#when you stand for nothing you fall for anything

[itaipava]

— f1 boys falling in love with you while you’re dating their teammate.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

he’s walking by when he hears your voice, low and tense, as you talks to his teammate. your expression looks pained, and his instinct is to comfort you, to tell you you deserve better. but he can only stand in the shadows, fists clenched, holding back his words. the helplessness cuts deep, knowing he can’t be the one to soothe your pain, even though he wants to be there for you more than anything.

˒ ⌕ GEORSE RUSSELL

after the race, he spots you congratulating his teammate, smiling brightly as you throws your arms around him and he kisses your cheek. he tries to keep his expression neutral, but jealousy tightens his chest. every affectionate touch between you two feels like a blow, and he finds himself silently wishing for the intimacy he’s watching. forcing a smile, he celebrates with the rest of the team, but the ache of wanting you remains, nagging at him long after the cheers die down.

˒ ⌕ SEBASTIAN VETTEL

one day, in a crowded room, you brush hands, the brief contact sending a jolt through him. his pulse quickens, and he quickly pulls back, forcing a casual expression. the touch was brief, but it ignited a thousand suppressed emotions. he struggles to control his reaction, fearing anyone might notice how deeply that simple moment affected him.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

he decides to distance himself, convinced that keeping away will lessen the intensity of his feelings. but every time he glimpses you from afar, chatting with others or standing beside his teammate, the ache resurfaces. the avoidance makes him feel even lonelier, leaving a hollow pit in his chest as he wrestles with his own heart.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

you talk about your relationship with your friends when he’s around, maybe mentioning concerns or insecurities, and he listens, silently absorbing your words while pretending not to hear anything. every comment, every doubt you express feels like a knife being twisted, because he knows he would treat you so differently. but he forces himself to hide it, while he just listens to you from afar without being able to do anything.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

he only realized he had feelings for you during an intense race: as he speeds down the track, he catches a glimpse of you in the crowd, your eyes glued to his partner’s car; your face is bright with worry and anxiety. and a realization hits him hard: he wanted that worry directed at him. he wanted you to come running to him. the thought is so overwhelming that it almost distracts him, causing a momentary lapse in focus that costs him a place in the race. back in the pit, he’s furious with himself for losing control, but he can’t shake the ache that lingers in his heart, knowing he craves for something he can’t have.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

every time you’re around, he tries to act casual, feigning indifference so no one suspects his feelings. but each time he forces himself to look away, it leaves him feeling hollow. pretending your presence doesn’t affect him is a form of self-inflicted torture, yet he fears that showing any interest would reveal his secret. the distance he maintains feels like a wall around his heart, keeping his emotions hidden but leaving him feeling increasingly isolated.

˒ ⌕ LIAM LAWSON

after a particularly rough race day, he finds himself at the bar, his mind clouded by frustration and drink. you’re nearby with your friends, and in a moment of weakness, he lets his guard down, speaking his feelings in a veiled way. a brief flicker of surprise crosses your face, and he quickly sobers up, covering his slip with a casual laugh. the moment passes, but tension lingers, the weight of what he almost revealed hanging heavy in the air. after that he pretends nothing ever happened, so you pretend the same.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

he sneaks glances at you whenever he’s sure no one’s watching; catching moments of your laughter or your focused expression as you watches the track. each glance feels like a stolen treasure, something he hoards in silence, yet every time he catches himself, guilt seeps in. he worries that one day, his teammate might notice his gaze lingering a bit too long, and the thought terrifies him. yet he can’t stop. you’re so mesmerizing to him that it seems impossible not to admire you from afar.

[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[pastryfication]

but that's just when you happened

pairing: oscar piastri x reader note: based on packing it up by gracie abrams and this request <33

the paddock roared with life as the cars zoomed past in incredibly high speed, but you weren’t focused on them. only one car really mattered in your eyes. his car.

never before had you loved someone so overwhelmingly much. never had you been so all consumingly infatuated. you wouldn’t consider yourself selfish—quite the opposite actually—but never had you wanted so many good things for another person. you wanted him to get everything he could ever ask for. everything from a cold pillow to a cool wind in his perfectly styled hair to something much bigger—something much more important. things like a win. a formula 1 win.

he wasn’t a loud person, quite the opposite actually, but when you laid together talking late at night, it was as if the words wouldn’t stop flowing from him. he told you about his deepest fears and wildest desires, and you listened closely, because he was so special. so so special.

you weren’t looking for love when you met him. you had actually sworn it off, but when you saw his dopey smile and warm eyes for the first time, all your rules went out the window.

every thought about packing up your heart for good—packing it away so it couldn’t be hurt another time—went out the window the second he entered your life.

no one made you blush like him, and it wasn’t even intentional most of the time. he just couldn’t help himself when everything about you was so damn beautiful. so beautiful and so perfect for him. it was as if you were build to be together, the way your hand fit in his like a puzzle piece. the way your head felt so perfectly placed tucked under his chin when you hugged.

with him, love wasn’t a game anymore. he ticked all your boxes, but you hadn’t even realised that before your friends pointed it out. the way you couldn’t find any icks, didn’t have anything you wanted to change, felt too good to be true. the first night you slept together where you woke up in his arms you almost panicked because the feeling was so new to you. new, but so so nice.

it was as if he was sent to earth specifically for you. and just at the right moment when you were about to pack it all up. he came into your life and changed it all. turned everything upside down.

his dry humour matched your dark one completely. no one could make you laugh like him. laugh until you felt like you were actually dying of happiness, like nothing mattered but the silly inside joke you shared.

he fit so perfectly in with your family dynamic. laughing with your father, sharing sweet stories with your mother, befriending your siblings as if it was the most natural thing in the world. watching the sunsets in the summer along with them, him standing close to you with his arm around your shoulder while your parents smiled adoringly at you. falling asleep together in your childhood bedroom, his hand drawing lazy shapes on you bare skin. repeating it all with his family afterwards.

he was your soulmate. you were 100 percent certain. you needed him him like you needed air to breathe. like you needed food and water. you wanted to listen to him talk forever and ever and even longer. with him by your side, you were sure you would die happily.

you held him after bad races and good races. through happy days and days were he felt like giving up. never did you let him ache alone.

you completed him and he completed you. you wanted everything good for him. everything he could ask for. but most of all, you hoped he would finally get the win he had so long longed for.

and at that moment, as you stood with his family in the mclaren garage, it finally seemed like a real possibility. your hands were squeezed tightly with oscar’s sisters. hattie holding so tightly on to you that your hand was about to lose feeling, but you didn’t pay any attention to it. you eyes were glued to the screen showing the race. showing your boyfriend in first position.

your heart was beating out of your chest, a lump was forming in your throat and your whole body was tensed up. this could be it. this could be the moment you had longed for for so long.

when his car crossed the finish line, you weren’t even thinking. no thoughts were clear in your head. nothing but oscar, oscar, oscar.

as soon as he was out of the car, he was running towards you. you had made your way to the barriers with the team and his mum, but he ignored them all as soon as he spotted you. his arms were around you in a tight hug and your head almost took a hit against his helmet with the speed in which he pulled you in.

but it didn’t matter. nothing mattered but him and the fact that he was a formula one winner. your winner.

a hundred cameras were probably pointed towards you, filming the first public display of affection he had ever shown, but it didn’t matter either. all you cool think was oscar, oscar, oscar.

it was weird how important he was to you. how intertwined the two of you were. you weren’t even looking for someone when you met him, yet here you were. you were so close to packing it up, but then he happened. he turned your whole world upside down, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. he was all that mattered. oscar, oscar, oscar.

[benispunk]

Lucky Number

logan howlett x reader

Logan wants to know why 12 is Y/N's lucky number. He might be falling in love all over again.

TW: language

Masterlist

\I/

Y/n’s favorite time of the day was the evening. Not because she could finally relax, have some time for herself, enjoy the silence of her room without, most of the time, anyone in the mansion interrupting it… Well, maybe yes, it was that. But that’s not the point. 

Y/n’s favorite time of the day was the evening because she could finally spend time with Logan outside of the school’s routine, out of everyone's eye sights, just the two of them against the world.

And this evening wasn’t any different. She absolutely adored those moments with him as he looked and sounded so relaxed, and she felt as if she was falling more and more in love with him every single time.

She had bought a bottle wine and some appetizers that she had hidden in the kitchen all day, just for their special night, and Logan would do the same. Even though their relationship was official to everyone in the mansion, they always felt the need to sneak into each other’s rooms like teenagers in love.

One time, Logan was discreetly walking towards her door with two glasses in hand and his bottle of whiskey under his arm when he heard someone cough at the end of the corridor. He turned around, startled. Scott had been standing there, probably waiting to catch one of the two lovers and embarrass them. Logan stood there, saying nothing before flipping him off and entering Y/N’s room. 

She sat curled up on her bed, a glass of red wine in hand, as she lazily picked at a plate of cheese and crackers between sips. Logan sat next to her, leaning against the headboard, holding his own glass of whiskey, his eyes glinting with amusement. He could stay there for days, listening to her talk, laugh, watching her smile. Anything that had to do with her, he needed to be there. 

They had been playing a ridiculous card game for the last 20 minutes where you had to pick a number between one and twenty and then pick two cards, the closest to their number wins.

They were laughing again when Logan leaned forward with another challenge, his grin cocky. “Alright, one more time.”

Y/N smiled wide and quickly answered, “Twelve!”

Logan narrowed his eyes at her this time, his smirk softening into something more curious. “Again with twelve?” he asked, amused. “That’s the third time tonight you’ve picked twelve.”

Y/N blinked. “No, it’s not,” she said, a little too defensively, taking a bigger sip of wine. Maybe she should slow down with the drinking part.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “Yeah, it is. You even won with that number.” He gave her a knowing look. “And now this. You pickin' twelve on purpose or somethin’? Are you cheating?”

She gasped at the accusation, « How dare you accuse me of such a crime? A girl can’t have a lucky number anymore. » She sipped some more wine dramatically, which made Logan laugh. How much she loved that sound.

Logan’s grin widened as he leaned in a bit closer, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Lucky number, huh? What makes twelve so special?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and swirling the whiskey in his glass.

Y/N felt her breath catch slightly, the warmth from the wine making her feel just a bit too relaxed. She hadn’t even realized she'd been picking twelve that much. It just... came out. It was her lucky number indeed. And now, Logan was asking about it. Oh no.

She gave a casual shrug, trying to play it off. "Oh, you know… twelve’s just... a good number. Balanced. You know, 1 plus 2 equals 3, and… uh, three’s cool."

Logan tilted his head, staring at her with an amused expression that said he wasn’t buying a word of it. « Then why not pick three? »

She could feel the heat rising to her face even more. He was too perceptive. She tried to shrug again, but it came off awkward. « I—I don’t know! Twelve just feels… lucky, I guess."

But Logan wasn’t letting it go. Of coure, he wasn’t. He leaned in even closer, his voice a low tease. "You’re hiding something." His tone was playful, but his eyes held a tenderness that made her feel even more flustered. "Why twelve, darlin’?"

Y/N's heart raced as she realized there was no escaping the truth. She hadn’t even thought about it consciously until now, but of course, twelve was special. It was his birthday— October 12. And the more she thought about it, the more it embarrassed her. It felt too sweet, too sentimental to admit out loud, but Logan's gaze was gentle, and she knew he wouldn't let up until she told him.

She cleared her throat and bit her lip, looking anywhere but at him. "It's... It’s your birthday. » she finally mumbled, barely above a whisper, still trying to avoid his eyes. "October 12. That’s why it’s... my lucky number."

There was a pause— a silence that stretched just long enough for her to regret saying it, but when she glance up at Logan, she saw something different in his expression. His face softened, his eyes widening just a bit before something warm and quiet settled in them. For a second, he seemed speechless, which rarely happened with Logan.

« My birthday?" he asked, his voice softer than before, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

Y/N nodded, feeling vulnerable and a little embarrassed. « Yes. I’m sorry this is so embarrass— » 

“Put your glass down,” he said firmly, cutting her off mid-sentence.

“What?” she asked, confusion clouding her expression.

Without missing a beat, Logan took her glass from her hand and placed it gently on the nightstand beside his own. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a tender kiss.

Time seemed to pause as they melted into each other, the warmth of the moment enveloping them. Every worry, every ounce of embarrassment faded away as Y/N felt herself sink deeper into the kiss, the intoxicating taste of whiskey on his lips mixing with the sweetness of the wine on hers.

Her lucky number was his birthday. How fucking wonderful. What did he even do to deserve that? To deserve her. His grip on her tightened slightly, pulling her closer as if he wanted to fuse their bodies together, to ensure that nothing could ever come between them. How lucky he was.

When they finally broke away, he held her gaze with a softness that made her heart race. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

The moment hung between them. Y/N could see the sincerity in his gaze, the way he was allowing himself to be vulnerable. Her heart ached with love. But he wasn’t done.

His hand cradled her face, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. “You keep doin’ this—showin’ me how much I mean to you… » He paused, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, « I’m falling for you all over again,” he confessed, his voice low and raw. 

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, a smile breaking through her earlier embarrassment. « See why twelve’s my lucky number? »

Logan laughed softly, a glint of mischief in his eyes, before he suddenly lunged forward, pinning her down onto the bed. Y/N squealed in surprise, laughter bubbling up as he captured her lips in a quick kiss. The warmth of his body over hers ignited sparks of electricity that left her breathless.

As they broke apart, he held her gaze, his eyes gleaming with adoration. The warmth between them crackled with unspoken affection, and Y/N felt her heart swell. If he was her lucky charm, she was his too.

With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer, their foreheads touching as they breathed each other in. Logan leaned in for another kiss, this one deeper and more lingering, their lips brushing together softly. The moment was pure magic. 

Y/N felt happiness enveloping her, knowing that luck wasn’t just about numbers; it was about sharing her life with him.

XXX

[darkbluekies]

King Edmund & Hedwig drabbles: Them being drunk

Yandere!king x fem!reader & yandere!richgirl x reader

Warnings: alcohol, unstable behavior

King Edmund

You walk down the hall to his office. According to his secretary, he's been drinking the entire evening. It's the secretary who's sent you to his office, because no one else dare go close.

"Edmund?" you ask carefully and open the door.

He sits behind his desk, leaning on one arm, glaring towards the door. His dull eyes light up as he sees you.

"My jewel!" his voice is slurred.

"You need to go to bed", you say and walk over to him, removing the crystal glass out of his hand carefully. "Enough drinking for today, okay?"

"Why?"

"You've had enough."

"No, I haven't. Give me the fucking bottle."

"Edmund."

He rolls his eyes and stands up. His hands grab at you and pull you into his arms. He sighs and rests his head on yours.

"My pretty jewel", he mumbles and showers your face in kisses. "You're so pretty. All dressed up for me."

"I'm in a nightgown?"

"Not for long."

"Edmund."

He chuckles and holds you tighter. He's calmer than usual when drunk, but you know that if anyone comes to disrupt his cuddle session, he will blow up in anger. When Edmund's drunk, his anger can explode from nothing. He's declared war on a neighbor country before. That's why you need to get him to sleep as quickly as possible.

"Come now, you need to sleep", you say and give his arm a tug.

His ice blue eyes are slightly red around the corners and they have problems with focusing on you. His breathe smells like gin and wine.

"I don't need to fucking sleep."

You need to keep him calm, yet stay stern enough for him to listento you. "Yes, you do. I'll sleep beside you."

"You will?"

"Yeah."

Edmund's foggy head seem to think for a moment. "Okay."

And so, he actually follows you to bed to go to sleep, holding you tighter than a boa constrictor, showering your face in kisses until he falls asleep.

Hedwig:

You're not sure why you agreed to go to the aristocrat party with her. Mostly because you had no choice. If Hedwig does something, so do you. You weren't ready for her to drink herself beyond comprehendability.

"Y/N ..."

You try to remove her clothes to go to bed. She's not making it easy for you. You give up and pull her into the bathroom to remove her, now messy, makeup. You push her down on the toilet.

"Up with your head", you say and hold her chin in your hand.

She pouts her lips and you sigh before kissing them.

"More?"

"Wait, I have to remove your makeup", you say and start to wipe her face with a wet wipe. "Or else you will freak out tomorrow morning and have a horrible day. I know you."

She turns her head and grimaces, resulting in her getting the wet wipe in her mouth and eyes.

"Can you sit still?" you ask.

She stares up at you with sparkling eyes which start to fill with tears.

"Why are you crying?" you ask.

"I love you so much", she pouts. "I'm so lucky to have you."

Every time she's drunk, she starts to cry. Hedwig hugs your waist and hides her face into your stomach, crying.

"You need to sleep", you say.

"Don't ever leave me." Her voice gets muffled against your shirt. "I can't live without you. If you leave ..."

She doesn't finish her sentence. She sobs.

"Hedwig", you sigh.

"You have to stay with me, you have to stay with me", she cries. "I don't want anything else I only want you."

"Okay, you need to go to sleep now."

You pull her to bed and tuck her in. She falls alseep immideatly.

[milktiicup]

are you afraid of me?

what the hell type of name is "mr. crawling" if he can fucking walk?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ based on the hc that mr crawling doesn't stand so he doesn't scare mc.

warnings. just fluff/comfort, some spoilers for end04 and end17

Mr. Crawling is kind.

Mr. Crawling is sweet.

Mr. Crawling is a complete mystery to you.

Other than his complete and instant devotion to you, you know almost nothing about him. Not that you’re complaining; since escaping the other world with him in tow, he’s been a pretty decent roommate.

He doesn’t have many hobbies, unless staring at you from across the room counts. The only mess he leaves is long, black hairs that snake along the shower walls and more often than not clog the drain. He doesn’t even eat your food—something you discovered after a week of trial and error, setting out everything from leftovers to raw steak in the hopes of figuring out what a creature like him might like. As it turns out, he isn’t much of an eater, and he refuses to wear anything but the clothes he crossed over in, so at least you didn’t need to buy him new clothes. He’s low-maintenance in those areas, thankfully, and your paycheck doesn’t take a huge hit. 

Still, as close as you are, and as much as you’ve grown fond of him, you know nothing about who or what he truly is. Can he stand? Does he even have eyeballs? You know he can see, somehow, but how? Does he have teeth? You’re not even sure there’s a word for teeth in his language… Would he need a dentist? As most of your Mr. Crawling mouth knowledge went, you knew he had a tongue. 

