#mind sharing as a bonding activity i guess

[portalmonsterrr]

[Alhaitham Become Human AU] Meeting Nahida part 4/4

previous parts of the comic

ty for reading! :3

[meowabunga]

Marked Territory

SuperBat x Reader (Clark Kent x Reader x Bruce Wayne)

tags: SMUT, Mutual pinning, slight jealousy, secret-ish relationship, possessiveness, threesome, fingering hehe, pussy eating Clark <3, pwp I think, whole lotta teeth, emo eyeliner, biting

a/n: I saw umikochannart's superbat fan art on twitter and it woke something up inside of me #superfreaky

You weren’t expecting him this afternoon.

You’re halfway through your first cup of coffee, still in pajama shorts and a faded shirt from waking up late, when a knock interrupts. Three gentle taps. You already know it’s clark, he’s the only person on your floor who knocks like he’s afraid he’ll wake everyone up.

He’s mid-sip from his cup when you open the door. His hair is still damp, and he’s wearing soft gray sweatpants and that Metropolis University hoodie you like. There’s tension in his shoulders you can read all too well now.

“Hey, is everything alright?” 

He nods, before slipping you a croissant from that place down the street you like. How thoughtful.

“Can I come in?”

You step aside. Your living room is barely big enough for two people to stand in, but clark moves through it like he belongs. Because he does, sort of. He’s always here, fixing your sink, sharing dinner over a new movie, picking up your mail when you’re out of town, sometimes falling asleep on your couch after a long shift (or fight).

You settle into your usual places, you on the couch and him on the floor leaning back against it.

“So… what’s up?”

“Bruce,” he says simply.

The name settles between you. You’ve heard it before. Always in a hesitant way, like clarks unsure what story he’s telling when he says it. Never in great detail, but often enough that you were able to figure out that the ‘friend’ was more than a friend. Not that clark would admit it outright. 

“He’s been… distant. Or different, I guess.” He lets out a short laugh, bitter. “And it’s hard, y’know? I think I love him? Ive known him for years. He knows me. But sometimes I feel like I’m just convent. Like I’m good for the mission, good for sex. But not someone he actually choses.”

Your heart clenches. You want to say something comforting, but it dies in your throat.

“Maybe he’s scared,” you offer. “Or maybe he doesn’t know what he wants”

Your mind began to wander. Not because of bruce, but because of him. The two of you were like that for a brief period of time, before Clark met Bruce, that is. When you first moved to metropolis, clark was one of the first people you met. He helped you carry boxes up the stairs of your apartment after watching you struggle to get the elevator to work. You’d been inseparable since then. Bonding over shared interest in writing and journalism, as well as nerding out over superman occasionally. The two of you went on a few dates, had a few hookups here and there, but mutually agreed to keep it casual for now. Work and other activities took over your lives and there just wasn’t enough time for focusing on another person. Clark confessed that he was superman shortly after that and things have been pretty normal since then.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says quietly. “With him.”

You move closer on the couch, leg folded under you. He’s usually so composed, so bright and happy. But this version of him.. The one that talks about bruce with a crack in his voice, is rare.

“He just shuts down,” Clark continues. “Pushes me out when things are too real. And I keep waiting for him to let me in all the way, but what if this is all he wants?”

You pause, then gently rest your hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing over his trap.

“You’re not someone people use, Clark. You’re someone they fall for without even realizing it.”

He leans his head back and his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Im serious,” you say, quieter now. “I mean, look at me”

He lets out a small laugh at that, but there’s a sort of sadness in it.

“It’s not just him,” he admits. “Ive been thinking about you too”

You still.

He shifts his weight and turns towards you, voice a little shakier now.

“I keep remembering those nights we went out,“ he says “even when I was trying to be all logical and keep it casual. You remember? That little hole in the wall Thai place. The movie night at the park?”

You smile faintly, remembering the way you’d both laughed a little too loud during the romcom trailers. The way his fingers would find yours under the table, never lingering too long, as if it wasn’t allowed.

“We both said we were too busy,” you murmur “too much going on.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And I told myself I could handle that. That it wouldn’t be fair to you if I couldn’t give you all of my time.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you.

“But I was lying to myself, I wanted you even then.”

Your breath catches. “And now?” You whisper 

“Now I want to take you out again. No bullshit this time. I know i’m the guy who remembers your coffee order, who walks you home after you stay late at work, but this time I want to be more than that.”

He’s close now, kneeling in-front of you. You feel his hand on your thighs, thumbs robbing slow circles like he’s anchoring himself there.

“If this ruins everything, I’ll live with it,” he says, voice rough now. “But I can’t sit across from you and act like I don’t want you anymore”

“Then don’t,” you say.

And that’s all it takes.

He kisses you with that restrained spark, like he’s been holding it back for months and it’s finally safe to let it out. His hands cradle your face, your waist, the back of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap on the couch. He’s holding you like you’re the most fragile, precious thing he’s ever been given.

His mouth finds yours again, hungry, a quiet moan catching in his throat when your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked.

“You already have me,” you whisper back.

He swallows hard. Then it shifts.

He grips your hips, guiding you to straddle him fully, and his mouth moves lower. Kissing under your jaw, across your collarbone. He palms your ass and pulls you tight against the hard outline of his cock through his sweatpants. His breath is ragged against your skin.

When he lifts your shirt and you raise your arms to help him pull it off, he doesn’t waste time. His mouth latches onto your breast and you gasp. He sucks hard, teeth scraping the bud just enough to make your back arch.

“Clark…” you whisper, but he just groans, moving to the other side.

You know he’s leaving marks, wants to leave them. Little purple reminders of where his mouth has been. He palms both breasts, greedy and worshipping, like he missed the feeling of your skin against his.

Then he pulls back, eyes burning and pupils blown wide. “Turn around,” his voice thick with need.

You do, and you’ve barely settled into his lap once more then he fists your hair at the root and gently tugs your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.

His lips drag hot, open mouthed kisses just below your ear, down to your pulse point. His tongue flicking over the spot before he sucks hard. You moan, rocking against him, and he hums against your skin.

“You’re mine right now,” he murmurs. His other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, you grind down against his palm instinctively. He bites your neck, not too hard, but just enough to make you shiver and gasp, feeling the heat of it ripple down your spine.

Your clothes come off in a rush, tossed somewhere by the coffee table. He stretches you open with two fingers, painstakingly slow, watching your face twist with each curl of his fingers.

“You’re so wet for me,” he groans. “Fuck, I could stay right here forever.”

But you need him, now. And you whimper his name like a plea.

He doesn’t make you wait.

Your backs pressed against the arm of the sofa, his palm cradling the back of your head as he rubs his tip against your clit. Your hips jerk and you toss your head back, hands squeezing his biceps.

Then he sinks into you. It’s slow, torturous, and deep. Your body clenches around his instinctively and he grits his teeth, breathing harsh against your ear.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he gasps. “Better than I remembered. Better than anything”

He thrusts into you with force, grinding his hips against yours, feeling him dig into that spongy spot inside. His hand grips your waist, dragging your hips down to meet every roll of his. 

You cling to him, biting his shoulder, nails raking down his back, and he growls. The sound deep in his chest beside his heartbeat.

“I won’t last long this time, shit” he murmurs into your neck. You clench around him, electricity crawling up your stomach as his thumb rolls against your clit. 

“Fuck, Clark” you whine.

“Please tell me you’re close, please baby.” 

You could feel him twitch inside you.

“Yes! Yes, please im so close” he thrusts into you, cock hitting that spongy spot which had you seeing stars. It was too much.

You come first, arm wrapped around his shoulder for support as he helped you ride through your orgasm. He follows right after, burying his face in your shoulder, gripping your sides and stilling his hips against yours as he pulsed inside.

You don’t know how long you stayed there. Shifted on your sides, bodies still tangled, breathing synced. But he’s warm and quiet again, one hand stroking slow lines along your back.

You rest your head on his chest.

“Do you want to have another movie night?” You ask, teasing.

He chuckles, lazy and quiet. “Only if we can pick something corny”

—

A few weeks later, you’re late for an important meeting. Completely slipped your mind and your alarm didn’t go off, now you’ve got a half eaten granola bar hanging out of your mouth, bag slung crooked over your shoulder, makeup half-assed and smudged on. 

You take the stairs because the elevators jammed again, and you’re not in the mood to fight it.

That’s when you see him. Coming up the stairs, dressed in all black, long coat fluttering behind him. His hairs gelled and combed back, leather gloves, eyes sharp like knives. You didn’t need an introduction, you just know.

Bruce Wayne.

He stalls when he sees you. Doesn’t speak, doesn’t nod. Just looks, eyes doing all the talking.

You falter mid step. There’s no confusion in his gaze. He knows exactly who you are, there’s no suspicion. There’s judgement.

Your stomach twists as he passes without a word.

You pull out your phone the second your foot hits the side walk, barely fixing your bag.

you: just saw your friend on my way out. Didn’t look too thrilled to see me

you: everything okay?

Delivered.

Read.

No reply.

—

Bruce showed up at Clarks door at 2:48 PM.

Three solid knocks on the front door to his apartment, answered almost instantly. 

He simply gave him a look before turning on his heel and heading back downstairs.

By the time Clark threw on proper clothes and made it down, he was already waiting.

Bruce pushes off the blacked out sedan without another word and opens the back door, sliding in first. He doesn’t look back to see if Clark follows.

He does.

The silence in the back of the car is thick enough to suffocate. Neither of them speak.

The city flickers by through tinted windows, buildings blurring together like bruises in the sky.

When they finally arrive at the Wayne Tower penthouse, Bruce leads the way with heavy, decisive steps. The elevator ride is quiet. But not peaceful.

Bruce hits the penthouse button with a little too much force. The soft ding of the doors closing feels final.

The floor numbers tick upward, each one a countdown.

When they reach the top, Bruce steps out first again, moving with those same predatory strides. As if he’s hunting something that hasn’t figures out its prey yet.

The penthouse is exactly what you’d expect: dark wood, clean lines, dim lights, and restrained excess. A kind of silence that money buys and trauma curates.

Clark doesn’t take off his coat, he doesn’t sit.

He watches as Bruce paces past the floor to ceiling windows, the city glimmering behind him like something waiting to collapse.

“You’re really doing this,” Bruce finally says, stopping near the bar. “You and her.”

“It’s not about her.” “then what is it?” Bruce turns, voice sharp. “Loneliness? Revenge? Or just trying to find someone easier to manage than me? She doesn’t know what you are. What it costs.”

“She’s not easy,” Clark snaps, jaw flexing. He takes a step forward. “I told her everything. She’s honest. She looks at me and doesn’t see a symbol. She doesn’t see a threat.”

“But she’s not me.”

Clark flinches. Not because of the words, but because of the way Bruce says them. Not entirely jealous. Not angry. Wounded.

For a second, they just look at each other, and the air between them feels like it could crack open. Then Bruce crosses the distance between them.

“You want to tell me you’re moving on?” He asks quietly.

He’s close now, too close.

Clark’s breath catches. His glasses have started to slide down his nose. One curls fallen in-front of his eye.

“I want to help you understand” He says, but it doesn’t come out steady. 

Bruce’s hand lifts, slowly, and brushes the curls back, barely grazing Clarks temple.

“You smell like her.”

Clark’s breath hitches. Bruce’s hand lingers a second too long.

Then he leans in, voice dropping an octave. Smooth, dangerous.

“Bring her next time.”

Clark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. The way Bruce says it. Low, with the edge of a dare. It makes something stir deep in Clark’s stomach. 

Neither of them move at first. The heat in the room shifting. No longer argumentative. Something darker, hungrier.

Bruce pulls away before he can respond, turning toward the window again. But not without glancing down at Clark’s lips. Just once.

Clark leaves wordlessly, gaze lingering on the man next to him before stepping through the open balcony door.

The wind outside cuts across his face as he floats just above the stone rail, muscles tense, heart pounding.

His glasses are crooked. A few curls fall loose again, but he doesn’t bother fixing them.

 His fists clench once, like he’s trying to shake something out of his body. A thought, a feeling, a want.

Then he launches into the night sky, flying toward the only place that might calm the storm bruce stirred up in his chest.

