#you know these two would become crack shots easily | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 6 months ago

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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

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

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

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

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

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

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

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

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

Allison:

bitch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah… that you knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

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

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither.”

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

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

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

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

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

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

(But you aren’t.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck had just happened?

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

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

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

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

Your savior complex strikes again!

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

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

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

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

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

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

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

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

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

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

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

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

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

You could die at peace.

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

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

“Now why would you think that?”

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

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

“You don’t have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I beg to differ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I give you some space?”

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

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

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

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

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

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

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

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

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful.”

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

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

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

“Get your hands off her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

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

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

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

“I don’t have a phone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

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

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

“Right here? On the counter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“L-logan–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who had given him a damn script for this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

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

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fuckyeahisawthat · 2 years ago

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Up until the almost-end-of-the-world, the way Aziraphale and Crowley maintained their relationship was through a collection of well-established and repeated patterns (dances, you might say). These little rituals were what they used to communicate affection, intimacy and trust when they couldn’t say the things they wanted to say out loud. I like spending time with you. You make me happy, and I like making you happy. We’re in this together. I’ll always be there for you, even when your own side is not.

In season 1, as the stress of the impending apocalypse puts more and more pressure on their relationship, we see their patterns start to break down, and it’s very distressing for them. They’ve been communicating like this for so long that they don’t know what to do when one of them doesn’t follow the dance steps.

When we first see them in season 2, they seem in some ways to be closer than ever. They touch each other more easily, Aziraphale in particular. Crowley is comfortable enough in the bookshop that he has a Spot for putting his sunglasses when he takes them off by the door. They’re more open about acknowledging how much time they spend together and how many things in their lives are shared.

And I think, also, we expect them to be happy. They won, didn’t they? So it takes a while for the cracks to start to show.

It wasn’t until this post pointed out that the whole season, we never see them sit down and share a meal together in the present day (no, Crowley doesn’t eat; yes, it still counts) that it started coming together for me. The closer you look, the more you realize the old patterns they’re used to relying on are broken.

Three times, we see them sit down to their usual table for two (at the coffee shop, the bar, and the French restaurant) and then almost immediately get up again. This post also points out that we don’t see present-day Aziraphale eat anything on screen, other than one of the little candies in the Bentley. This in the same season we learn that Crowley is the one who introduced him to food! It’s one of their oldest rituals!

Even one of their most visually recognizable patterns starts to go wonky this season. In season 1, when the blocking allows it, Crowley’s always on Aziraphale’s left. When they’re standing or walking side by side, and most of the time when they’re sitting side by side together (there are some exceptions due to camera angles)…Crowley’s always on Aziraphale’s left (screen right if they’re facing us, screen left if we’re behind them). It’s one of the clues about the body swap that is easy to see when you know what to look for—in Berkeley Square they are each initially sitting on the “wrong” side of the bench. It’s so reliable that Aziraphale hears a little miracle bling in the sushi restaurant in s1 ep1 and turns to his left—because that’s where Crowley would appear—only to be startled by Gabriel on his right.

Go look at the scene where we find out Gabriel and Beez are a couple. You know the one.

And of course, many people have noted that in the end credits, we’d expect their positions on screen to be switched. They’re on the wrong sides. And it’s such a long shot that I think it has to be intentional.

Some people have speculated that this means they swapped bodies again. I don’t really buy that. Rather I think it is supposed to indicate what becomes extremely clear on a second viewing, that things are Off and Wrong. They are not okay.

And the more you watch them you see that Aziraphale’s excitement during his little adventures is manic and brittle, and that he misses having a place and a purpose and a mission to do good. And Crowley is depressed, unhealthily codependent, even more hypervigilant and cagey and angry than he was before. They both have layers and layers of trauma, and no way to talk about it. They have the time and freedom now to talk about what they want to be to each other, now that they don’t have to hide and encode and maintain plausible deniability. But they have no way to talk about that either, because that’s never been an option before. They don’t know how, and they are both so, so afraid.

And in the fights they have in episode 1 and episode 6, you realize they haven’t resolved anything from season 1. They’re having the same fight they had at the bandstand. Crowley wants to run, keep the two of them safe and damn the rest, and Aziraphale wants to stay and help, believing he can make a difference even in an imperfect system, and neither of them really understands the other’s position. It’s the same damn fight. They haven’t been able to move past this impasse, and it’s the exact thing that breaks them in the end.

And it’s just. Fuck. It’s such a human thing to have happened to them. To make it through the fire (metaphorical and literal) and then have everything go to shit afterward because of unaddressed traumas and insecurities and things left unsaid until they fester.

I know this is not at all how I expected the season to go, and I think it took a little while for me to parse what was going with their relationship, because we are predisposed to want them to be happy and to want things to be easy for them now. But it makes so much sense that this is where they ended up at this point in the story.

I know they’ll make it back to each other. They both love each other too much to give up. They’ll fight their way back together, and I know they’ll figure it out in the end.

But goddamn.

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley

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w2soneshots · 2 months ago

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Birthday boy -W2S

words: 0.8k+

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, cream pie, alcohol consumption.

summary: you and the sidemen film the pub golf in Benidorm video, when the clock strikes twelve and it’s officially Harry’s birthday you decide he deserves a special present once you return to your hotel room.

notes: long time no fic!🙈 You can see the request here. I hope you’re all well and you enjoy this spicy one shot in honour of yesterday being our man’s birthday, love ya!!!💘

Liked by ksi, sidemen and 934,237 others

y/username: I wanted to wish you the very best but you already have me... so happy birthday my love!!😉💞 @wroetoshaw

-comments-

behzingagram: done him dirty there mate

calfreezy: I'm actually cracking up at these pics😂

y/nfanpage21: why on earth is he sleeping in a sand box?

-> y/username: 🤷‍♀️

user63298712: this is the kind of relationship I want

All seven of the sidemen, me and a few of the camera crew sat at a table in the last and final pub as we wrapped up the Benidorm pub golf video. My head was softly leaning on my boyfriend's shoulder when Ethan spoke. "Wait! Is it Harold's birthday now?" He asked.

Harry smiled shyly. "Ha, yeah it is," he replied. "Ohhhahhh!" Ethan rose promptly from his seat. A bright smile spread across my face as we all began singing happy birthday. Harry was clearly uncomfortable but he took the slight embarrassment like a champ as all of his friends drunkenly cheered.

"I'm old, I'm old man, I'm old," Harry repeated as JJ fist bumped him. "Join the club mate!" JJ laughed as he sat back down. We finished the last part of the video and then all made our way out of the loud pub.

"Happy Birthday," I whispered as me and Harry slowly walked behind the rest of the group, my hand gripping his bicep for stability. He smiled down at me. "You know what I'd really like for my present..." he wiggled his eyebrows. "Mmm, we'll see," I replied with a wink.

When we all arrived back at our hotel everyone went up to bed. Harry was on me as soon as I closed the hotel room door. I giggled softly as he trailed kisses over my shoulder from behind, his arms snaking around my torso.

I turned around in his arms and lifted his head up so that his lips could meet mine. The kiss was slow but hot. Throughout the night we'd both been teasing each other. I'd sat on his lap when there wasn't enough seats, which would've been fine if I wasn't purposely shuffling around. He'd repeatedly squeezed my thigh under the table and would slowly edge it up until I'd have to move it off of me before anyone clocked. So we were both already extremely horney.

I wrapped my arms around his neck as his hands hoisted me up using the backs of my thighs, I followed by encasing his hips with my legs. He moved us over to the king sized bed, lowering us both down in the centre of the fluffy sheets.

We took a moment to take in each other's features, it was like the world around us stopped for a moment as we both anticipated what was about to happen. Then, as if a switch had flipped, we both jumped into action.

Within seconds I'd kicked my heels off, he'd done the same with his trainers and we were both topless. I was becoming impatient as he struggled with his pants. "Haz..." I trailed off. "I know, I've got you baby, gimme two seconds," he muttered, voice horse. The room was dark though I could easily make out that he'd moved up onto his knees so that he could properly remove his pants.

When I felt his fingers unbuttoning my jeans a soft sigh left my lips. I lifted my hips off of the soft mattress so he could pull the denim off, along with my underwear.

Once his body finally pressed against mine our lips immediately attached. He was holding himself up using his forearms as one of my hands slowly rand down his stomach.

Harry groaned softly into my mouth as I wrapped my hand around his aching and painfully hard cock. "Fuck, need you so bad love," he muttered. "I'm right here," I whispered before lining him up at my entrance.

He pushed into me with such force a sharp gasp escaped from my lungs. "Jeez, Haz- ohh..." I moaned as pleasure flooded my body. My hands gripped his shoulders tightly as I attempted to ground myself.

The bang of the headboard hitting the wall continuously, our bodies connecting and the little "ah!" that escaped my mouth every time Harry thrusted into me was the only sounds filling the hotel room, along with Harry's soft grunts.

When his hand reached down to rub my clit I entered a different dimension. "Yes! Oh my- don't stop," I moaned, body on fire. His head moved to press gentle kisses down my jaw. "So good for me. Love you so much- 'm close baby," he rambled into my neck.

I chanted his name as I came. My vision turned white as I arched my back into him. "That's it, my girl- hmf..." he thrusted his hips deep into me as also came.

His weight pressed onto me as we caught our breaths. Harry lifted his head so he could see my face. "Best birthday present ever," he whispered with a cheeky smirk before pressing a gentle and soft kiss to my plump lips.

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unconventional-lawnchair · 6 months ago

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We'll heal together: Chapter Two

I'll Look After You The Fray

Harry Potter x Reader (Platonic) / Alastor Moody x Reader (Platonic) / Peter Pettigrew x Reader (Platonic) / Sirius Black x Reader (Ambiguous-Past)

Masterlist

Summary: {Y/N} {L/N} makes her first appearance, as dreams haunt her day-to-day life. Harry finds out more about her, after a run in with Draco.

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, grief, sad Harry times, wizard slurs, discussion of death and betrayal, reader in pain, mild descriptions of panic, friendship with peter (I am so sorry) (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 4349

“Get up! To your feet!” Alastor Moody’s voice boomed through the empty clearing behind the Potter’s manor. It was cold, the sun had yet to rise and the bellowing voice could be heard echoing off the trees that encased them.

“Get up, a death eater won't let you take your beauty rest!” Moody barked and sent another spell beside your feet to make you flinch.

You were shaky, weary to gather yourself off the slightly moist morning grass. You were lucky he had allowed you to change into proper dueling gear, Mad-Eye had woken you up mere moments ago and dragged you down the stairs for a surprise training session. You were upset, at first, of course you were, who in their right mind wakes up at 3am to drag their apprentice down the steps to TRAIN? You knew he had been at work for the ministry for the last week, your training with him becoming scarce, as he picked up on a lead of one of the Death Eater's new targets. You wanted to be mad, the first time you saw him in days and he was forcing you awake and into the bathroom to get ready for a rather brutal duel. You really wanted to be mad.

That was, until you heard what Mad-eye had gone through. He was a tough nut to crack, and when he loved, he loved hard. So when Albus mentioned in passing about the scene he walked in on, the very family he was sent to protect. Parents, both muggleborns who were outspoken about Voldemort and the death eaters, having been found in their bed without ever reaching their wands, you understood what this was about.

You could play along with this for now, knowing the comfort it would bring him far outweighed your cranky demeanor. He never said it, but you knew how terribly each failed job affected him. He was Alastor Moody for Merlin’s sake! He was known for his skill, his witt, his power. A fiercely loyal Hufflepuff, with the attitude to match it. His reputation was his downfall, however. Such high expectations to meet, and when he failed on something as simple as just missing an attack by mere hours, there was nothing he could do. Nothing outside of making sure his successor KNEW better, could DO better and would BE better. This was war, and with a mentor who is more than anything you could ever wish for, you were grateful. Even more so that he cared enough to do this.

You drew your wand, hands tightening around the base as you raised yourself to your feet, thumb rubbing the blood from your cut lip before sending a few sharp spells his way, each he deflected.

“Sloppy! Run it again!” He demanded as you began to breathe heavier. You rolled your shoulders and snapped your wrist to send a few more spells his way. Tightening his lips into a firm frown he sent them back ten fold. You were just barely able to pull up your shield. Your limbs were aching, your throat was dry, you were sweating and the feeling of the burning sun rising meant you had been at this for hours now. “Moody, I’m exhausted.” You tried to placate him.

“Quicker! Your movement is off. You'll get your whole group killed!” He spat and sent a few more spells towards you that you more easily flicked away. Seems he wouldn't be listening to reason. “Lock your wrist! Loosen your hand!”

“That doesn't even make sense! Do you want me to drop my wand?” You teased lightheartedly, smirking as he leaned forward on the base of the tree behind him. You quickly shot a spell to his feet. “Scourgify!”

Before he could even scold you for your aim he was startled by the spell. Looking down as bubbles and suds slowly gathered and grew at his ankles. “What's this? Going to defeat your enemy with some bubbles? Come off it!” He tutted before his frown grew deeper. “This isn't a joke, Vixen!” He bellowed, not noticing the gleam in your eyes.

You smirked before you sent a sharp and quick, “Depulso!” To send him slipping back and landing on his bum. Much like a muggle cartoon character. Quickly accio’ing his wand and holding it up in victory.

Distant cheers sent a shiver down your spine, eyes shooting over to the hill. There they were, Peter and Lily, gathered at the top, coming down with what seemed to be a thermal cup and some wrapped up pastries. You hadn't even noticed your stomach aching.

You looked at Mad-Eye with a hopeful smile, he gave you a firm studying look before he huffed and waved his hand to dismiss you, still gathering himself. You lit up and tossed him his wand before meeting your two friends half way.

“Here, some tea.” Lily mused and handed you the cup. You opened it and took a few quick sips, made just how you like it. Lily knew you better than anyone. “Lily, my love, the light of my life, tell me again why you are with Potter of all the people in the world?”

Lily gave a faux sigh of disappointment, “Well, my dear friend, it seems that I have a type I like to keep around.” She tutted and you tilted your head much like a crup. “Absolute lunatics. Where were you off to so early in the morning? Was it just to train?” She tried to reprimand you and you put your hands up in defense.

“I am a victim here! Do not scold me!” You chirped and Lily threw her head back in a laugh as Alastor walked passed you three and muttered praise you were just unable to understand.

“Was it fruitful at least?” Peter spoke up, you looked up to him and nodded with a brighter smile. “Now, I know why I am up, and I know that Lily likely was up before me-”

“Untrue!” She chimed in, making you giggle.

“But why are you up, Peter? You need your rest, you have a mission today.” You scolded and Peter gave a small smile and shrugged. “You were up.” He muttered as if that was the only reason he would ever need to do something. Peter had always been like this, just to appease people. But since school, you and him have been rather close. You two had shared plenty of solo missions and adventures, he always had your back and you his. Moody didn't particularly like him, thought he was a coward, so when you two were chosen as partners, he nearly blew his top off. You didn't feel the need to explain yourself, Peter would always have your trust. Something your childhood best friend, James Potter, constantly complained about, how you always took his side between the two. To be fair, Peter may have stolen your trust, but Potter did plan to marry your best friend. So you two could call it even.

You closed your eyes softly and enjoyed the warmth that filled you with their voices. The idle chatter slowly faded out, leaving just a small bit of ringing to your ears.

The ringing grew louder and louder, before it was overwhelming.

Suddenly, your eyes snapped open as the alarm clock on your bedside table went off. You groan out loud, covering your face with both hands before you slam down on the mute button. “Bloody hell! I was so close to figuring out what that damn dream is about!” You laid in the bed for a moment before flailing your arms about in pure frustration. “Ugh!!”

Jumping out of bed and meandering over to look at the full length mirror, gazing at yourself before sighing. Those dreams.. they were becoming too vivid. You swore you could feel the cut on your lip and the pain of your battered limps. You needed to know what sparked this creative spunk in your mind. Creating a loose narrative with so much intensity and detail. A wizarding world? Spells and charms? Even full fledged characters? You had never been an overly obsessive person, but those dreams, they felt warm. They felt safe in a way you had never felt before. They felt like a piece of you, almost like home, and even if your current friends said it was likely nothing, you still felt so much longing for the faces you saw when you closed your eyes. Maybe that's why you couldn't ignore it.

You shook the thoughts away and hummed, grabbing yourself a change of clothes and hurrying off to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Once you had finished getting ready, you put on a simple outfit, just a tank top and some jeans. Walking down the stairs from your suite above the shop, you slipped on a deep rich brown apron, tying it around your hips before glancing at a dark window and gathering your hair up into a newsboy cap. It was the easiest way to keep the cleaners and special concoctions made to keep each flower bundle alive and well, out of your hair, and in turn your pillows. Sending your reflection a wink and a pair of finger guns you wolf whistled as if you were checking yourself out.

You wandered behind the register and began to set up for the day. Your ears began to burn at the sound of scratching at the back door. You lit up, turning sharply on your heels and walking over. You opened it and a silver tabby dashed inside. You cooed and gushed at her, closing the door behind you as you followed the feline.

She jumped onto the cash register and then to the counter before looking back at you.

“Awe, Glasses! I missed you, where have you been?” You continue to coo, as you go back to work. Glasses had made it clear early on she did not want to be pet, and she seemed well groomed and maintained, so you assumed she belonged to one of the neighbors. She was an absolute darling. She had these strange square-like markings around her eyes that made them look like she was wearing spectacles, and thus, with no other leads to go on, her name was Glasses.

“You know, I’ve had more dreams,” You spoke up to the cat, waving your hand in a dismissive way, despite how they were eating you alive from the inside out. “About this fantastical world, and people I don't even know. I mean, truly, who named their child Moody? Alastor Moody?”

You continued your rant about the dreams you had. You loved your friends, the ones you met after moving to this small town, but it seemed the stories you told them began to go on deaf ears. You couldn't exactly blame them, who wanted to listen to such a random bunch of tales? The same ones you told them about a million times before? So having Glasses, who only seemed to sit around and enjoy the fauna, unable to stop your rambles, was therapeutic to rant to. “And, in my dream, I saw the boy again. Peter? Long blonde hair and chubby cheeks, when he walked down the hill I swear I could feel his hugs. You know that kind of person? Just an absolute power house of comfort.” You clicked your tongue before you lit up. Speaking of comfort. “Oh! Oh! And Lily, such pretty eyes, she made me tea. I could practically taste it! I feel like I’m going mad, Glasses! I care so much for them, these imaginary figures.”

Glasses laid across the counter in a relaxed way, eyes trained on you as you spoke. Like a little person.

“And I feel so empty when I wake up. Like something that once filled my chest is torn from me. I learned so much of that world, sometimes I want to stay asleep for days just to see them. To talk to them. As if I know them deep down.” You sighed and shook your head. “I truly am going mad. They feel like family. At least, that's what I think it would feel like.”