The days pass, you fall into routines, and so do your questions.

“Crawling,” you had said one night, settled up on the sofa after a long day at work.  “Why can’t you stand?”

Mr. Crawling looks up from the screen, his wide smile faltering as he absorbs your question. His hair falls across his face, hiding whatever might be behind those red blotches he has for eyes.

“Me… not able to stand,” he replies, waving abnormally long limbs. “Arms good!” He seems proud, at least. 

You purse your lips out in thought- sure, he had those spindly legs, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use them. You witnessed first hand the way he kicks his legs about under the blanket, unsettling cracks of his joints. Or when he sits up on his knees to fetch something on the counter top that he couldn’t reach from the floor. 

“You want me stand?”

“No, Crawling, I like you like this.” And you finished the conversation with a few pats on his head, and he nuzzled into your knee as if he was a pet. 

“You like me?”

You nod.

“Me like you!”

Low maintenance in the roommate department, high maintenance in the boyfriend? department.

You settle into bed that night after serving Mr Crawling his completely normal human soup that you definitely obtained by very legal and moral ways. Although, he didn’t seem very hungry that night, and you decided to just keep it for later. You debated on leaving it out in case he got hungry during the night when you were asleep, but seeing as to what the contents were, you weren’t up for it to stink out your kitchen. Back in the fridge it went!

“Rest?” he asks from the doorway of your bedroom, eyeless staring as you settle on the mattress. 

“I rest. You rest?” You pat the spot beside you. 

“Me watch you.”

Whatta guy… You wait for him to join you before you pull the blanket to your chin. And just like every other night, Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around you, joints cracking as he stretches his legs out on the blanket- his feet hang off the bed. His hair tickles every exposed inch of your skin, but you don’t mind. You’ve gotten used to it at this point- maybe you should teach him to brush his own hair though?

His touch is cool, like air from a drafty window, and you relax under his delicate, careful pats on your head. It’s not long before you drift off.

It’s rare that you wake up in the dead of night. It’s rarer when you wake up to him not in the same position you fell asleep in. Groggy, you reach an arm out to the other side of the bed and hit the space where Mr. Crawling should have been. It’s still warm, however, and you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s not here.

What the hell? That wasn’t like him.

You slip into your slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen. The house is dark and still, except for a faint rustling. When your vision adjusts, you stop in your tracks. You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a second, too. 

He hadn’t noticed you yet, which is unlike him. 

“C-Crawling?” you stammer. 

Mr. Crawling is there, long arms in your fridge, but he isn’t small and folded like usual. He’s… standing. You blink, barely processing the sight. He has to be at least eight feet tall, maybe more, his head brushing the ceiling. His towering shadow spills over the walls, unsettling even to someone like you.

He freezes, letting out a startled squeak you’ve never heard before. His head whips toward you, and his hair falls in a curtain over his face. He drops to his knees instantly, scrambling across the floor to you with long, frantic arms. He tackles you into an overzealous hug, the kind you usually get only when you come home from work.

“You awake!”

You blink down at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand?” you murmur, still dazed. He lied? Why would he lie? Is there even a word for lie in his language?

His hair fans at your face, elbows propping himself up on top of you. Mr. Crawling tilts his head at you, and you wrack your brain in this stupid monster language that you just can’t perfectly adjust to yet.

“Uhm… You stand good?” you manage to fumble the words out. You stand good. That just sounds ridiculous. “Legs work?”

Mr. Crawling lets you sit up, grey hands cupping your face. He seems… off. Sad? Worried? You’ve only seen him not smiling a few times- and that was when you first met him- when he scared the absolute daylights off of you, when that man in red with the umbrella appeared… There was also that time you collapsed, and that creepy, eyeless nurse showed up.

“You scared me?” he asks, his tone soft.

Are you scared of me? 

“You don’t stand because you think you’ll scare me?” you mumble, hands holding onto his wrists. “Erm… Not stand… me scared?” 

“Me scary… You not like me.” His head hangs and Mr. Crawling’s hair touches the floor and licks at your legs.. His gentle hold of your face loosens.

He doesn’t stand at his full height because he’s afraid he’ll scare you? God. How can a ghost be such a sweetheart?

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling his hands off your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head so you can see where his eyes should be. “You’re cute. Very big, yes—I was just surprised.”

“You… not scared?” His voice is uncertain.

You giggle, squeezing him tighter. “No. Just surprised.” He doesn’t understand you- and you need to wrack every shelf in your brain to get the words out. “Me surprised… you very cute.”

There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs your words. “Me cute?” he repeats, as if it’s the greatest revelation in the world.

“Very cute,” you confirm, unable to help laughing as he tackles you once again to the floor, hair scattering everywhere as he nuzzles into your chest, murmuring, “Me cute, me cute,” in a gleeful mantra. You pat his head, and he flops onto the floor beside you with a giggle.

You stare at him, illuminated by the extremely romantic light of the fridge. “Hungry?” you ask, and push some of his hair away from his face- he grabs your wrist before you get any closer to his eyes, though.

“Want eat… you rest.”

You shake your head, stifling a yawn. “I’ll wait for you. I… erm… rest with you?” You cringe, knowing you said it wrong. You’re at least seventy percent sure you said it wrong. Maybe it’s time to teach him your language.

Mr. Crawling lets out his normal unsettling giggles, a sound that cuts through the silence of the house.

You don’t bother getting his tomato soup out of the fridge like you usually do, and take a seat at the table. He looks lost for a split second, and giggles once more as he rises to his feet. You let out a few appreciative oohs and ahhs he reaches his full height. You’re still a bit shocked at how his head almost touches the ceiling.

He settles into his usual seat across from you, knees folded as best as they can be under the table, his feet brushing against your legs.

It’s like a lightbulb appears above your head.

What the hell type of name is “Mr. Crawling” if he can fucking walk? 

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 10

Pairings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst, stupidity, annoyingness lol

A/N: This is the shortest chapter i have lol i also lowkey might add flashbacks into each chapter to add more depth and show more of the before.

The door slams behind you, leaving the apartment in silence, and for a moment, Bucky just stands there, his fists clenched, heart pounding as he processes what just happened. His chest is tight, and he feels the rage and regret building up until it erupts.

With a frustrated yell, he grabs the nearest lamp and hurls it across the room. The shattering glass echoes, cutting through the silence like a knife. Pieces scatter across the floor, a reflection of the chaos inside him.

“Goddammit!” he shouts, his voice cracking as he rakes his hands through his hair, pacing in circles like a caged animal. His breaths come fast and shallow, his mind racing through the night, every word exchanged like a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, staring at the broken lamp, his hands trembling. But the stillness is unbearable. He bolts for the door, flinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, shouting your name, his voice raw and desperate. He runs outside looking up and down the sidewalk “ Come on, don’t do this—please!”

But his voice is swallowed by the noise of a New York City Saturday night—distant laughter, honking horns, the steady hum of life moving on without him. He looks up and down the street, hoping, praying for even a glimpse of you, but you’re gone.

His pulse quickens, panic clawing its way into his chest. He rushes back inside, snatching his phone off the coffee table. His fingers fumble over the screen as he types out a frantic message.

Where are you? Please come back.

He hits send, but the empty silence that follows feels like a punch to the gut. He types again, his hands shaking as his heart pounds against his ribs.

I’m sorry. Just tell me you’re okay.

The seconds stretch into eternity as he stares at the screen, waiting for something—anything. When nothing comes, he dials your number, his thumb trembling as he presses the call button. He presses the phone to his ear, the ringing tone like a ticking clock in his mind.

Then he hears it: a faint buzzing, too close. His stomach drops as he turns toward the ceramic bowl by the door—the one he’d made for you last year on your birthday. A bowl meant for keys, little mementos… or your phone. He steps toward it slowly, as if delaying the inevitable, and peers inside. His chest tightens when he sees your phone lying there, abandoned.

“Dammit,” he whispers, his voice cracking. His hand hovers over it for a moment before he picks it up, his knuckles white around the edges. You’d left it behind. The weight of it all—the fight, his words, the reality of you walking out like that—hits him like a freight train.

He sinks down onto the floor, clutching your phone in his lap, his head falling into his hands. His breaths come in uneven gasps, and for the first time in years, tears spill freely down his face. He sees it all replaying in his mind: the way your face crumpled as you turned away, the sound of the door slamming behind you, the silence that followed.

Go. I don’t want you here.

The words ring in his ears, echoing with all the venom and finality he hadn’t meant but couldn’t take back. They were born out of fear and frustration, but now they feel like the truth—like he’s pushed you away for good.

After a moment, he wipes at his face, sniffs, and forces himself to his feet. This isn’t over. It can’t be.

He throws on his coat and rushes out the door, his mind racing as he retraces all the places you might have gone. First, the bar down the street—the one you’ve spent countless nights in, laughing over drinks, sharing secrets you wouldn’t tell anyone else. But it’s packed, unfamiliar faces filling the space where you should be.

Next, the café where you always get your Sunday morning coffee. The lights are dimmed, chairs stacked on tables. Closed. His heart sinks, but he presses on.

The bookstore is next. The one with late hours, where you could spend hours flipping through old paperbacks and laughing at obscure poetry collections. But it’s empty too, the familiar warmth of the shop now a cold reminder of how lost you are.

Finally, he heads to the park. The park where you’d spent so many nights sitting on the old wooden benches, talking under the stars. It’s quiet here, the hum of the city fading into the background. He sits down on one of those benches, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders shake.

He’s failed you. He’s failed himself. The weight of everything he’s been holding back—the fear, the love, the guilt—crashes down all at once. Silent tears stream down his face as he tilts his head up toward the sky, the stars blurring through his tears.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He scrambles for it, hope surging in his chest, but when he sees the name, his heart twists painfully.

Steve.

His thumb hovers over the screen before he opens the message.

She’s here. She walked from the apartment without her phone or coat. You let her walk out like that? What the hell were you thinking?

Bucky’s throat tightens, and his fingers curl around the phone. His vision blurs as he reads the words over and over, Steve’s anger matching his own self-loathing. He types out a response, but his fingers falter, and he deletes it. What could he say? There was no excuse for what he’d done.

Instead, he slips the phone back into his pocket and leans forward, burying his face in his hands. The ache in his chest deepens, and for the first time, he lets himself feel the full weight of what he’s lost.

He stares up at the sky again, the stars offering no comfort, only the cold realization that he might have pushed you away for good.

And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get you back. But he never really had you in the first place.

As you step out of the shower, the quiet hum of voices drifts down the hall. Curiosity—and a bit of anxiety—tugs at you as you wrap yourself in a towel and press your ear to the bathroom door. Relief washes over you when you recognize Natasha and Wanda’s voices mixed with Sam and Steve’s, and you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. They’re here; you’re not alone.

Gathering yourself, you open the door and step into the living room, where Natasha is pacing, visibly agitated, while Wanda sits on the couch, her face full of concern. Sam and Steve stand nearby, leaning against the counter, both looking serious. When they see you, the conversation pauses, and Natasha stops mid-rant.

“Hey, there you are,” Wanda says softly, standing up to meet you. “Are you feeling any better?”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, thanks. Just… processing, I guess.”

Wanda nods, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

Natasha, however, looks ready to explode. She crosses her arms, her eyes flashing with anger. “It is not okay,” she says firmly. “You don’t just let your so-called best friend walk out alone at night, without so much as a phone or coat.”

You shrug, avoiding everyone’s eyes as you tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe… maybe we were never really friends. Maybe it was just the convenience of it all, you know?”

Wanda’s eyes widen slightly as she squeezes your shoulder, her voice soft. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t answer because you know thats just bullshit, but thinking that hurts less, you sigh running a hand through your wet hair, glancing down as the hurt lingers in your chest. The silence stretches for a moment before Natasha breaks it, her tone gentler now.

“So… how was your date with Dean?” she asks, a note of curiosity softening her expression.

A sad smile tugs at your lips. “It was… everything a girl could dream of. He was respectful, charming… and he actually listened to me.” You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “It was perfect.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking hopeful. “So… are you going to go on another one with him?”

You hesitate, glancing in Steve’s direction for a brief second before looking back at Natasha. “Yeah… I think so.”

Sam shifts, clearing his throat, a hesitant look on his face. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but… you and Bucky still live together. What’s the plan?”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you, and for a moment, the weight of it all settles heavily. You swallow, looking down, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just… keep going back to the way things were. But I don’t know what comes next either. He’s Bucky yknow?”

Steve watches you, his face soft and understanding, and he offers a reassuring nod. You take a deep breath and settle onto the couch, feeling the weight of everyone’s concerned gazes. After a pause, you look around, your voice soft but firm. “Look, you guys can’t just be here for me. You’ve gotta be there for Bucky, too.”

Natasha scoffs, crossing her arms and shooting you a look. “As if! He’s the one who let you walk out in the middle of the night!....In New York!!! You’re too good of a friend if you’re even thinking about him right now.”

You give her a sad smile, shrugging slightly. “It’s… not about that, even if it was i wouldn’t of let him stop me, i made the decision to leave, i-i could have went to my room and --”

Natasha throws her arms up “Really? Are you kidding me? I love you babe but you’ve been defending him your whole life, he needs to take fault!”

You shake your head, your voice slight rasing “Its not that simple Nat and you know it” You hear her grumble before continuing “He’s going through something too. We’re all friends for a reason, right? We don’t get to just pick sides.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, groaning. “You’re way too good of a friend. Honestly, you’re killing me here.”

You manage a weak chuckle, but before you can respond, you hear Sam moving toward the door. He grabs his keys and his phone, his expression resolute.

Steve raises an eyebrow, looking over at him. “Where are you going?”

Sam glances back, determination in his gaze. “You heard the woman,” he says, nodding toward you. “I’m gonna go be a friend to one of my best friends.”

A surge of gratitude rises in you, and you give him a small, sincere smile. “Thank you, Sammy.”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you, and his voice holds a quiet warmth. “What are friends for?”

1 month ago

The air was crisp, filled with the mingling scents of freshly baked bread, blooming flowers, and sizzling street food. The bustling energy of the farmer’s market buzzed around you as you strolled through the vibrant stalls. Your arm was linked with Bucky’s, the two of you laughing as you navigated through the crowd, the warm Sunday morning sun casting a golden glow over everything.

Natasha and Wanda were a few stalls back, rifling through retro furniture pieces and vinyl records for their new apartment. Sam was predictably at a food truck, enthusiastically sampling every free bite they offered.

“You know where we’re headed,” you said with a grin, gently tugging Bucky toward the familiar book stall at the far end of the market.

He chuckled, squeezing your arm lightly. “Obviously. Can’t leave without finding something we don’t have space for on our shelves.”

You both were English majors, and literature had always been your shared sanctuary. The book stall was a small haven of dog-eared novels, rare editions, and hidden gems that called to you like an old friend.

But as you approached, Bucky suddenly stopped in his tracks. His grip on your arm loosened, and his head turned sharply, his expression shifting. “Kate?” he said, more to himself than to you.

Before you could even process it, his arm slipped out of yours, and he was weaving through the crowd, heading toward a figure you hadn’t noticed until now. A brunette. He didn’t say another word, leaving you standing there, your heart sinking as his back disappeared into the sea of people.

You blinked, dumbfounded. “Okay… what just happened?”

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned to see Steve approaching, a paper bag of pastries in hand. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced around. “Where’d Bucky go?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice light. “He saw someone he knew. An old friend, I guess.”

Steve nodded slowly, his concern softening into curiosity. “Did you two make it to the books yet?”

You forced a small smile. “No, not yet. We were about to.”

Steve tilted his head, offering his arm with a warm smile. “Well, do you want to look somewhere else while we wait for him to come back?”

Your heart ached a little, but his kindness made it easier. “Sure,” you said, linking your arm with his. Steve always had a way of making things feel okay, even when they weren’t.

He led you toward the next section of the market, where stalls displayed vintage jewellery, scarves, and other unique trinkets. As you browsed, your eyes caught on something that made you gasp softly—a locket, its delicate gold surface glinting in the sunlight. It looked almost identical to the one you’d lost at some stupid college party that led to a panic attack, it had been so precious to you because it was a family heirloom passed down multiple generations that you of all people lost. It hit you hard.

You picked it up carefully, running your thumb over its intricate design. It was beautiful, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of nostalgia, of longing. But when you flipped it over, searching for a price tag, you found none. You sighed quietly, already knowing what that meant. You’d only set aside money for books today—not for a locket, no matter how much it tugged at your heart.

Reluctantly, you set it back down, giving it one last wistful glance before turning back to Steve. He’d been watching you, his expression soft, but before he could say anything, Bucky reappeared, his usual grin plastered on his face.

“Sorry about that,” Bucky said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw someone from college.”

You raised an eyebrow, forcing your smile to stay in place. “Oh?”

“Yeah, remember that girl I had the project with in our last year? Kate. That was her,” he said, nodding toward where she’d vanished into the crowd. “Haven’t seen her since graduation. Got her number, though!”

“Cool,” you said, your voice light but not quite steady. Your chest ached, but you buried it quickly. Even the farmer’s market wasn’t safe from heartbreak, it seemed.

Bucky held out his arm again, his smile as warm as ever. “Shall we?”

You nodded, linking your arm with his once more. “Sure,” you said, glancing over at Steve. “You coming with?”

Steve shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’m gonna check out one more stand. Meet you guys at the benches for lunch?”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said, steering you back into the crowd. “Don’t take too long, Rogers. Sam’s probably already ordered for everyone.”

Steve waved you off, waiting until you and Bucky were out of sight. Then, he turned back to the vendor, his gaze settling on the locket you’d been admiring.

“I’ll take that locket, please,” Steve said quietly, pulling out his wallet.

[sugarushwriting]

ot7 vampire — human blood bank

s2 part 4

read other parts from main master list here

pls send ideas and requests

adult content featured, read at your own discretion

sunoo would scold you right now if he could. sunoo warned you it could be dangerous, but you were fed up with ni-ki’s attitude lately.

more menacing, rude, angry, short tempered, everything. he was like a hormonal teenage girl. probably worse.

you stayed in the shadows, masking your scent with a smell that didn’t go noticed by vampires. (thanks to your snooping around jay’s room).

you ended up following ni-ki tonight in where ever he was going. eunchae surprisingly hadn’t came with him.

your heart sped with each step you took further into the woods that ni-ki was walking towards with no care or fear.

you were careful not to make a sound, to not step on a twig, or be clumsy and fall like someone in movies. about less than a mile in, ni-ki reached a group of people his age around a bonfire.

you got as close as possible and nearly gasped at what you saw. a few guys with girls on their laps. but it wasn’t that they were horny couples. no.

the boys were feeding on these girls. were these seriously the new boys ni-ki had been hanging around?

your eyes narrowed in on ni-ki, and your jaw dropped seeing ni-ki take a seat, a girl getting comfy on his lap, before his own teeth sunk into her neck.