He’s coming to find you.

—

You unlock your door with a sigh, shrugging your bag off your shoulder, other hand already reaching for the light switch. It was a long day, your feet hurt, back aches, and all you want to do is melt into the couch with takeout and a terrible show.

The light flicks on. Clark is already inside.

You don’t flinch, you recognize the silhouette immediately. Broad shoulders, soft curls, hands in the pockets of his slacks.

Hes dressed nicer than usual. A pressed button down shirt tucked into charcoal dress pants. The sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He looks freshly showered too, like he just got home from something important.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping out of the shadow near your window.

You raise a brow, “did I give you a key I don’t remember?”

He smiles, barely. “You left the balcony door unlocked.”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile creeps onto your face, or the way heart skips at the sight of him.

“You look nice,” you add, kicking your shoes off. “press conference? Or interview?”

He shakes his head, smile fading a little.

“I came from talking to Bruce.”

That stops you. You set your bag down a little too hard on the counter.

“We had a talk…” Clark says “and he knows what happened.”

You purse your lips, eyes searching his face, “a talk talk, or a rooftop-standoff kind of talk?”

“Something in between,” He admits. “He was pissed. At first.”

“And now?”

Clark exhales, stepping forward to close the distance. His hand grazes your arm, a comforting gesture. Something felt heavier tonight, slower. Like the space between you means more than it did those weeks ago.

“I… told him the truth.” He says. “About us. That we slept together. That I wanted to. That it wasn’t a mistake or something I regret.”

Your breath catches, “and?”

“And, he wants to meet you.”

You blink. “What?”

“Bruce said he wants to see you, us. Together. He said…” Clark trails off, running a hand through his hair. “He said if I was going to throw away all his boundaries, then I should prove what this is. What it means.”

You stare at him, stunned. “Is this some kind of test?

Clark slips his hand into yours. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s him trying, in his own messed up way, to figure out if he still had a place in my life. In ours.”

You’re honestly stunned. You let your eyes trail over his face, studying his expression. There’s a new kind of nervousness there, but also hope. And something else. That warm sort of steadiness he always carries even when everything is falling apart.

“So… you told your vigilante… situationship? That we fucked, and now he wants to interview me like this is some open relationship?

Clark laughs under his breath. “He wants to know what I see in you. Why I chose you, why I care. I don’t go around telling just anybody that I’m superman after all.”

You pause. “And what did you tell him?”

Clark leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. “That I don’t know how to stop thinking about you,” he says against your skin. “And that I want you with me, wherever this goes.”

—

The drive is quiet. Clarks hand rests on your thigh the entire time, thumb tracing light circles like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

You watched as the city faded behind you, replaced by rolling hills and shadows. The road curving like questions neither of you can answer yet.

“He won’t hurt you,” clark says suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Im not scared of Bruce,” you lie.

Clark glances over, a soft, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You should be,” he whispers

Wayne manor is almost historical. Carved stone and polished silence. Dim lamps lining the driveway with the metal gate slamming shut behind your car. The front doors open before Clark could even knock.

His hand slips in yours as he pulls you forward.

Bruce is already waiting in the grand foyer. Dressed in black, again, with his rolled and his shirt half unbuttoned like he didn’t bother to pretend this was a normal meeting.

He doesn’t greet you. His eyes land on you with the same intensity as before, but this time somethings shifted. There’s curiosity. Something dark under the surface.

“So,” Bruce says, voice low. “This is her.”

You square your shoulders. “And this is how you welcome guests?”

“I don’t remember inviting you,” he replies through clenched teeth.

Clark takes a step between you two slightly, his hand on your lower back.

“You said you wanted to understand-“

“I said I wanted the truth”

“Then let me show you.” Clarks voice was soft

There’s tension in the air as clarks pleading eyes watch Bruce.

Bruces gaze was sharp as he glanced between the two of you. He turns away and gestures for you to follow him deeper into the manor.

The bedroom is sleek, cold. Like a hotel suite haunted by its owner. The bed is massive, carved wood and charcoal sheets. The overhead lights are dim but like a spotlight waiting to be claimed.

You stand at the edge of the room while Bruce crosses to the side table and pours himself a drink. He doesn’t offer you one.

Clark moves behind you, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You okay?” He whispers.

“I think so.” Your voice shook slightly

“You don’t have to do anything.” “I want to.”

You don’t break eye contact with Bruce as you say it.

That gets his attention.

He sets the glass down, untouched. “Then let’s not pretend this is something it’s not.”

It starts slowly.

Clark kisses you first. Hands on your hips, mouth soft. You melt into him easily, your hands sliding under his shirt. His body is familiar now, safe.

Until another set of hands grabs your waist from behind. You jump a little, before clarks touch grounds you. Bruces body presses flush against your back, his breath warm at your ear. 

“you really have no idea what you’ve walked into, do you?” He murmurs.

“Guess I’ll find out,” you breathe.

Clark watches Bruce over your shoulder. There’s a fire in both of the boys, different kinds. Clark is warm, sunny. Bruce is lightning before a storm.

“She’s beautiful,” Bruce murmurs, voice husky now.

“I know,” Clark whispers, planting kisses down your throat.

They move in sync, hands moving your shirt and bra off, fingers fiddling with your belt, letting your pants sink to the floor, undressing you with care.

Bruces hands trail up your sides, following the curve of your breast before cupping the soft flesh in his palm before spinning you around.

Now Clarks hands are on you, pulling your back to his chest, wrapping digits around your throat with a firm squeeze. You let out a whimper. Bruce grips your chin and kisses you.

Then they share kiss over your shoulder, as if you’re the bridge between them.

There’s a small gap, their hands are off of you, mouths pulling away from open kiss marks and red splotches on your neck. They’re unbuttoning each other’s shirts, untucking the fabric.

Then Bruces mouth crashes into Clarks once more, and it’s like a fuse blows.

Clark fists Bruces shirt in his hands, pulling him in hard. Bruce bites his lip, and you see the first smear of eyeliner smudge onto clarks cheek.

Their teeth clash as they push and grind, almost lost in each other already.

You climb onto the bed and watch them for a second. The two of them practically devouring each other like this is what they’ve been waiting for.

Then bruce looks at you.

“Get over here,” He growls.

You crawl forward, knees at the edge of the bed.

Clark pulls you into a kiss, as bruce slides behind you. He palms your ass, and Clark nudges your knees apart. Bruces hand comes around and cups your heat, feeling the damp spot on your panties.

“Shit, she’s soaked” he murmurs.

His fingers slide beneath the fabric, spreading your folds and toying with your clit. Your back arches and your cling onto Clark. He holds your head against his chest, whispering praises into your ear as Bruce brings you to the edge with his fingers.

You cry out as your orgasm washes over you.

“Fuck, Bruce” you gasp. “Right there—“

Then Clark pulls away, gripping your hair and tilting your head back. He kisses down your throat, over the bite marks he left last time, making new ones, darker.

You’re panting now. Clark pins your hands above your head, kissing down your chest like he’s starving. He’s ripping your panties off, folding your plush thighs and throwing them over his shoulders as he licks a stripe up your folds that makes you cry out. 

“Gotta prep you, stretch you out ‘fa me” he says in-between licks.

By the time he’s satisfied, you’re drenched. Clark rolls his thumb over your clit, leaving you whimpering and bucking your hips at the contact.

He pulls you on top and bottoms out inside of you. Your head drops forward at the sudden full-ness and you sink your teeth into his shoulder as he grinds deeper.

As you ride Clark, Bruce kisses you both. Rough, possessive, demanding. Bruce palms your breast and bites down hard, just enough to leave a purple bruise blooming beneath your skin. You whimper, and clark shudders beneath you,

“She looks better marked,” Bruce growls, eyes flicking to Clark.

Clark answers by yanking Bruce down into another kiss, messy and hot, both of them rutting against you. You’re nothing but friction and sound now. Heat and heartbeat. Bruce growls into clarks mouth. You’re not sure who you belong to, or if that even matters anymore.

When Clark’s attention is back to fucking you, Bruce is kissing the side of your face, eyeliner streaking across your skin, teeth leaving indents on your shoulder, matching Clarks. His hands hold your thighs open for Clark, watching how you fall apart. Watching both of you come undone.

You finish with Bruces fingers in your mouth and Clarks hands gripping your hips. He’s holding you tight, rutting into you as he paints your insides. Bruces biting down on clarks shoulder hard enough to bruise as he finishes too, both of them leaving their mark on you like they’ll kill whoever dares to touch you next.

You collapse between them, your chest heaving, Clarks arms pulling you close. Bruce exhales like he’s just been exorcised, one hand lazily stroking your hip.

The sheets are torn. The pillows are on the floor. You’re all bite marks and purple hickeys. Smeared eyeliner and handprints.

And for once, there’s no secrets in the room.

Only skin, quiet breathing, and something that feels like belonging.

[latteodyssey]

celebrity crush | tim drake x vigilante!reader ˚｡⋆୨୧

part two of celebrity gossip! hope you guys enjoy! (i’m planning on writing a third part but please be patient with me!)

masterlist

You never thought a man could inconvenience your day like this, specially when he’s not even physically there.

At first you considered Red Robin as one of your friends, nothing more than that. He was one of the few people you were able to trust and create a bond with as a vigilante.

When you first entered the team, he didn’t open up to you right away, perhaps it was one of Batman’s teachings. He was always pretty respectful, but made sure he kept a distance and didn’t let himself get too involved, never revealing anything about himself, he would only talk to you about missions when needed and nothing else.

But as time passed by, he started opening up more, yet still maintained the mysterious persona that surrounded him. You were paired up together more often, and you noticed he initiated conversation more frequently.

But now, that masked man’s face is restlessly clinging to your mind.

Ever since that one night, although you were not sure what, it was undeniable that something shifted between you. The night you were one in the watchtower with him, and decided it was a great idea to share the Wayne family’s new gossip stories the news were fixated over.

Ever since you opened up to him about how Tim Drake used to be your high school crush, something you never told anyone beforehand. You spent hours talking to him then, and what started as an innocent conversation was snowballing into something way bigger.

Several weeks went by and the two of you grew closer, significantly closer. You would spend hours talking to each other; there was this sparkle, this electricity when you spoke to him.

You attempt pushing there thoughts away, trying to focus on what you’re doing — you can’t be the weirdo standing there, daydreaming on the cereal aisle of your local supermarket. You need to get on with your day. You stop to check the grocery list on your notes app, when you notice an odd notification.

timjdrake ✓⃝ started following you. 5m ago.

It takes more than you’d like to admit not to let out a squeal in public. As you follow him back, you can’t wait to tell this to Red Robin.

You’re waiting for Red Robin to arrive the training room, the two of you agreed to have a sparring session; you’ve not seen him in a couple days so you’re dying to update him on what’s been happening. As you wait around for him, you reread your last message exchange with Tim, you’ve been texting nonstop ever since he found your account.

— 6 hours ago.

[timjdrake] it’s been nice catching up with you.

[timjdrake] i rlly miss those high school days.

[y/nisonline] me toooo

[y/nisonline] we should meet up sometime tho, like old times

[timjdrake] i would actually love that!

You kinda feel like a teenager all over again, the bubbly feeling of waiting around for the guy you’re interested in to answer you, trying to guess what’s going through his head when he receives your messages. Just then, you hear the training room’s door opening, the sound of Red Robin’s footsteps breaking the silence of the room.

The training room is expansive, purposefully designed to support a myriad of activities. The floor is lined with smooth, polished wooden planks that shine brilliantly under the overhead lights, providing a durable surface perfect for everything from high-intensity workouts to focused combat training.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” You say in a teasing, playful tone.

“I’d like to see you try”

You circled each other, eyes locked, each calculating the other's next move. The initial minutes were nothing out of the ordinary, spent in light sparring, a dance of feints and counters.

Red Robin tested your defenses with quick jabs, his movements fluid and unpredictable, almost hypnotic. Yet, he seems to be extra careful with you compared to when he’s up against other colleagues, and although he puts up a hard challenge, it’s like he’s afraid to hurt you.

