to get friction between my thighs. He chuckles over my lips, “Does my girl, want my cock now?” I moan at him calling me his girl and I nod my head, “Words, Sweetheart. Give me your words.”

“Yes, please, General.”

He hummed, “Well since you asked so nicely.” He slowly guides his cock into my center going slow so I can adjust to his size. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as he stretches me out. The hand that cups my cheek and my eyes met his, “Stay with me, Sweetheart.” I nod my head, “You, okay?”

“Cass,” He tilts his head, “Please start moving.”

“As you wish, Gorgeous.” And he pulls himself out almost all the way until he slams all the way into me, and I arch my back, Cassian tilts his head back and groans as he thrusts in a slow steady pace. “You feel magnificent.” He leans back down and cradles his head in the crook of my neck, I move my hips to meet his pace and he starts nibbling on my neck leaving little love bites on the column on my neck.

His hands find mind and laces our fingers, and he gives my hands a squeeze, and I whimper as his cock hits the right spot, and I murmur, “I love you.”

He stilled and his hazel eyes meet mine, “What did you say?”

I look at him and give him a smile, “I. Love. You.”

Cassian’s stunned face turned into one of pure beauty and happiness, “I love you too, more than you could possibly know.” He quickens his pace, and he leans his head against mine and growls, “You’re mine.”

I smile as sweat coats my brow, “And you’re mine.” He releases one of my hands and his hands finds my swollen clit and my hip jerks at him swirling his finger on it. My climax building in my stomach, “Cass, I’m close.”

He continues his thrusts and whispers, “Come with me, Sweetheart.” His hand works in time with his thrust and him squeezing my hand keeps me grounded. I moan and he swallows the sound with his mouth. And my stomach coils tight and my eyes roll and Cassian roars his wings flaring out, as we both finish together.

Cassian slowly pulls himself out of me and I groan in protest. He chuckles, “Insatiable little, minx.” He goes to his bathroom and comes back with a rag and cleans me up. Tossing the rag aside he lifts my leg and begins to untie my heels on my one foot. Tossing the shoe on the floor he begins to massage my foot and I hum in contentment. He sets one leg down and lifts my other leg and does the same process.

Cassian scoops me up and pulls the covers back lays me back down pulling the covers over me. I watch as he walks to the other side of the bed, his wings tucked in and slides in. He pulls me closer, and I place my head on his chest the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a sweet melody in my ears. He wraps his arm around my waist, his hand rubbing up and down my side. “I didn’t think I was good enough for you.” I whisper.

His hand stilled, “What?”

I slide my hand to his and I trace the line inside his palm, “I’ve seen the females you’ve taken to bed; I don’t look like them.”

Cassian snorts and resumes rubbing my side, “No, your beauty blows theirs out of the water. Not to mention, your kindness and your love for your friends, your love for books and fuck if your smile doesn’t make me want to fall on my knees for you.”

“I love the way I feel safe in your arms, the way he always holds me close especially when you’ve been away for a while. You always have made me felt love and safe and even before tonight made me feel like I was the most beautiful female in the world.”

He kissed the top of my forehead, “You are, Sweetheart,” He pulls me closer, “My beautiful, Angel.”

A thought crosses into my head and I lift my head and meet his honey-colored eyes, “I think I earned my book back, General.”

Cassian laughed a boisterous laugh, and he lightly kissed my nose causing me to giggle, “In the morning, for now let’s go to sleep.” I place my head back on his chest and fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart.

[engie-ivy]

(I wrote a 'day-after-Sirius'-birthday' fic! Totally not just me being late for Sirius' birthday. Nope, not at all. This was planned. With a very Fluffy ending, because Sirius deserves happiness for his day-after-his-birthday!)

@wolfstarmicrofic 3rd: gather

862 words

Remus is doing his semester abroad, and Sirius goes to surprise him with a visit and a confession.

At Your Doorstep

Sirius tries to gather his courage. Not for the first time, he curses James Potter's name, while simultaneously thanking his lucky stars to have someone like James Potter in his life.

Yesterday was Sirius' birthday.

His birthday plans consisted of sitting at home playing sad songs on his guitar while wallowing in self-pity. James came to visit anyway. Sirius wouldn't have blamed him if he hadn't, as Sirius hasn't exactly been fun to be around lately.

Remus left two months ago to do his semester abroad. Of course, Sirius knew he was going to miss him, but god, he hadn't expected it to be this bad! He's been a shell of his normal self, acting cranky, short-tempered and withdrawn.