“what the fuck?” you whispered and went to step back but fell. “shit!”

all the vampires stopped what they were doing, the girls in a trance and oblivious to what was happening.

standing up slowly and quietly, you counted each vampire, accounting for each you saw earlier. they hadn’t moved from their spots other than their ears perking.

“probably an animal.” a blonde boy said.

ni-ki looked around, deep down, feeling off about the situation. he pushed the girl off of him. “you sure it was just an animal?”

“bunnies and deers live in the forest too, ya’know.” the blonde guy laughed, going back to his feeding.

“just sit down and finish eating. you need your energy.” another voice said. this time it was a dark hair guy with full lips from your observation.

holding your breath, you walked quietly away, trying to remember your way back out to the main road.

avoiding every leaf, twig, anything and everything that could make a slight noise.

you finally let your breath out when you saw the tree line, but yelped at a hard push, your back hitting a tree trunk.

“ow.” you whimpered. you opened your eyes, seeing ni-ki holding you close to the tree by your shoulders.

“what do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” ni-ki uttered with a smile.

you gulped. “just going for a walk.”

ni-ki smiled smugly. “it’s dangerous for you to be out here like this.” ni-ki used his finger to play with a piece of your hair.

“then what are you doing out here?”

“i’m a vampire, i can hold my own.”

ni-ki had evidence of blood on the corner of his lip, you couldn’t help but notice. ni-ki, never taking his eyes off you, used his tongue to lick it up.

“mhm, tasty.” he laughed and moved away from you, your back still against the tree, afraid to move.

“ni-ki—,”

“come on, let’s get you home.” ni-ki nodded towards the main road.

you didn’t know why, but you were afraid to go with him. “ni-ki—,”

“i said, let’s go.” he ordered deeply.

you’ve never heard his voice go so deep before. you swallowed nonexistent water and nodded, afraid to say anything further.

walking beside him, less than 12 inches apart, you both walked back towards the house in silence.

you had so many questions, but had no way of expressing them. you felt muted.

the walk home seemed to take forever, and as you arrived, you went to run to the door, but ni-ki grabbed your wrist, fingers tightening, leaving a mark for sure.

“ouch ni-ki,”

“you are to say nothing, understood?”

you looked up at him from your wrist, nodding. “i understand.”

his hold tightened. “i’m serious. you let out even a slight peep about tonight, i will ruin you.” he threatened.

again you nodded. “i—i promise.”

although ni-ki was younger than you, he was 100 times more threatening in every way.

he smiled in satisfaction. “good.” he went to turn around, “just so you know, that musk smell doesn’t last long.”

he walked off, your guess back to finish his feeding. ni-ki was feeding on actual humans again. you felt so torn. afraid to tell on him, but feeling like a coward for keeping it in. you could be jeopardizing those girls lives.

you remembered how ni-ki was when he first fed on a human. it was bad, nearly killing the poor girl. ni-ki can’t control his hunger once he feeds. anytime he fed on you, an elder and another had to be with him just to be sure he didn’t hurt you.

you also remember his attitude and personality when he fed on human blood. he became stronger, his powers different.

could he be behind your nightmares?

“love, what are you doing?” jay asked. he had opened the front door, you unaware, which cause you to startle.

“oh, i just needed some fresh air.”

“did you try to mask yourself? you smell weird.”

you nodded shyly. “i just wanted time alone, without being followed.”

instead you did the following.

“been snooping in my room, huh?”

you rocked back and forth, innocently. “maybe.”

jay gave you a wicked smile. this time you squealed in delight, running into the house, jay hot on your heels.

“you can run, but you can’t hide from me love! i told you, you snoop, you get punished!”

you ran past the living room, past the kitchen, ignoring any of the other boys you passed.

you started running up the steps, jay calling out from the bottom. “get to my room like a good girl and i will go easy on you!”

you looked behind you for a split second, sticking out your tongue.

you ran towards ni-ki’s room at the end of the hall, shutting the door behind you, rushing to take cover in his closet, stepping over his (nasty) dirty clothes.

you squatted, and when you went to put your hand down, you felt something cold. picking it up, you found it was condom wrappers.

“ew!” you screeched, and the closet door opened. jay started laughing when he saw your disgusted facial expression while holding the unopened condom.

jay shrugged, “at least he’s being protected.” jay grabbed it and threw it over his shoulder. “we won’t need that.”

jay lifted you, throwing you over his shoulder with ease, and walked back down to his room, slapping your butt in the process.

“would’ve had an easier punishment if you would’ve just went to my room like a good girl.”

jay threw you on his bed after he shut his door with a lock. “scoot towards the edge of the bed. hands out.”

you followed the orders, jay getting duct tape out of his drawer, and taping your wrists together. your lower half fluttered in excitement.

he ripped off an extra piece, taping it over your mouth. he smirked. ���bring back memories, love?”

you nodded. jay pushed you to lay on your back on the bed, pulling your body towards the middle. he placed your hands and arms above your head.

“you remember the rules. do not remove that tape from your mouth. do not move your hands from above your head.”

you nodded. jay parted your thighs, taking no time to get your pants and underwear off. thankfully he didn’t rip them off.

“actually—,” he began as he changed his mind. he pulled the duct tape off your mouth gently, only to replace it with your own underwear. “goes for the same—don’t remove it.”

jay pushed your thighs further apart, your feet resting on the bed. you were open and ready for him, inviting him to do whatever he wanted.

he took off his belt, and used it as a way to punish you. how? whipping it down on your uncovered cunt, dripping wet.

a muffled screamed came from your mouth, covered by your underwear.

“mhm, i like that sound.”

it took every willpower to not move your arms as he whipped down below 4 more times, getting harder by the last. tears appeared behind your eyelid, for both pleasure and pain.

you shook your head to signal, “no more,” with a sniffle and sob.

jay used his palm to soothe your lower half. “sorry love, but you know you get punished when you don’t listen.”

your stomach retracted with your sobs, your legs threatening to close, but jay sat on his knees in between.

his right thumb rubbed circles on your clit, as his left palm rubbed soothing strides against your thigh. his thumb soon teased your leaking hole, begging for him to penetrate.

his thumb slipped in with a tease, only to pop out and rubbed the gathered wetness of you on your clit.

you moaned behind the cloth in your mouth, your legs now trying to close for friction.

jay slapped your knee. “ah-ah, stay open for me, love.”

you opened back up, jay smiling at your ability to listen. “good girl.”

jay used two fingers now, rubbing harshly down on your clit, then pushing those two into you, your head tilting back on the pillow, his name muffled coming out your mouth.

his fingers teasingly kept a slow pace, thumb entertaining your clit. your hands gripped the bedsheet above you, your eyes closed in extreme pleasure. you tried to keep your eyes on jay, but occasionally closed them.

how did you start off this night following ni-ki, scared out of your wits, to you being on your back like a slut for jay.

and you enjoyed every bit of it.

you began to pulse your cunt, ready for an orgasm when jay pulled out his fingers. this time your groan was in frustration.

if you didn’t have your underwear in your mouth, you’d be fussing and cursing up a storm at jay.

“patience love. you’ll get to come.”

you knocked your head on the pillow in frustration. jay got off the bed to undress him self completely, reaching back up to you, to pull your shirt and bra over your breasts since he couldn’t take it off.

well he could, he would just have to rip it off of you.

his eyes bore into your body, taking in every inch of your skin. if he could, he would leave bite marks on every inch of you.

jay pulled you closer to him, as he stood at the edge of the bed, your feet resting close to the edge.

no warning, jay eased his tip in you, your body never familiar with the stretch of him or the others. while sunghoon and heeseung had length, jay, jake and jungwon were on the thicker side.

“that’s it love, take me all in.”

your body easily accepted jay, his hands gripping your waist. your hands still tied above your head. since you disobeyed him, jay wasn’t going to be gentle.

that showed when he removed himself completely only to literally slam his dick back in you, another scream muffled by your underwear.

jay took your thighs so they rested against his chest, your feet now hanging over his left shoulder.

you couldn’t describe how good he was making you feel, as you became breathless. lacking the ability to come up with words.

pummeled. hammered. pounded. forceful.

all synonyms for how jays dick was going in and out of you. his headboard knocking into the wall with so much force, you were scared it would leave a dent, maybe even a hole.

you spat out the underwear, so you could finally be vocal, punishments be damned. loud moans dropped from your lips.

jay brought his right hand up to squish your cheeks, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“let the others know how good daddy is making you feel.” jay growled out, this thrust never slowing down.

you were working up a sweat as if you had ran a marathon while jay had no trace of sweat on him.

your hands gripped the covers under you, as tight as you can. you may of discarded your underwear from your mouth, but you weren’t about to test jay by moving your hands and arms.

jay ended up picking you up, holding you tight and held your back against the door as he fucked into you. your hands tight between you and jays chest. your cunt began leaking down your thighs, down jays thighs and lower stomach.

“ja—jay,” you leaned your head back against the door.

“i know baby.” he whispered, bringing his lips to yours, forcing his tongue in your mouth. his hand still gripping your jaw to keep you in place, as his body pinned yours against the door.

thanks a million, jay can’t reproduce since his sperm was dead.

“jay!” you screamed at the top of your lungs as you came all over yourself and jay, leaking down both your bodies.

“fuck, i love you.” jay mumbled, giving you a sweet peck.

“i—love you,” you sighed out between breaths, your sweaty body going slump against his. jay had no issue holding you up as he took you to his bathroom for aftercare.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

as ni-ki walked back to the hang out spot, he was met halfway with sunwoo, who had a bright smile on his face.

“who was that girl?” sunwoo asked.

ni-ki played dumb. “what girl?” he was already irritated.

sunwoo scoffed. “she did a terrible job trying to hide her smell.” then, he smiled which only annoyed ni-ki. “she smelled good too. smelled sweet.”

“she’s off limits.” ni-ki bit out.

sunwoo rolled his eyes, “blah blah blah. why is she off limits? you said the same thing about eunchae and you don’t even have a thing for her!”

to ni-ki, eunchae was special. he felt a protective presence overcome him whenever he was with her.

with you, you belonged to him and his brothers only.

“my elders will rip your head off if you come within 2 feet of her.”

“how will they feel knowing you were the one who brought her to me. to us.”

ni-ki shook his head. “i didn’t bring her here. she followed me. she’s always snooping.” ni-ki could imagine the disappointment in your face of him calling you out for always snooping. he loved to rile you up.

“well, make sure she stays away. if she’s comes back, i can’t promise i’ll be sweet to her.” sunwoo taunted.

[oozebrain]

Art x gender neutral Reader. Art and reader are both ND.

Chapter summary: A new neighbor moves into the house beside you. Being the only other kid in the neighborhood, you’re excited to meet him and hopefully make your first friend.

Warnings include: implied child abuse, verbal abuse, abusive parent (mother), angst, ableism (including r slur), swearing. Minors dni.

Laughter in the Dark

Chapter 1

The sound of a moving truck woke you up. You grumble sleepily and pull your covers over your head. It’s so piercing and loud in the quiet. You look to your alarm clock and it reads six thirty in the morning. It’s the weekend and you were looking forward to sleeping in, but with the incessant beeping it was impossible. Once the beeping subsided, you thought there would be peace, but loud banging and thudding followed after.

Annoyed, you toss your blanket off and go to the window to see what has so rudely woken you up. In the yard you see a tall woman and a smaller figure next to her. He seems restless, looking around this way and that as he soaks up his new surroundings. He looks to be about your age and excitement blossomed in your chest. 

In a hurry you put on your clothes and comb your fingers through your hair. As you enter the living room you see your mother. She is also getting ready, her own curiosity piqued. You were both nosy, there was nothing that could be done about it.

“Are we going to see the new neighbors?” You ask, pulling on your jacket. 

“That goddamn truck woke me up. I’m going over there to ask them who the hell moves in at six in the fucking morning on a Saturday.”

You hoped she wouldn’t. You desperately want to make a good impression. You want a friend, an acquaintance, anything. Anyone. You try to placate her, “Maybe we can all be friends and have cookouts and stuff.”

She ignores you, muttering to herself as she puts on her own jacket and grabs her purse and keys. You silently follow her out the door, the bracing breeze of the fall morning tearing through your neck. You pull your jacket closer, the thin material doing little to actually block out the cold. You’ve gotten used to it over the years but the breezes always managed to rip you up.

The neighbors are less than a few feet away and the pair turn to acknowledge you as you walk up. The boy turns away and retreats by the garage, away from the group that’s been created. Naturally, you separate as well and migrate over to the teenager.

He is gangly and taller than you are. In the cold morning he is bundled up with a jacket and hat with ear flaps. You could barely see his face from the scarf wrapped around it, which he pulled up over his nose when you walked up. Despite being bundled up, he was still huddled up into himself and withdrew from you when you approached by taking a step back. He eyed you warily so you stopped short, offering a friendly wave.

He doesn’t speak but continues to stare at you with apprehension. He looks down at the ground and awkwardly kicks a pebble out of the way. It scoots over to you and you gently kick it back. He pauses and stands rigid for a moment before looking back to you. He says nothing but kicks the pebble back, this time with more enthusiasm and you reciprocate.

The boy doesn’t seem interested in conversation so you don’t force the subject and continue to play in a silence. You notice he keeps looking back to his mother, and you notice this because you are doing the same. Every now and again you check over your shoulder to see if she is watching you, but she is still talking to the boy’s mother.

You look back to him and offer him a smile. You can’t see his mouth but you see his eyes crinkle slightly in the smile hidden beneath. It seemed like he was shy, just as you were. You idly sway, hands behind your back and fingers fidgeting as you coax yourself through this encounter with a new person. 

It’s difficult to meet new people. You’ve lived here your whole life but can’t name a single person. There were no other kids in the neighborhood, so seeing him step out of the car gave you hope that things could change. You tried not to appear over eager but you truly were hopeful you would be able to make a friend.

“Arthur, who’s this?” Comes a voice to your left. You both turn your heads in unison to look at his mother. He doesn’t answer or move, he merely stares with wide eyes, hands in his pockets and huddled into himself. His smile is gone. Again, you notice his behavior because you do the same, your own gaze wide with apprehension now that attention has been drawn to you. 

She closes the distance and smiles down at you, “Sorry dear. He doesn’t mean to be so rude, he’s just retarded.”

You grimace some at this statement. She takes your scowl of disdain as confusion and continues to rub salt in the wound, “Retarded means he’s slow. He can’t talk. I think he can, but someone just doesn’t want to because they like making things hard for mommy, don’t they?”

She punctuated her overly sweet sounding condescension by pursing her lips and looking down at him over her glasses. He averts his gaze and stares at you instead. He is silently saying something to you with his eyes. It speaks loudly to you, it screams, it roars. He hates her. After a moment he looks away to stare off into the distance while she stands over him in her own silence.

“Well I think we’d better be going. It was great meeting you both.” Your own mother cuts in, sensing the awkward tension. You wanted to leave the situation, but didn’t particularly want to leave him. Arthur glanced back at you before dropping his gaze again. He turned and left without a word, footsteps plodding heavy on the concrete steps up to the porch. The metal screen door closes behind him with an angry slam.

Arthur’s mother sighs, throwing her hands up in the air and looking to your mother apologetically, “Kids. You give them everything and they still want more.”

Your own mother says nothing, but a look crosses her face having her own words repeated to her from a stranger. She makes a noncommittal noise and motions for you to come with her. You give a half-hearted wave goodbye and begin your walk home, just a short distance across the yard. 

As you turn to wave you can see Arthur staring at you from the living room window. His scarf is off to reveal a healing lip and your stomach tightens. You really don’t want to leave him here, but if you don’t comply that would be you next. But still, you have to do something, anything.

“Can me and Arthur play later, mom?” You put her on the spot. All the pressure was off you and now rested on her shoulders. She said nothing for a moment, flicking her eyes between you and Arthur’s mother before nodding.

“As long as it’s okay with his mom it’s alright with me.” She agrees and the two of you look to her. She folds her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to one leg as she thought. You didn’t know what was going on in her head, but she was visibly thinking long and hard about something, and you didn’t like it.

After a time she relented, “They have to stay in the front yard. I don’t want Arthur wandering around until we know our neighbors better.”

Your mother seems a little peeved at that statement, taking it as a personal offense, but doesn’t address it. Instead she chuckles awkwardly and motions again for you to follow, which you do. The two of you make it to the house and once you are inside the truth comes out.

“I do not want you hanging out with that kid.” She turns to you, “He’s fucking weird, what if he hurts you?”

You didn’t say anything. He didn’t come off as threatening, in fact he was the one who had initially withdrawn when you approached. Arthur didn’t seem like a mean or bad kid, he looked... scared, stressed, absent. He looked the same way you did after a long night of berating, or the look of dread when you heard ‘just wait until we get home’.

“I do not want you hanging out with him. I’m going down there later to tell her you have a stomachache.”

You look at her with a pleading, but angry, expression. Your ears burn and you clench your teeth. You are twelve years old but she manages you like a toddler, “I don’t have any friends, why can’t I play with him?”

“Because he’s a freak. You have no idea what his mom told me, he’s a fucking nutcase.” She sighs, “Kids like him are why they should bring back asylums. You’re not going, that’s final. I am not sending you out with him.”

“It’s just in the yard!”

“You’re NOT going!”

“You never let me do anything!” You scream at her, fists balled and ready to fight back. You were more worked up than you should be, and part of it was your worry for Arthur. You needed a friend, and he needed a friend too. In your short time meeting him, you could tell he understood you, and you understood him. There was an unspoken solidarity. He knew, and you knew. You just wanted a friend, what the hell was wrong with everyone?

“I’m doing what’s best for you, I’m looking out for you. You should be more thankful that I actually give a shit about you and don’t let you run around with fucking psychopaths who hack up animals!” She screams back, taking an intimidating step toward you. 