As the both of you fight, you update him on the situation, careful as to not miss any details, you tell him about the messages, about Tim — gushing about him and the meet up you’re planning on having. He is uncommonly quiet, like he wants to say something but chooses not to. Suddenly, you’re on the ground, cheek pressed against the floor, Red Robin’s hands restraining both of your arms against your back. For a moment, you forgot how skilled of a fighter he really was.

“Okay, you win” You chuckled, and you feel him release his grip.

“Better luck next time” He jokes, extending his hand to help you get up.

You accept his help, grabbing his hand as an assistance to get up. When you manage to get on your feet, you notice you ended up dangerously close to him, so close you could see the details of his mask and the subtle flush forming on his cheeks from the proximity.

Neither of you move for a while yet you can feel his eyes on you, scanning your face for any clues on how to proceed.

Surprisingly, he moves first, his gloved hand brushing against your cheek delicately, there is a reluctance in the way he moves cupping your face with care. You melt into his touch, your eyes gleaming with anticipation. Firstly, he presses a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, it’s simple and quick, but leaves you yearning for more.

Chills run down your spine as he finally closed the gap between your mouths, his lips are soft against your own — his kiss is hungry, almost greedy, like he’s certain this moment will end soon and wants to savor every second of it. You press your bodies together, arms resting against his shoulder blades.

When eventually your lips part, he presses his forehead against yours, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

If all your sparring sessions are going to end up like this, you’ll ensure to have them more often.

[meadowfics]

unexplained character backstories

headcannons for squid game characters (season two+three)

featuring: kang dae-ho, se-mi, gyeong-su, kim junhee, namgyu, and kim young-mi.

synopsis: this is my personal headcanon for the backstories of these squid game characters, based on my interpretation of them in the show and what their wiki describes. if you do not agree with these, that's cool. however, i'd like to hear other opinions on what i might've missed as well.

warnings: mentions of drug addiction, homelessness, parental death, sibling death, financial hardship, religious rebellions, homicide from the games, childhood abuse, neglect. mature and graphic content. 18+

kang dae-ho (player 388):

dae-ho was born in 1987 as the youngest of five siblings, with four older sisters, in a modest household nearby namhae-gun.

its explained and canon that he grew up in a female-dominated family.

dae-ho was surrounded by the influence of his sisters, who shaped much of his early personality and interests. 

as the only boy, dae-ho was often dressed in hand-me-downs or clothing chosen by his sisters, leading to a childhood where he adopted more traditionally feminine traits.

he enjoyed playing with his sisters’ toys, watching reality tv shows like singing competitions or dramas, and engaging in creative activities like drawing or storytelling.

these interests were not a deliberate choice but rather a natural result of his environment.

dae-ho's father, a very traditional man born in a japanese occupied korea, disapproved of dae-ho’s softer demeanor.

he saw dae-ho’s lack of interest in sports or traditionally masculine activities as a failure.

the older man frequently berated dae-ho, yelling insults like “you’re not man enough” or “i wish you were never born.”

physical abuse, such as backhanding, was common when dae-ho failed to meet his father’s expectations.

it left physical and deep emotional scars.

dae-ho’s mother, while present, was often passive.

she was unable, and sometimes did not want to shield daeho from his father’s wrath.

this was due to her own fear or adherence to traditional family roles.

this lack of protection left dae-ho feeling isolated within his own home.

what isn't explained is how among his sisters, dae-ho was closest to the fourth eldest, who was only eighteen months older than him.

she was his confidante, protector, and best friend during his early years.

she would sneak him snacks, defend him when their father was harsh, and include him in her games.

this was the first bond that dae-ho cherished deeply.

as dae-ho and his fourth sister, lets call her jia, entered their teenage years, their relationship began to change.

puberty brought new social pressures, and jia now more focused on her own friends and interests, drifted away from him. s

jia assumed dae-ho would find his own group, leaving him feeling abandoned at a critical time in his development.

dae-ho did manage to form a small friend group of three other boys during middle school.

they shared interests in video games, music, and sneaking into arcades after school.

however, dae-ho’s unresolved trauma from his father’s abuse began manifesting as anxiety and self-doubt.

it made it hard for him to fully connect with his peers.

he often felt like an outsider, even among his friends.

daeho never felt like his friends truly liked him, even though they really found him funny.

the guy's mental health struggles became more pronounced during this period.

dae-ho exhibited signs of social anxiety and low self-esteem, often second-guessing himself in conversations or avoiding confrontation.

these issues were compounded by his father’s relentless criticism, which echoed in his mind.

it always made him feel unworthy of love or respect.

despite these challenges, dae-ho was naturally kind and respectful, traits that endeared him to teachers and some classmates.

he was diligent in his schoolwork, though not academically exceptional, and showed a strong sense of discipline in following rules and helping others.

however, his internal struggles made it difficult for him to assert himself or pursue ambitious goals.

dae-ho’s father, desperate to “fix” his son’s perceived lack of masculinity, pressured him to enlist in the military as soon as he was eligible.

eager to prove himself and escape his father’s disapproval, daeho saw this as an opportunity to gain respect and redefine himself.

however, during the evaluation process, dae-ho was deemed unfit for regular military service due to his mental health challenges, which were likely exacerbated by years of emotional and physical abuse.

instead, he was assigned to serve as a social services personnel.

this assignment was a blow to dae-ho’s already fragile self-esteem, as it reinforced his father’s narrative that he was “less than” other men.

to cope with his feelings of inadequacy, dae-ho began lying about his military service, claiming he had served in the marines.

this lie became a way for him to gain respect from others and feel a sense of belonging.

during a night out with his small friend group, they decided to get matching marine tattoos from a mutual friend who was an amateur tattoo artist.

dae-ho’s tattoo became a symbol of his fabricated identity, one he wore with a mix of pride and guilt.

the lie about his marine service extended beyond his friends.

dae-ho would casually mention it in conversations with strangers or coworkers, embellishing stories of bravery and discipline that never happened.

while he was naturally respectful and disciplined, these traits were overshadowed by his need to project an image of strength he didn’t fully believe in.

after completing his social services personnel term, dae-ho faced the harsh reality of returning to a family that still viewed him as a disappointment.

as a young adult, daeho's father’s abuse didn’t stop.

his sisters, now focused on their own lives, offered little support.

feeling suffocated, dae-ho left home at a young age.

he was around 20....long before he had the financial stability or life skills to support himself.

without savings or a clear career path, dae-ho drifted between low-paying, unstable jobs.

he worked as a dishwasher in a small diner during the day, scrubbing plates in a hot, cramped kitchen for minimum wage. at night, he drove a taxi, navigating the chaotic streets of seoul and dealing with difficult passengers.

these jobs barely covered his living expenses, and dae-ho often lived in cramped, rundown apartments or shared rooms to make ends meet.

over the years, dae-ho accumulated significant debt, totaling 630 million won by the time the salesman found him.

a portion of this debt was owed to his sisters, who had occasionally lent him money to cover rent or medical expenses.

however, the majority was owed to loan sharks, who preyed on his desperation and lack of financial literacy.

the interest on these loans spiraled out of control, trapping dae-ho in a cycle of borrowing and repayment that he couldn’t escape.

for 15 of his 35 years, dae-ho lived in constant instability, moving from one temporary job to another, unable to build savings or plan for the future.

this lack of stability reinforced his feelings of worthlessness, as he compared himself to peers who seemed to have their lives together.

by dae-ho's death in november 2024, he never got to be the two things that he truly wished he was: brave and stable.

han se-mi (player 380):

se-mi, born in 1998, grew up in a chaotic household near inchon.

she has no family name, but I agree with the popular headcannon 'han'

han se-mi.

the girl, unfortunately, was raised by two drug-addicted parents who consistently neglected her needs, prioritizing their addiction over their daughter.

this environment left se-mi feeling invisible and unloved from a young age.

at eight years old, se-mi suffered when her infant brother died of sids.

it seemed like her parents were getting clean until the death of her brother.

things got worser with his death.

the tragedy marked a turning point in her life, as the grief and her parents’ inability to cope deepened her sense of isolation.

something inside her broke, and she never experienced a childhood where she felt valued or prioritized.

witnessing her father’s abusive behavior toward her mother, often fueled by their drug use, instilled in se-mi a deep hatred for drugs and a general distrust of men.

the violence and chaos in her home made her associate drugs with destruction and violent men with unpredictability, though she later found exceptions in individuals.

individuals like minsu, even though others like namgyu validated it.

at fourteen, se-mi got her first piercings on her ears as an act of rebellion and self-expression.

se-mi loved seeking control in a life where she had little.

the rush of getting pierced became addictive.

over time, she adorned herself with multiple piercings on her lip, nose, and both ears, often pairing them with chokers.

doing her hair was another act of self-control.

by sixteen, se-mi realized she was bisexual.

for a long time, she denied this.

however, it was obvious that she had a stronger preference for women.

she never had connections with a man, at least until the last week of her death.

the parents' neglect allowed se-mi a degree of freedom most teenagers didn’t have.

she frequently sneaked out to attend parties, where she drank heavily to cope with her pain but staunchly avoided drugs, having seen their devastating effects on her family.

these parties became an escape, a place where she could momentarily forget her home life.

at one such party, when she was fourteen, a mutual friend introduced se-mi to biseokchigi.

it was a traditional korean game.

the friend taught her the technique of throwing underhand and rolling the stone along the ground for precision, a skill she mastered and enjoyed.

little did she know, this seemingly small moment would prove lifesaving a decade later during the six legged race.

as se-mi grew older, she began stealing to survive and assert control over her circumstances.

starting with small thefts, she eventually targeted her parents, who had transitioned from drug users to small-time drug dealers.

she stole money and drugs from them, amassing a debt of 175 million won, which they demanded she repay.

this had further strained their already fractured relationship.

se-mi’s stealing was not just about survival since it was a way to rebel against her parents’ neglect and take back some semblance of power.

however, the debt to her parents, combined with her own financial struggles, trapped her in a cycle of desperation.

she lacked the resources to escape her toxic environment.

it’s likely that se-mi’s social circle included drug addicts, given her familiarity with individuals like thanos and nam-gyu, whom she knew well but disapproved of for their drug use.

in the show, she gave warnings to min-su about avoiding drugs, emphasizing that they would prevent him from returning to normal.

in my opinion this can suggest that she seen the irreversible damage drugs caused, possibly in her parents.

se-mi’s fear of what awaited her outside the squid game if she didn't come back without a good amount of money.

potentially her parents’ wrath, or the consequences of her theft...drove her to participate in the deadly competition.

she saw the game as a chance to win enough money to pay off her 175 million won debt and start anew, far from her past.

se-mi had plans of escaping to a place like japan, which she viewed as distant enough to offer a fresh start, kept her going.

japan represented freedom from her parents, their neglect, and the weight of her debts.

unfortunately, the horror se-mi grew up enduring with the high of her parents’ addiction, was the final image etched into her mind before her death.

nam-gyu, lost in his own drug-fueled haze, taunted her with a, echo she’d fought so hard to escape.

kim jun-hee (player 222):

junhee was born into a life of comfort in 1999.

she was born in late january, there was a blizzard when she was born.

the girl had affectionate parents who were middle class.

they showered her with love, after they miscarried with (what would've been) junhee's older brother just two years before.

all of her parent's attention was on her during her early years in seoul.

their home was filled with warmth, from cozy family dinners to weekend trips to the countryside, where junhee’s laughter echoed through open fields.

at six years old, tragedy struck when both her parents died in a car accident.

this left junhee orphaned and shattering the secure world she had known.

the loss was a wound that never fully healed, as she was too young to process the permanence of their absence.

sent to an orphanage, junhee’s new life became a contrast to her privileged upbringing.

the cold and overcrowded dormitories and strict routines replaced the warmth of her parents’ home.

she struggled to adapt to a world where she felt invisible.

growing up in the orphanage, junhee longed for a family to call her own.

she watched with envy as younger children were adopted, their new parents whisking them away to lives she could only dream of.

each adoption felt like a reminder of her own rejection, deepening her sense of loneliness.

as one of the older children, junhee was often overlooked by prospective parents, who favored younger, and “easier” children.

by her teens, she had internalized the belief that she was unwanted, a belief that shaped her desperate desire for connection and belonging.