A loud meow sounded out in the room as the bell above the shop door chimed, you snapped your head up from where you were pruning a few flowers, smiling sweetly at one of the many regulars.

So the work day begins.

~~ Harry’s POV ~~

Harry had been on edge for days now. Since the fat lady was attacked, the conversation between Dumbledore and Snape, and then the Quidditch game, he was tired of waiting around like a sitting duck.

He didn’t want to feel so reliant on anyone, even the Headmaster, waiting around for the next bit of news he would give him so graciously. So, after a failed escape attempt and being nabbed by the twins, he found himself in Hogsmeade under the protection of his invisibility cloak, with the Marauders map tucked under his arm.

“A bit grand for you, don't you think, Weasel-Bee?” Draco’s voice filled the clearing just a few meters away from the Shrieking Shack. Harry gave a low groan at the sound, turning down a small path he was lingering by, around the exit of Hogsmeade.

“Oh, not very friendly I see.” His voice continued and Harry swore his eyes had never rolled harder in his head. Even his voice brought hives up his neck, he wondered when Malfoy would be hitting puberty, considering his voice still resembled that of a shrill child.

“I think it's time we teach them to respect their superiors!” Malfoy sneered, a smirk taking his lips before Hermione scoffed.

As he got closer, he could make out the figures standing by the fence. As he suspected, Malfoy, his goons, Ron and Hermione.

“I truly hope you don't mean yourself!” She clapped back, stepping in front of Ron as Malfoy ground his teeth and leaned forward. “How DARE you speak to me? You filthy little Mudblood-”

Harry had long since heard enough, gathering some snow in his hands before he chucked it at the spoiled boy, knocking him right on his head. Huh.. maybe he should have been a chaser, he thought cheekily. Much more luck with his muggle given gift of ‘mess around and find out.’

Then absolute panic ensued. Harry made a point to make an absolute fool of the boys, before they were sent running with the sound of Hermione’s laughter and Ron’s confused sounds and squeaks following behind them.

Ron’s face twisted to pure panic as one of his hat’s tassels were toyed with, making Hermione laugh harder. Her lips curled downwards as she attempted to hide her smile as her hair was lifted up above her head. “Harry!” She whined in delight and Harry laughed. Absolutely thrilled he managed to make her smile after such a horrible insult.