You aren’t having this, not today. You scoff at her and trudge to your room. The door slams behind you, an echo from just moments before. You lock the door behind you and flop onto your bed, tightly hugging the pillow beside you. The door wasn’t allowed to be locked but you didn’t care right now, that was a problem for later you. You didn’t want to even hear her breathe right now.

Frustrated tears come and you bury your face in the pillow. You were so angry and crestfallen. She always did this, she always agreed to plans in the moment then changed them as soon as you were behind closed doors. Any attempts to make friends had been foiled, and now that it had been so long without a friend you deeply struggled to make connections.

But you felt a connection with Arthur. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to talk to him, to give him someone to confide in, and you wanted someone to confide in as well. After a small cry you sit up on your bed, still hugging your pillow in your lap. From the corner of your eye you can see a small flash of light blinking over and over.

You get up to walk to the window and shield your eyes at the flashlight. Across the way is Arthur framed by the window pane. His bedroom seems to be across from yours. He turns off the flashlight and offers you a small, shy wave which you reciprocate. He flashes the light at you again. You hold up your finger to tell him to wait a moment and retrieve your own and flicker it at him.

And then you see it, a smile. It’s small and stiff, but it’s there. The two of you sit there at the window in the dim morning light, sending nonsensical Morse code that only the two of you can understand. Fate held you both in its hands as it linked the two of you together through these small flashes of light. You were exhilarated, and judging by the growing smile on his face, so was he. 

[absxntmxnded]

LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU

—————————————————————————

origins!logan x reader

warnings: fluff, no use of y/n

Had this thought in my head and I read a shit ton of Logan blurbs and fics but I’ve never posted anything I’ve randomly written and I’m deffo nervous but fuck it I guess

—————————————————————————

You woke up to it snowing, just like the weatherman predicted. You needed to go into town to get groceries and other necessities, and having put it off all week proved to be a poor decision.

You reluctantly slid out of bed, from the safe, warm, space, and wrapped yourself in your cardigan before padding downstairs to the kitchen. As you filled your coffee pot with water you peered out the window to get a gist of just how bad it was snowing.

It was coming down, but not too hard and the visibility was still good. The tall pine trees that lined the edge of your property swayed with the tender swirls of snow. The sun was unsettlingly bright against the whiteness of the snow, blinding you from looking out for too long.

You poured a cup of coffee and settled at the dining room table, seated perfectly to watch the snow fall and the wildlife wake up with the sun. This life was not perfect by any means, but you knew why Logan chose to home you both out here. It was for comfort, safety, and peace knowing not many would trek through the unknown to find you.

After finishing your coffee, you made your way to the front door, slipping on your winter gear. Tall, thick boots now adorned your feet, and a fur-lined parka wrapping the last remnants of heat from your bed against you. You knew if you wanted to make it to town you would have to shovel the driveway now and leave soon before the weather got worse. With that, with your now gloved hands, you opened the front door and invited the bitter cold in. The wind whipped you in the face and it stung hard, but nothing you weren’t already used to.

You grabbed the shovel and started a path from the steps of the front deck to the truck. From there, you went up and down the driveway in straight lines, careful not to slip. You were so focused on the task at hand you could barely hear Logan calling from the front deck.

“Princess! What are you doing?” Logan calls. You turn around to see your boyfriend standing there, head cocked, arms across his chest with that ever present scowl across his face. You knew he wasn’t seriously upset with you but you never enjoyed seeing him upset. “Give me the shovel, you go inside and get warmed up.” Logan says while coming down the path you made.

You pulled the shovel out of his reach. “Not a chance Logan, I’m almost done, I can handle it.” You said, matching his stern tone.

“I don’t care if you can handle it, I will finish, now go.” He said, pointing at the house. You weren’t going to give in that easily.

“Logan, I am perfectly capable of shoveling the driveway! I used to do it when I lived with my parents, seriously I’m fine.” You appreciated Logan’s kindness to help you with everything, but sometimes you just really wanted to show him how independent you were.

Logan places his hands on your shoulders. dusting the snow off. “Darlin, I know you’re capable of shoveling the driveway. You’re capable of a lot of things, but you live with me now. I’m taking care of you now, so I do this, okay?” You felt your heart swell and you couldn’t even think of where to begin what to say. Your whole life, you were the person everyone else relied on. The feeling of gratitude and love filled your chest and soon your eyes. You stammered, not even knowing how to respond to Logan.

He didn’t even give you a chance to answer before he picked you up and slung you over his shoulders like you weighed nothing. “Logan!” you screeched, “Put me down!” You were giggling and smacking Logan’s back, but that was hardly a deterrent to him. He effortlessly carried you back into the house, placing you by the wood stove to heat you quicker. Carefully, he undressed your winter gear and clothes, laying them on the back of the couch to dry. You allowed him this moment in caring for you, because you knew deep down this was mending broken pieces of him, slowly but surely.

Before you knew it, you were down to your undies and bra, being hoisted over Logan’s shoulder again, this time being taken upstairs. “Logan! I can walk!”

“I know darlin.”

Logan set you down gently on the bed and turned to rummage through his drawers. He turned back around holding sweatpants and a sweatshirt, which were clearly his. A toothy grinned crossed his face as he walked to you. He first put the sweatpants on you, sliding them over each foot and up to your hips. Then he carefully pulled the oversized hoodie over you. Last, to finish off your look, he brought out the warmest cabin socks he could find, carefully slipping those on as well. He stepped back and gave a once over of his job. You couldn’t help but break out into laughter.

“Whats’o funny?” He scrunched his nose and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Nothing Logan, you’re just going overboard, I’m fine, was hardly cold and I could’ve fini-.” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as Logan cut you off with a sweet kiss.

“Like I said before, you live here now. I’m supposed to be taking care of you, so let me. You don’t need to do everything anymore. I love you.” Logan held your hands and kissed your forehead before laying you down and pulling the covers over you. “Now you lay here and warm up. I’ll finish the driveway, and cook breakfast. Then we can head to town. Okay darlin?” Logan’s hazel eyes were surrounded by those crinkles you absolutely adored, and a bright smile only reserved for you.

You nodded. “Okay, Lo…” you smiled up at him, taking in his gentle features and soaking in the love and display of affection Logan was giving you. Logan leaned down and pressed a longer kiss to your forehead before pushing some hair to the side of your face. “I love you sweetheart.” He said as he moved to the door, glancing back one more time to flash a grin before disappearing down the hallway.

You weren’t used to the one being waited on and getting to relax, but living with someone like Logan made it easy.

[porceline]

So, I'm thinking of your fic, and in it we see how the reader reacts when Optimus is turned human. My request is headcanons or a little ficlet/drabble on how OP would react if you (his human S/O) were to interact with a relic that turned them into a Cybertronian.

Turn of events

Pairing:

Optimus Prime × cybertronian!reader

Summary:

After a decommissioned disguise relic ended up in the hands of the Autobots, everyone's favorite reader (you), ended up being transformed into a giant cybertronian.

Word count: 1k+

A/N: HIII GUYSSS I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this out, gosh I got sick AGAIN! and some personal stuff went down, but I'm back and badder than ever!! Enjoy loves!

(Ps. This isn't as detailed as I would've liked but I rushed to get it out cuz I was taking too much time, but might even make it a full fic when I finish my current one!!)

It was an accident, completely an accident. You hadn't meant to. You just wanted to see.

Sliding thin, fleshy fingers between large gaps in buttons and pressure plates while no one was paying attention, with no idea the relic would be so sensitive. Not your proudest moment.

You always knew your curiosity would be your downfall. You're just lucky Bulkhead moved the kids out of the way.

It was the most pain you've ever experienced, it felt like your limbs were getting stretched beyond their limit, your skin pulled hard and slowly, then it felt like it was turned to stone.

No one had any time to react before you became ten times bigger than you were born, your new form falling onto the elevated platform designated for humans.

The concrete was thick enough to hold your weight, but the iron safety bars bent under you.

Everything was tinted blue, and somehow brighter than before. You had to squint your eyes.

Your vision kept blurring, sometimes focusing on one single spot, zooming onto it as if you were wearing Binoculars.

There was a panic around you, commotion and yelling. Everything sounded so far away though. You couldn't focus.

A hand, much larger than yours grasps your shoulder. Another cups your cheek and turns your head.

It's Optimus. He's speaking. His mouth is moving but you hear nothing. You're scared.

"Have you shrunk?" You blurt out, you can feel the rumble of your own voice like never before, it sounded so clear despite not being able to hear.

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth begins to move again, but you still can't hear anything.

Thick brows furrow as blue optics scan over your worried face. Optimus puzzles together what might be wrong, his face softens as he reaches to the side of your head.

You hear three loud clicks, then the sound of the base booms into your ears, making your head throb.

"What happened!?"

"Primus, what did you do!?"

"Why did you touch that?!"

"Are you alright?"

You snap your head towards Optimus, his gentle optics stare deep into your own.

You shake your head.

He hums, sliding a thick arm under your back, helping you sit up. His free hand slides over your legs, turning them to hang over the large concrete block you're sitting on.

By now, Ratchet has made his way over to you, an angry look on his face as both he and Optimus help you stand up.

The rest of the team are watching in silence, mouths agape in awe at the sudden transformation they had just witnessed. Seeing you go from such a tiny being, to being slightly larger than arcee was incredible.

Your feet, well, pedes, finally hit the floor, they felt so much heavier than what you were used to. Like someone glued concrete blocks onto your feet.

The two of them loosen their grip on you, the lack of support nearly makes you topple over, making you blurt out an embarrassing yelp.

Ratchet scoffs in annoyance, while Optimus shakes his head, leaning you back to scoop you into his arms.

"Let's keep you off your pedes for a bit."

You don't argue.

Ratchet leads the way to the medical bay, walking a bit faster than Optimus. You can practically hear the anger in his steps.

"I'm so sorry." You whisper, burying your face in your hands. How could you have been so stupid?

"None of that," Optimus pulls your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up.

"It's not your fault, it was an accident. Ratchet might seem angry, but he really is just worried."

Everyone else has since gone their separate ways, still on edge from, the event earlier.

What a horrible way to start the day.

Optimus settles you down on one of the large metal cots, leaning you back against the wall.

He sits down next to you while Ratchet occupies himself with running tests on you. The scanner in his forearm drowns you in a green light, covering you head-to-toe.

Completing the scan, Ratchet turns back around. His digits tap against the keyboard as he types.

You look up to the monitor above his head, the text scrolls down the vibrant green screen.

But you can read it.

It's incredible, you understand it but you also.. don't? You can read it, but the text is still so foreign to you.

The information on the screen appears to be vitals, and though you can read it, you can't quite understand it.

Optimus holds onto your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. It was a comforting touch.

Ratchet returns to your side, taking an object that looks like a human-ish pistol from the table beside you.

Before you can even breathe, he turns your hand over and shoots your palm. It hurt, but not as much as you had anticipated. It was like getting a flu-shot.

The vial attached to it starts filling with a blue liquid, energon, you presume.

Ratchet doesn't say a word when he pulls the gun away, slotting it into a machine next to your cot.

The awkward silence eats away at your mind, you grip the grey armor plating on your thighs.

"Ratchet.. I didn't mean-"

"Ehp yehp yehp! I don't want to hear any of it."

You sulk your shoulders, hunching your head down as his thick metal digets tap away at the keyboard.

Optimus sighs. "Ratchet..-"

The prime is interrupted by his medic.

"Not you too! I can barely deal with one whining bot, by Primus don't make me deal with two."

Your eyes widen, your hands open in a defensive position.

"I'm not whining!"

He points his thick digit at you. "That, right there, is whining!  Can you please try to be quiet while I figure out how to fix this?!" Ratchet huffs, turning away back to his monitor. Mumbling something about humans being loud.

You glare at the back of his head, sighing in frustration.

This week is going to be hell.

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 9 | Shattered Promises

summary: a dangerous war was declared, the one thing you feared would happen in your life ever since your husband Matthew joined the military. The fear of him possibly dying out on the battlefield without a proper goodbye always managed to deliver you nightmares and now your worst fear came true, Matthew had to go off to fight for his country. Is he going to make it and come back home safely, or maybe you’ll forever hold the weight of him in your heart even without him among the living?

warnings: ANGST, military, war, violence mentioned, possible murder, missing limbs, dark times, happy ending (or is it?), sorrow, depressive times, vivid nightmares, triggering content & possibly more! Viewers advisory is supervised and proceed with caution!

authors note: we’re almost there at the double digits! Kinda got this random vibe today and the idea just popped into my head, this is gonna take a lot of military vibe music to get me through this and keep me in the spirit, I’m sorry as this can be kinda inaccurate in some ways 😭, luv yall and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

- a month before the war

Laughter fills the air as our joyful golden retriever, Danny continues to jump and deliver eager licks to the side of his face while he lays down on the couch next to me, the television shadowing a soft glow over our faces alongside sunlight pooling in the room, dancing along the shadows of the living room. “Hey, Danny! Calm down there buddy!” He calls out, chuckling between each word, I observe the playful fight, thinking nothing bad could ever happen to our small little family with our fur baby. My hand slithers its way over to pet and ruffle the hairs on Danny's spine.

The whole moment was filled with pure enjoyment and true love, my heart twisting with delight as Matt finally managed to lure Danny off from on top of him and shelds himself with my body, grabbing a hold of my biceps and pull me in front of him. My laughter only intesifying as now Danny begins devoting his attention off Matt to me, hopping onto my chest but this time without eager licks and just relaxes against me, Matt dramatically gasps but a sweet chuckle quickly overpowers it, "Looks like someone has a favorite parent." He jokes, slipping out from under my body and sitting down before me.

After another playful moment passing by, Danny begins to feel tired and snuggles into Matts lap and slowly drifts into peaceful sleep. A romance movie plays in the background as me and Matt starts to chat in soft whispers to not wake up our fur baby. Admiring how at peace and happy he seems in a simple moment like this, feeling like nothing could take away the joy we've build throughout these years of our relationship, I let myself rest my head down onto Matts shoulder, tiredness now shadowing my features. "I got two little cute sleepyheads now, wanna go to bed now?" I nod my head and murmur a positive response.

Slowly and gently removing Danny off his lap to stand up, straightening his legs and turning his head to look at my sleepy form that’s now beginning to fall asleep. He walks over and picks up my body, bridal style just like he had on our wedding and every time I was tired, as well as at unexpected times. I loved him dearly and would never let anything bad happen to him, I was always a deep sleeper but ever since Matthew decided to join the military I was afraid about him possibly dying on the battlefield and I couldnt bear the dark thoughts roaming inside of my mind, it started with simple flashes of him in my mind but then turned into full nightmares I couldn’t bear.

It started flashing his image as he carried me over to our bedroom and laid me down, covering my body with the duvet before undressing himself and sliding under it next to me, he wraps a warm arm around me and pulls me into his chest, nuzzling his face into my hair as a feeling of safety washes over me but when I close my eyes I can only see him, laying on the ground-shot and dead- while his buddies drag his limp to the side for shelter, trying to revive him back to live but without proper medical care it was impossiple for them to. My heart twisted with sorrow as my eyes immediately pop open, unable to fall asleep no matter how hard I tried. I shift my body to face Matt and hide my face in his chest while clutching onto his body as if I would lose him then and there.

- Present day

The morning approaches, sun barely rising over the horizon, casting a warm soft glow over our bodies as I throw the duvet off my body. Seeing Matthew is stil asleep so I make it my misson to quietly get dressed and exit the room, feeling like doing wanting to do something special I decided to make a hot breakfast for him when he decides to wake up. As soon as Danny catches a glimpse of me walking down the stairs he immediatly runs over and demands some head scraches as well as sustenance, chuckling at how much energy he has in the morning, "Oh you want some head scraches? I'll give you some head scarches, you little cutie." He follows me into the kitchen, grabbing his feeding bowl and placing it on the countet but as I was about to get his food I hear something weird from the radio, immediately turning up the volume to hear more context and its coming from the news.

"Welcome everybody, your news-reporter speaking. The United States Of America has declared war upon another country and we need every soldier we can grasp over the age of 18, this is not a drill but a serious war our country is under. Please seek immediate shelter and consider flying out of the country for safety if youre near any of there states..."

I immediately freeze, being unable to move as the other words coming from the reporter become irrelevant to my brain, "every soldier they can grasp" my brain cannot comprehend the state of fear I am before Im pulled out of my thoughts when Matthew comes rushing down the stairs, seeming like he just woke up telling by his messy hair falling over his forehead. He walks over to me, seeing how scared I have become and places a reassuring kiss on my forehead, “It’s going to be okay, darling. I'm going to be fine, I wont leave you." He softly speaks, assuming I've hear all of it on the radion while he got a call, cradling me in his arms and kissing the top of my head to calm me down in any bit, he's known this was my worst fear and the repeative vivid dreams I've woken up to multiple times and him trying to calm my nerves.

He pulls away from the embrace and leans down to be face level with me, his expression softening as my eyes become glossy and shiny with worried tears swirling around in them. "I promise I will come back to you as soon as I get back, you can come with me to the pickup bus." He reassures, wiping away the slowly sliding tear with his thumb on my cheek. My arms wrap around his neck and pull him back in, feeling as this could be the last time we speak and feel each others warm embrace. "I'll go get ready now." He pulls away before turning around and walking back upstairs to dress himself more properly and apropriate, my soul eternally freaking out and not wanting this to be real. Maybe its just a dream-yeah a dream-now I just have to wake up from this nightmare of a day, oh wait, its actually very much real life. Soon I follow Matt into our bedroom and dress myself properly as well, getting rid of the pyjamas and now in outside clothes.

- At the pickup spot

As we approached the bus, my heart ached and twisted in various ways that made me feel sick to my stomach. Other familys and couples surrounded the bus, saying goodbyes and crying as they got on the bus. Matt holds my hand before turning to face me and pulls me into a soft kiss which only lasted a minute before he had to pull away, "Be safe and please don't die out there." I stammered, full of worry and fear for his life. the news reporter stated it would be a dangerous and serious war which only heightened my pulse, for now I had to take his words and cling onto them as much as I can for them to be true. He gave me a last reassuring kiss on the forehead before he got onto the bus, some of his buddies recognised me and I recognized them since Matthew would have them over often and before they got onto the bus to join Matt, they walked over to me and suddenly picked me up into the air. "woah, guys, what are you doing?-" I questioned but without a response in return, they carried me over to where Matt was sitting, he popped his head though the window and suddenly kissed me, I melted right into it and kissed him back almost immediately. It was filled with pure true love and caring, the world around me disappeared and the happy cheers of others started to become more faint to my ears, all of my worries disolve into the air and my only value left was the moment right now.