at eighteen, junhee aged out of the orphanage, leaving with little more than a small bag of belongings, some won, and a heart heavy with unfulfilled dreams.

she entered the world with no family, and no clear path forward

junhee was forced to navigate adulthood alone.

in her early twenties, junhee met hanna, a vibrant and kind-hearted girl who became her best friend since they were both coworkers at a local piercing shop.

hanna was a lifeline, offering companionship and a sense of sisterhood that junhee had craved since losing her parents.

they spent countless nights talking, laughing, and dreaming of better futures.

through hanna, junhee was introduced to myunggi.

in the beginning of their three-year relationship, she saw in him the security she had lost as a child.

junhee was immediately smitten with myunggi, by the apparent stability he offered.

for three years, junhee believed she had found the family she always wanted.

myunggi’s affection, though sometimes superficial, felt like a lifeline.

junhee clung to the idea of a future with him.

however, myunggi’s financial expertise proved to be a facade.

he convinced junhee to invest her growing modest savings in a opportunity he promoted.

the investment was a scam, and junhee lost everything.

the betrayal was devastating, but the pain deepened when junhee discovered she was pregnant with myunggi’s child.

filled with hope that the baby could be her true family, she shared the news with him, only to be met with rejection.

he demanded she abort the pregnancy, claiming it would ruin his career and their lives.

there was no chance that they could raise a child in poverty.

for six months, junhee struggled to survive when myunggi ignored her.

she was working multiple jobs to cover rent and medical expenses while pregnant.

junhee's debt grew, reaching 200 million won.

despite the hardship, she held onto the hope that her daughter would give her life purpose.

kim gyeong-su (player 256):

kim gyeong-su, born in december 1998, grew up in a modest working-class neighborhood inside the city busan.

he mainly cared about music and pop culture while growing up.

his irresponsibility and impulsive spending led him down a path of financial ruin.

concerts, music rap battle gambling, and sports betting were all he invested into.

as the eldest of three siblings, gyeong-su had two younger half-sisters from his mother’s second marriage.

gyeong-su's father died when he was young, leaving a void that his mother filled by doting on his half-sisters, whose father showed little interest in gyeong-su.

gyeong-su was like an afterthought in the family.

growing up, gyeong-su felt sidelined in his own home.

this dynamic fostered a sense of detachment, and he rarely engaged with his sisters, preferring to escape into his own world rather than compete for affection.

music became gyeong-su’s refuge early on.

in school, he excelled in music class, particularly drawn to the trumpet, which he loved to play was allowed to take home every friday.

despite his talent, gyeong-su’s commitment to the trumpet went away in his teens.

the pressure to fit in with cooler crowds and his short attention span led him to abandon the instrument.

he went to chasing other interests like video games, fashion, and later on the hip-hop scene.

by his late teens, gyeong-su’s fascination with music reignited, but this time it was less about creating and more about being part of the culture.

he idolized thanos, a growing rapper.

he attended all of his concerts, no lie.

gyeong-su’s admiration for thanos was more about the lifestyle.

he wanted to be a socialite, someone who gained fame by proximity to the right people, attending the right parties, and being seen in the right circles.

gyeong-su saw thanos as the epitome of this dream.

however, gyeong-su lacked the discipline to pursue a stable career, let alone one in music or entertainment.

instead of honing a skill, he spent his time and money chasing fleeting pleasures.

he tried to live like the influencers and rappers he admired without the means to sustain it.

gyeong-su bet on everything from card games to underground rap battles, convinced that a big win would put him into the lifestyle he craved.

by his late twenties, gyeong-su’s debts had spiraled to 580 million won when the recruiter found him.

unfortunately, gyeong-su’s idolization of thanos led to his downfall.

during a critical moment in the games, thanos put gyeong-su in harm’s way by kicking him out of their group since it had too many people for the round.

unaware of the consequences, gyeong-su was kicked out and into his death.

gyeong-su’s death was a shock to thanos, who hadn’t realized how much gyeong-su looked up to him.

kim namgyu (player 124):

namgyu was born in 1997 in the affluent hannam district of seoul.

the later drug addict grew up in a wealthy, devoutly christian family with old money roots.

there were korean websites floating around saying namgyu's family name was 'kim'.

so I headcannon that 'kim namgyu' could've been his name that he detached from himself once he got cut from his family.

the man's parents had strict religious expectations and a polished public image that defined gyu's early life.

(someone else came up with this headcannon, which I agree with^)

as the youngest of two sons, namgyu idolized his older brother, who was the golden child in their family, excelling in academics and embodying the values their parents and church community prized.

namgyu, however, felt overshadowed, struggling to meet the same high standards.

gyu's family’s wealth came from generations of successful business ventures, and their status in their christian community demanded perfection.

namgyu attended church services, bible studies, and charity events.

as he entered his teens, he began questioning the faith he was raised in.

by sixteen, namgyu’s doubts about christianity solidified into outright disbelief.

he saw his parents, brother, and church members as brainwashed, clinging to what he viewed as hypocritical and outdated beliefs.

this rejection sparked a deep resentment.

it fueled his need to break free from their control.

namgyu’s rebellion started small with sneaking out to attend parties, drinking with friends, and skipping church events.

as his defiance grew, so did his appetite for escape.

at eighteen he started to experiment with drugs, starting with marijuana and escalating to heavier substances like cocaine and heroin.

namgyu's drug use became an addiction by the time he turned twenty.

to his family, he became a stranger.

the man's behavior spread to the community overtime which tarnished the kim family’s pristine image in their tightknit church community.

at twenty-one, namgyu’s family who were unable to tolerate his actions, disowned him, citing the need to protect their reputation.

kicked out of their luxurious hannam home, he found himself homeless, carrying only a backpack on the way out.

for months, namgyu drifted through seoul, sleeping in parks or cheap motels when he could afford them.

namgyu's addiction deepened, and he survived by panhandling or doing odd jobs.

however, his odd charisma helped him connect with others in similar situations.

a turning point came when namgyu met a group of roommates who had also left the same hannam church.

one of them, a former acquaintance from youth group, offered him a place to stay and introduced him to a job as a club promoter at club pentagon, a trendy nightlife spot in seoul.

working at club pentagon gave namgyu a sense of purpose and belonging he hadn’t felt since childhood.

the fast-paced, chaotic environment suited his rebellious streak.

the job provided enough money to support rent, and provided free drugs for him to have.

namgyu’s addiction to drugs extended to tattoos, which became another outlet for his need to reclaim his identity.

he started with small designs, but his obsession grew, covering his arms, chest, and his legs with ink.

before becoming a full-time club promoter, namgyu briefly worked at a tattoo shop.

this iswhere he learned basic techniques and even tattooed himself and friends.

at twenty-three, his criminal record started growing.

it started out with a drug possession when police caught him with cocaine during a club raid.

a second charge came a year later for assault, after a high namgyu started a fight at club pentagon that escalated into a brawl, badly injuring a patron.

the assault charge stemmed from namgyu’s volatile temper, amplified by drugs.

he threw the first punch in a dispute over a spilled drink.

the resulting cfight led to his arrest and a brief 30 day jail sentence, further damaging his chance for a stable life.

kim young-mi (player 095):

young-mi was born in 2003 in a middle-lower class neighborhood near sillim-dong.

she grew up in a poor but her household was anything but.

the girl was raised solely by her devoted father, whose warmth shaped her bright, girly personality.

without a mother, young-mi’s father was her entire world.

he was a hardworking man who scraped by as a factory worker to provide for her.

despite their poverty, he filled their small apartment with love, encouraging her to embrace her passions and shielding her from the harsh realities of their financial struggles.

young-mi was a “girly” girl, delighting in everything feminine despite not having a mother to show her everything there was.

she spent hours painting vibrant watercolors of flowers and sunsets.

she savored strawberry ice cream from the corner store, and experimenting with colorful nail polish.

she often painted her father’s nails as a playful bonding ritual.

young-mi's childhood was marked by small joys despite their circumstances.

young-mi would save her allowance to buy glittery stickers or cheap makeup, transforming their cramped home into a canvas for her creativity.

it was a space where she could dream beyond their poverty.

in school, young-mi was a ray of sunshine, forming a tight-knit friend group of four girls who shared her love for k-pop, fashion, and late-night study sessions filled with laughter.

the woman's friend group was her second family, and they supported each other through the ups and downs of adolescence.

young-mi’s infectious optimism and things for making others smile made her the heart of the group, always ready with a kind word or a silly joke.

when young-mi was nineteen, her world began to unravel.

two of her closest friends moved to the united states for college, chasing opportunities unavailable in korea.

the distance strained their bond, and the remaining group drifted apart, leaving young-mi feeling abandoned for the first time.

around the same time, her father’s health began to decline.

what started as fatigue and a persistent cough was diagnosed as lung cancer, likely from years of working in poorly ventilated factories.

the diagnosis devastated young-mi, who had never known life without her father’s unwavering presence.

medical bills piled up quickly, far beyond what her father’s meager savings could cover.

at twenty-two, young-mi had no savings of her own, working part-time as a server while taking community college classes in art, hoping to one day become an illustrator.

all of the debt from her father’s treatment grew to 347 million won.

young-mi felt powerless, terrified at the thought of losing her father, the only family she had ever known.

desperate to save him, young-mi was approached by a mysterious recruiter who offered her a chance.

he promised enough money to clear the debt and secure her father’s treatment.

with no other options, she accepted, driven by love and fear.

young-mi’s youth and inexperience left her vulnerable in the games.

she was one of the youngest in that games, if you don't count the baby.

young-mi died believing her sacrifice might save her only family left, a final act of devotion to the only family she’d ever known.

the twenty-two year old's father never knew where his daughter has gone to, he just hopes that his daughter found requited happiness.

masterlist

note: please add more you'd think would fit with these characters! I love reading headcannons

not me realizing almost everyone's family name in here is kim LMAOOOOOOO

[eternalera]

i hate when people go "why cant people just be friends :((( why cant we have strong platonic bonds anymore?" to ships

and do you wanna know the reason? like do you really wanna know the reason. okay well here we go ig-

(click read more for an actual analysis of why this doesnt happen)

no one writes strong platonic bonds well anymore.

at least they cant do so without it seeming romantic because of one thing.

shipping and romance.

without a doubt it has taken over our society as a whole and this is for quiet a few reasons, we literally have a holiday about romance, one of the many things moments people experience in high school is taking out their crush to a dance (of course many people take friends and make just as fun if not longer lasting memories), influencers share their lives on the daily, most fans are teens going through puberty so yknow what that means, and hollywood.

the main reason being of course hollywood.

with all of these reasons combined hollywood sees this and basically goes "oh look at all of these opportunities for romance and most importantly drama!!" and then they take it, make a romantic bond, get you attached and then proceed to put you through hell with it getting you addicted to it. but why a romantic bond? why not platonic? because its simple, when tv and stuff started pushing out they wanted to get people heavily attached and they didnt think or care about platonic bonds because why have platonic bonds when you can instantly take it to the much "juicier" step? aka romantic bonds?

now im gonna lump in all of our previous reasons together. its no big surprise that our lives TYPICALLY (most likely not for people on the ace spectrum) are heavily centered around romance and sex and so in order to relate to the MAJORITY (from what large companies can tell) of people they tend to make that platonic bond romantic to get people swooning over it and thinking 'oh thats what i want in a partner'

so we tend to perceive these actions as romantic when in reality... theyre typically not, not unless youre kissing or actively having sex these actions arent all that romantic. even holding hands isnt really that romantic. ive had several friends who desire no romantic relationship with each other hold hands and jokingly press their faces close together as if they were being 'romantic' with each other. ive in fact shared a bed with my friend a few times and found that yeah... theyre just my friend. these actions are not romantic. so why do we think that they are?

hollywood, from our past memories and "experiences" (experiences in quotations because lets be honest... its just movie watching) we see these actions as romantic because theyve been dont with romantic undertones. for example let me put the absolute stupidest thing thats been romanticized.

giving someone your jacket or umbrella when its raining. especially when its friend.

yes. hollywood was romanticized basic human decency towards someone that you care about. im 90% sure that anyone reasing this would gladly give their jacket to their friend if it was raining and they didnt want them to catch a cold, or if they had an extra layer to just simply give them. OR if they had an umbrella they would share.

because thats what you do for someone that you care for

but in hollywood this was romanticized by the enemies to lovers trope or the rivals to lovers or... whatever you want to call it- it was romanticized and soon enough they began doing it with everything. friends to lovers. (i dont know which trope made it romantic first so dont quote me on this the main point is that they made it romantic when the gesture itself is NOT)

point being, like it or not romance is something that was heavily implemented into your mind as a child and will always be there. and its why we cant perceive friends as 'just friends' anymore or whatever youd like to call it. the implication of past experiences with media will always be there and guess what? suck it up. its always going to be there and theres nothing you can do about it.

so yeah. thats why people cant perceive things as just friends and why strong platonic bonds quite literally cant really be written well anymore. unless of course they shove it down your throat with the constant 'oh youre my best friend!' but even then- oops it was romanticized by hollywood...

so thats my take on the whole situation. personally i think you should just let people ship whatever they want as long as its legal lol

[thewitchblue]

"Dick!"