He threw the cloak off and Ron groaned. “Bloody hell Harry! That was not funny!” He tried to scold but it came out as more of a whine. He pouted as the other two continued to giggle and shake their heads. There was so much aching joy in his chest he couldn't help it. This is what this year should have been about.

~~~

As they walked through the alleys of Hogsmeade, Harry found himself zoning out. Not that he didn't enjoy his friends' presence, far from it actually, it brought him enough peace and calm to be able to fully remove himself into his thoughts. He knew they would still be there when he came back to. He felt safety with the two, safety he had not felt since the night he heard Sirius Black made it into Hogwarts. He was knocked out of his thoughts as he heard that name but aloud, Sirius Black. His head snapped over to look at the Hogshead’s door, seeing two people he did not recognize mention the escaped convict. “Why would Sirius Black be here?” He heard the owner nagging, before the Minister leaned into her ear, and not at all softly spoke his name to her. “Harry Potter.”

“Harry potter?” She gasped and the minister shushed her.

This was his chance! His chance to finally be ahead of it all, to know even a small bit of what Dumbledore knew, what everyone but him seemed to know.

Hermione frowned as she watched the interaction. Seeing the lady lead Hagrid, McGonagall, and the minister into the pub. “Harry don't you dare-”

“A bit late, aren't ya?” Ron spoke up and Hermione looked between them to see Harry had already disappeared, met with Ron’s smirking face instead. She gave Ron a frown and he shrugged.

“And WHY didn't you stop him?” Hermione scoffed and Ron simply looked over and watched his footprints lead into the Hogshead. “Was I meant to?”

Hermione groaned. “Harry!”

But her words fell on deaf ears.

Harry shoved himself into the pub and up after the four who made it upstairs. Sneaking into the room right behind Madam Rosmerta, finding himself a corner to lurk in as they spoke to one another. His breathing was heavy but concealed by the space he made between himself and them assisted by the cloth blocking his lips.

“Now!” Rosmerta groaned and turned to the other three in the room. “Tell me what this is all about.” She huffed and walked to the center, looking down at McGonagall as she sat and fixed her robes.

“Well,” The professor spoke up and Harry almost held his breath as if he could hear her better. “You remember, years ago, when Harry Potter’s parents realized they were marked for death and they went into hiding?” She declared and crossed her legs, gesturing for Rosmerta to sit with her, the girl shook her head, too wound up. The professor nodded and continued. “The only two who knew about their whereabouts, {Y/N} {L/N} and Sirius Black acting as their secret keepers.”

Rosmerta nodded and narrowed her eyes slightly at her when she continued. “After {Y/N} {L/N}’s death, when You-Know-Who found them, we could only assume one person had done it. Sirius Black had sold out Lily and James.” She declared this new revelation.

Harry’s eyes widened and his breath hitched in his throat. What? His parents trusted him? Sirius Black? And there was that named again, {Y/N} {L/N}. Those two names, his parents trusted them, deeply, and Lupin spoke so highly of her. What had happened? He narrowed his eyes as if seeing them better would allow him to understand what they were saying.

Rosmerta tutted, rolling her tongue in disgust. “Weren’t Sirius and that girl engaged? If he was the rat that had been betraying them, how would {L/N} have not known?”

“It was mere days after! All three of their deaths,” The professor announced. “Not even a week after they both became their secret keepers, {Y/N} was found dead by Dumbledore, Sirius almost lost it. Her and Mary's hideout had also been completely ransacked, that's where they found Mary MacDonald, you know.” She wagged her finger. “Unfortunately, {Y/N} never shared who her secret keeper was, and they never revealed themselves, so we could only assume-”

“Sirius Black sold out his Fiance!?” Rosmerta declared in a horrified gasp.

“Ex-Fiance, but yes, that is the running theory.” McGonagall spoke in a low and patient tone. Almost as if she didn't quite believe herself. “They broke the engagement off a year before everything happened, just a few months after Harry was born.”

“So, a scorned lover?” Rosmerta tried to pry and the professor held her hand up and shook her head.

“Could we please get back to the point at hand?” The minister nagged from where he stood by the fireplace, done with what seemed to be schoolgirl gossip. “Not only did Sirius Black lead him to the Potters’ that night, but he also killed Peter Pettigrew!” She proclaimed and threw his hands in the air.

“He killed Peter Pettigrew?” Rosmerta gasped and McGonagall raised her hands before she let them clap down on her lap. “Yes! The little lump of a boy! Always trailing after James and the others!”

“Well, what happened?” Rosmerta pushed as the Minister shook his head and walked over to grab a drink from across the room, mere inches away from Harry as he began to hyperventilate.

“Well that night, Peter Pettigrew? He would have gone to warn the Potters! If he didn't run into Sirius Black.” She waved her hand in exacerbation.

“Black was vicious, he didn't just kill Peter, he destroyed him.” The minister dramatized. “All that was left… was his finger!” He mused and walked back to the group of people gathered by the couch.

“And Black, he may not have lifted his wand to the Potters but he’s the reason that they are dead.” The professor chimed in and Rosmerta gave a scandalized sound.

“And what's worse!”

“It gets worse?”

“Sirius Black was, and still remains to this day, Harry Potter’s Godfather!” She stated, making Rosmerta gasp.

“No.”

Harry saw the vision around his eyes grow blurry, his breath growing more erratic as he stepped back. Sharply turning to leave, before Hagrid stood up and walked to the door. He cursed internally, Merlin Hagrid! You bloody mess! MOVE!

He stumbled back and slipped down to the floor. Hugging his knees as he tried to settle himself before anyone noticed.

“That is why the dementors are everywhere. I do find it unfortunate, and I am deeply sorry for their transgressions in Hogsmeade itself. You know, however, just how important it is to keep Harry Potter safe.” The Minister spoke and Harry buried his face in his knees. He felt every single word like it was a knife to his chest. His father has trusted him, that man that had betrayed so many people who could have been his family, his own! To know now that other people were still suffering, not just because of Black, but to protect him? Guilt filled his chest and leaked out with the tears that tried to soak his cheeks.

“That being said, I believe there are other matters to speak to.” The Minister mused and nodded to Minerva who stood. “Just a moment, Minister. I know you came to speak on the complaints with the residents, but I have something to speak with you about. It's rather important, and it just can't wait.”

“Very well, McGonagall.” The Minister mused and turned to face her, hands on his hips. “But do make it quick.”

“I will, Rosmerta? Hagrid? A moment please?” She mused and the other two nodded. Rosmerta shared a look with the professor before leaving, shuffling past Hagrid who squeezed his way to the door.

“I’ll be waitin’ for ya’ by the door Professor.” Hagrid declared with a bright smile and she returned it.

“I will be down soon, Professor.” She returned and Hagrid lit up, stumbling over his words in a fluster and hurrying out the door. Walking away before he quickly hurried back with a spill of apologies and actually closed the door this time.

Minerva shared a look with the minister who stifled a chuckle. “Now, what is it, McGonagall?”

“Well, as you know, I have been checking on our… Vixen.” McGonagall mused and put her hands to her hip with a click of her tongue. The Minister’s eyebrows raised before he suddenly remembered, not everything about the story they had told was entirely true.

“Right, right, our Vixen. Now, how is the old girl doing?”

“She’s remembering things. She remembers Peter, Lily. Merlin, she remembers Moody!” She waved her hands and the Minister nodded thoughtfully.

“Ah, I see..” He mumbled. “That puts us in quite the predicament.”

Harry felt his ears burn, focusing on their voices to keep himself sane and silent in the room. Trying not to choke out his sobs as he shook his head.

“Truly. She thinks them to be dreams right now, but who's to say it will be kept that way?” Minerva sighed. “It's only a matter of time before she remembers it all.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I need your permission, but I would like to ask Dumbledore to undo the Obliviate spell on her.”

“Hm..” He mumbled and narrowed his eyes at the fire and there was a moment of silence before he spoke up. “A horrible time, truly.”

“Why is that, minister?”

“Then, it wouldn't just be Harry in danger, would it be?” He tutted and Minerva paused before she slowly nodded. “And who's to say she wouldn't try to stake her claim over Harry?” he mused and Minvera gave a long sigh.

“Is she much worse than that horrid house he stays at now?” She tried to argue and the minister shook his head.

“I haven't a clue about his home life.” He lied. “But, she was presumed dead. She is no longer his Godmother, she has none of those rights. Especially if she returns,”

Harry’s eyes widened and he covered his mouth. Godmother? He had a Godmother out there too? And she was Obliviated? He didn't want to hear another word. He was confused, scared, he wanted to get away. To wallow in his own emotions in peace. To release the lump in his throat that was threatening to asphyxiate him.

He stood to his feet and rushed out of the building, shoving past patrons who couldn't see him. Right past Hermione and Ron. He needed to get away.

Eventually he made it to a clearing and doubled over, holding his sides as he leaned on his knees and let out a wail. It was, not as he suspected, silent and painful to his lungs and throat. He lost his breath but no real sound left him. A noise that resembled more Scrabbers than a human, he squealed. Then, as his soft sobs took over, he heard footsteps behind him.

And there they were, Ron and Hermione, just like they always were.

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miwiheroes · 11 days ago

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Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 19: Colourgate is Undoubtedly Real . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

I think we don't often see 'gates' as real proof because they are based on pure speculation and some little pieces of evidence originally, but this theory (aka the Blue meets Yellow in the West theory) is literally true. Like without a doubt in my mind, this theory is completely canon, and it was the writers' intention to make it canon from when they coined that phrase. Either that, or they decided to latch onto a fan theory for some reason which I highly doubt.

I am only going to look at colourgate stuff from S3 onwards, because this is when the theory was written. I don't think they've had this particular theory planned from S1, and this can be seen in how little blue or yellow Mike and Will wear or are associated with (but you never know). Season 4 is obviously the richest of all the seasons for this theory, because it is literally where the theory gets canonised.

I don't think people understand that Byler becoming endgame in season 5 isn't the only thing that can prove this theory correct. I think that in season 4, this theory became canon for so so many reasons, although there were hints of it in S3 (because that is when it started).

And this obviously proves that Byler is endgame (duh) because why would they spend this much effort on foreshadowing and placing clues in for a couple that isn't going to end up together??

Starting from the beginning , from the ROOTS:

So it all really started with the Russian code that Robin cracks in S3, and we find out that this means when the two hands meet at the 9 on the clock. The full code is:

“The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to china sounds nice if you tread lightly.”

To me, the fact that the writers stated this is a code has to mean that it is also a code and a little hint for the viewers as to what will happen next in season 4. To me, I believe this code is literally true and the writers fully intended to foreshadow S4 plot points with this.

"The week is long." -- This means spring break. All the events that happen in S4 happen over the course of Spring Break, and it seems long because of all the things that happen.

"The silver cat feeds" -- This means Vecna. Vecna is 'feeding' off of people's trauma in S4 which gives him the energy to create 4 gates. And this occurs exactly when:

"when blue meets yellow in the West." -- This means when Mike meets up with Will in California. Blue has been associated with Mike and Yellow has been associated with Will in S4 mostly but blue was already Mike's colour anyway, before S4. Also, California is literally the westest of west coasts.

"A trip to China sounds nice if you treat lightly." -- This means a trip to the Upside Down. The teens in S4 went into the upside down and it was established by them that they needed to not step on the vines because it's a hive mind and would alert Vecna.

SOOOOOO Yeah this literally perfectly foreshadows the events of S4, but there are still people out there that believe that blue and yellow do not mean Mike and Will and could actually mean El and Mike (a reach but i have to acknowledge it).

But, in Season 4, I think that they easily canonise the phrase "blue meets yellow" with this simple shot.

Not only are the lights perfectly placed above their respective heads, but El is in the middle of the two, and this cannot be a coincidence. The lights are extremely colourful and this type of coloured lighting is also often edited in post, meaning the editors and the directors and set designers would have all had to agree on the colours of the lights and had it be an important thing. If anyone calls this a coincidence or not related to the S3 code, I am simply baffled.

It is also confirmed that when they hired this roller rink for the show, they actually built in NEW LIGHTS for the scene, meaning they specifically placed blue and yellow lights around the rink for this specific stuff.

When the camera pans down, the lights literally go:

all yellow leading up to Mike and all blue leading up to Will -> a singular yellow one over Will and a singular blue over Mike.

This was done in order to emphasise which colours are theirs specifically, because the camera stopped on the right ones.

To be honest, this ALONE would have made the theory true. But there's still so so much more proof anyway...

Obviously, there are the outfits.

I could talk about a lot of different outfits, but I think the most relevant ones to note are the ones from S3 and S4, because they're the ones most likely associated with the theory.

The clearest ones to me are these two outfit combos that COMPLEMENT each other. The complementary outfit pairings are enough by themselves, but the fact they are complementary to blue and yellow prove this theory pertains to Mike and Will. The reason why costume designers put couples in matching costumes is so that the audience subconsciously starts viewing them as a pair that makes sense together. That not only complement each other's styles, but complement each other as a whole.

Other outfits with these colours come from S3 and (i know I said I wouldn't talk about this but) S2, where they may have gotten some idea.

Although, it is interesting that here, Mike and Will are wearing their opposite colours in S3. This is the season where they have the most disconnect and have their fun (ahhh) breakup arc, although the writers could have simply revised the colour coding for S4.

Now let's talk about Lighting:

In this youtube video by the Duffers, they explicitly state that thought goes into the lighting in the show. This should really go without saying, though. Thought should get put into lighting in ANY form of professional filmmaking in order to imply different meanings to a scene. It completely transforms any scene.

Blue and yellow lighting is used in Byler scenes to further emphasise the canon-ness of the code from S3.

These lights have been purposefully built into this set, and were not there in the rink before the set designers had their way with it. Also these lights can be seen many times during the Rink o Mania scene, from different angles. Not only that but their faces are illuminated in blue and yellow lighting (each half of their faces) See below:

And then there is THIS SHOT. (below) I already love love love this shot so much it gives me butterflies ahhh -- not only because it's so intimate but because it is so beautifully colour matched. The directors and editors made sure that Mike and Will's outfits and the lighting of the scenery around them literally matched. Just to create this beautiful image oh my lawd....

Is that still not enough proof for you yet? Well there's MORE!

Their bedrooms are blue and yellow:

Their Netflix icons??? From S3: (and the fact that this is where the theory was conceptualised, meaning they were really trying to show you that it was hinting at something here)

If this has no connection to the code in season 3, these colour associations are still very very much proof. Associating two colours with two characters very heavily implies that they have a connection that will pan out tbh.

A possible argument is that this may not relate to the code -- maybe the writers just forgot they did that and this is all a coincidence and has no relation to Byler.

Well, this is all so relevant in my opinion, thanks to Finn letting us allllll know that he very much remembers this part of the code specifically (he was asked about the whole code and got like, loads of other questions wrong).

I get so confused when I see people saying that this is a fucking REACH and that we shouldn't use it as evidence. Like,,,, this is probably one of the most comprehensive sets of evidence ever. The only think holding it back is the fact that people just refuse to see these as anything but mere coincidences??? That's insane of you if you think that tbh.

So what does this all mean for Byler Endgame?: This amount of thought and care simply does not go into foreshadowing a couple like this who do not then go onto become endgame. I can't imagine doing all this effort then letting Mike stay with the person who he has not been colour matched with in a literal CODE spanning two seasons. Season 4 definitely canonised this theory, and I think that's why in Season 5, Mike and Will do not wear as much blue or yellow. Season 4 was the thing being foreshadowed in Season 3, not the whole end of the show. The reason I think this code implies byler endgame is simply because this much effort does not get put in for any of the canon couples either like???

#byler #byler nation #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame #stranger things #byler evidence #byler proof #miwiheroes daily byler

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clu-ven · 9 months ago

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The Bad Batch discovering you stayed loyal to Empire HCs

2.7k words !

The jungle is coloured in hues of silver, the overhead canopy filtering in just enough moonlight to see. Despite hearing the Marauder flying above, he can’t see the ship yet and thus, the chase is still on.

Branches crack under his heavy boots. Vines sway as he sprints past them. He can feel his lungs burn but he ignores it, urging his body onwards.

He knows you're closing in. Well, he doesn’t know you are… whenever he manages to glance behind as he runs, all the clone sees is the new assassin sent by the Empire gaining on him.

He follows the instructions that are hurriedly given through his comm. “Just another few metres and there’s a clearing, we’ll get you there!” his brother’s voice assures him. It doesn’t seem like a difficult task but as he stumbles out onto the clearing and realises it’s a cliff edge, things become interesting.

You know better than to run straight out after him and instead opt to stay close to the tree line. As the Marauder hovers closer to him, a sigh escapes your lips.

Maybe you won’t be able to capture him this time but as he looks back at you, you decide to take off your helmet and show him exactly who this new assassin is...

HUNTER

Hunter thought the Empire couldn’t hurt him anymore. But here you are. He presumed he lost you a long time ago but now you’re standing in front of him, a slight scowl darkening your face as you stand your ground.

For a moment, Hunter forgets that he’s just a few feet away from escaping this close encounter. All of his thoughts are consumed by you. How are you still alive? And why are you working for the Empire?!

He says your name in a mere whisper, the engines of the ship behind him easily drowning out his words. But you don’t need to hear his words to know how Hunter feels.

There is a look of misery and regret in Hunter’s eyes, a sad acceptance of things that could have gone a different way.

You know this is your chance. He’s completely vulnerable, shock distracting him from his hypervigilant senses. If you wanted to take the shot, this was your chance… but you don’t. Instead you simply stare, a feeling you thought you long buried rising within you.

If this happened when the Batch first strayed from the Empire, before they truly knew the cruel dictatorship they were up against, Hunter would have offered you his hand and tried his best to convince you to come with them.

But now? This far into the tyranny of the Empire? It’s a painful realisation but Hunter knows you’ve already chosen a side. He’s already been through the turmoil of this with Crosshair, he can’t go through that again just for you to reject his help.

Hunter knows that leaving the Empire has to be a decision you make. Not him.

And so Hunter makes his escape, grabbing onto the rope Wrecker has thrown down for him. He knows this won’t be the last time you two meet, and he knows you’re letting him go on purpose.

Hunter knows you too well and he knows that you could have fought harder if you wanted to.

Slowly watching as you turn back and retreat into the darkness of the jungle, Hunter sighs, hoping that maybe the you he knows and lov-… *ahem*, the you he knows is still in there somewhere, deep deep down.

WRECKER

Wrecker smiles when he spots you but that quickly turns to shock and sadness. Looking back at the others on the ship, Wrecker gives them a confused look that reads ‘are you seeing what I’m seeing?!’. Wrecker is every emotion.

After all this time apart, you’re right in front of him and yet you’re not. Wrecker’s smile slowly dims, his initial joy slowly fading as he comes to the realisation that it was you chasing him through the jungle so ferociously.

Wrecker’s face grows sullen. How has it come to this? He doesn’t understand but he knows this isn’t you. It can’t be! You must’ve gone through the same treatment as Crosshair or maybe they have something they’re using against you.

He refuses to believe you’re doing this because you want to and so against his better judgement, Wrecker ignores the shouts of his brothers to retreat and heads straight for you.

With renewed determination, Wrecker manages to dodge a few of your attacks. He tries to disarm you without actually hurting you.

He can’t just leave you here, not when you’re like this and in the Empire’s grasp. Wrecker would never forgive himself if he leaves without you.

Despite having trained with you in the past, this is a completely different experience. This isn’t sparring. This is a fight. You slash your blade through the air each time he nears you, Wrecker moving as swiftly as he can. You’re like a wild animal being cornered, your eyes darting around as you try to maintain the upper hand.

The Marauder lowers to the ground as Hunter and Crosshair jump out, ready to help their brother (and to also make sure Wrecker doesn’t get himself killed).

With their help, Wrecker manages to disarm you... and he may have accidentally knocked you unconscious too. He swears he didn’t mean to put you in a headlock that tight! But honestly, it’s probably a happy accident that’ll make this a lot easier.

Even though the others are dubious about having you on the ship, Wrecker is adamant that they have to help you and make you see what the Empire truly is. You would have done the same for any of them and so it’s only right that they help you now.

With AZI scanning you for any serious injuries (or microchips), Wrecker sits beside you and patiently waits for you to awake, his head hanging low as he tries to come to terms with this new revelation.

ECHO

Seeing you again is like defeating impossible odds and it makes Echo come to a sudden realisation. The moment is an unexpected one, yet somehow deeply familiar.

Echo wonders if this is how Rex felt when he realised Echo was still alive and on Skako Minor.

He wants to reach out to you, to offer you his hand... but he doesn’t. Instead, Echo hesitates. The powerful urge to act on his impulse lingers for a moment before rational thinking catches up to his heart and he stops himself.

He can’t help it as his concern grows for you. The unfortunate thing is, Echo knows that you might not even want his help. Maybe it’s too late and Echo wouldn’t be able to sway you from your stance in all of this.

Echo is still plagued by how he was forced to help the Separatist forces during the war and so much of the concern he feels for you stems from his dreary past.

Slowly taking a few steps in your direction, Echo approaches you with caution. He’s careful to maintain a constant vigilance over your hands and movements, being aware of how quickly this could go wrong. He tries to ask why you’re with the Empire, if you’re aware of what they’re doing to the clones.