By the time we pull away, the driver calls out for everyone to get on board as they will be driving away soon, they let me down onto the ground and hop onto the bus themselves, from a distance now I watch as they close the doors and drive away, a feeling of loss washes over me which I can’t brush away no matter how hard I want to trust his words that he’ll be okay but it seems thats a promise he can’t make. I leave the spot and get into Matt’s car in which be drove us here in, feeling his scent lingering still in the air as I drive off back home.

- a year after the start of the war

Everyday after Matthew’s gone off to fight for his country’s freedom, I’ve waited patiently for him to return back home, dreaded the time I would hold him in my arms again, feel his lips on mine or him holding me and calming me down after a terrible nightmare. They’ve only became more intense and I couldn’t bear being alone anymore but got used to it after awhile, everyday I would plant a single white rose in his name since he always loved gifting them to me to remind me of his love and now it reminds me of him, now that a year has passed I could have a whole garden of them.

I was sitting outside infront of my collection of white roses as the sun shined, the sun ever started to remind me of him, of how brightly his smile would light up any room he walked in. My poor baby, gazing upon the growing garden and every single time get reminded of him so I never forget him, I could never forget my poor baby. He was the only man I’ve truly loved and wanted to grow old together, now the only thing I have are reminders of him and dissolving hope of him still being alive out there. “Please come back, my darling.” I murmur under my breath before suddenly being ripped out from my thoughts.

My phone buzzes, indicating an incoming call, I pick up my phone and pick it up, putting on my professional voice and serious face instead of the broke woman I was, “Hello?” I spoke into the receiver, waiting for the caller to speak. “Hello, is this Ms. Sturniolo?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion and skepticism, it slowly easing into my voice. “Yes, this is she. I-Im sorry but who’s calling?” “A former friend of his from the army, I’m here to inform you that your husband Matthew Sturniolo has been pronounced dead duo to a fatal shot in the arm and bleeding out while on the battlefield”

I freeze, the words slowly sinking in before my phone drops on the grassy ground, here I was grasping onto the lasts of my hope that he’s still alive and now he is presumed dead, my hands cover my face as uncontrollable sobs leave my mouth. Tears staining my face and hands, I can’t believe this, he promised he would come back, he… is dead. The worst of my fears has now came true and it hit me like a thousand bricks, I feel something shatter inside of me beyond repair.

I feel… broken? Like a part of me has been ripped out of me without my permission, he has became a part of me and build me into the person I am today, but without him by my side I don’t think I can continue being the same person and living my life normally, he was the only man I’ve loved truly and now he has been taken away from me. What have I done to deserve such punishment? I continue to lay on the ground, consumed by complete depression and a feeling of loss. That night I haven’t returned to my house and slept outside in front of the white roses, the thing that reminded me the most of my dear husband.

- a month after Matthew being presumed dead

The sun slowly rose up over the horizon and I was off to go preform my mundane routine, getting out of bed has been the hardest part every morning and, every emotion has been wiped off my face after… you know after what, I slumped over to my dresser and thrown on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie I stole from Matthew, his specific scent still lingering on it. Walking downstairs, I walk into the kitchen and grab Danny’s bowl, filling it with food and placing it back down in its spot, he doesn’t greet me anymore, the only thing he has been doing besides eating was sit outside near Matthew’s grave in which I would join him every morning, I placed a hand crafted cross on the top of my white rose garden to indicate his grave, some of the older ones have started to wither and loose their beautiful white petals.

It reflects the feelings I feel, being like a withered white rose without him by my side, slowly loosing my color with each passing minute. I exit the house and drop down beside our dog, gazing upon the grave before I speak in a soft voice in hopes that he’s somewhere here, listening to the words I speak from my broken heart. “I wish you could be here with me, I can’t be the same person without you. If you’re listening to me, I love you more than anything in the world.” Every word stings the same amount, my throat feeling tight as I feel tears swirling in my eyes.

“Why wish when I’m right here?”

The sudden words take me out of my focus, the voice sounding too familiar to miss, looking around as my eyes catch a glimpse of Matthew. Wait… Matthew?- I stare at him as he suddenly is walking towards me but there’s something different about him-he’s missing an arm-so he isn’t dead after all? I could be imagining things, I wipe my teary eyes before he extends his arms, my body immediately rising from the ground and running into his warm embrace, feeling the touch I’ve dreaded to be able to feel again on my skin.

“I told you I would come back.” He happily cheered, holding me in his embrace and placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. I feel like myself again, the part of me I thought I lost forever has returned, Danny comes running at us and jumps up and down, wagging his tail aggressively in joy. “I-I thought you were dead, I thought I lost you forever… I-I seriously can’t believe you’re alive, you know they called-“ before I could finish my sentence, he smashes his lips against mine and stopped me from ranting for half an hour about what it was without him for all of this time without him. I slightly relax into the kiss, our dog barked and we chuckled into the kiss together, today I was put back together and felt like myself again now with Matthew beside me again. I’m me again, my other half has returned into its place, I’ll be forever grateful for the lord letting him live and stay with me in earth longer. My poor baby has finally returned and that’s all that matters to me right now.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[gingerteawrites]

Autumn in love - Nanami Kento

A/N: Another comforting and self-indulgent fic but what is new? I wish it could be cold already. Can't believe that its still 80 degrees F in November😭.

Content: tooth-rotting fluff, husband! Nanami, female reader, barely proofread.

Fall was Kento's favorite season. Call it basic or boring, but to him, there was nothing better than the crunch of the reddened leaves when stepped on. The crisp aroma of fragrant air. The beauty of the world as it burst into shades of deep auburns and ambers. The mellowness of it all felt so enticing, much akin your husband's nature.

Taking the time to breath in the world on his way to and from work and sketching delicate figures during the evenings were among his favorite ways of enjoying this wonderful season. However, he was also much receptive to the ways you preferred to experience the autumnal weather. Your world was by extension, his own.

And with time, a beautiful fresco of collected memories painted your shared home. Trinkets that bore testament to your little adventures.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The beautiful branch mounted on your wall

"Oooooo, look at this one!" You crouched to pick up yet another branch from the orchard's soft soil. Nanami turns away from the apple tree, a pristine pink lady in hand.

He chuckles when you run to him with a small branch whose tendrils curled in the shape of outstretched fingers.

"That sure is something, love." a smile pulled at his soft lips. "Though I am not sure if branches are included in the apple-picking fee."

You clung to his arm, nuzzling close with a simper that matched his own. "Well, good thing I'm not asking them."

Ever your accomplice, Kento helps you 'sneak' the branch out of the farm and insists on coating it to preserve it for you.

"You don't have to indulge my stupid fixations, Kento. Really." You watch him carefully handle the piece of wood in your garage, feeling bad about how much effort he's putting into this.

"Stupid?" He asks, deep voice tinged with a hint of surprise. The thought had never even occurred to him. He walks to you, and rests a tender hand against your cheek. Eyes holding your entire world as they looked at you with so much tenderness. "There is absolutely nothing that you, my dear wife, could enjoy that I would think is stupid."

You melt against his touch, and even more at his words. "Plus, that is an outstanding stick. Think we can record a video and send it to that one stick nation page?" He asks, pulling a honest laughter out of you.

"Great minds think alike, I see."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hand-made mug sat atop your night stand.

While on the way back from a quiet afternoon walk, you and Kento had stumbled upon a yard sale. The owner of the house, a little old lady beckoned you over the second she noticed how you had not so discreetly eyed her book collection.

Having spent what felt like a wonderful eternity browsing through the collection you believed to be way too big for one person to own in a lifetime, you realized you had lost sight of your husband. You hoisted your picks close to your chest and turned in search for Kento.

But as if sensing your quest for him, he practically materialized beside you.

"Let me help with that, darling." He coaxed most of the books from you before you could even think to refuse, holding them gently under one arm.

"Thank you, Ken" You smile, linking fingers with his other outstretched hand. "Did you find anything you liked?" You were hoping he was not bored.

"Uh-huh." He nods. "The owner's husband had an interesting tie collection. I left everything I liked at the entrance with her. Just wanted to come see how you were doing." His thumb rubbed gentle circles against your skin.

You reach the lady, with multiple items laid out on the big table that served as check-out station on top of which sat an old-fashioned cash register. She helps pack your purchases in a paper bag, while you absently look around the yard and admire the beautiful house behind you.

Unloading the purchases from the brown bag in your home, your eyes go round with curiosity when your fingers touch a delicate porcelain frame. You pull out a mug from the bag, its wide cream base decorated with small mushrooms and flowers. The handle curled like a vine, and you spent more than a few minutes admiring the glaze.

That means you did not notice Kento, who came leaning against the door frame, looking at you with a fond smile.

"Do you like it, love?" He asked, pulling your attention towards him.

"Do I like it??" You took a deep breath. "God, it's gorgeous. How did I not notice it?" You ask to yourself.

He pushes himself off the wall and walks to you, wrapping strong arms around your waist, your back pressed to his chest.

"It was in a pile of miscellaneous items. I knew you would enjoy it the second I saw it." He explained, his warmth seeping into you.

"You know me too well." You set the mug down and spin around in his arms so you're facing him. Eyes meet and before you know it, your lips follow in a tender embrace. "I need to get you something too." You whisper against his cheek.

"Having you here is more than enough." Kento replied earnestly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just the sight of these small things warmed you through and through, reminders of Kento's love. Of his tender care, that made you want to open your heart even more than you already did. Hold him close for the colder months, and never let go even when the heat comes.

Hope you enjoyed it! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

okayyyyy!!! bad week politically but it's chapter five! and Tash is my uwu babygirl forever.

The following morning Tash Taylor woke up in a strange bed and promptly had a panic attack.

The time and place were terrible, as these things went, but Tash had figured out a while ago that there was really no such thing as a convenient moment to completely fall apart. Her heart was beating so hard that it felt like her chest was going to cave in, breath was coming in strained and strangled gasps, and her consciousness was shrinking rapidly away from her body. God, this was fucking mortifying. 

Focus. Focus. She’d found things that helped, hadn’t she? She’d done all the research she could, trying to figure out how you put your brain back together when you would probably never be able to see a real doctor again in your life. Why had she never bothered to check out the free therapy on campus? She might have learned something, anything, that would help her now.

Think, Tash.

Breathe. Long breath in, hold that until it hurts, let it out slow. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Not all of the breaths work, sometimes it hitches and leaves her sputtering, paralyzed body jerking and twitching. Christ, she’s so cold. No, she can do this. One breath after the other. Tie everything to that, pull her mind back into her body even though it feels like an awful, shambolic place to be, like standing in a house getting ripped apart in an earthquake. Hold it together.

The five senses. That’s something, right? You’re supposed to check in, pay attention to things around you and focus on that so that your brain has something to do other than circle the drain. She can do that. All she has to do is open her eyes. Now. Now. Okay, now. 

No. Not yet. Too overwhelming, too much unknown. Start smaller. What about smell?

She buries her face deep in the pillow and inhales deeply, surprised when she’s greeted by a vanilla-ish scent that’s not unpleasant. It’s a little too sweet, reminiscent of the glittery body spray every girl used in middle school. But there are worse things to smell like than a store in the mall where shoddy ear piercings get done.

The pillowcase is nice, too, and Tash rubs it between her fingers. That feels like silk, unless she’s very much mistaken, and so do the sheets. Her hair is already a disaster, badly damaged and sorely in need of a trip to the salon that’s probably never going to come, but it’s nice to imagine that at least she won’t regret sleeping with it unwrapped last night. 

Okay. Okay. That’s two senses. What else is there? Taste?

No, that’s a mistake. The only thing to taste right now is the inside of her own mouth and that’s a bad place to be. That one’s always seemed like a mistake to her, anyway, really relying on the assumption that you happened to have something edible on hand when you started freaking out. Or maybe the point is to get you really tasting the back of your own teeth, catching a whiff of your last meal so you can ground yourself in how gross that is. It does seem to be working.

Tash rubs a little circle in the sheet, presses her face harder into the pillowcase. Her heart is slowing down, if nothing else. She thought she understood anxiety once, might have even blithely said she’d had a panic attack or two, but it turns out that all she ever had was a case of the social jitters. Oh, baby Tash, you get stressed out sometimes? You can’t handle a room full of strangers without a buddy to cling to or a drink in your hand? That’s cute. Wait until you find out what it’s like to have your own heart trying to kill you, beating so hard that it aches in your sternum. What then?

No. No, that’s not helping. Deep breath, deep breath. What can she hear, over the sound of her own mutinous body?

Movement. Not in this room, probably, but not so far away. And the sounds are right out of a commercial trying to sell you something breakfasty, somebody bustling around opening up rattling drawers and moving tinkling dishes. Fleetwood Mac is playing and whoever’s cooking is singing along with an incredible lack of self-consciousness considering that they are no Stevie Nicks. Something sizzles, and the smell of a greasy breakfast hits Tash with enough force to make her mouth water. She’s flirted with going vegetarian and even vegan in the past, opposed as is she to factory farming and the way cows fart out greenhouse gasses en masse and all that, but in this exact moment she’ll take the meat no questions asked. There’s a cold pit in her belly that doesn’t exactly hurt but never feels good; Tash can’t remember the last time she didn’t feel a little hungry. 

She’s calming down now, which is crazy because Tash is pretty sure she knows where she is and it’s not somewhere she wanted to be. Later she’s going to have a meeting with her self-loathing that’s not going to go well for her, but for the time being at least she can be functional. The state of immediate crisis has passed.

Tash sat up, slow and achy, her body sore in ways that she’d forgotten. She’d slept pressed close to a wall, not far from a window whose blinds were hanging askew. She looked away sharply from that, before she could get any ideas; the last thing she needed was to suddenly be standing out on the sidewalk in her underwear. It had come to her attention that she wasn’t wearing much of anything, just her own boy shorts and a T-shirt that she could have been swaddled in. Upon closer inspection it bore a shitty cartoon of Ricochet and the words SUPERHERO APPRECIATION DAY, which made Tash want to hurl.

The rest of the room wasn’t much better on that front. This was a drag queen’s boudoir smashed together with a nerd convention; tucked among the sequins and stacks of magazines and an actual dress form there were countless action figures, plushies, art prints, and stickers depicting a whole host of costumed creeps that Tash didn’t know. But the ones that she did recognize were there over and over: Ricochet and Sub-Zero and Frostbite herself, rendered in every medium imaginable. It was ghoulish, to be sure, but it also brought Tash’s racing mind to a clunky, graceless stop through the power of sheer disgust.

“Jesus Christ,” she said out loud. “What is wrong with you?”

Which was when Frostbite, as if waiting for her cue, announced herself from the doorway.

“Hey! You’re awake!”

***

Tash flinched when Jessie spoke, which was fair because she had been drinking like a dog the night before and was probably hungover to hell and back, but she also jerked her head hard to stare down into her own blanket-covered lap, as if she was afraid that Jessie might be indecent. Which actually wasn’t an unreasonable concern either, on second glance.

“Whoa there, no worries,” Jessie said, hovering in the doorway of her own bedroom. “I just thought you might want some water and aspirin before breakfast. I didn’t know what you like, so there’s some of everything. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browns, coffee. I even chopped up some fruit. And I could make you some toast or a bagel, if you want.”

Tash was ignoring her, instead looking with suspicion at the glass of water and the pills Jessie had left on the nightstand. 

“What? It’s just knock-off brand painkillers, it’s safe,” Jessie said. “I think I have ibuprofen too if you prefer that, and it’s only a little expired.”

“Why would I trust fucking anything you give me?” Tash asked, rough-voiced. “I take this and then what, you sell me to S.C.R.U. or the next highest bidder?”

“Jesus Christ, you think I work for the government? Seriously?” Jessie shoved down the urge to be annoyed by that. Now that Tash was sobered up and hungover she was evidently skittish all over again, which was an irritating step back but not insurmountable. “Babe, listen, you can take it or leave it. If I wanted to bag you up and raffle you off, I wouldn’t have waited for you to wake up. I’d just chloroform you while you were sleeping, you know? Work smarter, not harder.”

Which Tash looked disgusted by, but she evidently agreed with the logic since she shrugged and downed both aspirins with the entire glass of water anyway.

“Atta girl,” Jessie said. “Bathroom’s over here, if you need it. And your yoga pants are on the vanity, if you want ‘em. No worries if not, though. We encourage nudity here.”

But nudity wasn’t on the docket anymore. Tash returned from the bathroom dressed in last night’s squashed clothes, hiding in the protective hugeness of her sweatshirt as she skulked into the kitchen. Jessie was getting everything plated up at the small, rickety table by then, happy to present the heaps of food she’d made for both of them. Thank god she had bothered to get groceries yesterday; this would have been mortifying if she hadn’t had anything to offer but her freezer burned breakfast burritos. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tash said, looking over the spread. “Did you invite more people over?”

“Nope. I just like to cook, and I haven’t had an excuse to go all out in a while. Grab as much as you want.”

Tash sank into her seat slowly, moving so gingerly you’d think she expected the chair to blow up, then stared at the food like she didn’t remember how to feed herself. 

“Coffee?” Jessie asked brightly. “Orange juice?”

“Orange juice,” Tash mumbled. She blinked hard, keeping her eyes shut too long, then opened them and seemed more calm. “And coffee, black. Did we have sex last night?”

“What? No.” Jessie passed her the juice, which she’d gone to the trouble of squeezing herself because boredom and horniness were a powerful combination. “I mean, almost. You were really going for it. Didn’t quite shake out, though.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tash buried her face in her hands, shaking her head in slow despair.

“We didn’t actually get anywhere,” Jessie said. “If that helps at all. You got a little nervous.”

That was putting it mildly. By the time they had walked back to Jessie’s—not a short walk, mind you, made longer by the two of them getting into a couple fights on the way—Jessie was pretty well sobered up and feeling fine aside from a mild headache. She’d more or less abandoned the idea that anything sexy was going to happen between them; this was going to be a purely professional situation in which two colleagues shared a bed out of deeply unsensual necessity. 