You squealed, giggling as he tickled you relentlessly. He managed to sneak up on you to tickle you from behind despite your heightened senses. You are akin to demons despite your bubbly and loving personality.

Dick sometimes wonders how you ended up so kind despite your rough upbringing. You actively choose to be better, and he admires you greatly for it.

He kissed your forehead with a grin. He shows you mercy and stops his tickling in favour of peppering kisses along your neck and face. All he wanted was your attention at the moment, which he gained. You've been talking with Raven for too long about your shared experiences with demons and giving tips for each other.

"I love you."

He says before finishing with a kiss on your cheek. He knows he's a needy partner, but you never seem to mind, so he'll take anything he can get.

Your smile softens as your gaze turns to focus on him. You love him dearly. You both have been dating for two years now. Two years of peaceful harmony.

Dick wrapped an arm smoothly around your waist with a fond expression on his face. He loves you dearly.

Raven quickly excuses herself to leave the lovers alone. She has a tiny smile on her face. She loved you and felt like you both could truly bond stronger than she could bond with the rest of the heroes.

You give Dick a long and slow kiss in response to his incessive kisses. You were in no hurry or frenzy, unlike most demons. Most demons fall into lust-driven frenzy when kissing, but you can resist the lust as long as Dick can keep his hands off your erogenous zones. You were very human-like in that way.

"What's up, buttercup?"

He asked, although he already could make a guess. Raven was a close friend of yours who you often go to complain to. However, this time, Raven seemed almost disturbed. Troubled. She kept giving Dick worried looks while you talked. You take his hand in yours with a smile on your face. The smile seemed tense, however. It was as if you were nervous.

"Oh, nothing you need to worry about."

That was odd phrasing. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. You've been talking to Raven more often lately. He nipped your ear and asked with a smile,

"Why was Raven giving me concerned looked then?"

You frown and lean into Dick's embrace. Your mind has been preoccupied. So much so that you feel bad for neglecting your boyfriend.

"I love you. It's mostly pre-mission nerves. We have two separate missions in an hour."

Dick still couldn't help but feel like something was off. He pulled you to his chest with a frown.

"I love you, too. When are you going to visit your relatives next?"

You gave a disgruntled noise. Dick knows you hate your family, but he doesn't know the specifics. You said with great disdain,

"Probably in a week."

He gives you a look of confusion. He knows you hate your family. You avoid them as best you can for as often as you can, so then why are you visiting them more and more frequently?

"What's going on, buttercup?"

His concern made you purse your lips. This could break your relationship, but you know you can't hide something so big from him. With great hesitation, you tell him,

"My parents are trying to marry me off."

Dick stills. He couldn't grasp why they so suddenly needed to marry you off. Sure, you are of legal demon age as well as human age, but it seems like a mess.

He admits that he doesn't know much about the politics of demons. He never really asked, so maybe that's partially his fault, but he never thought he'd have to know.

'Why now?"

He asks in disbelief. Why now is the only question on his mind. You sigh deeply. With immense disappointment, you say,

"I mentioned you in passing, and they want me to end up with a demon to have pureblood demon children. Not "disgraceful mutts" like the child we'd have."

He flinched, and you winced at his reaction. He couldn't stop the strong reaction he felt. Mutts? Children are to be loved and cherished. He understands they are demons, but he didn't think they'd be against mixed children. It's another demon either way.

"I don't understand why that is our problem."

Dick tried to say it as light-hearted as possible, but it came out much darker. He doesn't want to come off as the possessive boyfriend, but he'll marry you this second if it keeps you in his life. You sighed softly.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying to deal with it as quietly as possible. A demon marriage is impossible to get out of. Once I'm married, I'll be forever tied to whoever I'm married to and the same for my husband. It's soul binding."

Dick paused to consider the new knowledge. Impossible? Surely there's an out if you did get married. You grabbed his arm and weakly glared at Dick.

"I know that look, and Dick don't. Don't get your hopes up. Demons deal in contacts, and marriages are especially dangerous."

Dick pulls you into a tight hug regardless. He doesn't want to throw away two years because of your family. He knew what to expect when dating a demon, but he didn't expect you to get married off. Playfully, Dick says,

"I'm just going to have to marry you then, aren't I?"

He sounded like he was teasing, but you could tell he's serious. You stare at him in shock.

"Is this... is this your marriage proposal? We leave in five minutes to go on a death-or-death mission!"

Dick stopped to think about it. It's not ideal time, it's not even the ideal location, but he's never going to lose you.

"Would it be crazy if I said it is?"

He was anxious suddenly, but he was hopeful. The look you gave him reminded him why he fell in love in the first place. You aren't like your kin. You are soft, kind, and loving. You are warm like the sun and gentle like the breeze. You can kick his ass at any point, but you hold him with gentle hands and always a loving expression on your face. You laugh before saying,

"I'll be crazier and say yes."

Dick laughed loudly. He picks you up and spins you around like some Disney prince. It's cheesy, it's sweet, it's so incredibly Dick that you couldn't have expected anything else. This was out of nowhere and messy, but you were perfectly content with that.

"Guys? We leave in a minute. Get your gross love-dovey feelings out before leaving."

Beast Boy looked nervous about the time crunch for once. You laughed and pulled Dick onto the plane with a grin.

"You probably should have waited until the mission was over to propose, silly."

Dick chuckled and kissed your cheeks. He admits,

"Buttercup, my brain was stuck on the whole marrying you off situation. I had no plans past making sure you weren't going to be taken from me."

You can't help but smile. You'd have to do a demonic marriage ritual as well as a human one, but you're happy to do both. Fuck your parents. This is your life, not theirs.

[fraugwinska]

Hi! Okay, damn, sorry, i tried to chill out and not request again so quickly 😅 but I've been constantly thinking about your writing, and I've read all your Alastor one shots like 10 times each...

I'm especially hung up on the ending of More than Words, I did not expect you to end it in such a sweet way and honestly I'd love to see a follow up to that, basically a part two :)

Plot wise I was thinking:

It's been a few weeks since the two of you fell asleep on the couch and Charlie is getting impatient since nothing else happened between Alastor and reader but she can see the way the two looks at each other when they think no one is watching. So, Charlie being Charlie, makes up a plan to set you two up. She also involves everyone at the hotel and some people outside (Rosie) - she makes it so whenever there's some activity, you two are always paired up, or Rosie invites you both for dinner but five minutes into it she leaves saying she forget about something important. And you notice what she's trying to do and while you do appreciate it, you also see that Alastor feels anxious and pressured (you see that but not the fact he's growing feeling for you), so you decide to talk with her. And Alastor hears everything? And we get another amazing sweet emotional ending? 👀🥰

Last thing last - please do not feel pressured to write it or anything, i just wanted to share this with you cause it's been on my mind 😅❤️

You ask - the fluff fairy delivers! 🧚✨ I loved More than words, so I was super happy and excited to write a continuation - and it's as fluffy and wholesome as can be! :> Thank you, Anon, for the suggestion and your beautiful, kind words!!!

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Louder than Words

"...and with Niffty choosing Husk, that leaves you two."

Charlie clapped her hands together with a gleeful smile, eyes darting between an annoyed looking Alastor and an annoyed looking you.

"Yes. That leaves us.", you sigh.

"Again.", Alastor adds, the smile on his lips twitching.

"Oh come on, guys, don't be such spoilsports. Look at how much fun this is!" she gestured to a blindfolded and beaten up Vaggie, cursing at Angel in Spanish who howled with laughter as he pushed her through Charlies makeshift obstacle course with much too much carelessness.

"Well I'll be damned. Ange actually managed to get her to to run into the same desk twice without gettin' punched.", Husk said in amused bewilderment, just as a loud "OUCH, ey, stop it Vagina!" was heard. Niffty giggled, blindfolding herself and taking Husks paw. The cat groaned but started to lead her - or more she dragged him - through the course, constantly (almost purposely) hitting something in her way.

You and Alastor looked at each other.

"Well, I guess you don't feel like going through a minefield of office furniture.", you shrugged, and took the last blindfold from Charlies hands, ignoring her excited squeal as you put it on. "Don't let me run into the coffee table, my shins still hurt from last weeks bonding exercise..."

Alastor let out an exasperated sigh. "Very well, then."

This was getting out of hand. As you felt Alastor's hand on your back, pushing you into the blindness forward, you thought about the last few bonding and trust exercises and how blatantly obvious Charlie was in her determination to get you and Alastor together.

At first you didn't mind, since she didn't make you do anything that wasn't bearable. On one activity, you had to tell your partner what you appreciated about them, that had been easy. Before Alastor could turn to Niffty, who stood next to him, she had almost hauled herself away, insisting on Angel as her partner, and Angel - next to you - nodded with unfitting eagerness. Alastor told you about how good you were at listening and giving good advice, and you had told him you loved the way he spoke - the accent, his way of choosing words and the melodic voice he had, and that you liked his laugh. Easy.

On another activity, Charlie made everyone pair up (of course, you were Alastor's partner, and this time you were sure the sticks you drew were marked by Charlie and Husk by the way they had shared mischievous looks) and hug their partner for five minutes. That had been less fun. You were much too aware how averse Alastor was to physical touch, and although he could've had it worse with Angel or Vaggie, you still felt bad when you saw the look on his face as Charlie set the timer. "We don't have to, Al. I can just sit this one out.", you had told him, but with a pained smile, he wrapped his arms around you stiffly, holding you in an awkward embrace. "It's alright dear, just... stay still, would you?" It had been a weird, uncomfortable silence, those five minutes. You avoided any touch yourself and did not dare to look him in the eyes, so to not make it any more weird for him.

It had taken you a long time to understand that the radio demon was, in it's essence, just another former human being turned sinner. A man with a lot of traumas and issues, who had died and gone to hell. Not a good person by heavenly standards... by most standards really, being an overlord and cannibal and all, but in hell that didn't really mean anything, you were all there for a reason. It certainly meant nothing to you. With a lot of work from your end, he had learned to trust you, and in return he let you get to know him, step by step.

But all these efforts could go down the drain at this infuriating persistence of everyone around you to force something that shouldn't be forced. Alastor was already uncomfortable at being touched, already hesitant to share things from his past, or his feelings, already on the fence of showing genuine kindness and trust. The last thing you wanted was to lose all the progress you've made with him.

The feeling of his arms around you had burned itself into your memory, and the scent of him had stuck to your skin for a long time. You weren't stupid, it had been a long time coming, this goddamn crush on him, this fluttering feeling one gets when getting too close to another. You had fallen for him a long time ago, and you could argue with reason all you wanted - it didn't change the fact you liked Alastor more than just a friend. BUT - and this but was important - he never had shown any interest in relationships, romance, love or anything. And that was fine. You were content to have him in your life, and if that was as 'just' trusted friends, you would still take it in a heartbeat.

"Watch out, darling, armchair to your left." Alastor's voice, right next to your ear, made you flinch. "Careful now, the carpet is starting to change into hardwood.", he warned and you nodded, taking careful steps. You had no idea where you were in the foyer, or if you were nearing the door or the stairs. "Are we anywhere close to the finish line?", you asked him and you heard his quiet chuckle.