James did, however, manage to pique his interest with his birthday gift: plane tickets to go see Remus.

When Sirius immediately wanted to grab the tickets, James had quickly pulled them out of reach. "Uh-uh, if you want them, you must first accept the terms and conditions."

"And what are those?"

"You can only go if you promise that when you're there, you're going to tell Remus how you feel."

The prospect of seeing Remus again was too much for Sirius to resist, so he had accepted James' terms. He had promised, solemnly sworn even, something they do not take lightly, to confess his feelings for Remus.

Sirius got on a plane yesterday, flew all night, took a cab giving the driver Remus' address, and now here he is, standing on the doorstep of some student housing appartement getting ready to put it all out there for the person he can't deny anymore he's terribly in love with.

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

The door is thrown open and a lanky guy with bouncing red curls appears.

Sirius realizes this must be Fabian, Remus' roommate. Despite never having spoken with Fabian, or even having seen Fabian before, Sirius does not like Fabian. Remus talks about his new roommate just a tad too much for Sirius’ liking. 'I was having dinner with Fabian yesterday… Fabian took me to this coffeeshop the other day… Fabian and I are going to watch this movie…'

Fabian looks Sirius up and down, and then a flirtatious smile appears on his face as he leans against the doorpost. "Why, hi there. How may I help you this evening?"

"I… uhm, I'm looking for Remus?"

"Oh." Fabian visibly deflates and he straightens. "I'm sorry, Remus is unavailable today, I'm afraid."

"Unavailable?" Sirius repeats.

"Yes, he made it clear he is not to be disturbed from his utmost important task of feeling sorry for himself," Fabian says. "Apparently, his guy back home had his birthday yesterday, and when Remus didn't hear from him, he spent the day convincing himself that his crush has forgotten all about him and must have been out partying with other boys all night." Fabian rolls his eyes. "I've tried to get him out of his room, but he has opted to wallow in his misery about his unrequited crush instead."

"His…crush?" Sirius manages to say, his brain still trying to catch up.

Fabian squints his eyes and looks at him more closely. "Wait… 'tall and broad-shouldered', 'Hair the colour of the night sky falling in soft waves over his shoulders', 'bright eyes with an ever-present sparkle'..." He gasps and clasps his hand over his mouth. "Oh my god, it's you! You're Sirius Black!"

Sirius nods dumbly.

"Oh, no, no, no." Fabian hides his face in his hands and groans. Then he looks at Sirius again, pleadingly. "Please, please tell me you're here to confess your undying love for Remus, so that he isn't gonna murder me for spilling the beans?"

"Uhm, yes?"

Fabian's mood changes instantly, and a relieved grin spreads over his face. "Excellent!" He exclaims, and before Sirius can say another word he turns around and shouts "Remus! There's someone here to see you!"

Sirius hears a door open and close, some shuffling, and a moment later, Remus appears in the hallway. He's wearing pyjama pants that are too big and his most worn-out jumper with both old and new food stains, he has chocolate smears around his mouth and his hair is sticking up in all directions.

He looks perfect.

"Fab, I told you, I don't want to see anyone today. I'm-" His eyes fall upon Sirius and he immediately goes quiet, his mouth falling open.

Sirius has spent his whole flight thinking about what to say, rehearsing the words in his head, but now that Remus is looking at him, and he's looking at Remus, he's overcome with just how much he missed him. Words suddenly don't seem necessary. He rushes towards Remus, and Remus snaps out of his daze just in time to take a step towards him, before Sirius gathers him in his arms.

"What are you… How are you… Is this real?" Remus stammers, clinging to Sirius' shoulders.

"I missed you," Sirius whispers into Remus' hair. "I missed you so much. I just had to see you."

Remus lifts his head and searches Sirius' eyes, and what he finds there is really all he needs to know.

[romacharm]

do you want to be with somebody like me | leon kennedy x reader

SUMMARY: you've lost your friend at the bar. TAGS: alcohol, profanity / explicit language, first meetings, some humor, meet-cute, unresolved romantic tension, hints at depression LENGTH: 3.6k

[AO3]

Someone is singing awful karaoke. Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, he’s singing, way off-tempo, and he doesn’t know any of the rest of the words, even though every few lines he insists he has the song memorized. Your friend is off somewhere, doing something—you thought she was getting another drink, but when you’d followed her through the crowd she was nowhere to be found. 