Echo knows that you care about the clones, or that at least you did at some point. Even if your beliefs have changed, he’s confident you would never stand for what the Empire is doing to his brothers. If he can just get you to hear him out, then he’s certain you can both get to some sort of an understanding.

The last thing Echo wants to do is argue, especially with how high tensions are. Echo knows you. Of course he does. You two have been through so much. And so he knows that all he needs to do is fill you in on the mistreatment of the clones and you’ll turn your back on the Empire… right?

Despite the fact that you were just chasing him, Echo doesn't want this to be a “you vs him” sort of thing. If you listen to him and open your eyes to what the Empire truly is, then Echo can assure you that with some time, you can be brought into the fold of the rebellion. This isn’t the end and he assures you that any trust that may have faltered can be restored.

Of course Echo wants you to join them immediately, hence why he initially went to offer you his hand. But for that to actually happen, he needs to see some sort of cooperation from you, whether that be a plea for help, you lowering your weapons to the ground or simply engaging in conversation when he informs you about the clones.

If you choose to go with them, Echo would call for some back up from the ship, reassuring you as Hunter and Wrecker join him. It’s only a precaution in case some kind of sleeper agent training activates. It’s going to take a while for them to trust you again so be prepared for a lot of “precautions”.

But if you choose to stay with the Empire? Well, at least Echo knows he tried.

TECH

Tech should have seen this coming. The Empire’s latest play of deploying assassins to hunt them down has resulted in an essential need for stealth.

Not only is that one of your strong suits but your great track record and prior relationship with the Batch makes you the perfect candidate to locate and eliminate them. In hindsight, Tech feels as though you were the obvious choice.

Tech contemplates holding his ground against you but with the Marauder so close, he realises that retreating is the most logical option. He is mindful of his movements, slowly taking steps backwards as to not startle you or trigger you into action.

After hearing about how the Empire’s harsh ways of conditioning people, Tech is aware that whatever they may have subjected you to may have drastically changed you. The likelihood that you might not be the you Tech once knew is unfortunately high.

Tech's mindset is one of caution and pragmatism, balancing the risks and benefits of each option. So while he would ideally want you to lay down your weapons and come with them peacefully, he needs to think about his brother’s and Omega’s safety; something that could be jeopardised further if you joined them.

Not only would you joining them cause potential problems for them, but Tech is conscious of how that would endanger you too.

What if you’re chipped with a tracker? Would the Empire be able to track you down easily, and thus them too? He refuses to make such an impulsive decision and ask you to come with them.

In an ideal world, this would never happen. You would never be with the Empire. But here you are, and this is something Tech isn’t going to dismiss simply because he thought you were a close ally back in the day.

Once Tech is sure he’s close enough to the ship, he swiftly boards the platform. You watch the ship slowly rise higher and higher, the look on your face one that Tech is unable to read.

Before he loses sight of you, Tech gives you a simple nod. It’s not a nod of respect - how can it be when you’re doing the Empire’s dirty work?! - but it is one of recognition. Recognition of what was once between you both as well as the familiarity of an old pawn of the Republic seeing a new pawn of the Empire.

He needs to think, to analyse this new development. Tech remains calm as the Marauder soars away from you and through hyperspace. The others all speak over each other at this new development but Tech is quiet.

Right now, his main concern is to come up with potential ways of meeting you again in hopefully less hostile circumstances and to find out what exactly is going on.

CROSSHAIR

Crosshair wishes this was a surprise to him. But honestly? You and him were always close, having a deeper understanding of each other than most. And so if the Empire was able to keep him for so long then he unfortunately sees how they’ve been able to keep their grasp on you too.

He takes a moment to analyse your stillness. You’re simply standing there, watching; as if you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

Despite the scowl on your face, Crosshair acknowledges that you haven’t moved for your blaster yet. Perhaps you’re conflicted?

You took off your helmet for a reason. You wanted him to know that it’s you. For Crosshair, that’s enough to deduce that maybe you’re doubting the Empire and the mission they’ve given you.

If there’s anyone who can sympathise with your predicament, it’s Crosshair. And while he doesn’t know all the facts or why you’re here, he knows first hand how the Empire has basically drilled it into people’s heads that they’re the good guys and so he can’t blame you for carrying those beliefs.

Crosshair has heard this plea before. He’s heard it countless times but that was when his brothers were the ones trying to convince him to abandon the Empire. But now he’s on the opposite side and trying to persuade you to leave the Empire.

He opens his hands, almost as if surrendering but in reality he just wants to show you he’s not reaching for a weapon either. All he wants to do is talk and to make sure you’re aware that just because you’re on opposite sides doesn’t mean you’re necessarily enemies.

Unfortunately this is the part that Crosshair is bad at. Talking. Reasoning. Not being sarcastic or saying a snide comment. He isn’t as compassionate as Hunter, nor can he find the right words like Echo usually can in situations like this.

“I thought you were too smart to fall for the Empire’s lies,” Crosshair can practically hear Omega sigh in the Marauder at his choice of words but it’s how he’s always talked to you. Neither of you have ever minced your words before. Clearing his throat, he tries again, keeping his words genuine and making sure you know he wants to help.

Even if you’re receptive to his truce, Crosshair is hesitant to bring you with them. Not because you may be conditioned to bend to the Empire’s every whim but because he fears what they may do to you if they realise you've went AWOL. Crosshair knows exactly what it’s like to get on the bad side of the Empire and it’s something he would never wish on you.

Whatever your decision is, Crosshair respects it. He won’t pester you to change your mind.

Crosshair still believes in you and whatever it is you decide to do, he’ll trust. Whether you’re on opposite sides of the galaxy, a war, or a game of Dejarik, Crosshair will always have trust in you.

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purpleangiie · 7 months ago

Text

So, I was thinking about Dick Grayson, specifically Dick Grayson's head... when he was 7 he climbed up the stairs in the circus tend to get to the trapeze but slipped and fell down [Nightwing #114] A very funny way to get your first concussion, right? Of course, many more followed over the years (that's what happens when you become Robin!) Then, in his early 20s he was shot in the head — not as fun as a concussion. Now, that alone would be enough to ban him from any dangerous sport or activity for the rest of his life, but of course, Dick Grayson is Dick Grayson, who also happens to be Nightwing. So he kept doing his usual stuff, leaping from high buildings, doing acrobatics, punching — and getting punched — every damn night... all with just his domino mask covering his face (I mean, he got a damn head injury, you would think he would be wearing some kind of head protections, right? Wrong, because that would at least partially cover his amazing curls, and to Dick Grayson that would be equal to commit war crimes, so it's out of question) And of course he keeps getting hit in the head and getting concussions. Which leads us to our scenario:

It's a usual night out patrolling, and Dick and Tim are fighting some crooks. Nothing too big, until one of them hits Dick in the head (for the nth time!) It's a good one, but not hard enough to knock out a Batkid. Except, Dick Grayson's head is slightly more fragile than his brothers’, and the punch hits the point where he was previously shot. He gasps, and everything goes black for a moment. Dick Grayson falls, head spinning violently, his vision blurring as colors and sounds fade together. He hears Tim's distant voice calling him, to which he promptly replies with an unsteady "I'm fine", except of course he's not fine. He holds himself against the wall, his face crunched in a pained grimace, trying to stand up because Tim needs him and no way he gets knocked out so easily. But Tim shouts back, punching another guy in the face, "Stay there! Don't move!" followed by some swearing because dammit, Dick!

When the bad guys are fixed, Tim rushes to Dick, who is still miraculously awake.

"Jeez, you're bleeding."

"Am I? I didn’t realize it."

"Yeah..." Tim holds two fingers up. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Dick smirks. "I'd say three, but there’s four of you now, so maybe a couple more?"

There's a moment of silence. Tim sighs. He opens the comms.

"Red Robin here, I'm taking Nightwing back in. He's injured. It'd only be dangerous for him to keep patrolling."

Bruce's steady voice croaks in their ears. "Copy, Red Robin. What happened?"

And Dick, leaning against his brother as they reach the batmobile, darts a pleading look at him. It's almost working, until Tim speaks again over the comms: "He got hit in the head."

And all the Bats know what that means. A chorus of sighs raises:

"Again?!"

"You never learn, hm?"

"Is he unconscious? Do you need backup?"

"You're incorrigible!"

"Please, just take my helmet next time. I'd paint it blue if you want, but take it! — I have an entire stock at home, anyway."

And Dick, stumbling with his eyes half-closed and one of the worst migraine of his life, just smiles sheepishly. "Sorry!" he manages to crack over the comms as Tim rolls his eyes next to him.

#Dick Grayson has so little regard for his own head I swear #He slept for 24 hours straight as soon as he got home #Tim was labeled as traitor for the following two weeks #“Aww Little Wing would you really paint your helmet blue for me?”#“If that's the price to pay to save your fucking life!”#But seriously get this man a helmet #It's incredibly dangerous for him to get hit in the head after that head injury an no one seems to care enough #Also no way Jason and Dick didn't have at least one convo about helmets and their pros and cons #batfamily #batfam #batfamily headcanons #dick grayson #Nightwing #dc comics #angiie rambles

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trixter-god · 1 month ago

Text

Classical Conditioning

Paring: Bruce Wayne x Logan Howllet

Summery: Logan and Bruce play a game of cat and mouse or is Bat and Wolverine?

Warning/tags: smut, 18+, one shot, mlm, gay, old man yaoi, cursing/profanity, jealousy, crack ship, self indulgent, oral (male receiving), I gave Bruce normal friends

Chapters: 1/1 (completed)

Words: 4572

An: Merry Christmas and happy holidays you filthy animals. Everyone thank MCR for keeping me up long to finish this lmao.

How did he even end up in this situation? That question had become a staple in Logan's everyday life as of late. It certainly didn’t help that he somehow found a home in the worst city on the east coast. Gotham city for all its mysteries and ever rising crime rates was at its core just some shitty new jersey city. Yet only this one kept Logan coming back like he was out of cigar’s needing a nicotine fix. He’d normally blame his old age for making him circle back to old haunts wondering if anything he remembered stayed the same but he’d also be stupid to admit he was sticking around for merely nostalgic reasons. He could still hear Scott’s laugh ringing in his ears thinking about the call he made what felt like forever ago telling Scott he was staying in this hellhole for a bit longer than originally planned only to find increasingly dumber excuses to not head back upstate. No he was here because he somehow found someone who understood him before they even said two words to each other. Someone that he could relate to without having to hide the darker parts of himself. A fact that still made Logan uncomfortable if he thought too hard about it but luckily his thoughts don’t normally linger. Plus he hasn’t made a run for it yet so he assumed this was going well. Logan would never say it out loud because it would make him sound like one of Rouge’s shitty romance novels but he was stuck in Gotham because of a man. A paranoid, stubborn, hypocritical, annoyingly charming, and very pretty man.

Which is why Logan was now sitting at the bar of some overpacked, overpriced club he swore he wasn’t gonna be at. With a dark whisky in one hand and his other digging into the meat of his thigh so as not to leave dents in the dark wood in front of him. The deep crease in his brow and the almost permanent frown on his lips gave out the obvious signs he didn’t want to be here. Though that didn’t stop the occasional drunk girl who was dared by her equally drunk friends to talk to him. Thankfully they were easily shooed away with a raised eyebrow or a firm no to their advances. Not like he wouldn’t be interested if it was any other night he just had a very specific itch he needed to scratch that only could only be done by the only other person in this room who probably had every exit mapped out in his head just in case. He was just about to ask for a new drink when that fucking addictive smell hits him again. Leather, citrus, pine, something else that Logan didn’t know but made the crease in his brow deepen. Sharp brown eyes cut through the crowd of drunks to the vip lounge where sat the reason why Logan was sitting in a hard ass barstool in increasingly uncomfortable jeans.

Bruce Wayne.

Orphan, playboy, millionaire, pain in his ass, and dressed like the fucking Holster store mannequin he was. Sleeves rolled to the elbow accentuating his arms in that dark blue practically see through button down which was unbutton to an outrageous degree. Bruce’s synthetic second skin worked overtime to cover up the miles of scarred and torn flesh that only Logan had memorized like the back of his own hands. Giving anyone with a pair of eyes the view of his tone physique. All tucked into those fucking pants.

Where the fuck did those even come from? Logan wasn’t one for keeping close attention to someone’s fashion choices but he would have definitely remembered tearing those in two. black slacks made from some expensive fabric just tight enough to accentuate what Bruce woke up at unholy hours of the morning to train for. If the place wasn't packed in like sardines Logan would have dragged Gotham’s sworn protector by his perfectly disheveled hair back home to that obnoxiously big bed of his. Finally get to sink his canines into that teasing smell that has been following him the whole night. Just a hint of that disgusting concoction of scents it was over. Logan was hot wired to it like the good hunting dog he was and he wasn’t leaving without his prey. Yet why did it feel like he was the one being hunted?

Bruce was barely listening to whatever the story was being told to the table. He’s been barely participating since that pissed off Canadian took a seat at the bar. Giving a nod or a laugh when it was appropriate but studying the way Logan’s shoulders would tighten when the air vent perfectly positioned above his head would turn on in ten minute cycles knowing with that enhanced sense of smell that Lo possesses could pick him out even in a room full of sweat and alcohol. Bruce normally hated the feeling of being quietly tracked but it was different when he was asking for it. That rush of adrenaline he’d been normally numb too thanks to his nightly escapades now crawled over his skin. The bat did have a reputation of killing the mood. He just wasn't aware how much it had bleed into his personal life. That was probably why Bruce has gotten increasingly attracted to danger over the years and what's more dangerous than willingly being stalked by an apex predator.

It was a simple case of classical conditioning, something that Bruce found increasingly more entertaining even if it was an accident. Who would have known Logan's mutant genes made him more susceptible to being easily persuaded by just a bit of cologne. Now Bruce knows he isn’t absolutely innocent that his instinctually inclined friend seemed to want to jump his bones the moment he got even a single inkling that Bruce was gonna touch that bottle that sat in the back of his bathroom cabinet let alone wear it out anywhere. Sure it was “brucie’s” signature scent and maybe it's the only strong cologne he wears in general but he did have no intention of turning Logan into a Pavlo’s dog experiment. Happy accidents and all that.

A hard glare was shot his way after only five minutes of Logan pretending he wasn’t sitting roughly 13.65 feet away. Not that Bruce cared all that much, Logan can stew at the bar for as long as he wants. He doesn't assume that that will be much longer, coinciding Logan's right hand having been firmly drugged into the thigh of his well-worn jeans for an hour now. Not to mention that prominent vein just peeking out of the collar of his flannel. Wonder how long it would take before Bruce finally got to see it pop.

Now Bruce did ask if he wanted to come out with him tonight. Maybe finally meet the few people he considers his normal friends but no. Logan said he was quite content staying home watching tv and loosely keeping an eye on the kids while Batman was off duty for the evening. Which Bruce was fine with even if he did intentionally rummage in the “what happens in boring school stays in boarding school” section of his closet. Squeezing his now built frame into pants that used to be baggy on him. Getting an ego boost that he could in fact still fit in them yet increasingly more humbled as he struggled to button them for longer than he’d say aloud.

Bruce’s calculated thoughts were broken up by a soft hand against his chest bringing him back to the party he was supposed to be participating in. The semimonthly gathering of his old college friends. Michael, Ben, both his college roommate at Gotham Academy for the five months of pre-med he took before realizing there was no fun in being his father. Michael’s wife Michelle who hasn’t looked up from her phone since they arrived, and Nicole, an old fling of his, highly intelligent woman, sat pressed against his side batting her heavy lidded eyes at him innocently as if her stiletto nails hadn't been not so subtly tracing any portion of his exposed skin all night. He gave a smile that wasn’t meant for her catching the sudden hard scrape of a bar stool from the other side of the room.

Logan can’t tell what’s pissing him off more, the shitty DJ that doesn’t believe in too much base, the cheap ass whiskey he was forcing down that was more bite than burn or the way those famous steel blue eyes catch his glare just long enough to tell him what he already knows. He’s being played like a goddamn fiddle. Actually it was probably that pretty little blonde who’d been hanging off HIS billion dollar baby the whole night. Sitting so close she was practically in Bruce’s lap.

The blonde makes a bold move which makes the glass in Logan’s hand threaten to crack under his grip. Her hand slipped down the front of that deep navy button up, ghosting over the very open front of Bruce’s shirt to get a feel of what Logan’s knows first hand is well trained muscle. Logan bites back the growl that wanted to crawl out of his throat when Bruce— no not Bruce. Brucie cracked a shit eating grin at the bold blonde. Well truly it was a gentle charming smile but Logan knew fucking better.

He should’ve been embarrassed of how fast he succumbed, It was probably a new record honestly, if his brain wasn’t busy imagining the way he wanted to become front page news for Vale’s gossip blog. He could see the headlines now. “Bruce Wayne bent over in front of the crowd” maybe she’d make some shitty pun that he’d have no choice but send it to Wade, that's if that loud mouth wouldn’t already be blowing up his phone with those fucking emoticons that somehow mean something suggestive. Why did he even mention that walking ball of cocaine and cancer? He’s not even here and yet the mere thought killed his very small buzz. Logan rubbing his face before downing the rest of his whisky hoping it would keep him satisfied for now. He had a point to prove. A point he didn’t know but peeled himself out of his favorite recliner to follow Gotham’s Prince downtown to some shit club anyway. Logan gave his head a shake before getting back up, keeping his back to temptation to go sneak a smoke outside.

Bruce gave a pout watching Logan head out the front and not towards him. Looks like Wolverine is finally getting used to his tricks. Bruce noted that for next time already thinking of the needed adjustments.

“What’s wrong Bruce? Is Michael boring you as bad as he is me?” Ben’s voice cut through his thoughts making his pout turn into an awkward smile. Bruce couldn’t even think of an excuse before Michael’s heavy old Gotham accent butted in.

“Oh piss off benny boy, everyone loves my stories.”

“They love your stories all right. Everyone at this table knows that after you took that fist to the face Kevin had to pull you out.” Ben crossed his arms leaning back into his chair. His signature smirk landed on his lips.

“Tomatoes, tomatoes. So I took the first hit. It doesn't matter who actually finished the guy off, we all won.” Micheal tried to wave Ben’s comments off.

“If I remember correctly we all got detention for a month.” Bruce finally found his footing picking up his barely touched glass of champagne. Giving the glass a small swirl in his fingers just keeping busy. “Not to mention you got a concussion.”

“Yeah, but we won. Which reminds me of another story.” Micheal retells some story about his football years. Snapping at the young waitress who was checking another table. Earning him a solid hit in the shoulder by his wife, Michelle, making Ben let out a snort.

“Eyes in the back of her head.” came a much softer voice to his left. Nicole made her quiet presence known with a hand on this thigh looking out in the direction Logan disappeared from. She rested her chin in her hand giving him a knowing glance.

“Who’s the cowboy?” She asked, amused.

Bruce gives her his best shifty eyed confused expression as he made sure no one else was listening. Luckily Ben was too focused on correcting everything that’s coming out of Micheal’s mouth and Michael is just trying to yell over him that they don’t notice. Michell never looked up from her phone.

“What?” Bruce breathed out pretending to be flustered in confusion.

She only narrows her eyes looking him up and down. The woman used to be an analyst; she could smell tension before she knew there was tension. Dangerous skill to have so close to you, one he had even closer at one point in the past. He Should have known better than to date a physiatrist but you live and you learn.

Nichole drums her well kept nails on the top of the table. “Oh please, you’ve been pining all night.” She lowered her voice taking a long sip of her martini.

“He’s a good catch, how’d you get him?”

Bruce chuckled, his eyes couldn’t help but drift over to Logan’s now empty seat at the bar. How did he do it? Bruce remembers how it started, a rather intense argument over something he couldn’t remember that turned into an event that The Hall of Justice had seen before. Yes, those tapes were deleted and yes, it did end up happening again. Far too many times until it evolved into whatever it was now. Too serious to be a fling yet they were far too old to be boyfriends. Maybe partners was the correct word even if it made Bruce feel very old. He didn’t like to linger on a title and Logan ever cared to name it.

“Just picked him up one day, haven’t let him go yet.” He shrugged at the blonde. “I have a problem with picking up strays.” That earned him a small chuckle even though he was serious.

“I understand that.” Nicole tipped her glass to him and he in turn did the same. The soft clink seemed to echo between them.

・・・・・

The night air in Gotham was always cold. Something Logan found oddly comforting about the city. The end of his cigar bloomed in the darkness of the alley as the music from the club thumped quietly through the wall behind his head. He rolled his shoulders back hearing a rare pop from his spine. The tension in his neck released, making a string of repetitive words tumble out of his mouth on instinct. “I'm too old for this.”

He debates with himself again, that urge to leave, another to just throw his patience out the window. Logan watched the smoke disappear from his lips into the dark night around him as the sound of rusty hinges echoed in alleyways. His nose twitched. Leather, citrus, and pine. A dangerous combination and yet he didn’t make a single effort to leave. The sound of expertly polished shoes echoed in the small alley until that smell turned into heat by his side. Logan picked up his head to look over at his… at Bruce. Bruce didn’t return the gesture instead staring off at the door he just snuck out from. How he managed to get away from a crowd without worry was something only he could pull off. The tension was softer than it was inside.

“Does this mean i win?” His voice was rougher than intended as he talked around the cigar on his lips. Logan mentally thanked the cold for that as he took one last puff before snuffing out his cigar against that palm of his hand. That burn was welcomed as the action made the heat beside him scoff. “Got something to say princess or you just gonna play mute?’