Then they’d hit the apartment and Tash, who’d been drinking like the world was ending and was very much still feeling it, had pounced with an astonishing lack of subtlety or ambiguity. One moment Jessie was fighting for her life trying to fumble her earrings out, the next Tash was kissing her furiously on the mouth. Jessie’s initial reaction to that was, admittedly, horror rather than excitement, because she’d thrown up in the gutter on the way home and god only knew what was happening in her mouth by that point. But on the other hand, Tash had held her hair back for her while she yarfed, which was the sweetest thing anyone who wasn’t Jonas had ever done for her. The feeling of Tash’s hands in her hair had been shockingly intimate, and those same hands cradling her face had her heart hammering.

She mumbled something embarrassing into Tash’s mouth, something like “Aren’t you tired?” but Tash had shoved that question aside rather forcefully with her tongue. Evidently she was as awake as she needed to be, tugging Jessie down into bed. 

That lasted for all of a couple minutes, and that was a generous estimate. The point being that Tash very suddenly went still under Jessie, limp and unresponsive as a dead fish and squeezing her eyes shut tight while her breathing got all jerky.

Jessie had rolled away immediately. “Hey. Hey hey hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m,” Tash said, and then took a long, shaky wet breath that very much indicated that the rest of that sentence ought to be not okay even a little bit jesus christ. What she actually said was, “I’m fine. I just need a second.”

She was curling up towards the wall, holding her own head tightly in her hands. There was not much about this that suggested she was going to be fine in a second, or any time soon.

“It’s okay,” Jessie said quietly. “It’s fine, no rush. Maybe we just call it a night, okay? Do you want some water or anything?”

Tash whimpered. “No. I’m, no, I’m fine. I just think this was a mistake. Sorry. I’m really sorry, this is stupid. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“No,” Jessie said, too quickly, and then backpedaled, not wanting to scare her. “I mean, you shouldn’t do that. My couch is bad, and you said you’re already fucking up your back sleeping in your cousin’s living room, right? You take the bed, you’re a guest. I can sleep in the living room for one night.”

“That’s stupid,” Tash said weakly. Any trace of the confidence she’d rediscovered through the night was gone; she was curled in on herself whimpering and absolutely wretched now. “Just let me go, alright? I’m sorry, I fucked up.”

“Shut the fuck up. Sorry, but Jesus. You’re allowed to change your mind or whatever, okay? I’m not mad about it. Just hunker down and try to get some sleep.” 

Jessie rearranged herself, smoothing out her pajamas and wiggling herself under the comforter. Tash was laying with her face towards the wall, her back to Jessie. Her side was rising and falling in a way that suggested she was breathing hard, trembling silently. Jessie wanted badly to reach out and touch her, give her a totally sexless squeeze of reassurance, but she worried that would make Tash jump out of her skin right now. She wrapped her arms around her own body instead, holding herself back. 

She said, quietly, “I didn’t invite you over because I wanted you to fuck me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“What?” 

“I wasn’t scheming or whatever. I just thought this would be fun. So actually I should be sorry, I guess.”

There was a silence so long that she thought Tash had decided to completely ignore her, or had mercifully fallen asleep. 

Then her voice, quiet and croaky: “Can I ask you something stupid?”

“It’s probably not stupid, but sure.”

“Will you leave that light on?” Tash asked, meaning the small lamp with the sequined lampshade that sat on Jessie’s bedside table. “I can’t sleep when it’s too dark. Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry. I’ve got a little sleep mask anyway, okay? It’s fine.” Jessie pulled on the mask, powder blue silk snug on her face with Princess spelled out in rhinestones. It had been a joke once, a thing that she bought because as a child she’d thought it was the most luxurious thing to have a little mask that you put on just to protect your delicate eyes while you slept. And then it turned out it was actually perfectly comfortable, and now it would let her keep the light on for Tash, which was evidently important even if Tash wasn’t going to tell her why. So it was fine, everything was working out. Like they were meant to be together.

She’d crawled out of bed earlier than she would under any other circumstances, more motivated to be awake than she had been in weeks. Ordinarily she’d beeline to the bathroom, pee, and then fling herself back beneath the covers for another hour or six. Today she was so overjoyed to find that Tash hadn’t sprinted away in the middle of the night that she immediately got to work on providing a stronger incentive to stay.

It was too much, right? All of the food, and and going so far as to leave her water and painkillers. What did Jessie think she was, some kind of 50s housewife? A little domestic debutante? Fat chance. But the whole morning while she’d been bustling around the kitchen she’d been thinking about how glad she was that Tash was sleeping in, getting the rest she so obviously needed. Jessie felt soft! Squishy and soft and it was weird, but she’d moved so far beyond wanting Tash to be her one night stand or even her partner in crime. Jessie wanted to wrap Tash up in a blanket and feed her a home-cooked meal, which was an abstract level of horniness that she hadn’t previously known existed.

Well, one out of two wasn’t bad. Tash was tight-lipped but staying, had popped a few blueberries in her mouth and nodded to herself when it turned they really hadn’t been laced with arsenic. 

“Thanks,” she said. “For all this, and for being cool last night.”

“What, for not committing fucking date rape? Yeah, no problem. Low bar.” Jessie shook herself, startled all over again at just how low her reputation had sunk. She nodded to the food, because she knew she at least had to get some credit for making a damn nice breakfast spread. “Eat up already, will you? You look like a skeleton.”

Which Tash didn’t argue with, possibly because she had no actual rebuttal. She ate with a voracious efficiency, taking some of everything and chewing through it with a stoic focus that was, frankly, a little hot. When she’d finished everything on her plate she loaded up immediately on seconds and got to work eating with the exact same force, pausing only for alternating sips of juice and coffee. Any attempt at smalltalk by Jessie was rebuffed, not harshly but with a determinedly full mouth that prevented any responses more involved than grunts of affirmation or disapproval. 

Near the end of her second serving Tash started slowing down, finally reduced to toying around with her fork on her syrup-smeared plate. She cleared her throat, awkward. “Well, it’s been real. Let’s never do this again.”

“I can give you a ride,” Jessie said immediately. “Maudie and the girls dropped my brother’s van off this morning while we were both asleep. And you said your cousin’s place is practically out in the ‘burbs, right? It’ll be way faster than taking the bus.”

Tash’s left eye was twitching, very slightly. “I told you where my cousin’s house is?”

“Not, like, the address, but you know. Approximate. You said it’s a pain in the ass getting to work, that’s the main thing. Do you seriously not remember?”

That was evidently the wrong thing to say, because it sent Tash’s lip curling up in response. “No, jackass. I’m a fucking alcoholic, okay? I don’t just do a couple drinks and then have a silly night, I binge drink until I black out and try to fuck people I don’t like. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jessie said, but it was one of the less convincing lies she’d tell that morning.

Tash groaned and turned her face downward, avoiding Jessie’s eyes. “No, that was a dick thing to say. It’s not that I don’t—I mean, no. I don’t, okay? I’m not into you like that. Last night was stupid, I shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have done the other time, either. But you’re not… you’re way cooler than I thought you were. I don’t respect the whole costumed domestic terrorist thing, but you’re not, like, you know. Somebody could do worse than you.”

“Stop, I’m blushing.”

“This is so stupid,” Tash said, in such a way that all of her frustration was obviously aimed inwards. “I mean that you’re fine, okay? You’re fine and I don’t hate you and I’m not mad at you because we almost hooked up, I’m mad at me for getting drunk and spiraling when I cannot fucking afford to do that. Okay? It’s not you and I’m sorry for acting like it was.”

“So last night, when you told me that I ruined your life…?”

Tash rolled her eyes, hard, at this interruption of her devastatingly sincere apology. “Yeah, okay, that was also a shithead move. I ruined my own life. Happy?”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true,” Jessie said. Externally, she was casually spearing a strawberry on a fork to give it a nibble, totally at ease. Internally, she was poised on the edge of a tall, tall building getting ready to take a leap. To extend that metaphor, she was hoping to sprout wings on the way down, but there was an admittedly enormous chance that she would simply splatter on the sidewalk or get shot in the head instead. The move she was about to make was risky, and there would be absolutely no going back once she started, and if she was wrong then she was going to look like a huge asshole and Tash was probably never going to speak to her again.

And in the best case scenario, where she was right, she was also going to look like a huge asshole and, come to think of it, Tash might still never want to speak to her ever again. But she had to take the chance. She took a breath, toppled the first domino.

“It’s not really your fault, right? It’s Mothwoman.”

It was instantaneous: Tash, wide-eyed and bloodless, her little hands balled up into tight fists, staring at Jessie like a kicked dog winding up to bite. She hadn’t been at ease before, exactly, but she’d been relaxed enough, probably as calm as she ever got these days. God, it hurt to do that to her. Jessie inhaled through her nose, forcing her expression to stay extremely neutral.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tash demanded. “I don’t care how drunk I got, I know I didn’t tell you anything about the Moth.”

Jessie resisted the urge to roll out that old cliche, pointing out that someone had turned guesswork into certainty by the force of their own reaction. She was, admittedly, trying to break Tash a little bit, but falling back on cliches was a level of pettiness that felt excessive even to her. Restraining herself was a sign of respect for Tash, one villain to another.

Instead she was going to, respectfully, tear Tash’s entire life apart. 

“Listen,” Jessie said, her voice sliding ever so slightly towards the icy tones of Frostbite so as to convey that she was done playing. “I know what people think about me, but I’m not dumb. And I’m kind of obsessed with you, so when you talk I fucking listen. And even when you don’t, I’m paying attention. Alright? And here’s what I’ve got: you’re supposed to be back in Crown City going to grad school, not tending bar in a shithole like Polly’s, especially if you really do want to be done with the whole crime thing. And sidebar about that real quick: there’s no way. You were good. You were brilliant. And you goddamn loved doing it. I know you did, no matter what you say about it now. You don’t just walk away from a career like that unless something catastrophic happens to you.”

“It wasn’t a career,” Tash said. She was rigid now, voice a hoarse whisper. Once again her gaze was directed forcibly down, eyes locked on her own bruised knuckles. “I was running around playing dress-up like an idiot pretending that I was accomplishing something impressive, making any kind of real difference by stealing from people I didn’t like. You don’t know anything about it.”

“Wrong. I know exactly what it’s like. The rush when you realize that you can get away with anything, as long as you’re too cool to fuck with? That feeling when you always knew the world was a little bullshit and then it turns out, yeah, you were right? The walls are all just fucking cardboard and the rules are made of tissue paper and you can knock it all over like that if you want to, as long as you have the right attitude. How do you ever go back to being a normal person after that? You don’t. You can’t, unless you don’t have any other options. And how do you lose all your options?”

It was a good thing that rhetorical questions didn’t need answers, because there certainly wouldn’t be one forthcoming from Tash. She’d turned into a furious statue, shaking ever so slightly as her indignation boiled up inside of her. God, Jessie was a monster. She swallowed down hard on the guilt rising in her gorge, reminding herself that this would be best for both of them. She just needed to be able to make her case first.

“You get made,” she said, to Tash and her rapt imaginary audience. “Somebody figured out who you were under the cute little balaclava, so you had to run. Obviously it wasn’t the CCPD; they couldn’t catch you if their moms’ lives depended on it. Gotta be the Moth, right? She’s fast enough, that’s for damn sure. And if she caught your scent, that explains why you dropped out of school and decided to hide out somewhere like Rustbelt. You needed to be around other rogues, right? Seems counterintuitive, if you’re trying to lay low, but everyone knows that good bad guys don’t snitch. So you get to be safe hiding out with Maud, getting paid under the table and knowing that nobody’s going to call the cops even if they figure out who you are.”

Jessie paused here for dramatic effect, something she had learned with years of experience. People needed a moment to plead dramatically and shit themselves while they tried to convince you that they were wrong and you’d made up the whole thing, as if their overwrought reactions weren’t already confirming exactly what you’d said. Sometimes they’d try for defiant, crying or making a speech before ultimately admitting that you were right and they should do whatever the fuck you wanted.

It should have occurred to Jessie that Tash would be nothing like those goons. 

Sure, she was visibly having a terrible time. But she was also furious, and that was radiating off of her as she dragged her gaze up from the floor and straight to Jessie’s core, which she glared through with withering disdain. “Okay, BBC Sherlock. You got me. What the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

Jessie sipped her coffee to let the silence linger a little longer. Here was the thing: she was nearly half a foot taller than Tash and significantly heavier, and none of that would mean anything if it came to a fight. She’d seen Tash make mincemeat of Voltzz with no skin in the game; imagine what she’d do to Jessie if Jessie became a sufficient enough threat. Kind of hot as a hypothetical, but probably best to avoid making it a reality.

She put on her most inoffensive smile and hoped she wasn’t visibly sweating. “I want to offer you a job.”

“Declined and go fuck yourself,” Tash said immediately. “Thanks for breakfast, have a terrible day.” 

Fuck, she was heading for the door. Jessie rushed after her, heart racing.

“Wait wait wait! Listen to me for three seconds, okay? You need money, right? You’re sleeping on a couch, you’re ruining your back! You’re picking up extra shifts at the worst bar in the world! That fucking sucks, you’re better than that! We both know you’re better than this!”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“So work with me! I can protect you!”

“What?”

Got her.

“Ricochet can’t touch me. How do you think me and Sub-Zero get away with everything? We’re good, but nobody’s that good. If we didn’t have something on her, we’d have gotten thrown in the can by now like every other freak of the week.”

Tash considered that. “Honestly? I heard it was because your brother’s hooking up with her.”

“What? No! Ew! What? Why? Who told you that? I want names, I’m going to ice their tongues out. Jesus. He would never, he respects himself too much to even think about it. God. Never say that to me again. Ugh.” Jessie scrubbed at her eyes, like she could wipe that image clean out of her brain. She knew that there was a fandom for that, of course, but she avoided the corners of the internet where it flourished and blocked it out so thoroughly that it had been practically eradicated from her life. Christ. She shook her head, trying to refocus. “What was I even saying? Look, we have dirt on her. Jonas figured out her secret identity years ago, not because he was fucking her, and we’ve had an arrangement ever since.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jessie flashed her a wide, shit-eating grin, letting the cool facade finally slip a little. “She can’t ever take us in for good, or we’ll tell everyone who she is. She can try to stop us, sure, whatever, fair play; it would look bad if she never went after us at all. It’s like a game, right? Keepaway. She’s allowed to fuck with us, she can try to catch us and take back what we stole, that’s all in good fun. I mean, she hates it, but what’s she gonna do? We could ruin her entire life.”

There was Tash’s eye twitching again. “You have all that sway over her and you bargained with it? You should be having her transfer money straight into your fucking bank account! Why do you bother going through with all of this?”

“Because she’s flat fucking broke, for one. And this is more fun.” Jessie shrugged like it didn’t bother her, but the question didn’t hit quite right. Why did they do it that way? Even if Ric didn’t have a lot of cash herself, N.E.X.T. obviously did. It seemed like something Jonas should have thought of. But she kept up the smile for Tash, easy breezy. Her doubts were for her, not for other people to see. “But the most important thing is that she keeps this city locked down, alright? The director of N.E.X.T. gets really territorial about other heroes coming to Rustbelt, she doesn’t stand for that shit. Ricochet kicked Arrowhead’s ass all the way down Main Street last year when he started snooping around without her permission, it was crazy.”

“Who the fuck is Arrowhead?”

“Jesus Christ, how do you not know any of this? He’s that hotshot archery guy from out in Condor Cove, you must know him. The one with the sidekick who went off the rails and killed like three of their rogues, it was a whole thing.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Tash asked. “That thing you just said about people getting murdered, like it was a completely normal thing to say? That’s why I don’t want anything to do with this anymore. It’s not a fucking game!”

“Well, I’m not playing. I take it dead serious,” Jessie assured her. She’d had her little fangirl moment but she had to calm down, center herself again. Make the case. “But so does Ricochet, and she respects our agreement. She has for years. She’s not going to go back on it now, okay? I’m untouchable, so what do you think happens if you’re part of my crew?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Tash took a deep breath, rocking back on her heels as she weighed her options. “If I say yes, I’m not working for you, okay?”

“Oh, hell no. I’d never ask you to. It’ll be just like me and Sub-Zero, splitting everything 50/50. Partners.”

“And where is Sub-Zero in all of this?”

“Expanding our operation outside of the city. Why do you think I need some fresh blood around the joint?”

Tash squinted at that, like she smelled the bullshit and knew it. But that wasn’t her problem, was it? And she was too smart to ask questions that she didn’t want the answer to. 

“Whatever. I don’t care, as long as he’s not around and you don’t think you’re my boss. Even split from all our jobs, I’m not wearing a costume, and I leave as soon as I have what I need.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I’m in debt. Like, unbelievable amounts of debt. I want to pay all of that off, clean my slate, and then go somewhere the people have never even heard of Night Noir. And then I’m going to disappear forever.”

“Sounds good to me, babe,” said Jessie, who thought that sounded fucking horrible, actually. She had, like, one fourth of a friend and even that friend was already trying to make plans to vanish off the face of the earth and never see her again. But it sounded like Tash was going to need a lot of money, right? That meant that Jessie would have time. All she needed to do was make sure that it was enough time to convince Tash to stay. She had a way of growing on people like mildew; she could make it work. She gave Tash another smile that was wide and benevolent, definitely not the face of a woman who was panicking, and held out her hand. “Shake on it?”

“Pass,” Tash said immediately. “But count me in, or whatever. As long as you can keep me safe, I’m there.”

Jessie said something, some vaguely cool bullshit like “Let’s go down to business” or maybe “Welcome aboard” if she was feeling a little piratical, but ultimately that part didn’t really matter. She was running on autopilot now, unable to even enjoy her success. The important thing was that she was lying through her teeth, and she knew that could only last for so long before she got caught. She was going to have to figure out Ricochet’s secret identity the hard way, and she was going to have to do it fucking fast. 

But how hard could it be, right? Jonas had done it, and Jessie was pretty sure she was at least five times as desperate as Jonas had ever been in his life. That had to count for something.

more of jessie lying wetly

chapter one

chapter two

cool art by @hamandeggbun

and brand new shiny chapter three. on god I am not allowed to post another one until I finish writing chapter ten.

The interior decor of One-Eyed Polly’s had changed precious little since the last time Jessie saw it, although the floors were a little more scratched up and the felt on the pool table had acquired some upsetting new stains. The only thing that had changed was the enormous NO SMOKING sign on the back wall, right where everyone could see it. 