"Oh no, we still have quite a way to go. Don't worry, my dear, I'll make sure you're not going to run into the remains of the cupboard Niffty just destroyed." His hand on your waist, guiding you, made you swallow nervously.

That gesture reminded you of another instance of your friends overreaching insistence - your visit at Rosie's last week. Rosie, your long-time friend, had invited you and Alastor for a dinner party. She had sent a message through Charlie (which should have been your first clue that something was not right), but both of you had decided to go, because who were you to deny her hospitality? You had been surprised to find her emporium so... empty, when you entered. No servants, no other guests, no one. Only you, Alastor and Rosie, sitting in her lounge chatting about the newest gossip of hellish politics before she served a whole feast of venison, various vegetables and side dishes, all of which had looked exquisite and overly fancy.

She had left almost as soon as you and Alastor sat down, saying she forgot to pick up something important from across the colony, and to not wait on her while she rushed out of the room with a glistening smile. You had watched her suspiciously, knowing she was up to something. It didn't take a genius to realize she was trying to set you two up, and Alastor seemed to have understood the same, because of the way he pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly uncomfortable and tense the whole evening. It had been a somewhat awkward affair, the two of you eating and desperately chatting, unwilling to waste the food. But you couldn't even get a proper bite down your throat with how much your stomach was twisting.

When Rosie returned, she found you sitting on the sofa, drinking tea, while Alastor was absent.

"Did something happen?", she had asked you with a pinch of impish curiosity, and you had replied "No. Nothing." in a dry tone. She had sat down next to you, asking how dinner had been, and if the two of you enjoyed yourselves. "Oh yes, it was lovely, although your seat empty surely was a little damper on the fun." you had answered, giving her a fake smile. You never saw her that abashed before. When Alastor returned to bring you back to the hotel, the walk had been... silent. Awkward, as you hung on his arm he had presented you, with him unable to look you in the eyes and you not wanting to press him into more talking. When you had arrived home, he guided you through the double doors, his hand on your waist, before quickly saying good night and melting into his shadows to rush away into his room, leaving you alone in the dark foyer.

It was like you were standing on glass, always having an eye out to make sure others wouldn't push too hard and break the thin ice you walked on, with a dangerous fondness deep beneath the surface, too fragile to poke.

"...listening, Darling?"

"Huh? What?"

You felt the blindfold being removed from your eyes, the sudden light blinding you.

"You look a little flushed my dear." you blinked your eyes, only to see Alastor stand directly in front of you, just barely out of arms reach, staring you in the face with a scrutinizing expression. "The exercise is over, we made it through the course without a scratch, I hope I didn't cause you any discomfort."

It took a moment for you to realize that you stood at the edge of the maze of furniture, but what really knocked you off your balance was the way Alastor's head was tilted slightly to one side, his crimson eyes almost boring through you, staring deep into your soul, as if he was looking for you, truly seeing you, and how he reached out a sharp tipped hand towards you with the look of worry on his face. You took a step back, laughing nervously and raking a hand through your hair.

"All good, Al. I'm just glad there's no imprint of my face on any of the cupboards." You saw him jerk his hand back with a pained smile. "Splendid.", he laughed, the edges of it trembling. He looked everywhere but at you, "Shall we join the others, then?"

You followed him to one of the sofas and let yourself fall on the plush cushions next to him. You watched his ears twitch as Angel hollered a jubilant cheer of Vaggie's name, who finally reached the end of the course, the blood on her shins almost dried. Husk patted a panting Niffty on the back with a fond look, while Charlie cheered as Angel bowed for her with a big grin.

"Told 'ya the spicy taco and I could make it out alive and in one piece, Charls!"

Vaggie gave Angel a deathly glance, then sighed. "It's high time for lunch, hon. All the blood loss made me hungry..."

The group collectively agreed and headed towards the kitchen, talking and laughing loudly with each other. You couldn't help but give Alastor, who kept his gaze anywhere else than to you, a look, furrowing your brow. This had to stop, now.

"Charlie, do.... do you have a minute?"

The princess stopped to look at you, her smile disappearing and her eyes widening as she saw the stern expression on your face.

"Uh- Yeah, sure.", she shot Vaggie a look, as if begging for her help, but you just grabbed her hand and pulled her away into a nearby corridor while the others snickered and headed off, telling them to take their time. Charlie gave you a nervous glance, and the pitiful face of guilt only worsened your mood.

"Charlie, I know you mean well, but you have to stop."

"Listen, I didn't mean any harm..." Her face was full of pitiful remorse. You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.

"I'm aware of that, Charlie, but you are making Al uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry, really, that's not my intention! I just Thought you two need a little push in the right..."

"This whole... THIS might end our friendship all together and I don't want to take that risk! You're even getting the others involved. For fuck's sake, even Rosie is in on it. Al doesn't want this - us, relationship-thing, WHATEVER, and it is not okay for you to press us!"

Her eyebrows shot up. "But you want it."

"What?", you said, irritated.

"You're only talking about him, and his feelings. But what I'm hearing is, that you... you like him, right? You'd say yes to..."

Tears of frustration shot into your eyes. Why didn't Charlie get it? "That doesn't matter. It's not something only one can decide, you should know that. He doesn't feel the same, and that's fine. He doesn't want to be with me, and that's fine. I can accept that. What I can't accept is the way you're hellbent on forcing a relationship on us. He is happy the way we are, and I don't want you and the others to mess that up."

You turn away from her, angry and hurt. "I just... want him to be happy. To have his boundaries respected."

"I... I'm sorry...", Charlie started, but you already walked off.

You were angry. Angry at Charlie, angry at everyone, angry at yourself. Almost at your doorstep, a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Dearest? I'd like to talk, if that's alright with you."

It was Alastor. Of course it was Alastor.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, a feeling of dread and guilt washing over you, as if he had overheard the entire conversation, and you slowly turned around, swallowing. He didn't seem upset, but his face was calm and serious, not the usual cheerful smile on his lips.

"Of course."

He held the door to your own room open for you, closing it behind him after you entered.

"Take a seat, Darling, if you would."

You sat down, hands in your lap, avoiding his gaze, looking at your carpet with feigned interest. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, a painful stinging sensation in your stomach.

"Darling, would you look at me, please."

With a heavy sigh, you obliged, looking up.

"Al, listen, I'm sorry...", you started, but were interrupted by the radio demon's hand, raising up.

"Please. Let me talk, would you, my dear."

You closed your mouth, and he nodded, a gentle smile on his lips.

"I know I'm a... difficult man. And I am not exactly the best in understanding the feelings of others. I also know that the princess and - under her meticulous orchestration - our fellow residents, are quite adamant in their endeavor to try and push us together."

You swallowed, hard. The way he looked at you made your stomach drop.

"Al, listen, it's alright, I've talked to Charlie and I'll tell the others to stop..."

"Darling, would you PLEASE shut up for a minute?"

The room was suddenly silent. He rarely talked like that to you.

"As I was saying..." He sighed, and you couldn't help but think he was utterly frustrated. You felt horrible. "I don't appreciate it when people assume what I want or don't want."

"Neither do I.", you mumbled, and he let out a laugh.

"That is precisely my point, Darling." Alastor took a few steps towards you, his cane twirling in his hands before he poofed it out of existence. "And as such, I've been pondering for a while how to proceed. The way the others keep pestering us, I thought it's better to clear things up between us."

Your heart sank. So he did overhear your conversation with Charlie, after all. You couldn't blame him. You would've done the same.

"Alastor, I understand..."

"Do you now?", he asked, tilting his head to one side, an incredulous smirk playing on his lips. Lips that were suddenly awfully close to your own. When did he get so close? Why did he get so close?!

Everything slowed down - his arm snaked around your waist, his hand came up to your neck, a thumb caressing the little dip of the bottom of your jaw. Your trembling hands came to rest on his chest, and you felt his heartbeat hammering underneath the fabric of his jacket. His eyes, those beautiful crimson eyes, were fixed on yours, and your breath came out in a shaky sigh before his lips closed over yours, kissing you so softly and sweetly you could barely comprehend what was happening. Your fingers gripped the lapels of his jacket, holding on for dear life, and as he deepened the kiss, you gasped, your whole body tensing, melting, yearning.

It felt like a dream, an out of body experience, and for a short, panicked moment, you felt the cold, hard grip of fear around your heart. What if it was just a dream, and when you wake up, everything is back to the way it was before? What if he would pull away any moment, and apologize, saying he made a mistake?

But the fear disappeared almost immediately, when Alastor hummed contently, and pulled you even closer to him.

You could feel the warmth of his body, the way his hand on your neck got tangled in your hair, how his breath was mingling with yours, and the scent of him filled your nose. The faint smell of spices, old books, wood and something like burnt amber, a scent you would never get enough of.

"Now tell me, dearest, if you understood.", he murmured against your lips, the grin audible in his voice.

"I... might need a little more explanation."

You could almost hear him roll his eyes as he leaned in to kiss you again, and his laughter against your lips made your heart skip more than just one beat. The sound of wood cracking and a loud rumble snapped both of your heads towards your door.

In a pile of heads and limbs, five bodies fell through the splintered wood of your door frame, groaning in pain, the remains of the door still swinging in its hinges.

Alastor looked at the pile of eavesdroppers, a wide, dangerous grin on his face.

"Dear me, what an entrance. I wonder, did the door offend you, or was that the result of a lack of proper manners?"

Angel, being the first to poke his head out of the groaning mess of sinners, pointed at you with one of his arms, the others fisted the air in victory.

"A-HA! WE FUCKING DID IT, fuck yeah!"

Niffty, the next one to crawl out of the pile, nodded eagerly.

"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!", she chanted, jumping up and down excitedly on a groaning Husk's back.

Charlie's face came into view, a guilty look on her face as she untangled the others in a hurry, shoving them out of the door.

"Uh, so, sorry, the door was kinda in the way. Didn't want to interrupt anything, sooo, We're just gonna... get back to cooking."

With her tail between her legs, the flustered princess and her entourage vanished faster than the speed of light, leaving you and Alastor alone with your heart pounding fast, your hands still clutching the front of the overlords jacket, and his arms around your waist in a protective embrace, your breaths mingling.

"Would it bother you terribly if I killed them?", Alastor growled low in his throat, his smile widening.

You just couldn't stop grinning. "As tempting as that is... I rather you don't. For now, that is. Ask me again when they are finished cooking."

He returned your smile. "Fair enough, dear."

He closed the gap between you and his lips meet yours halfway in a soft, and most certainly not-enough-to-last-a-lifetime kind of kiss. You thought you could get used to this.

"I'm sure they can handle lunch by themselves, don't you think?", he hummed into your ear. You didn't trust your voice to reply, and simply nodded.

"Wonderful."

Tagging all commenters on 'More than words', because LOVE @mysterypotatoink @ladyzaunis @penelope-potter @lustylita @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @katgirl05 @deadt3tinside and @minkdelovely (for the daily dose of fluff)

[casssmalefantasy]

team usa: the series — paige bueckers x oc!

vi. off days and what comes after — team usa is winding down. the future feels too close. the games slow down, the nights get longer, and ivy and paige ask the hardest question: what now?

s: the end of camp is creeping closer. ivy and paige are no longer dancing around each other, but the fear of what happens next lingers heavy in the air. on an off day full of team bonding and quiet moments, conversations get deeper.

w: emotional vulnerability, fear of change, team bonding, fluff, established tension, soft affection, slow pacing, college talk, soft moments, internal conflict, and azzi being azzi

word count: 3.8K

last part | final part

part six: “off days and what comes after”

ivy’s pov

there’s a weird stillness in the air.

not in the quiet kind of way. it’s loud—girls yelling over each other, someone singing along to the aux, sneakers squeaking against the gym floor as we pack up. but it still feels like something’s shifting. like something’s ending.

and maybe that’s because it is.