Bruce hummed softly in response. If Logan didn’t have such good hearing he would have missed that almost mocking sound. “Thought you didn’t want to come out tonight.” Bruce’s words teased him just an octave higher than normal. That pretty boy persona got harder and harder to slip from when he was being smug. Logan could knock his perfect teeth out right now and not feel bad.

“Changed my mind.” Logan shrugged, pocketing his cigar in for later. “Not that i had much choice” he gave the taller man a well deserved once over. The glow of the moon above mixed with the club’s neon casted the dark knight in a familiar way. It was honestly unfair that one man could look good no matter if he was pretending to be an urban legend or slumping with the first class. Now closer Logan could see that Bruce decided to wear his earrings for the first time in who knows how long. Little black studs glistened in the low light. And was he wearing eyeliner? It was smudged to an unrecognizable degree but it was there. Detailed oriented his bat was, which only solidified that he was set up from the start. Logan ran his tongue against the inside of his cheek as a poor attempted to silence himself but since when has that ever worked. Logan unconsciously leaned closer, his senses burned. “Can't have you walking around like a cheap whore, bub”

The smallest of smirks formed across Bruce’s lips as his eyes dropped to watch that vein in Logan's neck finally pop. Letting out a rare chuckle as he pulled his gaze away shaking his head. “Please, I'm anything but cheap Lo.”

His nickname felt like velvet in winter as it rattled around in the night. It was the same unoriginal name he’s had for years but it alway sounded different from him. It sounded right. If he wasn’t already so stupidly obsessed with that man next to him. Bruce would have caught him off guard just enough to shut him up.

“So you’re a rich whore?” Logan didn’t miss a beat with his comeback as they somehow got even closer.

“Why? Want one?” Bruce countered with a skilled practice. It was instinctual, the joking comment slipped from his lips like a bullet in the chamber even as the shot rang out it left a heavy weight behind.

There was a stand still then, as they stared silently at each other. The sting was pulled so thin between them it didn’t take much for the snap. This time it was Bruce’s callused hands making their way into Logan's hair pulling him into a heated kiss which pulled a deep growl from the other as thick fingers dug into the artificially perfect skin he forced himself to wear in public. Teeth clacked against each other as animal instincts kicked in. Logan took advantage of his strength and pressed that intoxicating smell into the cement wall. Not caring as the noticeable smack of what had to be Bruce’s skull hit the brick. Logan’s knee slotted between Bruce's legs pressing into his harding cock. The whine that slipped his lips was like a well deceived award for having to put up with his well planned torment all night. Reasoning thrown out the window as their bodies gilded messily across each other like horny teenagers practically devouring the other until those dangerous hands tighten in Logan’s hair pulling another growl.

“Fuck, Lo.” Bruce broke the kiss, sucking in the cool night air into his lungs felt like fire. His hips not stopping in their attempts to basically hump Logan’s thigh. His already uncomfortable attire rubbed just right against his cock. Logan wasted no time to dig his canines into his throat. Biting just hard enough to leave an imprint yet he didn’t break skin. Not now anyways.

“What, bub? Ain't this what you wanted?” Logan dragged his teeth over his neck, marking over that pale expanse of his throat. “Huh? Wearing that fucking collone like you don’t know what it dose it me.” His voice was nothing but rasp. Teetering just close enough into Logan's feral territory that Bruce couldn’t help the groan that slipped his lips. “Dressing like fucking sex on legs. Do i even want to know when you got these fucking pants?” To further push his point home Logan hands cupped a fair amount of his ass through the tight fabric. Bruce bucked his hips in retaliation. The friction makes both of them hiss.

“Fucking brat.” Logan spat, grabbing a fist full of Bruce's thin shirt to force him down to his knees. The playboy silently cures his choice in fashion when he feels just how tight his pants pressed back into him. Bruce swears he can hear the stitching against his thighs screaming for help not to mention the actual crack his knees make. He cursed under his breath as hands found Logan’s waist for stability.

His eye flicked from the bulge he was now eye level with to Logan's blown wide pupils. Bruce's hands popped off that obnoxious belt buckle Logan loved to wear with a practice ease acting like he wasn’t the one on his knees. His lips dragged over dented denim making Logan choked out a curse from above. Bruce continued to mouthed Logan through his pants until he felt a hand grab a fist full of his hair tugging a pained moan out of him. Bruce popped off the button of Logan's jeans, unzipping them and pulling him free from his flannel boxers.

Logan’s cock stood proudly now free from its confines. Its reddened head weeped pre-cum from the slit. Bruce smirked, wanting to say something snarky only to look up to meet pleading brown eyes. Okay so maybe he was being too much of an ass all night. Though this was hardly the worst he could have done, still Bruce took the hint and took pity on him. His hand slowly wrapped around the thick base of Logan's cock giving him a couple good strokes. Nuzzling into his hip as he used the leverage to keep Logan from bucking into his hand as he stroked him dry. Not breaking eye contact as Logan's eyes rolled back into his head briefly just from such a touch. The friction makes Logan's head spin just enough to not to complain.

“My poor darling.” Bruce cooed as he pressed a few kisses at the base. Bruce shifted on his knee to straddle Logan's boot so that he could please his own needs.grounding his hips down against worn leather as he nipped at that prominent vein down Logan’s hip, up the underside of his cock.

“Shut up” Logan spat out when Bruce”s tongue flicked the head of his cock before trailing back down the underside only for his hand to replace his mouth again. His hand retreated from Bruce’s hair as his claws fought to make an early appearance.

“Make me” echoed in Logan's ears as his eyes opened in surprise. He stared down at the smuggest person he’ed ever seen on their knees. Logan tried to memorize this exact moment in his very shitty memory. Bruce Wayne on his knees in an open alley, looking at him like a kid during christmas while he stroked his dick actively taunting him. No. Asking him to let go. If Logan believed in a god he'd probably be thanking him right about now.

As Logan's brian took its time to process his request Bruce took no time to wrap his lips around his throbbing cock not stopping into his nose brushed against that tufted of hair against the base. Everything about Logan was thick. His skin, his skull, his fingers but most importantly his dick as it took up most of his mouth. Bruce used his breathing skills to good use not to gag when Logan seemed to finally get the idea bucking into his throat suddenly. Logan’s hand curled back into Bruce’s hair pulling him somehow farther down his cock so he could fuck into the wet heat of his mouth.

“So good baby.” Logan muttered his praises through his teeth.

“Good fucking boy.”

Bruce’s hands dropped to finally free himself from his own pants. Moaning around Logan as he stroked himself to the same hard rhythm that was set in his throat. It didn’t take long for either of them to get close to the breaking point.

“You gonna take it baby? Huh? Be my good fucking boy and take everything i give you?” Bruce was too far lost as he moaned out his agreement. Trying to nod around Logan's brutal trust of his hips into his mouth. “Here it comes baby, here it comes.”

An inhuman noise escapes his lips as Logan’s hips halt suddenly making sure to pull Bruce all the way down around him as he releases down his throat. Bruce followed close behind, spilling out of his fist onto the ground and Logan's boot below. The two of them just stay there for a moment before Bruce finally frees himself with a cough. His lungs felt like they were on fire as he breathed in lungs full of cold air.

“Shit, you okay?” Logan tucked himself back into his pants before kneeling down to Bruce's level.

Bruce nodded between coughs waving it off. “I’m fine. Just forgot to breathe for a second.”

Logan shook his head gently pushing Bruce's now actually messy hair from his face. His eyes now soft and concerned as he gave Bruce a good once over just in case knowing Bruce isn’t one to complain about pain.

“Come here.” Logan muttered pulling Bruce gently into a soft kiss which was pleasantly returned without hesitation. The taste of himself on Bruce's lips didn’t go unmissed.

“You are the worst”

“You love me for it.” Bruce chuckled cupping his jaw, running his thumb across his cheek before pressing another quick kiss to his lips.

“Yeah, I do.” Logan got back to his feet giving Bruce a hand up as they both fixed themselves to be less disheveled. Logan takes another shameless look over Bruce hooking his fingers into one of his belt loops pulling him closer. His voice dropped an octave giving him a weak glare.

“Seriously though, were these fucking pants come from.”

“My first year of college. ” Bruce gave him a little pose looking down at his somehow still intact pants. “I didn’t make it through pre-med but I did party like I was. Honesty impressed they still fit.”

Logan hummed letting him go. “oh, they fit alright.”

Bruce gave him a slap to his arm which Logan overreacted to making Bruce crack a smile. Logan threw an arm over Bruce’s shoulder pulling him down to his height. “Wanna drink? I still have a tab open.”

“You just want me to cover the bill.” Bruce rolled his eyes leaving his grasp to pull open the metal door letting out the loud music spill out into the quiet night for the two of them.

“Promise to repay you when we get home.” Logan smirked, slapping Bruce on the ass as he headed back into the noisy club. Bruce, not too far behind, shakes his head amused as they find two empty seats at the bar.

“Yeah, yeah.”

#marvel #batman #fanfic #fanfiction #mine #original story #bruce wayne #logan howlett #brogan #batclaws #logan howlett smut #bruce wayne smut #crack treated seriously #dc comics #wolverine

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teecupangel · 1 year ago

Note

Crack idea where all the ancestors end up in modern day after dying as honey badgers

Desmond thought it was a raccoon.

In his defense, it was dark and Desmond hadn’t sleep after a grueling 12 hours shift that included drunken sorority girls hitting on him and a recently divorced drowning his sorrow with drinks asking him if he would ever consider having sex with him.

Desmond had been tempted with the amount he slurred and the promise of gifts.

Then he remembered that he wasn’t really interested in sleeping with anyone right now, not even for the sake of becoming financial secured for a few months or until the poor guy finally moved on.

He had this strange feeling that he was being watched but there was never anyone there.

He was worried that his parent’s cult had found him.

He’s still worried about it, even going as far as chickening out on getting a motorcycle license because of that eerie feeling.

His bag is all packed up and ready.

But Desmond enjoyed his life here in New York.

He was getting off-topic.

The little guy trying to climb out of the trashbin behind Desmond’s apartment building froze and stared at Desmond when he walked closer.

Desmond just wanted to get to his apartment and sleep.

The backdoor was closer to the rickety elevator than the main door and the underpaid (if that kid was even getting paid, Desmond heard his uncle was the owner of the building) young man who usually stayed in the lobby would leave the backdoor unlock so he could take a smoke break every other hour.

The ‘raccoon’ stared at him.

Desmond stared back.

Then…

It tried to get out of the bin but it seemed like one of its feet was stuck so Desmond helped it.

His mind didn’t even get to warn him how wild animals could just as easily bite him and then he’d have to get a rabies shot.

The creature didn’t bite him though.

It just kept staring at him.

And Desmond just left.

The following day, the raccoon was there by the backdoor once more and held out his front paws at him.

Desmond didn’t know why he did it but he picked it up.

And brought it home.

The second day the creature was staying in his apartment, Desmond left the window open.

Or so he thought.

He probably did, right?

It’s not like the creature was the one to leave it open.

Right?

When he returned home, the creature had multiplied.

There were now three creatures in his apartment and they all stared at Desmond and followed him around.

Three weeks after he let the three creatures (honey badgers, they were freaking honey badgers, Desmond is so embarrassed whenever he remembered he thought they were raccoons) live with him…

Two more honey badgers appeared.

He was sure that he didn’t leave the window open this time.

He stared at the one with the red ribbon (he needed a way to distinguish them so they were now: Red, White and Blue) and dryly stated, “They’re the last ones, okay? I’m not adopting anymore.”

Desmond’s mental state might not be as stable as he assumed because he was pretty sure the honey badgers stared back at him and he could hear it say “you didn’t adopt us, we adopted you, idiot.”

Desmond guessed this was his life now.

He can only console himself with the thoughts that he was probably still not the weirdest person in New York at the moment.

#gasp for once #desmond is not one turned into an animal #he has however technically turned into a #desmond is a disney princess #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #i'm not going to tag the ancestors XD

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 6 months ago

Text

Who am I, that I should get to hold you? (ao3)

Happy @cassianappreciationweek !!! ❤️

When Elain throws a ball to celebrate her recent engagement to Greysen, there's nothing she wants more than for Feyre to attend. To keep the newly-Made Feyre safe beneath the wall, the General of the Night Court is resolved to attend too, planning only to observe the party from a distance. But when the irascible Nesta Archeron makes her entrance, Cassian's resolve crumbles and over the course of a single dance, he finds out that perhaps Nesta was always destined to be so much more than he bargained for. ACOMAF AU.

I don’t know how or why, who am I that I should get to hold you? When I saw you all alone against the sky, it’s like I’d known you all along. I knew you before we met, and I don’t even know you yet. All I know is you're someone I have always known...

It was such an innocuous thing, the little envelope sitting pretty on Rhys’ desk. Such a small thing too, to cause such a damned headache. The sunlight pooled around it, making the barely-cracked wax seal shimmer in the afternoon glow, and all Cassian could smell was lilies, sweet and cloying and clinging, stubborn, to the paper. He made no effort to hide the way he studied that envelope and the letter that had only been half tucked back inside after the High Lord had read it aloud, and even from his position on the other side of Rhys’ expansive mahogany desk, Cassian could see the dark, cursive ink spelling out the Cursebreaker’s name. And yet still he was trying to make sense of what Rhys had just said— the plan he’d just unveiled. Feyre, the letter said at the top, in a hand so elegant it swept gracefully across the page, please find enclosed an invitation… The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece, a steady tick, tick, tick that measured the seconds it took for Cassian to find his voice. “I’m sorry— you’re what?” the General asked, a huff of displeasure leaving him as he eyed that envelope with narrowed eyes, barely able to swallow around the sheer disbelief lining his throat. “Because I swear it sounded like you just said you were going to a ball in the mortal lands.”

Beside him, Azriel let out a sound of consternation that was echoed in the whisper of his shadows along his knuckles, curled tight on the arm of his chair. When Cassian turned to his brother, he saw the Shadowsinger’s face etched with the same apprehension that he knew would be carved across his own, the same furrow in his brow as he looked at that invitation sitting so innocently between them and their High Lord. Rhys ran a hand through his raven hair. “Elain is throwing a ball for her engagement, and she asked Feyre to be there. She wants her there, and Feyre is determined to attend.” He shrugged, like they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “All she needs is a simple glamour to make her appear human—“ “Simple,” Cassian muttered. “Like two fae walking into a society gathering below the wall could ever be called simple.” Rhys shot his brother a glare, but continued speaking like Cassian hadn’t interrupted at all. “But I’d rather not risk Feyre having to hold up such a glamour by herself so soon after becoming fae. So I’m going with her.”

Cassian scowled, folding his arms across his chest as his brows lowered. “You’re going to a ball in the human lands,” he said, deadpan. When Rhys nodded lightly, he added, “A ball in the human lands where half the guests are fae-hating bastards.”

“Fae-hating bastards that grow ash trees in their gardens,” Azriel added, in a voice so acerbically dry that anyone outside of Rhys’ Inner Circle might have fucking flinched. “Let’s not forget that part.”

“One fae-hating bastard grows ash trees in his garden,” Rhys pointed out easily, lifting one elegant finger and reclining in his chair like this was the most perfectly normal conversation they’d ever had. The sunlight drifted along his jaw, illuminating his violet eyes, and not for the first time in five hundred years did Cassian want to leap over that desk and knock some damned sense into him.

“One is more than enough,” Azriel muttered as Cassian nodded his agreement. Neither of them felt the need to mention that the fae-hating bastard in question was the future bride’s father-in-law, and the fact that Elain wore a fucking iron engagement ring on her finger went unspoken. It was the most reckless idea Rhys could have concocted, and yet the High Lord sat so easily in his high-backed chair, his wings tucked away today, and looked at his brothers with barely a glimmer of unease in his eyes as he revealed his grand plan.

A grand plan that amounted to nothing more than a single fucking glamour.

When Rhys said nothing, Cassian sighed so heavily his chest hurt.

“Well, obviously we’re coming with you.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, tipping his head back until the crown rested against the carved wooden headrest. “Because that won’t attract attention.” He shook his head, strands of raven hair falling across his forehead. “No— you two should stay here.”

Az snorted. “We’re just as adept as you at holding up a glamour, Rhys. You cover Feyre’s back, and we’ll cover yours.”

The High Lord’s lip twisted.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d been below the wall. Only a handful of weeks ago they’d descended on the Archeron manor and had the pleasure of meeting Feyre’s sisters. Or the pleasure of meeting one of them, at least. Elain had been charming and welcoming, practically glittering beneath the candles that illuminated her father’s dining room, but Nesta on the other hand…

Cassian shifted in his seat, refusing for what must have been the hundredth time since that meeting to let his thoughts drift to the other Archeron sister. Somehow, she’d incited him at that first meeting, stirred him to anger with naught more than a look, and he didn’t think that the flame she’d lit within him had been extinguished just yet.

That same night Rhys had insisted they stay in adjacent rooms, entirely unwilling to be parted in such unfamiliar territory, and Cassian had understood it, back then. Yet now Rhys wanted to dive right into a society ball with only his own glamour to protect him and Feyre both, and Cassian wasn’t sure it was a good idea for any of them to be returning beneath the wall so soon.

Nesta might have his fucking head this time.

He wondered if she knew Elain had sent the invitation. Wondered if those storm-blue eyes would spark when she watched them enter the Archeron ballroom, like her temper was a match and Cassian was a flame. Something about the thought of it enticed him— the way the space between them was sure to become a battlefield, and if there was one thing Cassian knew intimately, it was a battlefield. Anticipation flickered deep in his veins, a whisper in his blood, and gods, somehow that made the whole thing worse.

He’d thought it was a bad idea before, but when that feeling of anticipation skittered up his spine as he thought of golden-brown hair and a scowl that could floor a man, he knew with absolute certainty that it wasn’t just a bad idea— it was a terrible one.

But if Feyre was determined, then Rhys was resolved. And if Rhys was resolved, then…

There was no question.

Rising to his feet with another sigh, Cassian leaned forward and braced his palms on his brother’s desk. Rhys looked up, entirely nonplussed.

“You’d better tell Elain to expect the four of us,” Cassian said, flicking his eyes to the invitation still lying, almost harmless, between them.

Rhys rolled his eyes again. “I can handle this myself, you know.”

Azriel unfolded from his chair, his shadows whispering across his arms and winding around his neck as he sidestepped the desk entirely. “Sure you can, Rhys,” he commented flatly, plucking up the invitation and holding it between his fingers with a frown. With a dry glance to Cassian, the spymaster tossed the damned thing to his High Lord before he echoed, “Tell Elain to expect the four of us.”

***

Cassian’s chest was tight as they entered the Archeron manor.

Behind his glamour he felt his siphons flickering, rippling with unease as he eyed the great vases of flowers that had been placed in the entrance hall— towering blooms and overflowing stone urns, the entire space filled with the delicate scent of peonies and roses. From the ballroom down the hall, the sound of a string quartet echoed. It was all so staggeringly pretty, and yet…

Dangerous, too.

The candles glimmered as Elain greeted them warmly, the priceless pearls at her ears and at her throat such a stark contrast to the dark band of iron around her finger. Draped in a dress of pale pink silk that brought out the blush on her cheeks, it was almost easy to forget that they were walking into a party where half the guests would have their heads on spikes if they learned of what they were. No matter that each of them were shrouded in a glamour; Rhys and Feyre’s ears were made round, and Azriel and Cassian’s wings had been rendered invisible, but it didn’t feel right. Not natural.

Cassian had even smoothed his fingers through his hair, and though he was wearing a richly tailored black shirt, there was no finery on him. The only jewellery he sported was the earrings in his ear, a thin silver ring and a small ruby the same shade as the siphons he’d concealed behind his glamour, since he had no doubt that the shimmering stones would have earned him more than a few curious looks from Elain’s guests. Azriel was the same, dressed in the deepest black, his shadows hidden from prying eyes. Neither had any intention of being anything but silent sentinels tonight, already having decided to overlook the party from the mezzanine that ran along the west wall of the ballroom.

Rhys, at least, had donned a fine black jacket with embroidered detailing, and the rings on each of his fingers marked him as one of the elite, even if not one of this elite.

“Oh, I’m so glad you could come, Feyre,” Elain said as she wrapped her arms around her sister. She was a vision in pink, practically glowing beneath the candles, but that ring on her finger seemed to swallow the light— a mark against such a pretty canvas.

And—

There was no sign of Nesta Archeron.

The part of him that hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way her lip had curled when she’d looked at him across that dinner table almost wanted to ask where she was.

Almost.

He reined it in, but still— even as Elain ushered them further into the entrance hall, Cassian couldn’t even begin to explain the unease that coursed through him like a tide rising against the shore. It licked at his edges, had all of his senses on high alert as he tried and failed to pin down exactly what it was that had him feeling like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, about to topple over. That tightness behind his ribs seemed to constrict further, a kind of pressure that he didn’t know how to release, and there was something he could feel right down in the tips of his fingers, something pricking at his skin that seemed to be… anticipating something.

Like there was something he was missing, something he’d overlooked. That his mind couldn’t place but his soul had recognised.

He shook it off.

Perhaps it was just the fact that he was below the wall, and that odd combination of the magic dulling his senses combined with his trepidation about being here in the first place had begun to coalesce in his gut, transforming into something heavy. He only wished he’d brought his sword, wished he’d strapped it down his spine and covered it with the same glamour that masked his wings.

But he hadn’t, he’d only tucked a blade in his boot.

That single blade was a solid weight against him as Elain led them to the ballroom, the cold steel a touch reassuring as with every footstep she followed the sound of the orchestra and the delicate clinking of crystal glasses. Cassian let himself sink into his role as General, that calculating mind already scanning the room for exits and entrances, counting the number of windows and trying to catch a glimpse of iron jewellery at the neck or wrist of every single person attending Elain’s engagement ball.