So now you’re camped at the bar, running your fingers over the sticky wood of the bartop, unsure if you should get another drink or keep looking. You decide the best course of action is to stay in one place, so your friend can find you, and hope she didn’t also think the same thing. 

The bartender in front of you’s got his lips twisted into a frown. He’s watching the guy on the tiny stage at the front of the room, belting notes that are nowhere near the real ones. You imagine this is his favorite song, and he’s livid to hear such a blasphemous rendition of it. The crowd is going wild. You—well, you would also be going wild, if you could find your slippery friend, because at your core you love deeply terrible things. Instead, you turn to watch while still leaning on your elbows over the bar, taking up space that people are clamoring to get into. Because you’re a nuisance like that. 

A man sits at the bar next to you, and he runs a hand down his face. He’s nursing something on the rocks, in one of those nice glasses you always see mafia bosses drinking from on TV. It looks like crystal, even though it can’t be, because this isn’t one of those upscale bars that would shell out for nice glasses. He glances over at you and your eyes meet. On a whim, you mouth along to the song, This will be the day that I die. 

The line repeats, and he mouths it back. 

The guy on stage is falling over the mic, tripping over the friends crowded around him. It’s probably his birthday. He’s probably drunk out of his mind and hoping to get lucky tonight. You scan the crowd for your friend and can’t find her, again. 

The guy in front of you follows your gaze and puts a fist to his mouth. He leans toward you. 

“You a fan of this kind of stuff?” he asks you. 

“No,” you answer immediately. You press your fingers to your mouth, wiping away the hint of a smile that had been there. God. You love bad singing. 

You do not, however, love losing your friend in a karaoke bar full of drunk twenty-somethings with no impulse control. As a sort-of drunk twenty-something yourself, you’re all too familiar with the way your brains will latch onto anything. Your friend can handle herself, sure, but can you? 

“Looking for someone?” the guy asks again. 

“Yeah,” you say, and you have to lean in to be heard over the horrendous singing. How fucking long is this song? “My friend. You seen her?” 

“Probably not,” he says. “I’ve been right here.” 

“She’s like this tall, and she’s wearing all blue. Dark hair. You haven’t seen her?” 

“No,” the guy says, “but I’ll help you look, if you want.” 

You’ve half a mind to slam your head against the bartop, but you do not do that—in part because getting kicked out would greatly lower your chances of finding your friend, and would otherwise be totally humiliating. Nice of this guy to offer to help—in your experience, most guys would implore you to stay here. Which is a slippery slope to come back home with me, a guy you don’t know at all, and you are not really interested in getting murdered tonight. Point being that—at least this guy is asking to help. At least that’s something new. 

“That’s okay,” you say, because as much as you may want to, you do not believe the best in people. 

The guy gets up from his seat. It is immediately filled behind him. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “Might be easier to find her from my vantage point.” 

…He is taller than you, you suppose. You scowl, but you don’t really mean it. 

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks.” 

The guy stretches a hand out to you. “I’m Leon.” 

You give him your name in return with a shake. Like you’re business partners, not two random people meeting in a club. 

The two of you push through the crowd. The guy on the stage is finally wrapping up his butchered version of “American Pie,” which you are exceptionally excited for. No act can top his, you think. You will forever be in search of something as terrible as his pitchy, off-tune rendition of a classic song. Leon cranes his neck, looking for your friend, and you’re forced to watch the muscles in his chest contract and expand as he breathes. Must he wear a shirt so tight? Goddamn. Not that you’re checking him out or anything. 

He leans down to breathe into your ear, “I don’t see her.” 

You try, very hard, not to shiver. Weird. 

Like, you can admit to yourself that he’s attractive, even in the dim lighting. You have eyes. But you also don’t know him, which means you should very much be on your guard. You keep reminding yourself of that, and yet… 

There’s this look in his eye that makes you want to believe in him. You hate that. You hate when people are good, and nice, and kind—it’s so much harder to find people like that. They make you want. They make you hope. 

“Damn,” you say. The two of you make your way to the back wall. You almost get swept away by the crowd as they part for the end of the song, and the guy on the stage is bowing and screaming something about college football. Someone shoves into your space, and Leon holds his arm out in front of you to push them away. 

“Oh, wait,” Leon says, and he squints into the opposite corner of the bar. “Is that her?” 

You stand on your tiptoes to peer over the crowd, but you can barely see. You make out a flash of blue in the corner booth, and you say, “Maybe?” 