The second she stepped inside of the bar the universe conspired to give her the entrance of a stranger blowing into town in an old Western, with the jukebox pausing between songs and conversation hitting a lull just as she stepped on a creaky floorboard, drawing all eyes to herself. She flashed an ice cold Frostbite smile, tossed her hair, and wished desperately that she’d worn her costume. It would make her look like a total douchebag, sure, but it would also remind everyone she was dangerous.  

Jessie strode back to the bar like it was a catwalk anyway, but the whispers and mutters that followed her were not promising.

“Still owes me twenty dollars.”

“Did I tell you she blocked me?”

“I thought she got arrested.”

“What did Sub-Zero say?”

Okay. Okay. Not awesome, but it was fine. They could say anything they wanted about her, but how many of these washouts and wannabes would actually try anything? None of them. They didn’t know that she was unarmed and floundering without her brother. She hadn’t worn her costume because she didn’t need to; her reputation was still strong enough to protect her. Not to mention she wanted all of these dweebs to see her wearing jeans that cost more than their mortgage payments and choke on the jealousy.

Maudie was behind the bar, grayer and butcher than ever. Her face was lined now, enough that it gave Jessie pause. Was her godmother getting old now? When did that happen?

Not that Maud was letting it soften her up at all. She raised a bushy brow at Jessie by way of greeting and launched right into putting her through the wringer. “Well, well. Look at that. A real-deal supervillain graces us with her presence. Thank you for deigning to descend from the gravy train, your highness.” 

“Aww, Maudie, come on. Don’t be like that, it’s my birthday.”

“As if I don’t know. Did you get your card?”

“Did you send one?”

Maud rolled her eyes, hard. “Of course I sent one. What kind of schmuck do you take me for?”

Of course she wouldn’t know; Jessie hadn’t checked her mailbox in at least a week. 

She realized, with despair, that there were tears crowding up around the edges of her eyes, little pinpricks begging to be let loose. When had she gotten so sappy? She wasn’t even most excited about the crisp fifty dollar bill that Maudie always tucked inside of her cards, although that was a relief. It was mostly that someone had even remembered she existed and wanted to do something nice for her that was really turning her into goo. 

“Well, I appreciate it,” she said, choking down her onslaught of emotions. Maudie would hate her making a scene like that; she never knew what to do when people cried. “But, hey, I’m not here to talk about me. How are you doing? Are you feeling alright?”

“The hell do you mean, do I feel alright?”

“Well, you always said that you’d only make people stop smoking in here over your dead body. And now nobody’s smoking, so I figure you must have gotten real close to having a dead body.”

Maudie snorted. “We had a scare last year. Doctor thought he had something, turned out not to be serious. But you know how the dames are. Next thing I know, nobody’s allowed to smoke in here and I’m getting yelled at if I don’t eat vegetables and go for a fuckin’ walking every morning.”

She shook her head, fondly exasperated. The dames were the two iron-tongued femmes Maudie had been in a relationship with for decades, largely considered to be the real masterminds behind One-Eyed Polly’s. According to Maudie, they only kept her around to look pretty and serve the drinks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jessie demanded. “We could have helped with the bills, or I could have brought over soup. Something.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, kid. Your brother made it pretty clear that you were busy.” And then, before Jessie could apologize or otherwise risk making things sentimental, Maudie cleared her throat sharply. “You want a drink, or what? First round’s free for the birthday girl.”

“Yeah? Let’s do a straight whiskey and a burger,” Jessie said, knowing damn well that she’d be drinking nothing but dirt cheap beer for the rest of the night. “Do the fries still come with that, or is it extra?”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I charge people extra for a side of fries. That shit comes with the burger,” Maud said gravely.

There were a lot of things that could stand to be improved about One-Eyed Polly’s, but the food was not one of them. So what if the fry cook telepathically talked with rats? He could work a grill. The basket that arrived in front of Jessie contained a beautifully constructed medium rare burger packing the exact correct amount of grease, surrounded by steak fries that had been seasoned to absolute perfection. Pardon Jessie while she drooled a little bit. 

“Hey, Maudie,” she said, half a burger later. “You still have Joney’s van?”

Her godmother raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch, which for Maud was an expression of profound skepticism. “I’d love to know how the hell you think I could’ve lost it.”

“No no, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to see if I could grab it from you.”

“Can’t get your car back from Voltzz, huh?”

“Hmm?” Jessie asked, playing dumb.

“Do not try the bimbo act on me, Jessica Jolene. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“God. How did you even hear about that?”

“Are you kidding? I hear about everything in here. We had a bunch of schlubs in here doing shots at noon because they thought Ricochet dragged you off for good.”

“Okay, tacky.” Jessie licked her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling extremely dry despite an abundance of gloss. “Maudie, can I ask you a question? It seems like I’m maybe, um, not very popular around here.”

Maud stared her down with eyes like chisels. “That’s not a question.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. They hate your guts.”

“Maudie!”

Jessie’s complaining was cut short by a sweaty, nervous-looking man appearing from the kitchen and hurrying to Maudie’s side. He shot Jessie a look that could really only be described as distrustful, then leaned in close to deliver his message to Maud. She shrugged him away almost before he finished speaking, peeved by his damp proximity.

“So get her shift covered. Why do you need my permission for that? Call Billy. Or, hell, see if Tash can make it in. She’s always dying for extra shifts. Tell Jordan I’ll come sort her out in a minute and then get your ass back out here to cover the bar. The dishes can wait.”

Maudie sighed and turned back to Jessie as her dishwasher departed, shaking her head. She suddenly looked about a hundred years old. “Kid, I miss the days when the worst I had to deal with was bartenders coming in drunk.”

“What happened?”

“One of my girls, Jordan. She’s got that fucking, what do they call it? Void pox? She kept going see-through when she came in but she swore she’d be fine. Except she’s not fine, she started getting these little cartoon demons popping out of her head. Pretty harmless, only about this big, but if I never have to kill another one with a broom it’ll be too soon. Anyway, I had her sitting down in the back, but now she’s starting to make things levitate and I can’t have that. I need to find her a ride home.”

“Could I come see her?” Jessie asked with, in hindsight, way too much enthusiasm.

Her godmother hit her with a look that was genuinely withering. “You can keep your ass right here and be nice to Nikesh while he tends the bar. And you can leave Jordan alone. It’s a 24-hour bug, she’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“I know that!”

“So drop it, then! For once in your life, don’t get so pushy about this superhero shit.”

Maud ducked back into the kitchen on that deeply unencouraging note, sending poor Nikesh back out to hold down the bar in her stead. He studiously avoided Jessie’s gaze when she asked him how his night was going, spitting out single syllable answers until she gave up and asked for a hard cider, which he provided without once actually turning his face in her direction. Jessie dropped a five in the tip jar anyway, because she believed very firmly that you were supposed to tip generously unless the waiter had purposefully set you on fire and maybe even then. Running through the last of your money in the entire world was no excuse to be a lousy customer.

The problem being, of course, that she had hoped this would be a case of spending money to make money. She’d shell out a little for a night at One-Eyed Polly’s, reestablish herself as a villain of the people, and announce that she was hiring to thunderous applause. Henchpeople out the door, heaps of cash secured, the money that she’d pissed away on bottom shelf booze now a worthwhile investment. 

Unfortunately, all of that had depended on there being someone, anyone, left in town who didn’t hate her guts.

“Hey, Nikesh? Do you like working here?”

“It’s a living,” he said, still looking down. 

“If I offered to pay you, like, five times what you’re making right now, would you work for me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Ten times?” 

He actually looked at her for a fleeting second, his gaze touching off hers for just a moment. Jessie was vomitously aware that there was something that looked a lot like pity in his face. “Look, lady. It’s not about the money. It’s about not wanting to get my ass kicked.”

“Jesus Christ. Am I really that bad for business?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is that why you won’t even look at me?”

“Yeah. You understand. Can’t look like we’re getting friendly.”

“Respect. You gotta look out for number one, Nikesh. I can throw a drink on you, if you want.”

“Yeah? That might be good, actually. We could make people think I said something really nasty to you. That could actually be great for my rep.”

Jessie groaned, resting her face in her hands. This was going to be an absolute non-starter. Polly’s was the biggest rat-hole in town; everyone knew that this was a place where people would turn a blind eye to almost anything. Everyone put aside their beef here, because the place would never function if they didn’t and no one wanted to be the asshole who ruined the only functioning villain bar in town. If a bartender was too scared to even look at her directly, Jessie’s reputation must be worse than dirt.

Why? Because of last night’s embarrassing little tantrum? Couldn’t be it. Nobody complained about the time Voltzz snorted bath salts and went on a rampage, or when Incinerator got drunk and started taking potshots at cop cars. Hell, if anything they’d both gotten more popular after that. Jonas might sneer at the lack of precision and control, but Jessie had tried to tell him a thousand times that people liked to see a supervillain go a little off the rails. It was aspirational, right? It let people imagine what they might do, if they had the power to really cut loose.

Why was she different? Sure, people hated to see a woman having fun, but that couldn’t possibly explain all of it. Maudie could probably explain it, whenever she finished mopping up the poor sap with the void pox. Maudie heard about everything. 

In the meantime, she might as well try to make the most of her evening. If she wasn’t going to be making new friends, she could at least have a little fun. Who cared about her bank account? If she was screwed, she might as well go out with a splash. 

“Nikesh? Open me up a tab. It’s my birthday and I want shots.”

***

Jessie Chilton was not a lightweight. Despite spending most of her early life watching her father get eaten alive by booze she had an exceedingly friendly relationship with alcohol, and could usually hold her drinks pretty well. Jonas had never touched the stuff, erring hard on the side of caution, but Jessie knew that she could stop any time she wanted.

Her miserable 26th birthday was not that time. That night she drank like the world was going to end, because it very possibly was. Her world, at least, and what else was she supposed to worry about? She knew damn well the scope of what she could be held responsible for, and presently it was mostly downing as much tequila as she could.

Which meant she ended up in the bathroom, eventually, because all of that liquid had to go somewhere, and in the time-honored tradition of wasted girls everywhere she got weird about it. While Jessie sat in the cramped and questionably-lit stall she started thinking about how she’d very nearly been born in this very room and what a miserably inauspicious start that was, and how perhaps she should have known that her life was always doomed to go down the toilet despite a decade or so of delusionally believing that she might be meant for something better. She wished that she had some friends to cry to, and briefly regretted the loss of Whirligig. Getting sloppy drunk and crying in club bathrooms together had been about the only thing that friendship was good for, but sometimes that was all she needed it to be. 

In the absence of anywhere else to turn Jessie called the person who had almost always been there for her, until he spectacularly wasn’t.

Hey, Joney. It’s your favorite sister. And I know what you’re thinking: ‘Jessie, you’re my only sister, why are you doing exposition like a lunatic?’ Well, it’s because you haven’t been acting like I’m your favorite sister lately, or like you even know me, so I figured maybe you needed the reminder.

Did you even notice it’s my birthday? You’ve never forgotten it in my entire life. But you know who remembered? Uncle Ray. And Maud. And that’s fucking it. And Ricochet was soooOOOOOOoooo mean to me this morning. Like, you wouldn’t believe. She’s getting way too cocky, if you ask me. You should come back and kick her ass into orbit. Remind her who’s boss around here.

You should come back in general, actually. I miss you. But I’m also mad at you. It’s, like, a real dick move to take off and not even leave me with any money. I mean, I had money. Past-tense. But it’s gone now. I could have, like, I could have definitely spent it better. Smarter? I got these really stupid expensive boots with real crystals on them and then when I tried to return them they said I couldn’t because there was a scuff on the toe, which is like… whatever. I’m wearing them right now even though they’re way too fancy for Polly’s. Might as well get my money’s worth.

But I also just don’t have anything. Like, where’s the bank account? Where is the bank account, Jonas? I earned half that money, so why can’t I… I mean, you literally never told me how to get into it. To my money. Which I guess in hindsight was, like, I should have had a problem with that way sooner, but you made it sound extremely reasonable! And now I’m this close to Uncle Ray throwing me out on my ass, because I couldn’t pay the May rent and I can’t pay the June rent, either, at the rate things are going. I opened a tab at Polly’s and I don’t have enough to pay it, so now Maudie’s going to be mad at me, I think. I don’t know, I’m not even actually sure how a tab works. Isn't that stupid? I'm, like, so mad at myself lately got how much stuff I don't know.

Everybody’s mad at me.

And you won’t even call me back, and I can’t even afford toilet paper, so that’s, like, a lot. And I’m not handling it well. And I’m drank as a skank at Polly’s, in case you couldn’t tell, so go ahead and get your panties twisted up about that. I’m fucking spiraling, buddy. I’m in my fucking up era out here.

So. You should come home.

Or at least tell me where you are or what you’re doing or why you left, okay? Because I hate no knowing that. We’re supposed to tell each other things. And I’m scared about what’s going to happen if you’re gone much longer because, like, everything is going wrong. And I think you might have really left me screwed here, okay? Which is crazy, because it was supposed to be you and me against the world, but I’m not fucking seeing it right now. 

By this point Jessie was crying and snotting pretty hard, absorbed enough in her own agonies that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone in the bathroom until someone rapped lightly on the door of her stall and almost scared her shitless.

“Hey. You okay in there?”

It was not the voice of someone particularly warm and fuzzy or confident about checking in on a stranger, which actually made it a little sweeter that they’d bothered.

“I’m fine,” Jessie lied, wetly. “I’m just, like, I’m on the phone.”

“Yeah, I can hear that.” Whoever they were, they were sorely tempted to leave it at that and go back to minding their own business. Jessie could tell. Outside the stall, a pair of tennis shoes that had been worn damn near to dust rocked back and forth, weighing the options. “I just wanted to say that they’re not worth it. Whoever’s making you feel this bad, you shouldn't waste your time on them.”

“Okay,” Jessie said. And then, into the message she was still leaving for her brother: “I have to go, a nice girl in this bathroom says you’re not worth it. Please call me, love you, bye.”

“Great,” the stranger said dryly. “Crushed it.” Their beaten-in shoes scuffed away, back over to the sinks. Had Jessie missed an entire other person pissing next to her? God, that was embarrassing.

She wadded up some genuinely horrific single ply toilet paper and dabbed at her face, hoping she didn’t look too atrocious. All of her makeup was waterproof, which had to count for something. “Hey, thank you for that. I really needed someone to snap me out of it. I was being so pathetic.”

“Whatever,” said the voice by the sinks. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’ve been there, I get it.”

Jessie’s heart was getting squeezed around like one of those awful tubes full of goo and glitter and little plastic animals, the kind that everyone used to make jerk off motions. Who was this? Would they still be so nice to her if they knew who she was? What were the odds she could salvage a single actual friend out of this wretched garbage fire of a day? It didn’t even have to be a lifelong bestie, just someone she could have a few drinks with. 

“My name is Jessie,” she said hesitantly.

She heard her new friend sigh. “I’m Tash.”

“Do you come here often? I’m not asking that in the pervert way, I’m just curious if you’re, like, a regular.”

“I work here,” Tash said, with as much contempt as anyone had ever had for their workplace.

“Oh. Do you like it?”

“Sucks shit. But, you know. You do what you’ve got to do.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Are you okay in there? I’m gonna get my ass reamed if I let somebody drown in the toilet.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m just, you know.” Which was a fucking nothing explanation, but Jessie’s voice was still damp and wavering enough that it presumably got the point across. “I need a moment to get it together.”

“I hear that,” Tash said. “I usually use the walk-in when I need a second.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not very big, but it’s quiet. And the cold kind of helps pull me together, I guess. Stay focused.” She cleared her throat again. “Sorry to dump that on you.”

“No, that’s okay. It makes sense,” said Jessie, noted cold enjoyer. “Do you keep anything fun in there? Maud’s never let me see it.”

“You know Maud?”

“Yeah, since I was a kid. Isn’t she the best?”

“She’s a real son of a bitch. But she's the only boss I’ve ever believed when she says she gives a shit about me, though.”

“Sounds like Maudie,” Jessie agreed fondly. “Anyway, what’s in the walk-in?”

“Fucking nothing exciting. Burger patties, mostly. I don’t know. Like I said, not a lot of room.”

“Plenty of room for you.”

“Yeah, every time I have a total breakdown at work.”

“Does that happen a lot? No judgment, obviously. Pot .”

“I don’t know.” Tash sighed. “More often than you’d hope. Which is never, obviously. We don’t have to talk about this.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Your favorite color,” Jessie insisted. “I love asking people that. Nobody ever cares after you turn, like, twelve, right? But I care. And it’s a lot more chill than talking about, you know. Our favorite places to completely freak out in a shithole bar.”

“Okay. Sure,” Tash said. Everything about the strain in her voice suggested she was not naturally inclined towards whimsy, but at least she was making the effort to play along. “Will you assume I have clinical depression if I say gray?”

“Yes.”

“Well, joke’s on me, because I love gray and I do have clinical depression. But purple is also good. I like purple.”

“What shade? Eggplant? Periwinkle?”

“Just a nice, medium purple, I guess. Like, the platonic ideal of purple.”

Jessie had no idea what a platonic ideal was or why anyone would ever need to specify that they weren't trying to have sex with a color, but she was sitting on her stupid little toilet nodding like an idiot anyway because it felt so good to be making a connection with someone. “I dig that. Purple is good.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, cerulean for sure. With sparkles, ideally.”

“That’s blue, right?”

“Yeah. My jacket is actually, like, that exact color, I can show you.” Jessie sniffled tremendously, getting shakily to her feet and pleased to discover that she was feeling much more sober than when she’d wandered into the bathroom some time ago. And now look at her! Practically having a whole meet cute. What a turn around on the evening. “Okay, I’m coming out now. Don’t gag if my makeup’s a mess, I’m going to fix it.”

She tossed her hair and stepped out of the stall, at which point several things happened to her in rapid succession.

Tash was standing underneath one of the humming, flickering lights that barely managed to illuminate the dark cave of the ladies’ room. She struck a slim figure, drowning in a huge hoodie with two skinny black-clad legs sticking out like a cartoon character. She was wiping down the sinks but turned as Jessie emerged, the fuzzy light illuminating her from the back like a bargain bin halo.

The first thing Jessie noticed was that Tash was a lot shorter than she had been expecting.

The second was that Tash had beautiful eyes. 