And he watched as every single eye in the place turned wide when Feyre entered, glittering, hung on Rhys’ arm.

They’d patched a story together, some feeble kind of excuse that might explain who the dark-haired stranger was standing by Feyre’s side; Rhys was a nobleman visiting from the continent, they’d decided, whose business had him staying in the town they all believed Feyre lived in now. They’d become fast friends, the story went, and when Feyre had mentioned that she needed an escort for a ball, Rhys had been all too happy to oblige.

Neither Cassian nor Azriel had bothered to concoct a story to explain their own presence. They’d hardly be mingling.

No, they would be stood up on that mezzanine, keeping watch over their High Lord and the girl he was so clearly enamoured by, separated from the party by a good distance.

Without a word shared between them, Cassian and Azriel slipped away, as smoothly as a tide drawing back from the shore. With only the most subtle of nods from Rhys, they turned in tandem for a half-concealed staircase that Elain had already told them led upstairs to the second floor, where a balcony wrapped around the edge of the ballroom, and as the cream of human society mingled and danced and laughed around them, the Illyrians hidden in their midst took up their positions above it all, watching as the wine flowed freely. Cassian’s eye was sharp— as cutting as the diamonds and emeralds that were strung, glittering, around countless throats, and as smooth as the rolls upon rolls worth of expensive silk that brushed the marble floor as couples danced. Beneath the candlelight dripping from the crystal chandeliers, wealth was pooling in the Archeron manor, and Cassian observed it all.

And yet— Elain’s fiancé was nowhere to be seen.

Neither, Cassian noted, was Nesta.

He didn’t know why he thought of Elain’s sister. Didn’t know why he even cared.

Didn’t know why he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her since they’d last met either, but he’d found himself, in the time since, drifting back to that dining table and the venom she’d spat at him, the vitriol he’d thrown right back. Like she was a splinter, buried deep beneath his skin, and every time he tried to drive her out, all he’d done was push her deeper.

Shaking his head, he reached decidedly for the crystal flutes of sparkling wine laid out on a nearby table. Plucking two up, he handed one off to Azriel before lifting the other to his lips.

“Might as well get something good from tonight,” he grumbled, leaning against the elegant filigree railing that ran around the edge of the mezzanine. Azriel huffed his agreement, and even though his shadows were glamoured, Cassian noted the way Az lifted and curled his fingers, like he was letting them trail, unseen, across the backs of his hands. Keeping them close as he rested his forearms on the edge of the railing.

The Shadowsinger watched the ballroom warily, his lips pursed even as he took a small sip of wine, a soft hmph his only response. Below, the precious stones practically dripping from Feyre’s dress caught Cassian’s eye— shards of deep purple gems sewn into fabric that was pure Night Court fashion, gleaming beneath the warm lights like Rhys had brought down the night sky itself, imbued each and every stone with the light of a hundred stars. Cassian couldn’t help but wonder if it was deliberate, bringing Feyre to her sister’s engagement in Night Court clothes.

He snorted into his wine.

Rhys had long ago stopped being subtle when it came to Feyre Cursebreaker.

Cassian leaned on the iron railing, letting his fingers hang off the edge as he went back to scanning the room, his ears straining for any whispers about Elain’s sister and the stranger she’d turned up with. There was nothing, no hint of suspicion as Feyre smiled and bent her head in greeting, as Rhys plastered a smooth smile on his face. Cassian blinked, lifting his wine halfway to his lips when—

Across the room a door opened, and the eldest Archeron appeared at the top of a staircase.

Cassian stilled.

The music didn’t pause, the candles didn’t flicker. But that pressure in his chest pushed against his ribs, harder this time— so hard he almost couldn’t breathe.

Nesta swept down those stairs as elegantly as if she’d been born to it, and the wine was entirely forgotten as he stood up straighter to watch as she descended like a queen onto the ballroom floor.

In a dress of pale blue silk, the candlelight was already dancing across her skin, gilding her beneath a hundred different flames as she kept one hand on the curving bannister, the other curled lightly at her side, lithe fingers devoid of jewels. The bare skin at her neck was practically glowing, but Nesta wasn’t weighed down by a casket-load of precious gems. Only a thin diamond necklace skimmed her throat, and delicate silver earrings hung from her earlobes, and even as she joined the crowd of people literally drowning in diamonds and pearls and emeralds…

Somehow, Nesta was the most elegant of them all.

Cassian cleared his throat, sipping his wine when he remembered he still held a glass.

He was fairly sure his jaw had slackened the moment she stepped into the room, like he couldn’t control the way she had him so suddenly stunned, and it didn’t make sense. He’d met her before, and she hated him. So why did it feel like he stopped hearing everything else when he saw her dressed like that, with the candlelight grazing her cheekbones and shining, reflected, in her mercury-blue eyes?

Smoothly Nesta navigated the ballroom below, and for a moment Cassian forgot where he was, what he was supposed to be doing. Forgot who he was, what his name was.

Who the fuck was he anymore, he thought dryly as he found himself unable to pull his eyes away, but a man reduced to nothing at the sight of a beautiful woman?

Because there was no denying it.

Nesta Archeron was beautiful, and though he hadn’t exactly failed to notice it the first time they had met, something felt… different, tonight. Something in his chest tightened, like a screw turning, and even though he didn’t know her, not really, he still felt something about her speaking to him even across the vastness of that ballroom. There was some spark of recognition in his marrow as she made her way across the floor below, some curious kind of heat he’d ignored the last time he’d been here.

He watched her— anticipated her every step like it was one she’d made before. Like it was one he’d watched her make before.

It was impossible, but Cassian could have sworn, tonight, that he’d known her forever. That she’d been there all along, her face tucked inside some corner of his memory all these long years.

It was impossible - impossible - but Mother above, tonight Cassian felt like he’d known her his entire life.

Stunned, he watched her walk across the floor like she owned it.

She did, he supposed. It was her father’s.

And when the first human approached her to ask her for a dance, Cassian didn’t fully understand why his fingers tightened around the wine he’d once again forgotten he was holding. He watched the score of men panting after her, lingering around her like they were all half a moment away from getting on their knees to beg for her next dance, and he didn’t know why, but something about it made him feel…

He shook his head, refusing to name the feeling snaking through him like oil.

Cassian was not jealous.

Absolutely, categorically, not fucking jealous of some mortal men simpering for a dance with Nesta fucking Archeron.

And yet...

When she accepted an offer, the sight of her in the arms of another man had his heart tightening, like an invisible fist had plunged through his chest and gripped it until it hurt. The man she danced with was slim and blonde, dressed in navy blue, his pale hand drifting down her spine to settle at her lower back, fingers splayed at the small of her spine, and suddenly Cassian had an overwhelming urge to break those fingers— to snap every single one.

There was something magnetic, something fucking alchemical, in the way she moved through the steps, turning something he’d thought might be dull and boring into something so wildly beautiful he couldn’t keep his head straight. Her every step was one of such stunning command that Cassian couldn’t help but be reminded of a game of chess; each move was one of elegant strategy, beautifully executed and perfectly finished. Every damned line of her was impeccable.

And yet her face was impassive, like none of the partners that had so far scrawled their name on her dance card were up to her standards. The music died, the dance ended, and as she slipped from the embrace of the blonde-haired human, Cassian watched as mortal men pawed at her as she passed them, their hands extended, trying to grasp her by the arm, to catch her like she was a creature to be tamed.

Something primal, some base instinct buried deep inside him, strained when Nesta suddenly stopped moving across that dance floor— some fundamental fae instinct turning wild as some reed-thin mortal grasped her upper arm, bringing her to a halt as his fingers dug into her flesh.

And all Cassian could think was,

I think the fuck not.

Draining his wine, he handed the empty glass to Azriel, and without bothering to second guess it, or to even take note of the way Azriel shot him a curious look, Cassian tucked his wings as tight to his spine as he could and slipped down the stairs, each footfall a drumbeat that had his siphons gleaming unseen.

The ballroom was a blur; he didn’t hear the music anymore, or the clink of crystal glasses, or the sound of laughter like the peals of a hundred church bells. Every ounce of focus he possessed was trained on her, on the way the mortal’s hand was still tight on Nesta’s arm as they lingered at the edge of the dance floor, his mouth close to her ear, and even over the noise Cassian heard her tell him no.

That single word - short and sharp and bitten out in a tone so entirely Nesta it practically had claws - had Cassian seeing red, his hands already curling into fists.

He was already wondering how angry Elain might be if he was to ruin her party and throw the bastard out of one of the upstairs windows.

And he did little to temper his strength, didn’t bother to dampen his ire as, hard, he brought his hand down on the mortal’s shoulder. His fingers curled, unforgiving, into the bastard’s flesh, his grip hard enough that bones threatened to shatter beneath his fingers, and a sound of pain whispered from between the human’s lips. Some brutal instinct unfurled in Cassian’s chest, rising to the surface as he jerked the mortal back a step, forcing space between his body and Nesta’s, pulling his scent away from hers with a tug so forceful the bastard stumbled.

Violence pricked at Cassian’s fingers, begging to be unleashed.

“I think the lady just said no,” Cassian said smoothly, but his voice was as hard as flint and filled with enough venom to make most tremble. He could already smell the mortal’s fear, and it was fucking beautiful. Cassian let his lip curl as the mortal turned, let his fingers leave bruises behind as a sneer crossed his face and he shoved the human away. He kept his glamour woven tight, but for just a second - just a heartbeat - he let a sliver of the Night Court General darken his face, let the Lord of Bloodshed flicker across his features.

It was a wicked slash of teeth; a quirk of his brow and a spark in his eyes that he knew was a fleeting portrait of brutality, five centuries of rage honed to a deadly point.

The bastard paled.

“Leave,” Cassian hissed.

The mortal stumbled back, giving Nesta one final look over his shoulder, loaded with contempt, before slipping through the crowd. In his wake, Cassian’s thundering heart calmed, his racing blood cooling as he took a breath, smoothing a hand over his hair as he ran his fingers through the tangled mass. When he turned to Nesta, to find her scowling after the mortal that Cassian had all but chased away, he couldn’t help the grin that swallowed every ounce of ire he’d just felt churning in his gut. Like that scowl alone was enough to have him forgetting everything else, his aching soul becalmed. Those damned eyes of hers narrowed, her gaze so lethally sharp it was a rival for the blade hidden in his boot, and something behind his ribs grew warm as he stood there, waiting for her to speak.

But Nesta Archeron remained silent.

So holding out his hand, smoothly Cassian slipped into the space the bastard had just left and said,

“How about a dance, Nes?”

The Mother only knew why he did it— why he felt like to turn towards her now would be like turning his face towards the sun on a midwinter’s morn. All he knew was that he was pulled towards her somehow, a moth to a flame. And oh, how decadently she burned. The diamonds at her neck glittered beneath the candlelight, but they paled in comparison to their wearer; no jewel was sharper or brighter or more rare than her, and when she scowled at him, he thought that might have been the most priceless thing of all.

“My dance card is full.”

Cassian cocked a brow. “Liar.”

Nesta’s eyes widened, but he heard the way her heartbeat tripped a little. She looked at him like she wanted rid of him, but something lurked, silent, beneath the ire in her gaze. Something that said she might just want to bring him a little closer, too.

“Do you even know how to dance at a ball?” Her tone dripped with bitter sarcasm, biting and sharp and damn near venomous as she lifted her chin in a move that was nothing short of defiant. It was somehow even more beautiful than the way she’d descended those stairs. “It’s not something I would have thought they’d teach above the wall.”

Cassian shrugged. Thanked the Mother for all those nights Mor had practically pushed him into dancing with her at Rita’s. He might not know these steps, but he was a fast learner, and Nesta certainly knew well enough to lead him.

His hand still extended, he watched as Nesta’s eyes dropped to his palm, her gaze skipping across the fingers he left curling loose towards her, as though, despite everything, all he’d ever needed was for her to take his hand and show him the way.

“Aren’t you even a little curious, sweetheart?” he whispered, a quiet taunt that had her eyes sparking like a match against touch paper. “I could be the best dance partner in this room for all you know.”

“And are you?” she asked dryly, but she didn’t back away, and he didn’t drop his hand.

“No,” Cassian answered with another grin, and this time— gods, this time he swore an answering smirk tugged at the corner of Nesta’s mouth, like she almost wanted to smile too. “Perhaps you need to show me how it’s done.”

A derisive laugh slipped free of her, one that had Cassian standing straighter, pushing back his shoulders as she met his eyes. Some kind of challenge was proffered when his gaze connected with hers— a question and an answer. And when the band struck up their next melody, Cassian felt the smooth tips of Nesta’s fingers slide across his palm, joining their hands together as she pulled him onto the ballroom floor.

He’d stopped keeping track of Rhys.

It was an abysmal oversight, especially since he’d been the one to insist he come along to watch Rhys’ back, but when his lungs were filled with the scent of Nesta Archeron’s perfume…

Cassian was certain Rhys could take care of himself.

Nesta took a step back, keeping their hands just barely connected as she extended her arm, stretching away from him as the music swept her along. But her eyes remained fixed on him, on the wings he kept tucked so close to his spine it was almost uncomfortable.

“The wings,” she whispered when the dance brought them closer, her palm flat against his chest. “You’re certain they’re hidden away?”

Cassian tilted his head. “Of course they are. Does it look like anybody here can see them?”

Nesta looked him right in the eye, her face impassive as she shrugged. “Well, I can.”

He could have sworn the world suddenly hung off its axis, gravity shifting as his steps slowed.

She could see through a fucking glamour.

His mouth was dry, his mind reeling as desperately he tried to make sense of it all, and yet despite the thousand questions running rampant through his mind, the only thing he could think was: this fucking woman.

The music suddenly felt distant.

He didn’t know where it had come from, but suddenly his body was aware of hers in a way it had never been before— not with anybody. She was warm beneath his hands, her waist in his palm, his fingers stretched across her back, like they fitted together, puzzle pieces aligned at last. It felt like he’d known her all along, like there was a part of himself carved out and missing, that only the shape of her could fill. He didn’t even know her yet, and yet. He did— he felt it in his bones, in every beat of his heart. He knew Nesta Archeron, inside and out. Somehow. When he breathed, he tasted her perfume, and she was everywhere, filling everything, and he didn’t know where it ended, or how much of himself he’d signed over when her palm had first slid home against his.

And she could see through a fucking glamour.

He swallowed.

“Well,” he said, blinking as though words were foreign to him, his tongue cut adrift from his brain, “I can assure you. Nobody else can see them.”

She nodded, a soft hmph leaving her as he continued to let her trail him along that dance floor, letting the swell of the music pull them along like a current. He could only follow her lead, helpless, like she was nothing but a siren pulling him beneath the surface and waiting for him to drown. And already, he was— he was drowning in her.

Nesta tilted her head to the side, letting the candlelight glaze the smooth skin of her neck, and Cassian just about stopped breathing.

“What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as she caught him taking in every damned inch of her his eyes could reach.

He offered her a crooked smirk, a nonchalant shrug. “Did I mention that you look…” He trailed off, somehow unable to find the right word. Beautiful didn’t seem enough, stunning not quite right either. “Like you could bring this entire ballroom to their knees?”

It was Nesta’s turn to shrug now, the blasé rise and fall of her shoulders lined with more hauteur than Cassian had ever seen. He wondered when exactly it had stopped making him angry and started to make him dizzy.

“Not bad,” she quipped, “for a human.”

Cassian grinned. “Not bad at all.”

“I suppose you clean up well too, General,” she said dryly, but Cassian caught the way her eyes dropped to his lips; her gaze, cautious at first but growing bolder by the second, slipping down to his broad chest. He swore her fingers curled a little more firmly at his shoulders, tightening her grip like he was something she wanted to keep hold of.

“Not bad,” he echoed in a whisper, bringing his mouth so close to her ear that his lips brushed her diamond earrings, “for a brute born above the wall.”

Nesta bit her lip, and when she drew away, there was a glimmer in her eyes, some spark skirting that mercurial blue that really did have Cassian’s knees feeling weak.

The dance brought them closer, and when Cassian’s hand fell to the small of her back without him thinking - like it was the only natural place for his hand to rest - he breathed her in again, let the scent of her perfume and the sound of her beating heart ground him. His hands slid up her spine, relishing in the warmth of her beneath his fingers. Something crossed her face, an emotion he couldn’t discern, but her dagger-sharp eyes softened, and gods—

He was spiralling, so entirely lost in this gilded room awash with finery, that all he could do was hold on to the woman in his arms, finding some kind of peace in the way her fingers rested above his chest, splayed above his heart like the damned thing already belonged to her.

He didn’t understand it.

Couldn’t make sense of how the fuck he’d ended up here.

That feeling pulsed inside his chest again, something warm, like it didn’t matter how or why he’d ended up on that dance floor. All that mattered was that he had.

“Why did you do it?” Nesta asked suddenly, her eyes so piercing and clear, Cassian could only blink slowly beneath the weight of her attention.

“Do what?”

“Why did you cut in?”

Cassian snorted. “Because I didn’t like the look of him,” he answered easily. “And because I heard you tell him no, and yet he didn’t leave.”

“It wasn’t your place,” she said lightly, but for the first time there was no bite in her words, like whatever was happening inside his chest on this dance floor might have been having an affect on her, too.

“Not my place to rid you of a man that can’t take no for an answer?”

“Tomas is a prick,” Nesta answered, lifting her hand away from Cassian’s chest to flick her fingers in a gesture of nonchalance, “but people will talk now.”

When Cassian said nothing, Nesta brought her hand back to rest on his chest, her fingers reaching up to curl lightly around his shoulders. Pointedly, she met his eye, her stare so direct that it was like being dunked head-first into a pool of ice-cold water.

“A mystery man rescues me from Tomas Mandray and steals a dance. How the town will gossip.”

Cassian felt her back arch in his hands as she leaned back, felt the elegant curve of her spine as she tipped her face to the ceiling and let the music wash over her. Instinctively, he leaned closer. His face was an inch from hers, and all he could smell was her. All he could breathe was her.

She was intoxicating.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” he asked, his nose skimming her cheek, her lips close enough to kiss. “A man to steal you away like this is some kind of fairytale?”

“Do I look like a damsel in distress to you?”

Cassian snorted as she pulled away, drifting at the end of his hand as the steps pulled them apart. He took the opportunity to study her, and even though he managed a cocksure smirk, he swore his heart was about to beat right out of his chest.

“No,” he said when she spun back into his arms. He caught her, wrapped both arms around her waist as her back landed against his chest. His body screamed with satisfaction, ringing in every place they touched as though this was how it was always meant to be. “I don’t think anybody could ever accuse you of being a damsel in need of rescue.”

Suddenly, he thought of her in Windhaven— how she might use that sharp tongue against Devlon and the camp lords. He’d crawl over hot coals to see it.

“Then what use have I for fairytales?” she asked, raising a brow as she turned back to face him.

The imperious look she gave him made him stupid. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, and though that stupid smirk curved one corner of his mouth, his every nerve turned breathless.

The music was soft and lovely, a harmony that echoed on the marble, but it was the woman in his arms that was the true wonder, he thought. The candlelight brushed warm fingers across her skin, lined the blue of her eyes with gold, and if he’d ever had cause to regret the things he’d said to her when they first met…

Gods, he’d been a fool.

“One would think you had never been to a ball before,” Nesta said, pulling Cassian from his thoughts, “with the way you’re so clearly stuck in your own head.”

The sharpness of her voice, the way she pushed at him, had a small smile pulling at his mouth. “One would think.”

“You haven’t?” she asked lightly, stepping back as the dance demanded. Cassian cursed the distance. “Been to a ball, I mean.”

“Not like this,” he shrugged, breathing again as the steps brought her back to him, returning her to the circle of his arms. The only balls he’d ever been to were ones held at the Hewn City, an altogether different affair.

“Then perhaps you’re the one in need of a fairytale,” she shrugged.

She made no attempt to mask the way she studied him when she dragged her eyes from his face to his chest, along his arms, right down to the fingers he had resting at her waist, slipping so low they were but a breath from grazing her hips. And Mother above, somehow, he felt like the world had stopped. Something felt like it was coming together, some threads twining at last, and an answer glistened in his mind, burning in his chest—

Her eyes lifted, lingering on his loose hair before dropping to his shoulders and skimming along his collarbone. Cassian burned beneath her gaze, could feel her attention on whatever part of him it paused on. Half breathless, he wondered what it would feel like if he gave in to the feeling swelling in his chest. If he followed the thread that seemed wrapped around his heart.

Wondered where it would lead him— if it would bring him right back her, to her arms around his neck, her waist in his palm.

Because there was something keeping him drawn to her, keeping him coming back to her. He’d hardly stopped thinking about her for more than five minutes since they’d met, and at first he’d thought it was because she was so infuriating, because she’d pissed him off more easily than anybody ever had, but so many things were different tonight, and as she lifted her chin and tilted her neck, exposing the long, elegant column of bare skin, Cassian longed to lean down and press his mouth right above where her pulse was hammering, and gods, he didn’t think he’d be able to resist. His fingers gripped the fabric of her dress, his mouth dry, and—

Suddenly, something snapped.

He felt the reverberation behind his ribs, like he’d just been hit, full-force, by a fully-grown warrior’s fist, right in the centre of his chest. It rumbled through him, stopping his breath as his lungs seized and warmth blossomed within, and he could feel it, like a line had been strung between him and her, one that seemed to burn. But…

It couldn’t be.

She couldn’t be.

Could she?

His heart squeezed, and he could swear he could feel something, something light and fragile, a delicate thread linking his soul to hers, one that was simultaneously strong enough to weather a storm and yet thin and new enough that one wrong breath could snap it in two.

A fairytale, indeed.

His steps stumbled, but he smoothed it over.