Leon leans down, and you repeat yourself. He’s very close. 

You can not be falling in love with strangers again. 

The crowd does not move for the two of you, but someone else gets up on stage—they’re singing a Kelly Clarkson song, and you wish them luck for all the belting parts. You and Leon shove through to the opposite corner of the room, where—lo and behold—your friend is leaning toward some guy sitting in the booth next to her, a guy you think you recognize, vaguely, from somewhere. 

“Elsie!” You grip your friend’s shoulder in a vice-like grip. She whirls around to look at you, and says your name with a brilliant smile. 

“Hey!” She puts her hand over yours and turns back to the guy in front of you. “You remember Daniel!” 

No, you do not remember Daniel. 

“Oh, yeah,” Daniel says. “We met at the racquet club.” 

You do not go to the fucking racquet club. Who do you look like? Someone who can afford membership to the racquet club? 

“The time I brought you with me,” your friend tries to remind you, nudging your side. You feel like you’re going insane. You have never been to the racquet club. 

“I remember seeing you guys and thinking I had to talk to you,” Daniel says, staring at your friend. She avoids his gaze. 

“Who’s that?” Elsie asks, nodding at Leon. 

“Oh.” You turn back to Leon. “Thanks for helping me, Leon.” 

He nods, his eyes never straying from Elsie and Daniel. Like he’s sizing them up or something. Assessing threat levels. Elsie pulls your arm, forcing your head down next to hers, and whisper-yells way too loud in your ear, “He’s hot.” 

You know. 

Elsie scoots over on the booth and pats the now-open seat next to her. “Leon, why don’t you sit?” 

“Elsie,” you hiss. She meets your gaze with fake-innocence. Leon looks at you, then Elsie and Daniel, then you again, like he’s confused. He swallows; you watch the movement of his throat. The music is too loud, and the singing is just mediocre—not bad enough to be good. And it’s too hot. The press of bodies and sweat and alcohol closes in around you. 

If Leon sits, there will be no space in the booth for you. At the other table, this really old guy in full safari gear sits and stares at the floor. You don’t think he’s moved in hours, maybe years. Daniel has an unreadable expression on his face. Lights dance across your faces. A spike of irritation at your friend stabs through your stomach. 

“No, thanks,” Leon says. You look at him sidelong. He’s looking at you. 

Elsie frowns for a moment, then decides, “We need more drinks!” She hauls Daniel to his feet. To you, she says, “Hey, so you’ll be okay on your own, yeah?” 

You look between her and Daniel. “No, not really,” you say. 

“I’ll meet back up with you outside later,” Elsie says. “Let’s go!” 

“Wait—” you start to say, but she and Daniel have disappeared into the crowd. The Kelly Clarkson song is over, and the DJ’s put on some weird EDM abomination you can’t imagine anyone dancing, drinking, or talking to. 

You look at Leon again, and he cocks his head. 

“Sorry about that,” you say. “I guess I’ll just… head outside.” 

“Want company?” he asks. At first, you don’t hear him, so you get on tiptoe to get closer to his mouth. He repeats himself. 

“Sure,” you say. Because why not. You can only stomach so much betrayal in one day, the dramatic in you decrees. Why not. 

Leon follows you out through the entrance, onto the balcony. The bar is situated on the second floor—the first floor, coincidentally, is dedicated to some other bar that you’ve never heard of. To be fair, you hadn’t heard of this one before either, before Elsie had called this afternoon and told you she needs to get drunk and make out with a stranger tonight. You suppose this is not an uncommon feeling for her, if the amount of times she’s complained to you about her experiences with men are anything to go on. 

You rest your elbows on the railing of the balcony. It’s made of black metal; in the dark, it looks like there’s nothing under you. Leon stands next to you, mirroring your stance. 

It’s not that high up at all, but the cool night breeze paired with the near-midnight sky makes you feel like you’re a speck in a much larger city than this, like you’re just one of many people escaping to a balcony from a crowded room. Through the open door, you hear the music shift abruptly to “Mamma Mia” by ABBA. You watch Leon nod along to the beat, and sudden affection thrums under your skin. That small movement is enough, you think, to get a read on him. 

Because at first glance, Leon looks like someone you’d be scared of. He’s got a permanent scowl and furrowed eyebrows and a chiseled jaw, which is already a recipe for intimidation. It’s hard to tell if the reason your heart is pounding is because of fear or attraction. So the image of him—this handsome, dangerous stranger—bopping along to ABBA’s Swedish pop is so terribly cute that you can’t help but love him. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re staring.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Your eyes trace the curve of his jaw before you pointedly look away. 