The third was that those beautiful eyes and indeed her entire face were curdling up in horror as recognition set in.

“What the fuck,” she said. “Frostbite?”

The recognition and reaction alone weren’t surprising, given the colossal combined levels of notoriety and bad PR Jessie was currently enjoying. The part that nearly knocked her on her ass was that recognized Tash back.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, overjoyed and utterly failing to read the room. “Night Noir? Holy shit, girlie, I thought you were dead!”

[ram-bles]

Plsplspls daisuke and reader romance hcs and my soul is yours

gn/transmasc whichever you prefer thank you so much

daisuke x reader | headcanons

part 4:

Romance edition

pay up anon 🫴👈 /j no, bc I have notes about this already and I saw you pop up in my notifs.

⚠️: 🔞 gn pronouns and masc pronouns* used, fluff, nothing explicit but there is implied sex (don't worry, it's optional. I put it at the end so you can skip.)

*bonus transmasc!reader category

🌺 Mentioned in a previous post. You fall first, he falls harder. He doesn't even notice until later on when he's doing the most mundane task and he catches himself smiling - "Oh."- while thinking of you. "Shiiiit."

🌺 The D in Daisuke stands for dense. Dense, dense, dense. To be fair, you guys are close and everything you've done together was seen as platonic. Heavy on was.

"Are you really bros if you don't cuddle to sleep?"

🌺 C'mon. He'll treat this like a romance visual novel game and you are the main and only love interest. It makes him less nervous this way.

🌺 Daisuke - for the life of him - could not use endearments. It makes him cringe. Will most likely call you by nickname or dude/bro (gnc).

"Babe... Baby... Honey— PFFT-"

"Daisuke." Last name mouthwashing. Followed by whatever his last name was. You gave him a warning tone.

"I can't help it!" He stifles his laughter but it turns into a fit of giggles.

🌺 Best friends to lovers is a perfect trope with him. I feel like the confession will come in naturally. You become best friends, blur the lines of platonic and romantic without realizing it, and the next thing you know, you're dating.

🌺 Experience wise? He's had a few relationships in highschool. Doesn't even know if he considers it as a relationship if he were honest. More-so flings.

⚠️ Implied sex. Ignore if uncomfortable.

🌺 If I were to lean more on to his mature side, then maybe things got too intimate. No promises of what happens next, but surely, you'd both question it. Don't get me wrong though, definitely an each other's firsts situation still.

Your sports watch vibrates on the table side, its buzz louder against the surface it was on. Groggily, you sit up, stretching and flinching at how sore you were before orienting yourself, unconsciously tugging the blanket closer to you.

The faint sound of the shower beside the shared room reminds you of the events last night and your brain felt like it was about to shortcircuit, thoughts silencing quickly as you hear the bathroom door open, making you snap your head back up and you felt like having another wire shorting in your brain at the sight, but you push it away for now.

"Mornin'!" And he says your name so sweetly, enthusiastically. Your heart ached. "I didn't take too long right? Did you just wake up?"

Your silence scared him, even more so when you hung your head low. He calls your name. "Did you not like last night? Ah, fuck- Is anything painful? I'm sorry. We don't have to do this again. I'm s—"

"Daisuke?"

"Y-Yeah? What's up? Seriously, you're worrying me, dude. Did I hurt you?"

"What are we?"

[ Bonus: Transmasc!Reader ]

🌺 Seeing your binder for the first time?

You two were back at your shared quarters. The day had just ended and you just wanted to change into your sleepwear and crash.

"Dude, that looks uncomfy. You sure it ain't too tight?"

"Nah. I made sure it fit. I have looser ones just incase. Don't worry, Dai." You were about to remove it when you notice him staring. Before this, you've been changing in the bathroom already, and at times he'd just turn away when you tell him to. He only realizes when you haven't moved for awhile and he instantly flinches. "Oh, sorry- turning riiiight now!"

"We're dating already... It's okay."

Plus, totally normal to see dudes topless.

He tilts his head curiously as he watches and it would be a lie if it didn't make you slightly conscious of your appearance, but you trust him. The smitten look he has makes you feel better. His eyes dart down to the small dents on your skin left by the band and his hand twitches.

"Can I massage it?"

"What? My tits?"

He calls out your name in mock frustration before laughing. "Y'know what I mean!"

"Yeah, yeah. Make some space on the bed then."

🌺 Probably would love pressing the marks away. Also, he gets to cling onto you while at it so win-win right?

🌺 Top scars?

"Duuuuuude. That's sick as fuck." His head was hanging by the edge of the bed, watching you change while upside down.

"Hm?"

"The scars. How'd you gettem? Don't look like it's from an accident."

"... Surgery?"

"Oh?" He stays quiet for a moment trying to piece two and two together. You wait for him with an amused expression. "OHHHHHH."

Right, he didn't know.

"Still sick as fuck though."

🌺 feeling dysphoric? he already treats you like a king, but hopefully you won't get too overwhelmed with his advances when he notices you feeling down.

"hey, handsome." "pretty boy!"

🌺 if he didn't know you were trans and you tell him, he'd be confused but in a way that's like, "I still love you, y'know. That ain't changin'!"

[ Updates: ]

🪓 i'm working on another ask at the moment and it involves a pilot intern!reader. they req afab!reader but it's difficult for me to write femmes and i usually go for gn or transmasc readers :(( I hope that's alright. I can try to make a separate post and do femme pronouns. What do you guys think?

it's going to be longer than my usual posts so it may take some time. so yeah! hopefully the anon who req it sees this.

That's all, thank you for reading!

[mrs-kodzuken]

listening to you ⟢ tooru o.

synopsis: being the quiet girl had its perks until you were discovered by the only and only Tooru Oikawa. He's made his advances towards you before, to where you shook him off, but this time you both get close. That's when he discovers your huge, loud, adoring family—a complete opposite from you.

other: high school!oikawa x quiet!fem!reader, reader is Matsukawa's little cousin, family gathering, oikawa falls head over heels, fluff, high school love

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, mentally groaning, preparing yourself because you somehow got the attention of Oikawa yet again. No matter how much effort you tried to blend in, no make up, no differing hairstyles from the other girls, nothing to make you stand out, he always found you.

Before he could reach you, you grabbed your lunch and quickly walked towards the door that led to the staircase of the rooftop.

Students weren’t allowed up there but you were always swift about it, constantly eating lunch up there without anyone knowing. That was the one place you were safe from Oikawa at.

Once you finally settled down on the ground, you were able to enjoy your lunch that your mother always packs you, with a small note of encouragement too. You sighed as the wind blew, wishing Oikawa would just leave you alone.

You had helped him with a homework question once because you had crammed the math equations in your head all summer before school started so you would never fall behind. It was an anxiety thing for you, all your parents could do was encourage you to try your best and say that it would all work out in the end.

However, when you magically solved ‘the hardest question ever’ Oikawa claimed, he tried attaching himself to you since.

Every so often Oikawa would try to ask you out, make little flirty comments, or something of the sort since you apparently ‘saved his life’ with the homework question before it was due. However, it got exhausting trying to avoid this newfound friend, if he’s even that.

You had rejected Oikawa because you knew him, you knew that he was so consumed with volleyball, hence the reason his last girlfriend broke up with him.

Dating Oikawa would not be serious and that went against everything you stood for. You never told him that, you hardly told him anything to be honest. However, that didn’t stop him from constantly pestering you to know more about you.

You groaned when the burning sun got too much for you and made you pack up the empty lunch box and head inside of the building.

You wished you could leave Oikawa out of your head but you simply couldn’t, he never tired—to him, this was like volleyball, you intrigued him and now he won’t stop.

“You know, no students are supposed to be up there, right? I never pegged you to be a bad kid, Y/n-chan.” You didn’t even have to turn around to know who was talking to you. Leave it to Oikawa to know where you were at all of lunch.

And the fact that absolutely no one calls you Y/n-chan either was a dead giveaway—and the fact that he immediately put you on a first name basis.

“Hi, Oikawa.” You curtly said, trying to get around him and head to class, not really wanting to deal with his antics right after lunch.

“Awe, Y/n-chan, spare me a couple more minutes please?” He whined, still following you to your class, which was separate from his too.

“Okay, fine. What?” You had your limits, and Oikawa always tried to push them, it’s been this way for almost an entire month.

“Come with me after school? I have a surprise for you,” He smirked, wanting you to meet his team. You don’t have any extracurricular activities either so it would be perfect.

The bell was about to ring, and for you it made you anxious, you just wanted to be in class and not be late.

“Okay, okay fine. I have to go.” You left him standing in the hallway without any regard to how he was going to be late for class as you rushed into your own.

Oikawa on the other hand didn’t if he was late, you agreed to something he asked for the first time ever. He breesly walked to class, not caring about being late nor the slap he got from Iwaizumi either.

Oikawa knew he wanted to prove to you that he actually likes you, he can always see the skepticism on your face when he asks you out.

Granted, he’s gotten discouraged sometimes and wanted to leave you alone but being your friend was better than nothing to him. And, he has priorities too, he’s not just some aloof guy who had tunnel vision for just volleyball—although he does love it.

After classes were over, Oikawa tried taking your hand in his—to which you in the blink of an eye yanked it away from him—he led you to the gym where he practices. You could hear the volleyballs, the squeaking of shoes, and minimal talking and laughing in the background.

Anxiety spiked in your stomach, “I’m not going in there, you realize that right?” You backed away, a hint of disdain in your voice. After the amount of time he’s been attached to you and didn’t realize that you wouldn’t do that was kind of weird to you.

“What? You don’t want to meet my team?” Oikawa asked, with puppy dog eyes, pleading with his hands together.

“No, Oikawa, I’m not meeting your team—I just, I don’t want to.” You turned away, adjusting your bag and preparing to walk home, not explaining more to him about the why.

You never really gave Oikawa a goodbye when you leave, you realize.

“Wait, Y/n, I won’t make you meet them. Do you have to go, though?” He genuinely asked, devising to ask you to come see something else, wanting more time with you.

“I…No, I don’t have to go, just don’t make me go in there.” You confessed, letting him have more of your time that you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t give him.

“Thank you, follow me, I promise it’s nothing bad.” He half smiled, something genuine instead of the smirks he constantly flashes you.

You reluctantly followed him as he led you around the gym, to the backside of it. It was a surprise when you saw a lot of cherry blossom trees, their petals were everywhere, it looked magical.

“This is where I come to hideout sometimes, I think it’s very calming.” You looked at him in awe, setting your bag to the side once you sat down on the grass. Oikawa knew it was different being with you, you could let Oikawa talk for a while and he would know you were listening because that’s just who you were.

You were different too, you didn’t fawn over him or try to constantly get his attention or make yourself an obstacle in his way when he was in a hurry. Sometimes it was hard to really be himself and keep a facade when he just wanted to be by himself.

He doesn’t get that feeling with you though, that’s why he’s been trying so hard to woo you. He stared at you while you looked around at the trees, probably loving the sight when the wind blew.

It would gently wake up the petals and twirl them around in the air for a small dance before moving them to new spots.

When he settled next to you, being sure not to repeat his mistake from earlier and touch you without your consent, he set his head back onto the tree bark. Being able to talk free of anyone judging him is what he also loved about being with you.

“Yeah, and I take my nephew—his name is Takero—to volleyball classes on Monday’s because that’s when the team takes a break from practice.” Oikawa prattled on, you played with the soft, pink petals that littered the ground underneath the cherry blossom tree.

You never realized that Oikawa actually liked a place like this either. Maybe you put a small stereotype on him when you realized that he was pining for you.

He continued about his parents after finishing telling you about some of his childhood experiences with his older sister, she sounded like a delight.

He left you there to listen to him, which wasn’t a pain as you actually got to hear who the real Oikawa was and that made you smile during some of the stories he told you. Once he was finished opening up, he peered his gaze towards you.

He wanted to know you too, you realized that he created this conversation discussion to also hear about you. That didn’t happen, you both sat in silence that was only awkward on your end.

He watched your face, tracing every bit of it with his eyes, stamping it to his memory.

Oikawa really fancied being here with you, watching your movements of how you apply chapstick, play with the ends of your hair, and other small tid-bits. However, after a few minutes trail by, he realized that neither one of you were speaking and he was just staring at you.

You could see Oikawa getting curious about your reluctance to talk about your family, you genuinely didn’t know where to even start either. You chewed on your lip, which didn’t go unnoticed by him either.

Your family was incredible and they have respected you since the beginning so you never had a reason to be ashamed of them.

Moreso, you were ashamed of the fact that you weren’t like them. You would give anything to not be the oddball of the family, even though they wouldn’t have it any other way.

However, you weren’t about to open up about your deepest insecurities to a third year who didn’t know anything about you. In his mind though, he was curious about your home situation, the thoughts were endless for him.

What if you didn’t get along with your family and he was pushing boundaries he didn’t know were there? Or perhaps you had a single parent, or grandparent, or even an aunt or uncle.

He knew that no matter what it was, he wanted to be respectful to you and your kin. After realizing you preferred the traditional ways of dating, he was piecing together the perfect opportunity to ask your family—or guardian—to date you.

“I want to ask you out the right way Y/n.” Oikawa started, not looking at you anymore but the side of the gym for the fact that he could hear his teammates leaving the gym and realized he skipped an entire practice to be here with you.

“Can I meet your family and ask for permission?” He finished, a caring smile he gave you, only you in that moment. Your heart skipped a beat too, you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to refrain from the blush you could feel coat your cheeks.

You never, ever thought that the Oikawa Tooru would ask you to meet your family in order to ask you out. You figured he would have just gotten bored at that point. You nod, actually allowing it this time. How he figured it out? You have no clue.

You both got up from underneath the cherry blossom tree, you collected some so you could press them later too.

Oikawa made a little stop at the corner store so he could buy flowers for when he asked, it made him nervous when he saw you resisting a giggle as you waited on him.

Seeing you happy like that was something Oikawa never wanted to share with anyone else. He walked a step behind you on the sidewalk to your house because he wanted you to lead the way, obviously not knowing where you lived.

You swiftly pulled out a card from your bag as you both arrived at a pristine white, large gate. You swiped the card through which allowed you to enter, hearing the small creaks from the gate with Oikawa following shortly behind, he was in awe that you lived within an actual gated community.

However, as he followed you, he stared at the sight of quite a large family outside, they were enjoying the weather.

He could tell by the sports that were being played, the smoke from the grill, and small children drawing on the sidewalk.

He smiled at the sight, enjoying the happiness that he got from seeing a family like that. It made him wonder—and get nervous again—about the fact that he was going to actually meet yours within a few short minutes.

Although, imagine Oikawa’s surprise when you turn down that driveway and wave to your little cousins who were chalking very colorful pictures on the sidewalk.

“Wait, Y/n, this is your family?” Oikawa asked, sounding taken aback that this was your family.

You peered behind you as you grabbed the door knob to open the front door, “Yes…?”

His brown eyes stared back in awe, and you half smiled, entering the house. After taking off your shoes, you did your afternoon routine in which he just stood there, waiting for you.

He soaked in all of the pictures on the walls, counters, bookshelves, everything. Seeing pictures of you when you were a kid was something he wanted to so badly coo over but he had to do something before he could.

“Everyone’s outside,” You motioned towards the back, grabbing Oikawas’ attention from the pictures he couldn’t help but to stare at.

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then,” He gathered himself and accidentally tightened his hand on the flowers a bit too tight as he walked with you. When you both stepped outside onto the patio, he got a full view of your family, they were so picture perfect, like that kind family that’s in the movies.

However, he was extra shocked, his jaw slacking basically on the ground when he saw Mattsun there.

“Y/n, is Mattsun a part of your family?” He questioned, pointing at his teammate, knowing it was bad manners but did it anyway. That gathered Mattsukawa’s attention and came closer to talk to his team captain.

“Hey Kawa, didn’t know I’d see you here. You missed practice, Iwaizumi was not happy.” Mattsun smirked, giving you a small side hug, something that you both always gave each other at these family reunions.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa rolled his eyes, “I was busy, why didn’t you say anything about Y/n being a part of your family? You’ve listened to me talk about her for a while!” Oikawa groaned, embarrassed that he was actually whining to his friend who was kin to the girl he likes.

Mattsun chuckled, “I didn’t think it was important, and she would’ve told you if she wanted you to know, isn’t that right?” He looked down at you, making you shimmy out of the side hug.

“Go play ball, I got to find my dad,” You motioned for Mattsun to leave and urged Oikawa to come with you, you swallowed harshly, the excitement that Oikawa was doing this for you never going away.

“There’s my little girl!” Your dad exclaims as you walked towards him, he had on an apron with ‘best cook’ written on it, it was his favorite to use at these reunions. That was mostly to get at his brother—your uncle, Mattsun’s dad.

“Hi dad, I brought someone who wants to meet you.” You smiled, making way for Oikawa. You hoped he was being serious when he said he would do this the traditional way.

“Hi sir, I’m here because I like your daughter and wanted to know if I had your permission to take her on a date?” He swiftly said, handing your father the flowers, glad that the only sign of nervousness was his sweaty palms that he wiped on his school uniform pants.

“Ahh, my wife will love these, thank you. You’re the one who's been bugging my little girl haven't you? Go ahead, it’s okay.” Your dad chuckled, ruffling your hair, he loved to see that his kid—not accepting that you’re almost an adult within a few years—was happy.

“Thank you, sir.” Oikawa smiled brightly, a twinkle in his eyes, and that’s when you saw the little rosiness on his cheeks, he fancied you so much, you realized.

Oikawa then spent the next fifteen minutes speaking with your family, getting to know them, especially your mom—not Mattsun though.

After that, he had asked your mom where you went, “Oh, Y/n’s probably in her room, go see if she’s okay for me.” Your mom winked at him as he waved and went inside.

Once Oikawa finally figured out which room was yours, he gently knocked and went in when a small ‘come in’ was heard.

“Hi Y/n,” He smiled softly, enjoying to see this side of you, hoping that since he’s done this the traditional way, you’d finally take him more seriously. He watched your form put your book down, your window was open, you liked listening to your family, but enjoyed also being by yourself.

To his surprise, you gave him a wide smile, “Hi Tooru,” You said, effectively making his heart skip a beat in response.

Oikawa knew that you were worth the wait to figure out.

a/n: soft oikawa pining for reader jus does smth for me, i hope you like it!! <33 & requests are open!