“Perhaps I am,” he answered at last, using the hand at her back to bring her closer even though the couples around them were spinning, an entire arms-length separating them all in synchronicity. Cassian couldn’t bear that kind of distance. Nesta said nothing as he pulled her flush with his chest, his fingers flexing at the small of her back, like they were desperate to feel her, to hold her, to never let her go. They were, he realised. Now that he held her, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to go back to how he’d been before— before he knew what it was to have her in his arms.

Nesta looked up at him, a swallow shifting the diamonds at her throat, and if society hadn’t had a reason to talk before, they damn well did now.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t even think Nesta cared, not with the way her eyes continued to bore into his as she curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

It felt like the entire world was held right there, in the minimal space between his body and hers.

And Cassian didn’t want it to end— couldn’t bear for it to end, but the music was slowing, the dancing pairs around them drawing apart for a final time, and suddenly he felt like the world was coming apart beneath his fingers, cracking and splintering as he desperately sought to hold on for just a moment more. The music ended, and for just a heartbeat, silence reigned so supreme that he could have heard a pin drop.

Still, he didn’t let go of the woman in his arms.

She gazed up at him, those eyes softer than he’d ever seen, edged with a kind of wonder— a kind of rare vulnerability he knew he’d treasure for the rest of his life.

And then a cork popped on a bottle of expensive wine, and a hundred voices filtered back in as laughter ricocheted on the marble and reality came crashing back down upon them both in a wave.

Nesta cleared her throat, straightened her spine. Imperious once again, she pulled back, bowing her head as her hand fell away from his chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered, brushing a hand down the fabric of her skirts, and Cassian had no idea if she was thanking him for the dance, or for pulling her away from the mortal who’d sought to possess her.

He swallowed.

“One more,” he whispered, hardly caring that his voice rang with desperation as he reached out to brush his fingers along the spine of the dance card tied to her wrist. “Fuck the others— fuck the rules and the men who placed a reserve on you like you’re nothing to them but a pretty jewel to wear for a while. Give me one more dance instead, sweetheart.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“You know I can’t do that.”

Her smile made him bold— made him dizzy.

“But you want to,” he said, stepping closer, eliminating the distance between them. His voice dropped to a low whisper, velvet-soft and aching as he brought his lips close to her ear. “Don’t you, princess?”

She shook her head. “No. You’re the worst dance partner I’ve ever had.”

“Perhaps you could give me some lessons, then.”

She batted at his shoulder, the gesture so effortless Cassian could hardly breathe. His body seemed to thrum whenever she touched him, an entirely new kind of strength coursing through him every time they connected, like she was a force he couldn’t resist— one that complemented him on such a fundamental level his entire being responded. He wanted to keep her with him, wanted to feel her touch, and nothing else in the world seemed to matter, like everything had just been redefined for him in a single dance.

But Nesta took a step back, lifting her chin as she put distance between his body and hers once more. At the edge of the dance floor, she glimmered beneath the lights, a sight so wondrous Cassian thought he might have gone to his knees if he thought it might win him another moment in her arms.

“You should go, General,” she said, nodding to the mezzanine behind him, where he was certain Azriel would still be watching. The dismissal might have stung, had that look not still lingered in her eyes— the ghost of the moment they’d just shared, softened by the candlelight. It remained, even when Nesta canted her head to the side in the most beautiful invitation Cassian had ever seen in his life. “But I trust you’ll visit again soon?”

“Of course,” he answered, his voice rough as he reached out to take her hand one last time. All around them couples departed the dance floor, but Cassian remained unmoving, feeling her hand in his as he lifted her fingers to his lips.

He could feel her heartbeat— could feel it sinking into his own, each beat mirrored as he sought to savour this moment. To keep it cradled in his hands.

The warmth of her fingers against his own was enough to banish even the most distant memories of the cold, and gods above…

He knew with certainty, then. Knew without question who she was— what she was to him.

Pressing a lingering kiss to his mate’s knuckles, Cassian looked into the tempest eyes that had captured him since the moment he first saw her and said, in a voice laden with promise,

“I look forward to it, sweetheart.”

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!): @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome

#nessian #cassianweek2024

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logansgaar · 2 months ago

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"they left him to die" thing annoys me so much with the Civil War final scenes, even 10 years later, because it's just another fanon thing that's become ingrained as false canon. People act like Tony was unconscious and bleeding out on the ground, but he wasn't.

Tony was conscious, lucid, he had some superficial cuts (head wounds, however minor, are notorious for bleeding heavily, there's no sign of these injuries on Tony's face in the car with Peter later, I checked). Two days AFTER his confrontation with Steve and Bucky, according to the Marvel wiki's VERY meticulous timeline, he was dropping Peter off back home. Even the black eye he has isn't even from the Siberia fight, he had that before he even set foot in the airport. Also, is Tony a genius and one of the smartest characters in the MCU or is he a helpless poor baby?? Make up your minds, because the facility he was left in still had power (there's lights on, the cryo chambers function, the screen plays the footage of the crash; there's also some form of heating, you can't see their breath and it's frozen outside with no sign of the same inside, so he wouldn't have frozen either). He's Tony goddamn Stark, he can easily divert power from it to his suit to make a quick call to be picked up, and that's only if T'Challa hadn't been there, which he was.

Powering down the suit was their last ditch attempt to stop Tony from killing Bucky, it is CANON that Tony wanted to kill Bucky and would've had the suit not been powered down. It in no way left Tony somewhere he was going to freeze and die, helpless without his arc reactor.

You know who wasn't lucid? Who was actually barely conscious and had suffered catastrophic injury? Bucky. Who just had his arm torn off again. The arm that is canonically connected to his nervous system, the scene with the plums illustrates this but it was also confirmed by the directors that Bucky can feel the arm. Steve has to carry Bucky out. We've seen how tough Bucky can be, super soldiers in general, so it'd take a lot to put him in that state. When we see them in Wakanda, Bucky is in a medical facility with abrasions on his face and still getting treatment, even on a drip after the fight, while by then Tony's chilling in a car with Happy and Peter cracking jokes.

I don't know I'm just a bit tired of the way Tony's babied (Bucky is too, don't get me wrong, but specifically the Siberia fight? Yikes, he was in a bad way and Tony was physically fine, emotionally not so much) while also acting as if he's the most capable badass in existence. Tony is an extremely formidable and dangerous man and has killed a lot of people, directly he has shot them right in the face. He wasn't helpless during the fight, he was the instigator and he was driven by very valid, passionate motivations that skewed his judgement, as they would anyone tbh. The only person who walked away from Siberia with injuries even close to life threatening was Bucky, the only person who's life was in any danger at all during the entire encounter was Bucky (and possibly Steve too if Zemo had his way).

#anti tony stark #anti tony stans #anti cacw #the complete contradiction with his stans blows my mind #because they'll talk about how badass and capable he is and then turn around and make him out to be a helpless infant #there's also tons of bucky stans who are no different either don't get me started on that #looking at the fight from an objective stand point the only one in a bad way was bucky #he had to have treatment in wakanda after that fight??? they had him on a drip???#tony was chilling in a car with happy and peter PLEASE

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imtrashraccoon · 4 months ago

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Runs in but trips over my own paws, scattering some papers everywhere

So... I have a new thing that has been taking over my brain... Not sure if I'll end up doing all of the prompts and I know I won't have time to do them all on time, but I want to try!

I decided to take a similar approach to the fic I wrote from the last prompt list I did, Have Some Empathy, Dear. So, rather than write for Classic Papyrus all month, I'm going to split the prompts up among the four Papyri I have created. Some I haven't expanded on much or barely written anything in general, so this is exciting for me! First up, my Underfell Papyrus - Scar!

Thanks to @starlikeswomen for the awesome prompt list! (Let me know if you don't want to be constantly tagged for these...) (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ

Edit: I changed the title of the fic as I decided to only do the first seven prompts and I'm also finishing this outside of October.

Next Chapter

Chapter 1: I Guess We're Roommates??

Word Count: 1,884

It was a warm day today but rather than finish unpacking your apartment, you decided to go outside and get some sunshine. You were between projects anyways so it's not like your clients would get upset if you took a break. After grabbing your phone and credit card, you locked the front door behind you and set out to explore the city. Maybe you'd even try out a new restaurant for lunch if you encountered anything interesting.

It seemed like everyone was out and about today, either enjoying the warm weather like you or just going about their business. You didn't live anywhere particularly fancy, but there were plenty of new businesses in the area and your street had become a popular hang out spot for young people. It gave you some hope that you could start a new life here and make some new friends.

The sun was so bright that you almost wished you had remembered to grab your sunglasses but there wasn't anything you could do about it now since you didn't want to go all the way back home. For now, you kept your head down so you wouldn't have to squint constantly, at least some of the taller buildings occasionally blocked the sunlight.

A bus pulled up to the sidewalk up ahead and half a dozen people disembarked. On instinct, you moved towards the buildings so they could easily move past you, but in doing so, you noticed a very tall skeleton in the middle of the crowd. He seemed rather out of place but instead of asking for help, anyone who got too close received a harsh glare.

Despite Monsters being on the surface for quite some time now, they were still a rare sight since they tended to keep to themselves. The general public seemed to like them but you knew there were still many Humans who not-so-secretly disliked them. It just made sense for Monsters to stick together in a world that was still brand new to them.

You waited until most of the crowd had dispersed before attempting to approach the skeleton. He was dressed sharply, and thanks to his sharp teeth, that seemed to be a good word to describe him. Maybe his clothes were a bit too warm for the current weather though.

He had on a bright red scarf, a classy tan trenchcoat, dark slacks, and well-polished leather shoes. He was also wearing dark leather gloves, making his skull the only visible part of him. The most distinguishing features about him were the two jagged cracks that passed through his left eye socket and his scarlet eyelights that seemed to boil with barely concealed frustration.

Just as you were debating if you should bother talking to him or not, he seemed to notice your presence and turned sharply towards you. For a moment, you got the distinct impression that he was evaluating your appearance but he broke eye contact as soon as the thought occurred to you.

"Are you alright?" you asked carefully.

He stiffened and shot a glare at you. "Of Course I Am," he growled in response.

You weren't that surprised by his harsh tone but a part of you wondered if you should just excuse yourself and continue on your way. "I just wondered because I'm new to the city and I know the feeling of being lost quite well," you commented. "If I may ask, do you need help getting somewhere?"

His expression softened ever so slightly but his earlier frustration continued to hold on stubbornly. "No, I Am Not Trying To Go Anywhere," he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow but before you could say anything else, he let out a huff and crossed his arms. "But, If You Do Not Mind, What City Is This?"

You hadn't been expecting that question at all but you managed to keep a poker face rather than betray your bewilderment. "We're in Mountsburg."

His bonebrows furrowed and he propped his chin up in one of his hands in a thoughtful manner. After a moment he huffed again and turned back to you. "I... I Have No Idea Where I Am," he confessed.

You blinked in surprise and looked around but no one seemed to be paying attention to the two of you. So, you moved a bit closer to the skeleton before responding, "I can try helping if you want?"

He nodded, albeit hesitantly, and finally allowed himself to relax some.

Even though you had to basically crane your neck to look up at his easily seven foot frame, you smiled and introduced yourself before asking for his name in return.

He opened his mouth to respond before apparently thinking better of whatever he was going to say. "Scar. You May Call Me Scar," he answered.

A part of you wondered why he'd been reluctant to tell you his name but you decided not to pry for now. You were a complete stranger and he was in a bit of a tough situation after all.

"Would you like to go somewhere so we can talk? I was planning on getting some lunch anyways if you want to join me?"

"That Is A Good Idea," Scar started to say slowly. "Are There Any Good Monster Owned Places Around Here?"

You shrugged, "I don't know but we can find one."

After searching through some local review websites for a few minutes, you settled on one that was nearby with reasonable prices. It turned out to be a little hole in the wall place but on first impressions, it seemed clean at least. Other than Scar giving you the occasional odd look while you were looking for the restaurant, he had no complaints so you decided to give it a chance.

He picked a table in the far corner of the dining room and you noticed he chose to sit with his back to the wall, as if he didn't like the idea of not knowing who might walk in the door. After ordering, he leaned a bit closer to you, resting his arms on the table as he did so.

"I Am Not Sure Why I Am Here," he started to say in a low voice. "But A Small Skeleton With A Large Paintbrush Told Me To Find Someone With The Same Name As You. The Next Thing I Knew, I Was Here And Well, You Know The Rest."

"You just appeared here?"

Scar thought for a moment before nodding. "That Is The Best Way I Can Describe It."

"Can I ask where you're from then?" you asked.

"I Live Near A Place Called 'Surface Home'." When you have him a curious look, he added in slightly exasperated tone, "Our King Is Very Bad At Naming Things..."

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Considering everyone calls the East side of the city 'Monster Town', I'm not that surprised."

"Wait, Humans And Monsters Live Close Together?"

"Most live here in the city but I know some don't like living in the shadow of the mountain, which makes sense."

Scar nodded quietly.

"You know, I could try looking up your town or city on my phone. Maybe that could help you figure out where you are?" you suggested.

He only shrugged in response, although you did catch a glimpse of a curious glint in his eyelights but it vanished almost immediately.

Try as you might, you couldn't find anywhere that was called "Surface Home" or even any other instance of the former Monster King naming another Monster settlement. When you tried asking Scar about himself or anything else that might give you an idea of where he was from, he seemed to grow a bit uncomfortable, so you changed the subject and tried to make casual conversation instead.

You learned that he liked animals and owned a small hobby farm with his brother outside of their town. He used to be in the Royal Guard back in the Underground as well, which is how he got the two scars. You got the impression that while he acted tough, he really just wanted to be left alone, which was something you understood quite well.

Interestingly, you caught him closely studying you while you searched for his town on your phone. He attempted to play it off when he realized that you'd noticed his staring by complimenting the burgundy highlights in your hair. Then, the waiter returned with your orders so you brushed it off for now.

While eating, you noticed how he kept looking around at the other patrons. It was casual, as if he was only curious about what they were wearing or the occasional bits of conversation you could overhear. However, you began to notice that he was actually surveying the room for potential threats. When you asked if he was alright, he seemed a bit startled but gave you a gruff nod.

He insisted on paying separately when the bill came around and you noticed that he paid in Gold. It occurred to you that he could have requested a Monster restaurant for this specific reason but you supposed it could've also been for the food and familiarity.

When you stepped outside again, you turned to Scar. "Do you have any social media? Or maybe a phone number I can use to get in touch with you?"

He cocked his skull and gave you a confused look. "No? I Do Not Know What That Is..."

Well that put a spanner in the works. You should've guessed that he wasn't the type to care about what other people were doing online. That left you wondering what he would do next since he was alone in a strange city with no way of finding his way home. This led you to offer something that you normally wouldn't have if he was anyone else.

"You could crash at my apartment for a while until we figure out how to get you home."

He physically balked at the very suggestion. "No. You Do Not Need To Put Yourself Out On My Account."

"You were supposed to find me, right?" you pressed. "Maybe together we can find out why, but for now, I'd sleep a lot easier knowing that you have a roof over your head."

He frowned and looked away. "I Suppose You Are Right..." he muttered. "But I Do Not Want To Be A Burden..."

"Nevermind that," you huffed and planted your hands on your hips. "I've lived with roommates plenty of times and I doubt you'd be half as difficult to live with as some of them were."

Something about what you said got him to laugh. Maybe it was your tone of voice or maybe it was the sight of your much smaller frame glaring up at him like an annoyed chinchilla, either way he couldn't stop the smile that threatened to overtake his usual sneer. His laugh was very distinct, almost comical, like a truely maniacal villian, except he was a well-dressed skeleton who apparently hated the idea of being indebted to anyone.

"Nyah! Fine! If You Are Going To Be So Stubborn, I Accept Your Offer, Human," he huffed, although he still had a mildly amused look in his scarlet eyelights.

And so began the most interesting period of your life to date.

#starspaptober24 #i guess we're roommates??#raccoons drabbles #undertale #underfell #underfell papyrus #underfell papyrus x reader #reader #warm up my butt #i didn't spend all day writing this...no...#you guys will get to meet my favourite papyri!#this plot is stringed together with hopes and dreams #i got this! :D

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kairiscorner · 2 years ago

Note

miles meeting readers 7 yo sister.. cause yes !!! 🤩🤩 only if you want too btw!!

HELLOOOO OOO YES PLEASE >:)) i heard and saw from fanart here that miles actually has a little sister in the comics :0 i'd like to headcanon now that he's innately wonderful with kids >:3

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

big brother miles is here.

summary: you introduced miles to your seven-year-old little sister, and though she appeared like an angel at first, miles still has a long way to go before getting on her good side. luckily, miles has a ton of patience and adoration towards the little bugger, he won't be giving up so easily at becoming her new big brother. or rather, spider man won't be giving up so easily. word count: 741

you held your little sister's hand, her grip on your fingers tightening, as she shirked behind you a little. she kept her gaze down on the ground as you met up with miles, who greeted you both with a smile and a chipper voice. "miles, this is my little sister." you introduced her to him as he gasped at how cute she was. "aww, of course she is, you two cuties would definitely be family." he teased you both as you chuckled and gently tugged at your little sister's hand to make eye contact with miles.

miles smiled at her once she made eye contact with him. "hi, kiddo. i'm miles, what's your name?" he asked her in a gentle voice, not hoping to intimidate or scare her. she looked up at him with shy eyes, and before miles knew it, she resigned to your backside; not hoping to talk to him, or anyone else you knew, out of shyness. miles' smile waned and was replaced by a slight frown at how your younger sister wasn't very eager to talk to him. "oh, sorry about that. she... doesn't really do well around strangers." you apologized to him for her as you murmured to her that it was okay, miles wouldn't bite.

miles nodded and smiled again. "no worries, i used to be that way as a kid, too. it's understandable." he said as he went off to the kitchen to fetch you guys some water, as you tried to tell your little sister to at least speak one word to miles as long as you guys were there. miles came back with the water and sat down next to you, with your little sister on your other side watching a video on your phone. miles couldn't help but hear the video, and heard his own voice coming from it--it was a video of spider man saving a baby from a burning building.

miles' eyes widened and he cracked a smile as he leaned over a little. "ooh, she likes spider man?" he asked you, to which you chuckled. "she loves him." you said as your little sister overheard you and shot you a look of embarrassment. miles nodded as he had an idea. "hey, what if... i told you i'm friends with him?" he asked your little sister, whose eyes shined when she heard his bewildering fact dump. but she figured it was all just a tactic to get her to say something, so she merely replied, "that's impossible, he's a busy guy," as she continued watching the video.

miles backed away and got up from the sofa as he told you to wait for one minute, and you watched him head off upstairs, unsure of what he was going to do. then, in a minute, you heard a rapping sound by the window. oh he couldn't possibly have-- "spider man!" your little sister exclaimed as she smiled widely and rushed towards the window, with you reluctantly following her. "hey, kid! heard ya like spider man from my buddy, miles morales." "i do! wait, how are you guys friends?" "uh... long story! anyway, wanna swing around brooklyn? your parents don't need to know!" miles offered your little sister, to which you tried to get her to say no, but she couldn't! spider man was right here, in the flesh, of course she'd say yes!

"oh, our parents are gonna kill us..." you muttered as miles carried your little sister and looked over at you. "hey, no need to worry. we won't go too far or too crazy, i'm spider man, no worries--i've got her." he said, to which your little sister responded with a big hug. "i love you, spider man!" she exclaimed, which made miles' heart melt. "i... love ya too, kid. you got spider man as your big brother now, how's that?" he asked her as she giggled. "awesome! now swing, please!" she requested miles as he did as she said and swung over to the next building, with her squealing all the while, and you trying not to worry. but it was miles, of course, you trusted him deep down; you knew no harm would come upon your sister if he was around. and besides... in a way, your sister's finally come around to liking miles, at least as spider man; someday, she'll come to like miles the way she likes spider man, you were sure of it.

a/n: i love reader's little sister BJIEBIJCBRFVBFRBVIB

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @fiannee

#miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles morales #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles morales fluff #atsv #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv fluff #atsv imagines #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff

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rennorthernlights · 1 year ago

Text

The World We Knew

Chapter 1: Radioheart, Chapter 2, Chapter 3,

Trigger warnings; Zombies, mentions of death, very brief mention of suicide in the very beginning.

You can also go to AO3 for RenNorthenLights. I post more on there than here. If you go to my AO3 than PLEASE look at the tags for this fic! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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October-ish, 2023. Time??? Location???