“What?”

You should say something. Shouldn’t you? Make friendly conversation. He’s keeping you company, after all, when you would otherwise be staring at the sky feeling sorry for yourself. 

“Tell me about you, Leon,” you say. 

“There’s nothing interesting.” 

You hum in acknowledgement. “Wow. So secretive.” 

“There’s just not much to say about me.” 

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” 

Leon scowls. He looks like a pouting puppy. 

So, rather than prying further, you start talking. It’s not something you have a lot of experience with, just rambling without end. You talk about a clue in the New York Times crossword that you hated. You tell him about how you met Elsie, and how you have never belonged anywhere, not once. About the time in college when you stayed up all night to watch the sunrise and how maybe that’s why you keep living. 

He looks at you when you say that, a strange understanding in his eyes. Like someone who’s seen the sunrise for the first time and gets it now, too. You want to squish his cheeks between your palms. 

“You,” he says, “have a lot of thoughts.” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I guess.” 

You wonder what goes on behind those eyes. What kinds of things does Leon think about? What does he do for fun? You’re so curious, but you can’t ask—he’s drawn a line, and as much as you want to, you can’t cross it. 

“You’re shivering,” Leon says. 

Huh. You are.

Leon’s jacket falls around your shoulders before you can insist you don’t need it. Once you have it, you don’t want to let it go. It’s a nice damn jacket, with fur lining and big pockets. You hold it close around yourself. 

“Thanks,” you say. Guilt pricks at you—now he’ll be cold.

Like he can read your mind, Leon says, “I run warm.”

This, somehow, is surprising to you. But also, it’s not. You suppose you hadn’t thought about it—not that you’d had time to. You’d only met him thirty minutes ago. 

“So, Leon,” you say, “what brings you to the bar tonight?” 

“A drink,” he says simply. 

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “You know, that’s a surprisingly rare answer.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. Most people I know go out to party, or to get laid.” 

“Oh. Well.” He doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. You wouldn’t either, if you were him. Maybe you shouldn’t have said it. You suppose the people you know are the worst kinds of bar-goers. The kind who never know where to stop. A beat later, he says, “Is that why you’re here?” 

You forgot that you count as people too. “No,” you say. “I was here playing wingman for Elsie. My friend. Supposedly.” 

“Supposedly,” he echoes. 

You watch him, then, the way his lips are set together and his jaw isn’t clenched, per se, but hardened, the lines of it stark. The way his gaze darts to you when he notices you staring, then quickly away. He’s sizing you up still. Trying to figure you out. There’s an insurmountable wall of unfamiliarity that neither of you seem properly equipped to traverse. 

“I wasn’t very good at it,” you say. “Playing wingman. If that wasn’t obvious.” 

“It was pretty obvious,” Leon says. “So you’re anti-social, and you like crosswords. What else?” 

Your face feels warm, right up to the tips of your ears. You chalk this up to the extra blood flowing to the parts that need desperately to stay warm, even though it’s not that cold out. He says it all huskily, like he’s confiding a secret in you. Like you are his hidden-away gem. He’s got big hands, you notice. 

There’s not much else to say, you suppose, but you search anyway. You tell him about the things you like, the little doodles at the corners of your planner, the keychains dangling from your bag. The places you’ve lived. He listens like he’s never heard anything more interesting, hooded eyes and the beginnings of a smile pulling at his lips. 

He doesn’t seem the type to smile often. You’re not sure what you did to make it happen, but you want to do it again. You want to see a real smile. 

“You have a nice voice,” he says suddenly. You flush. Is he trying to make you explode? Spontaneous combustion isn’t off the table here. 

“You do too,” you say, unsteady. 

He laughs at that—you think. It’s barely there, a quick exhale and a rumble in his chest you can’t really hear. “I didn’t think I did.” 

“Well, you do,” you say, and because you are an embarrassment to your family name, you add, “Plus, you’re attractive.” 

Leon’s eyes widen minutely. He opens his mouth to say something. Nothing comes out. 

“Sorry.”

“No,” he manages. “That’s okay.” He presses a palm over the bottom half of his face, obscuring his mouth, fingers splayed across his cheek. He’s flustered. He’s flustered. What the fuck did you do to him? You broke him. 