“we’ve got a full off day tomorrow,” coach yells over the noise. “team bonding activities. don’t be late.”

groans and cheers mix together. someone yells “let’s gooo” like it’s summer camp, and i guess in some ways it is. but i feel it. in my chest, in my stomach. team usa is winding down. and i’m not ready.

i glance across the court. paige is laughing at something azzi said, one hand on her hip and the other holding a water bottle like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like we’re not all secretly terrified of what comes next.

we’re not dancing around each other anymore. we share the same bed now without the space between us. she’ll grab my hand without thinking. i’ll look at her too long and not care if anyone sees. we’re not labeling it—but it’s real.

still, there’s this question sitting at the back of my mind: what happens when the summer ends?

paige’s pov

“team obstacle course?” azzi reads off the itinerary. “what are we, ten?” she says annoyed.

“you’re just mad you’ll lose,” i say, bumping my shoulder against hers.

“no, i’m mad i have to wake up at seven for a ropes course in the woods,” she mutters.

the bus ride to the activity site is loud. our group’s split into teams for some team-building thing coach swears will be fun and character-building. i’m half paying attention—half watching ivy two rows ahead of me, her head leaned against the window, airpods in.

sometimes it hits me out of nowhere: i really, really like her.

and not just the fun parts. i like her when she's quiet. when she's stressed. when she's tired and leaning her head on my shoulder and pretending she's not falling asleep. and that scares the hell out of me because we never talked about what happens next.

i think about the convo we had a few nights ago when we talked for hours about everything and anything.

flashback scene

paige’s pov

the hotel was quiet.

not the creepy kind of quiet—just late. like everyone had already crashed and the building itself was finally exhaling. i found ivy sitting in one of the small seating areas near the elevators. fake fireplace on. vending machines humming behind her. she was curled up on the couch, hoodie pulled over her head, tapping at her phone screen like she wasn’t expecting anyone to show up.

“you disappeared after dinner,” i said.

she looked up. didn’t flinch. didn’t fake a smile. just kind of… scooted to the side to make room.

“couldn’t sleep,” she said, voice low. “figured sitting still might trick my brain.”

i sat down beside her. not too close. not far either.

we didn’t say anything for a second. just let the quiet be quiet.

“you always do that?” i asked. “go sit somewhere until your brain catches up?”

ivy shrugged. “sometimes. sometimes i just lay there until the sun comes up and pretend that counts.”

i smiled, even though it wasn’t funny. “that bad?”

she nodded, picking at the drawstring of her hoodie. “it used to be worse.”

i didn’t press. just waited.

and after a while, she looked up at me like she’d already decided to say it.

“i started playing ball because of my mom,” she said. “not because she pushed me. because she didn’t.”

i tilted my head. “what do you mean?”

ivy leaned back into the cushion, eyes on the ceiling. “she raised me and my brothers alone. worked double shifts at the hospital. we’d get picked up from school by our neighbor or sometimes just wait for her in the parking lot. one day she showed up late—like really late—and i saw her crying behind the wheel. i’d never seen her cry before.”

my stomach clenched. “damn.”

“i asked what was wrong,” she continued. “she just said she was tired. not sick, not sad—tired. and it hit me that all she ever did was give. and i wanted to give something back. i wanted to be good at something. to make her proud.”

i nodded slowly. “so you picked up a basketball.”

she smiled, just a little. “i was nine. the court near our apartment had a bent rim and half the chain net missing. but i went out there every day. shot bricks for a week straight before i even hit the backboard.”

i laughed gently.

“my brother finally took pity on me and showed me how to actually shoot,” she said. “i got better. fast. and she started coming to games. sometimes straight from work, still in scrubs. and every time i looked at her in the stands, i felt like… maybe i was helping her breathe easier.”

i didn’t realize i was holding my breath until i let it go.

“you ever tell her that?” i asked.

she shook her head. “no. not out loud. but i think she knows.”

i sat there for a minute, the weight of her words still sinking in.

“you’re a really good daughter,” i said quietly.

ivy turned to look at me. “you think?”

“yeah. and a really good teammate. even when you drive me insane.”

she grinned, nudging my leg with hers. “ditto.”

i leaned back, looking at the ceiling too. “my parents split when i was little. like, really little. i don’t even remember what it was like with both of them in the house.”

ivy turned her body toward me more.

“i live with my dad, step mom, step brother, and my little brother, drew,” i said. “my mom moved to montana and i stayed in minnesota. we talk. not every day, but… enough. she’s great, honestly. just—wasn’t great with my dad.”

“that hard?”

i shrugged. “at first, yeah. i didn’t get why they couldn’t figure it out. but now? i kind of appreciate having both of them separately. like, i get different versions of support. my dad’s like… the ‘run-it-back-what-did-you-do-wrong’ postgame talk guy. and my mom’s the one who texts me poems and song lyrics and tells me to take a deep breath.”

ivy smiled. “you’re lucky.”

“i know,” i said. “and i’m grateful that they’re still friends and that my mom comes to some of my games, whenever she can.”

she nodded, eyes soft. “that’s sweet.”

we went quiet again, but it wasn’t heavy. it felt okay. like we’d earned the silence between us. like it didn’t need to be filled.

“what’d you want to be before basketball?” she asked suddenly.

i blinked. “before?”

“yeah. before you knew you were good.”

i laughed. “an astronaut. or a zookeeper. i had a weird phase.”

ivy grinned. “i wanted to be a writer. used to make up these fake mystery stories about my teachers being secret spies. one time i turned one in for a book report instead of doing the actual assignment.”

“what’d you get?”

“an f. and a note home.”

i laughed so hard i leaned into her, shoulder brushing hers. she didn’t move.

“you ever think about what happens after all this?” she asked softly.

“like, after the season?”

“after the tournament. the team. the summer.”

i exhaled, the air catching in my chest. “yeah. all the time.”

“me too,” she said. “but tonight, i’m just glad we’re here.”

i looked at her, and for once, she didn’t look away.

“me too,” i whispered.

end of flashback

—

ivy’s pov

the ropes course is dumb.

it’s dumb, hot, and everyone’s yelling—and i kind of love it.

azzi’s stuck in a tire swing. someone just tried to army crawl under a net and lost a shoe. jordan and caitlin are arguing about whether or not someone cheated during the plank challenge. the sun is brutal, my shirt’s sticking to my back, and everything smells like dirt and sunscreen.

paige is on the other side of the course, helping one of the younger players up a wall. she’s so gentle. so patient. like the world slows down for her when she’s helping someone else. like she’s not even thinking about the heat or the yelling or the way her knee’s probably aching from all the climbing—we’ve all been sore for days—but she’s still just there, palms up, steady, saying, “you’ve got it. just one more step. i got you.”

i’m watching her when azzi’s voice breaks right into my ear.

“you’re staring”

i jump, elbowing her lightly. “shut up.”

she grins, completely unbothered, dirt on her cheek and a leaf in her hair. “you know she’s down bad too, right?”

i roll my eyes. “how would you know?”

“because i’ve known her since she was fourteen and awkwardly tried to flirt with a girl asking if gatorade was a good pregame drink.” she pauses. “then tried to impress her by telling her she could recite every WNBA team in alphabetical order.”

i blink at her. “did it work?”

“shockingly, no.” azzi smirks. “but my point is—this? whatever this thing is between you two? it’s not in your head. it’s real. and it’s probably the most focused i’ve seen her be all summer.”

i chew on the inside of my cheek, eyes flicking back toward the wall. paige is laughing at something now, brushing dirt off her hands, her braid slipping over her shoulder. she looks… happy.

"you two are different now," she says after a moment. "not just the sneaking around and the tension—like, real different. lighter. like you both finally stopped pretending you didn’t want this.”

i feel myself soften. “we did,” i admit. “stop pretending.”

azzi studies me for a second, the teasing edge in her expression softening. “then why do you look like you’re bracing for something?”

i shrug, eyes still on paige. she’s laughing at something the kid says, that soft crinkle in her nose showing. “because i don’t know what happens when this is over.”

“team usa?” azzi asks, gently.

“yeah.” i swallow. “when we go back home. when it’s school and teams and miles between us again. when this—whatever this is—doesn’t have a hotel hallway two doors down and shared practices five times a week.”

azzi leans back against the ropes post, arms crossed. “you really think that’s all it is?”

“no,” i say quickly. “i just… i don’t want it to be. and that kind of terrifies me.”

“it’s not nothing, ivy.”

i glance at her. “i know it’s not. that’s the problem. if it was nothing, i wouldn’t care what comes next.”

azzi’s quiet for a beat. then she says, “maybe it doesn’t have to be some huge what-comes-next thing. maybe it just is what it is right now—and you trust her enough to let it be real today.”

i let her words settle. they don’t fix anything. but they make something loosen in my chest.

“you’re way too good at this,” i mutter.

“i literally got stuck in a tire swing,” she replies flatly. “don’t give me that much credit.”

i laugh, for real this time. across the course, paige looks up. like she felt it. she meets my eyes—and smiles.

i don’t look away.

not this time.

azzi’s pov (ooo. words might be slightly different)

the ropes course is dumb.

it’s dumb, hot, and smells like dirt and teenage sweat. someone’s lost a shoe under the net crawl, jordan and caitlin are two seconds away from throwing hands over a plank challenge, and i’m currently trying to extract myself from a tire swing like it’s quicksand.

character-building, my ass.

but when i finally wriggle free and brush off the leaves sticking to my shirt, i spot ivy a few yards ahead—still as anything, eyes locked on the other side of the course.

it doesn’t take a genius to know what (or who) she’s looking at.

i follow her gaze.

paige.

she’s helping one of our teammates climb the wall, her braid’s falling over her shoulder, and her knee’s probably throbbing like the rest of ours, but she doesn’t seem to care. she’s just... there. calm. grounding.

and ivy?

oh, she’s gone.

i walk up beside her and lean in. “you’re staring.”

she jumps a little, elbowing me without taking her eyes off paige. “shut up.”

i grin, not remotely offended. “you know she’s down bad too, right?”

she rolls her eyes. “how would you know?”

“because i’ve known her since she was fourteen and awkwardly tried to flirt with a girl asking if gatorade was a good pregame drink.” i pause “then tried to impress her by telling her she could recite every WNBA team in alphabetical order”

flash back scene

we were at this weekend tourney in minnesota. summer heat, middle-of-nowhere gym, every kid trying to act like they were one step from going pro.

paige was still new to our travel team—quiet, serious, already scary good—but completely clueless when it came to literally anything that wasn’t basketball.

and apparently, flirting.

i remember we were sitting on the sideline during a break, dripping sweat and chugging water. coach was off talking to someone, and the rest of the team was joking around near the bleachers. paige had been eyeing one of the new girls on our team cameron for a full ten minutes. she was maybe sixteen, definitely cute, but older, but none of that seemed to matter to fourteen-year-old paige.

“you think gatorade’s, like, a good pregame drink?” she blurted, out of nowhere.

cameron blinked, confused. “…uh, yeah? i guess.”

“cool,” paige said. “i thought so too.”

then she immediately turned bright red and refused to speak for the next thirty minutes.

i damn near choked on my granola bar.

but the best part came later, when we were packing up and cameron walked by. paige got that look again—wide-eyed, focused, like she was studying game film—and said, watch this.

she walks straight up to cameron, stands like two feet in front of her, and goes:

“there are twelve WNBA teams. want me to name them in alphabetical order?”

cameron blinks and says, “um… okay?”

paige took a deep breath. “atlanta dream. chicago sky. connecticut sun. dallas wings. indiana fever. las vegas aces. los angeles sparks. minnesota lynx. new york liberty. phoenix mercury. seattle storm. washington mystics.”

cameron just nodded politely and walked off. didn’t even say thanks.

paige stood there like she just dropped the coldest pickup line in existence.

i couldn’t even be mad. it was so earnest. i laughed so hard i nearly pulled something.

end of flashback

ivy blinks. “did it work?”

“shockingly, no.”

she laughs under her breath, but it’s tight around the edges. i can see it. the way her jaw’s set. the way her arms are folded too tight across her chest.

“but my point is,” i say, watching paige brush dirt off her hands, “this thing between you two? it’s not just in your head. it’s real. and honestly, i think it’s the most focused i’ve seen her all summer.”

ivy doesn’t say anything right away. her gaze stays fixed on paige, soft in a way i’m not sure she even notices.