It’s become almost routine now.

Waking up at the ass crack of dawn, checking her backpack, cleaning her rifle, making sure the ‘room’ she’s in is safe. Over a year ago she wouldn’t be up this early. Over a year ago she wouldn’t even be touching her fathers rifle without permission. But life has a funny way of throwing curve balls. In this sense, life threw a massive curve ball at everyone and everything. The world as she knew it become sick with disease— No, not COVID-19, though many speculated that it was the reason, the beginning of it all. No it was the dead-come-back-to-life-and eat-your-face kinda disease. Normally people bring up that type of disease in conversations with speculations on the “what if” scenarios of what they’d do.

Many of her college friends all had plans and ideas and yet most of them now roam the streets looking for the next person to chomp on. Ironic isn’t it? She never believed she’d live this long hell many times the conversation of “Quick a zombie apocalypse happens! What do you do?!” She’d laugh and says she’d die in the next month or two. To which her friends would moan and groan because surely “You wouldn’t give up so easily?? Come onnnn what would you actually do.” She’d think it over and before putting much thought, she said.

“I’d kill myself.” Her friends went silent before laughing at how serious she sounded and even she laughed. A good banter back and forth as her college friends sipped on cheap booze. “No, no, but in all seriousness. I’d stay with my parents. My dads a police Captain after all. He’s taught me how to shoot before I could write and my ma… well she’ll probably teach me something.” Snorting a chuckle since her moms a teacher. One of her friends asks what she’d do if her parents became zombies.

“Well I guess I’d try to find groups to stay in. What do y’all think? I guess I’d put up with y’all.” Nudging her friend playfully on the shoulder. Laughter in the room as the music starts playing and the cheep booze starts kicking in. As her friends dance and sing to “Only Girl in the World” by Rihanna she sits on the couch in deep thought. Her drink in hand as she thinks bout her life. Thinks about her finals coming up and how she’s gotta take all the tests to become a nurse. Both her parents were exceptionally happy that she didn’t follow in their footsteps.

“I love kids but please… do not become a teacher.” Her mother sounded so exhausted when they spoke early on the phone. “And don’t become a police officer!” Her father yells in the background. The running joke for every phone call even though her parents are well aware that she’s going to be a nurse. She’s been deadset on it since she was a kid. She doesn’t plan on telling her ma that she’s gonna try and apply to be the school nurse where her ma works. Sipping her booze some more as the apple news on her phone pings “Reports of a New Virus, Scientists say… ”

She huffs, reading the first couple of paragraphs before getting bored and exiting out of the article. “Probably another variant of COVID. Great another shot I’m gonna have to take.” Turning her phone off and chugging her drink before she starts dancing with her giggly and much too drunk friends.

————————————————————

Oh how life turned so fast and so quickly the following week. Nearly half of the friends in the room became the first percentages of “Turned” and the other half “Missing, have you seen them?” She barely made it out herself. But that’s life. Cruel and beautiful and so, so lonely in the world she now knows. She stays too long thinking about it and she’ll drown. She doesn’t want to think about her friends, her home, her… family. It’s still too much even after all this time. Even with it being well over a year it still hurts.

Shaking her head of those thoughts as she gets situated. Glad that she triple checked the ‘room’ she’s in. Her anxiety has been through the roof these last couple days and every lil noise is having her jump. At least she can put her mind at ease since she’s checked and barricaded the exit. A couple deads outside that she handled quickly. Who knew that she’s be so proficient with a bat and knife? She’s a good shot but before a to keep her rifle hidden. Not many bullets being made anyways..

She turns her radio on as she waits for it to come to life. For months she been speaking on it. Using it as a dairy of sorts, it helps her when she feels the loneliest. Helps when the days feel colder than what it typically does in Texas. She spoke and spoke until one day it started speaking back. The man on the radio commented how he’s been hearing her speak and at first, he and his group thought it was a hoax since they couldn’t get the radio to work. She didn’t speak on it for days, but the men would still speak back and call out to her.

Finally, she worked up the courage to speak back and from then on, they’ve become a part of her routine. Once a day around noon they’d speak. She has her rules, No names, no locations, no descriptions. She doesn’t want to get attached only to one day not hear them speak back again. She doesn’t need another name added to her list of grief. That, and as much as she wants to trust them, she knows that humans can be just as dangerous if not more so.

“Static, come in Static.” She grins as she sits in the office room that she’s been sleeping in. Stretching her legs as she’s never gotten used to the floors even after all this time. Her legs stiff as her other hand rubs her knee. The radio crinkles and scratches until finally.

“Must you keep calling me that?” The man speaks, the heavy Scottish accent shining through, and she can just tell he’s grinning. “I’ve told ya, mah name is Joh- “

“No,” she cuts him off as she clicks on the button. “No names. I don’t... I don’t want to hear it, please.” She’s told him before that she doesn’t want to hear his name. He’s been understanding but sometimes he’ll still try it... The thought that there is an actual person behind the radio scares her and intrigues her. Hearing someone even through all this mess makes it all bearable even if it’s just by a little bit. “Don’t make me ‘hang up’.” A lighthearted threat. She wouldn’t actually do that. She needs her daily talks with them.

“I know, Bonnie, I know,” the voice speaks with understanding. The man knows all too well on why it’s easier to stay nameless, easier to not be attached incase the voice one day doesn’t speak back. “But one day I would love ta hear my name from your pretty voice.” The voice chuckles, “Where are ya now?” A hopeful tinged to his voice.

“You know I don’t give locations, Static.” Singing back her words with a furrow of her brow. “But… I’m in an office building.”

“Ah, I see that’s become a fan favorite of yours.” A tease in the man’s voice. “Oh, it seems my friend wants to speak to ya.” Her eyes perk up as she knows who is about to speak.

“Electricity!” She smiles big and she just knows Static is rolling his eyes.

“Sunshine haven’t heard from you since, Static,” emphasizing the other man’s nickname and she can practically hear the glare. “has been hogging you.” Electricity, as she’s been calling him even though he’s also tried to get her to call him by his name, has a much softer voice. Calmer and levelheaded compared to Static who's more outgoing and louder. She’s called them the duo 1 and duo 2 before she called them Static and Electricity. Much to their annoyance and amusement, much better than her other idea of calling them Thing 1 and Thing 2.

“Well next time hit him or something.” She smiles as she can hear Static mouthing off something. Probably Static telling him where she’s been in for a bit. “In an office building again? That seems to be your usual, yeah?” The man speaks lowly. His words concerned and yet with the subtleness of memorizing something.

“Am I that predictable, Electricity? She stands up from where she was sitting. “Static said something similar.”

“Not predictable just doing what you always do, Sunshine.”

“That’s… That means I’m being predictable.” She teases as he stammers.

“No, no, I meant that you are more comfortable with what you know to be safe.”

“Soooo predictable with my safety?” She teases as she can hear him muttering “bollocks” like he always does when, she assumes, he is flustered. “I’m pulling your leg, Electricity. Just messing around and being a brat.”

He laughs and sighs in relief. His voice cool like the summer breeze after a rainy day. “So where are you?” His voice sounding slightly insistent.

“No where near you.” Rolling her eyes as they always ask the same questions everytime they talk. “Quit askin, I’m fine on my own. I don’t do groups and you know why.” She’s told them about her run in with the only group she’s been with. Handmaidens Tale meet zombie apocalypse and she barely got out.

“I know, I know, you’ve done well on your own, but a little help goes a long way, Sunny.” Sometimes she wishes she would hate the nicknames that they give her but it does give a warm fuzziness in her stomach whenever they say it. Sighing as she speaks back. “Oh yes because you’re military right?” A bit of sarcasm in her voice as this is one of her questions that she always asks.

“Taskforce 141, Special Operation Forces, you already know this, Lass.” The other man speaks making her jolt. Guess he was listening in when she was speaking to Electricity.

“Yeah, yeah, just making sure you’re not lying and trying to sound more badass than you both already do.” Remarking quickly as a light blush spread on her face. The way he’s speaking sounds deeper. Like she’s in trouble somehow and he’s going to correct her.

“We know, Sunshine, we know you just want to be safe. It’s hard to trust especially with the dead around.” Electricity’s speaks softly, the cool to Static’s heat, “But to say it again; Joh— I mean, Static, is a Sergeant and I am also a Sergeant. Static is an expert in demolitions and trained as a sniper. I myself am an expert with prime target eliminations and covert surveillance.” He says it so sincerely and she has half a mind to believe him.

“And why are you all the way in Texas then?” They’ve told her how they moved up here and she knows the reason, but she wants them to say it again.

“We received word that a base, Fort Sam Houston, was working on a cure for the zombie virus. The BAMC is a hospital within that fort that was conducting research.” Electricity sites off the very thing that they’ve repeated for the last month.

“And?” She makes a go on motion that they can’t see but she knows that they can imagine that’s what she’s doing.

“But when we got there it was already over run and Kyl— I mean Electricity almost got killed in the process.” Static says, he sounds upset. “We’ve been over this, Lass. We tell you about the same things over and over again.” A hushed murmur from Electricity is heard and she starts feels bad.

“I know… I’m sorry, I just...” she starts off as she tries to not sound upset. “I just want to make sure that I can trust you. Last time I did...”

“Handmaidens tale, you’ve told us about it. The leader, Abraham, is a far-right Christian, yes?” Static says the man’s name and she shivers as she gives a tiny yes in reply. “He tried to keep you. To force you to stay with his group and be treated as a... how did you say it?”

“A breading cow.”

“Yes, that,” he sighs deeply on the radio, and she wonders what he and Electricity looks like. Wonders if they are as comforting as their warm voices. Wonders if they have beards or stubbles but her self-imposed rules keep her from asking. “I know it’s a lot, learnin ta trust when it's hard to. We’ve promised since the beginnin ta be honest and if I ever see him.” The threat is laced in his voice but he clears his throat. “Enough of that. We are finally moving to Houston. We acquired a car. A Jeep to be more precise. Any chance we’ll be near ya?”

“You might be…” she says softly as she bites her tongue. The urge to let them come to her gets harder and harder to say no to everyday they speak. “I don’t give locations, Static.”

“I know but can’t blame a man for trying. Oh?” She can hear his eyebrows furrowing as voices in the background speak. They’ve told her that they are a group of 4 in total. She’s never heard the other 2 speak but she can sometimes hear them… they sound funny. “It seems we have to cut this shorter, Bonnie.”

“We’ll speak again tomorrow, Sunshine, we promise.” The other man promises, and she knows they will. They’ve never broken a promise. Never did more than what they couldn’t do from the month that they’ve talked.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow and please,” she stresses the word as she hopes and prays that one day they can meet. That she’ll be brave enough to let them in and find her. “Please be safe. Please don’t get hurt, okay? I’ll metaphorically hit you, I swear I will.”

“Always, Bonnie, we will always be safe. Take care and check corners and windows. Make sure you can quickly get’n and out. Don’t go’n if your gut tells ya not to.” Static says, listing off his advice like he would to a fresh-faced recruit. “Don’t play fair and don’t play kind. Everyone’s an enemy until proven otherwise.” He waits a couple seconds before he passes it to the other man.

“Make sure to pack light and that you can easily grasp your weapon.” Electricity warns. A deep sigh from him before he speaks, “And if you ever… if you ever need help, just... please just tell us. We’ll do whatever we can to come for you, okay?” He waits and waits for her to speak but when she doesn’t, he sighs. He waits another minute and then the radio turns to static signaling the end of their conversation.

“I know,” she says softly as she hears the static of the radio. “Be safe, please be safe.” She murmurs the bits of name that she has overheard them say. Going against her own rules of not saying their names even though she knows it’s half of what their names are. She’s gotten too attached and now… now she’s worried. Worried for men she’s never met and probably never will.

“One can dream,” she rolls her shoulders and bends to stretch. Her stomach growling as she knows it’s about time to eat. Pulling her backpack on the office desk and opening it. A couple cans of food and jerky from gas stations. 2 water bottles and a simple medkit along with an extra shirt and pants. “Okay… raviolis or beans….” Humming as sits and pops open the beans. “I’ll save the raviolis for a special day.”

She’s sat for too long on her ass now it’s time to get a move on. Can’t stay for too long in the same places. Always gotta keep moving to different places. Curse the anxiety that still makes her think that a zombie is around every corner. Guess that’s what she’s been alive for so long.

#simon ghost riley #johnny mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #141 x reader #poly 141 #ZombieAU #The World We Knew #TWWK #If you go to my AO3 please read the tags #It’s a slow build to when the boys finally meet Reader #No physical descriptions of Reader or a name for Reader #Reader uses She/Her pronouns though #Reader is Texan cause I’m Texan and I haven’t been to most other places so I just set it up in Texas

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dudecreature · 2 years ago

Text

False Confidence (sometimes works)

Drunk! reader x Ghost Synopsis: The reader drunkenly flirts with a tipsy Ghost. Warnings: Alcohol consumption Additional tags: fluff, crack treated seriously Word Count: 1.9k

AN: this is kind of a mess, but I'm hoping you guys enjoy it (plz like, it fuels my confidence)

Deep, deep down you had known that you shouldn’t have taken those last two shots, but everyone was drinking and having a really good time. You didn’t want to be some Debby-Downer. Especially after arguably one of the best missions your team had completed in forever. No casualties, no injuries, and they were in and out in less than 4 hours. So you guys decided to up the normal celebration.

The straight vodka shots had started to go down a bit too easily and that's how you knew you needed to slow down. You were five shots in and the world had started to rotate every time you blinked. You thanked whatever was watching over you that you were on the couch rather than a stool at the bar. If that were the case your ass would have been on the floor a long time ago.

Against your better judgment, you lifted your arm with your shot glass in hand. Making eye contact with Soap, he gives you a wide grin and goes to pour you another shot. The glass spilled over, Soap giving you a more than generous pour. Your eyes went wide at it, and your face split into a sly smile, giggling to yourself you bring the glass to your lips. Jerking your head back, you take in the alcohol, and your body involuntarily twitches at the gross flavor that's barely there. Once you swallowed it all, you pulled your head back forward and locked eyes with him.

Ghost.

Shiiiiiit.

You held eye contact for as long as you could before needing to blink. Does he ever blink? You don't know how long they had stayed closed but when you opened them he was gone. What the hell? You look to your right in search for him and when your eyes only found a blubbering Gaz, leaning on Soap you looked left. When you do all you can see is the familiar skull mask, inches from your face.

With a startled “Ack!” you push yourself away hurriedly. You push his shoulders back, only to realize you are the only one to have moved. You felt your face heat up and become apparent as to how drunk you actually were.

“Geez, Ghost, you scared tha fuckin shit outta me.” Your words slur together as you attempt to avoid eye contact with the mountain of a man. When he says nothing you look back at his face, slowly gaining a drunk false sense of confidence. Your eyes roam around his mask-clad face, darting between his dark hazel eyes. From a normal distance, they usually look brown, but now that you can get a good look at them, they have a bit of a forest green around the pupils. Never would you have said this sober but the confidence the liquor gave you was acting as a superpower.

“Your eyes are so… pretty”

This shocked him, you think. His eyes widened, and he let out a huff of air. You could see the smile that he had on his face through his eyes.

“Do you want to repeat that?” Ghost muttered ever so close to you. You could smell the Kentucky bourbon in his breath, his favorite. You swallow at his words, how was he always so steady? He seemed to never waver in his words or actions, even when he wasn't stone-cold sober he was a rock.

“Hmm?” You blinked up at him and tilted your head in slight confusion. In reality your ass was not listening, his eyes were just too damn entrancing. You could hear him chuckle, you could practically feel it. It rumbled through his chest, and with how close he was, through your shoulder and side as well.

“I said… Do you want to repeat yourself?” His deep voice caused you to shiver. His confidence seemed to influence your confidence to spike as well. You smirked and let your eyes roam over his mask, as if you were trying to see through it, to his bare face. You could not only smell the bourbon coming off of him, but you could smell him as well. He smelled like gunpowder and body wash, gritty but clean, just like Ghost.

Carefully listening around you for what the others must be doing, to ensure you won't get the shit embarrassed out of you. Soap was attempting to make Gaz laugh, while Price was humming an indiscernible Brittany Spears song in karaoke with a fat cigar in his mouth. You knew you were in the clear for at least Ghost to hear. With all the confidence you could pull out of you, you locked eyes with the man and declared,

“I said you are pretty. I mean... Your eyes are pretty. Not that you aren’t pretty I just haven’t ever seen your face.” In your drunken stupor, you had accidentally confessed. He huffs at your idiocy and attempts to interrupt you but you just keep fucking talking.

“Not that I am asking to see your face that is completely up to you! And if one day you trust me enough that is cool too!” You began to see the playful deadpan cross his eyes as he continues to stare down at your rambling form. All the previous confidence faded away.

“Wow... I make quite the mess out of you don’t I? And I haven’t done anything yet.” Confidence oozed from his lips. His eyes roamed over your face, lingering on your lips for just a moment. You felt as if you had melted into a puddle right there. His words drilled into the back of your mind, you absolutely had to be dreaming right now. No way in hell would Ghost be this open and flirtatious with you.

You had tried your best to hide the fact that you had found him attractive in the past, but there were moments that you had most likely done a piss poor job at hiding it. You always complimented his kills, whether it was from him sniping over your shoulder or when he performed a close combat takedown right in front of you. Once you had watched a takedown he had done during practice and not so quietly sat in awe with a “Holy shit that was so cool”.

Steeling yourself up, you try to look as confident as possible in front of him, but 6 fucking shots were really hitting you now. The guys always had made fun of you for being a lightweight, and now you can see two Ghosts in front of you.

“Hahaa there are two of you now?” you giggled and reached at the man on the right but your arm met straight air. How was he doing that? You reach up with both hands and close them around his cheeks. There we go. You were able to see him as one now, and he stopped spinning, you smiled and thumbed his cheek gently. Your fingers began to trace the teeth of his mask, admiring the detail and humming at the idea of the care he took into making it.

Unbeknownst to you, Ghost had frozen under your gentle touch, eyes never leaving your face. His face flushed as your fingers graced his rough lips through his balaclava. Internally he was fucking panicking, but he would never let his external show it. He tried to swallow but choked up and it must have sounded like a gruff attention grabber because you had stopped your movements. Your hands didn't leave his face, and your eyes traveled up tantalizingly slow to meet his gaze.

When you were caught off guard by the clearance of his throat, your hands may have stopped moving, but they didn't leave his face. You attempted to stutter out an apology, but the words just came out as mumbled garble. You shut your mouth and simply took him in, what you could see of him at least. His light eyelashes flutter with each of his blinks, his eyes roaming over your face greedily.

“You’re fuckin’ gone, mate. How much have you had?” Ghost asked, his face intensely close to yours. He examined your face, scouring eyes, searching your face for an answer. You knew he wouldn’t wait long for an answer, but your brain wasn't working properly. You couldn’t trust your voice enough to speak, so you two sat in silence. Until your mouth spoke for you.

“Enough to take you, big guy.”

What?

What the fuck?

No way you just said that out loud.

‘Please, if a god is listening, please tell me I didn’t just say that out loud.’ You look to the sky and plead for any merciful higher power to listen to you. When you heard no response you look back at the man whose face is still in your hands. His pupils had blown wide and his brow cast a shadow over his eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. You could see him smirk under the mask, hell you could feel the way his face moved. It was terrifying how close you were.

“I’m cutting you off, love. Let’s get you some water.” With that, he pushed himself away from your touch and you watched him go. When you registered fully what he said, you push yourself off of the couch and go to follow. Your body had other plans though. You found yourself looking up at the ceiling and consequentially everyone else in the room who had gathered around you. Ghost just sighed and put the glass of water on the coffee table before helping you sit up, ensuring you hadn’t hit your head on anything (other than the fucking floor).

“Drink.”

He guided the glass to your lips and you sipped the chilling liquid as much as you could. His hand under your chin to keep your head level, the other on the glass. Completely focused on the gentleness of his hand on your chin you barely heard him say to the others. Something along the lines of “I’m goin' to take them to bed eh?”

Bed? His bed? Well shit I wouldn’t mind that. You look to the others ready to just sleep and they looked at you so weirdly. Ghost put the glass back on the coffee table and stood. He reached his hand out to you and you relished in the warmth of his hands. He pulled you up as if you had weighed nothing to him, it may have been a little too hard because it felt as if you were fucking launched into space.

“Jesus Christ Ghost!” you shouted and grasped at his shoulders to steady yourself, his hands met your waist. He led you down the winding, never-ending halls of the compound until you were met with a door. You couldn’t tell whose door it was but you were ready to sleep, a lone mattress would work at this point. When he opened the door you saw your bed, your wonderful, soft bed. Thank god. You reach for the bed hoping to plop in and clock out, but Ghost’s hands prevented this. You looked towards the man and pouted. He laughed at your face and shook his head.

“Your depth perception is off, love. You would have smacked right into the floor.” With that he guides you to your bed, pulling your covers back, revealing the most comfortable thing you had ever seen. He gently helps you into the bed, allowing you to get comfortable before pulling the covers over you. Your eyes feel like they are 30 pounds each and they are a struggle to stay open. It’s only when you feel the soft pets of Ghost’s hand on your head lulling you to sleep that you give in. Before you drift into dreamland, you feel a gentle pressure on your forehead.

“Can’t wait to see what you remember.” The lights turn out and the door clicks softly.

#dudecreature #dudewrites #call of duty #ghost x reader #fanfiction #ghost x male reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost x gn reader

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