You grip the railing of the balcony and try not to feel so many types of ways. 

“I’m, uh,” Leon starts again, then stops. He swallows, and you watch the hunted-animal movement of his throat. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Oh,” you say. He’s glad? Okay. That’s new. You clasp your hands, let go, re-clasp them. You think about his big hands. What do you say to that? “Well. I’m glad.”

Leon seems to be satisfied with this answer. He tilts his head back and looks up to the sky, the starless expanse above saturated with light pollution. His chest expands with a deep breath in. You’re tempted to press your palm to the center of his chest, just to feel the movement. God, how dare he be attractive.

“I haven’t been relaxed like this in a long time,” he says. You shiver. “What, still cold?” 

“No,” you reply, “your jacket is really warm.” 

“Would be warmer if you used the sleeves.” 

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” 

“And if I do?” 

You blink at him. “If you do?” 

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

This, somehow, delights you. He’s got jokes. You’ve got banter. It’s the closest you’ve felt to another person in a long time. You think of Elsie, probably sucking face in the bar proper, and you’re reminded that it’s okay not to want that—to want this, instead, learned easiness—or something like that. Maybe you’re just being hypocritical. After all, you don’t really know Leon. 

But that’s okay too, isn’t it? 

You’re not really making sense. 

“Not much for me to do about that,” you say. 

“You could laugh.” 

You let out a half-hearted, obviously fake laugh. 

“Ouch.” 

“Oh, did that hurt?” 

“So much. I’m wounded.” 

“Get better jokes, then. I’m waiting.” 

Leon’s face scrunches up in thought, like he’s shuffling through joke ideas in his head and not liking any of them. “You can’t put me on the spot like that.” 

“Mm. Sounds like an excuse.” 

“Hey.” 

You’re about to say something else—something you hadn’t thought through, as always, but that you hope was funny enough—when Elsie stumbles out of the bar. Her heels clang against the metal of the balcony. You and Leon both turn to look: her lipstick’s smeared across her mouth and her eyeliner is smudged. 

“Didn’t go well?” you ask. 

She greets you with a cheeky grin, at odds with the state of her. “It was fucking fantastic,” she says. “I’ll never see him again.” 

“Let’s hope not,” you quip. “Daniel's a good kisser? He goes to the fucking racquet club.” 

“It’s a perfectly nice place to hang out.” 

You make a face. 

“I’m being serious. And anyway, I didn’t kiss Daniel.” 

Elsie wobbles over to stand next to you at the railing. Leon tenses minutely. 

“Who then?” you ask. 

“I don’t know. Some guy. Don’t remember his name.” 

“Sure. Fair enough,” you say. Elsie leans her head on your shoulder. “Think it’s time we go home.”  

“Ugh. I don’t want to.” 

“And yet, you came out here anyway.” You wind your arm around Elsie, who is a disaster in very different ways than you, but you’re all she’s got and vice versa. Leon’s jacket shifts around you, and you clutch it to you with your other hand. “We should get going.” 

“Fiiine,” Elsie whines. 

You release her and shrug Leon’s jacket off. Immediately, your arms erupt in gooseflesh, missing its warmth. It takes all of your willpower to hold it out to him. “Thanks for keeping me company, Leon.” 

“Sure,” he says. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open. “You got a pen?” 

“For what?” You pat down your nonexistent pockets. You do not have a pen. 

“Oh, found one.” He scribbles something on the back of a receipt, then takes his jacket from you. You blink and he’s swinging it back over your shoulders. Elsie retches behind you. 

“What—” 

“Keep it,” Leon says, “until we see each other again.” 

“Huh—” 

He takes the receipt and gently pushes it into the chest pocket of the jacket. “Get home safe.” 

“Leon—” He’s already left, retreating back into the bar with a little skip in his step. 

How rude of him to keep interrupting you. You wind your arms through the sleeves and are immensely, all-consumingly grateful. 

“Home,” Elsie says. 

“Geez, you’re so impatient.” 

When you get home, you tuck Elsie into your bed and lay out a blanket on the couch for yourself. It’s then that you take the receipt out from the pocket of Leon’s jacket. It’s all crumpled up, and from a few months ago—a purchase of ABBA vinyls. This makes you smile. 

On the other side, Leon’s scribbled his number, his name, and a Call me in cursive. Cursive. You’re obsessed. 

You fall asleep, clutching the receipt in your fist, “American Pie” echoing in your head.