“you two are different now,” i add. “not just the sneaking glances and near-kisses and all the stuff you think i haven’t noticed. it’s like... lighter. like you both stopped pretending you didn’t want this.”

“we did,” she says eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “stop pretending.”

i study her for a second. the sharp edges are still there, but they’ve dulled. she looks like she’s finally breathing again. like she wants to be happy. but still, there’s this shadow in her expression.

“then why do you look like you’re bracing for something?”

she shrugs, doesn’t look at me. “because i don’t know what happens when this is over.”

“team usa?”

she nods. “yeah. when we go back home. when it’s school and schedules and miles again. when it’s not a hotel two doors down and practice every morning and this… easy thing we’ve built.”

my heart tugs a little for her.

i know what she’s saying without her needing to spell it out.

“you really think that’s all this is?” i ask, gently.

“no.” she swallows. “i just… i don’t want it to be. and that kind of terrifies me.”

i lean back against a rope post, letting the sun burn into my shoulders. “it’s not nothing, ivy.”

she glances over at me, face open and raw. “i know it’s not. that’s the problem. if it was nothing, i wouldn’t care what comes next.”

i breathe out slowly. “maybe it doesn’t have to be some big, scary what comes next. maybe it just is what it is right now. and maybe that’s enough.”

she doesn’t answer right away, but her shoulders drop the tiniest bit. something settles in her.

“you’re way too good at this,” she mutters.

“i literally got stuck in a tire swing,” i reply flatly. “don’t give me that much credit.”

she laughs for real this time—small and bright and real. i don’t say anything else. i just look at her, and then at paige, and then back again.

and when paige glances up, right in sync, like she could feel that laugh across the course?

she smiles

✦ ✦ ✦

paige’s pov

later, after dinner, it’s just me and ivy sitting on the grass behind the rec center. the sky’s this soft blue-orange and everyone else is inside playing card games or facetiming family. it’s quiet here. finally.

“i don’t want this to end,” ivy says, barely above a whisper.

“me either.”

we sit in that silence. bugs buzzing somewhere, a breeze shifting the air, my fingers brushing hers.

“what happens when we go home?” she asks, eyes still on the sky. “what do we even call this?”

“i don’t know,” i admit. “but i want it to be something.”

she looks at me then. “yeah?”

“yeah,” i say. “i know we said we shouldn’t get caught up in this. but i am. i’m already caught.”

her fingers tighten around mine.

“me too,” she says, voice barely there, like she’s scared it’ll crack if she tries louder. like saying it out loud makes it real.

i look at her for a moment longer, memorizing her face. like i’m trying to press this version of her— soft, honest, hers — into my memory.

i don’t say anything right away. just let the silence stretch a little, comfortable in it now.

“it’s been you this whole time,” i say finally, my voice low, like a secret i don’t want anyone else to hear. “even when we were pretending we weren’t anything. even when we tried to act normal. it’s still you.”

ivy swallows hard. “i thought… if i said something, it’d mess it all up.”

i shake my head, take ivy’s hand in mine. “no. pretending messed it up worse.”

then we’re both quiet again. and ivy shifts closer, barely enough for our knees to brush.

“i don’t wanna go back to the way things were before this summer,” ivy whispers. “i don’t wanna leave and wonder what we could’ve been.”

“then don’t,” i say. “don’t wonder.”

it’s not a question. not a plea. just a soft, steady promise.

and she’s leans in, like the answer’s always been written in the way i look at her. our foreheads press together first, then our noses brush. and when we finally kiss—slow, warm, and unafraid— it feels like choosing something real. something that matters.

when we pull back, ivy’s eyes are glassy.

“what happens next?” she asks, voice cracking just slightly.

i brush a thumb over her cheek. “we figure it out. together.”

ivy nods—and we just sit there because maybe team usa is ending, but whatever this is? it’s just beginning.

so for now sharing the same air was enough.

authors note: we are nearing the end of this series omg 🥲

[silliewrites]

If I could save time in a bottle...

summary: [Platonic Logan Howlett x gn!reader/ famillial dynamics} After the passing of your parent figure some years ago, your friend Wade comes back from a deadly mission with a replica of him. You also soon learn that someone that is definitely not Wade has something to do with the mess that is currently the resting place of that loved one. Finally, you and the ‘worst’ Wolverine find you are on the road to healing together.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: angst and comfort, grief, strong language, brief mention of child death (in worst! Logan's universe), spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine as well as Logan (2017), the bye bye bye scene is treated as grave desecration (which i mean,it is… but reader is naturally gonna see nothing humorous about it)

a/n: This is a bit of a mess because I never write, yet I have so many feelings and thoughts I had to do something with them. Not having seen a platonic fic of this kind anywhere I guess I had to make one. Also..I did some basic research on the general deadpool canon yet..I’m not entirely informed, having not watched deadpool 2… let’s hope for the best

--------------

 You used to be the youngest student in the X mansion back in the day, just a child having mutated under life altering circumstances, the usual. 

 It was Logan who found you. He was your rock during and after the traumatizing event of your mutation, taking you in and placing you in the arms of the X-men and thanks to him they became your family.

 You saw him no less than as a father. Despite his brooding, harsh exterior it was never difficult for you to see that he cared.

 He never shot you down when you knocked on his door in the middle of the night, sobbing after another brutal nightmare. He took you seriously when you talked about your fears and worries. He saved you and helped you stand on your feet more times than you could count.

 Seeing death and bad things happen to your family of mutants always hurt viciously but when Logan died it felt like something you would never get over.

  With your abilities generally under control, you chose to avoid actively partaking in X men work (Not that you refused your assistance, if someone called for you specifically. It had better be very urgent though.)

 So you tried to find a rhythm of what resembled a normal life for the most part, a decent job and some good friends. That was what he would have wanted, no, said he wanted for you.

 You kept ties with Laura too, having bonded over your shared grief, the man having died in her arms after all. She was some years younger than you and you were happy to consider her a good friend, the younger sibling type.

 Some years ago she had disappeared, causing you yet another source of anxiety. Turns out she herself had been banished to the Void. The relief you felt when Wade came back from that limbo hell while managing to bring her back too, was immense. You have never hugged anyone tighter than Laura the day you saw her again.

 Speaking of Wade, through this and that, you had also become acquaintances. He had needed your assistance when he was forming his X force crew and you had hesitantly accepted, making it clear that this would be an one-time thing. 

 He seemed to be a "Wolverine fanboy" in his own words which caused him to bombard you with childish questions about him until you very firmly made him aware of your boundaries. There was a time and place to talk about Logan.

When that shitshow was over with, you did not mind him considering you your friend. Sure, he was a bit much for you, not a huge fan of his 'humor' but seeing him in moderation was not unpleasant…Alright, maybe you did enjoy his company and friendship, it was as simple as that.

  After a chat with him, you learned that the rent in his apartment building was relatively cheap for New York standards, so when it was time to move out of your previous place, that was where you went.

 Then the damn timeline thing happened. You were pretty confused as to how exactly the events played out, not being involved, thankfully. But the crazy fucker did it, he saved the universe from extinction apparently. And not exactly by himself.

 Logan was there. Not your Logan but apparently a variant of him was necessary to pull the mission off.

 And now that version of him was Wade's roommate. Great. Perfect. Definitely something easy for you to process in the days to come.

--------------

 You first saw them after the mission on your way to catch a cab to the airport. It was that time of the trimester when you were to visit him. Bleak yet you longed to see him and speak to him, even if he was resting under the earth. 

 Wade had the decency to explain everything to you once it was decided that Logan’s variant would be staying. He knew that you never really stopped grieving and you appreciated the warning that basically an almost exact replica of your dead father figure would now roam around your earth.

Almost exact, because according to Wade, this Logan was more of a dick, more crude and erratic, apparently rendered by his extra layers of grief and hatred. Partially understandable but you would not accept that as an excuse if he said something cruel in front of you, you would probably introduce him to your interesting mutative abilities. You let Wade know so that he could warn mr stick-up-his-ass. Wade more than happy to accept, still assured you that with the life or death mission being over, Logan was attempting to be more approachable.

 The feelings this new reality brewed in you were..mixed, to say the least.

 You made eye contact with Wade from across the street and of course he shot up from the bench he was sitting on, dropping his half eaten sandwich to the ground, moving his arms vigorously in the air, catching not only your attention but any other passerby's. 

 Even though your stomach turned at having to face the him, you wanted to check up on Wade after all this madness he went through. And on his friend as well, you supposed.

 You looked both ways before passing the street and before you knew it, Wade’s arms wrapped around your neck. You patted his back with one hand, unable to help the choking sounds that left you. 

 “It’s so good to see you, my little honey pumpkin bear!” He squealed excitedly while squeezing the dear life out of you. He really thought he’d never see his friends again, huh.

“Oof, yeah Wade, it’s really nice to see you too, please just-” You broke free of his hold and held an arm’s distance between the two of you. You patted his arm and gave him a small but genuine smile. “Really glad you’re ok. Not that I expected anything le-”

 Your words slowly died out when your gaze met Logan’s. He was sitting on the bench observing the interaction silently. He looked just like you remembered him, minus some differences. Well, obviously he was supposed to be the same person yet..he was not.

 He looked up at you, brows furrowed while his eyes scanned through your face before flashing with what seemed like recognition (Not that you knew what it was he was seeing) He seemed tense and his mouth gaped before he turned his attention to the ground. 

 Wade naturally noticed the uncomfortable tension between the two of you and he decided to chime in quickly.

“Ah, yes this is the Wolverine I had to kidnap to help me with the time ripper bullshit and oh boy, did he deliver!” 

 You kept your eyes on the Variant, forcing yourself into a polite smile (that resembled more of an awkward line) and you extended your hand to him, causing him to lift his gaze at you again.

“Nice to meet you...Logan. Thank you for your help with unscrewing our timeline” You said as pleasantly as you could and he took your hand after a moment of hesitation, shaking it with a gentle firm and a silent nod. 

His presence..It made your stomach turn. Feeling the threat of your vision getting watery, you quickly averted your gaze away from the two, as subtle as you could manage. 

“I..Wade, m’ sorry, would love to sit a bit more but I have to go-”

“Hey wait, tomorrow we’ll be having a get-together to celebrate the un-fuckery of the universe, a partEy if you will! Everyone will be there, Al will be making that terrible casserole you really like also!”

You gave him a melancholic smile, genuinely sad you would not be able to attend. Logan’s variant was back to looking at the ground.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I won’t make it, I’m afraid. I’m going to the airport right now actually, will be off for the next three days. Gotta see someone..”

“Ooooh” Wade whistled while wiggling his brows “and is that someone maybe a super hot sexy mysterious boyfriend? Or girlfriend? Or theyfriend? Or-” 

“Heh, nope. Nothing like that unfortunately.”

“Sure, sure, keep your secrets, you ankle biter, but promise to pass by the apartment once you’re back, we gotta catch up!”

You nodded. “Of course. See you then.” 

 Two days later you found yourself back in New York in a rush, in front of Wade’s apartment door, ready to invent a way that would actually exterminate him.

--------------

 Nothing prepared you for the mess you saw in what was supposed to be Logan’s resting place. 

 The snow had ceased completely. With a simple look his grave was undug and the makeshift X was missing. When you approached, the little fresh snow that had fallen last night was covering various types of debris. Some type of fight had taken place and someone had collected the bodies in a rush yet they did not bother with what you spotted after closer inspection and some digging with your hands. 

 Metallic looking appendages…These were…

You looked inside the open grave. The snow had barely covered the remains in there and it was obvious they were not even half of what they were supposed to be.

 You suppressed the violent urge to vomit. Someone had taken him out, violated his remains and as if in a haste, threw them back in.

 You dug through the snow with bare hands around the grave. A fragment here. A fragment there. The spine. What was left of the cranium. White hot rage.

You called Laura with shaking hands. Offended would be an understatement for how she sounded, as well, unaware of who could have possibly caused this. Why were you even calling her, poor girl was in the void for a while now, what could she possibly do or know?

You hung up with the intention of looking through the situation a bit more and catching her up later.

  While trying to stay calm and focusing all your mental energy on collecting, wiping and gently placing the remains back in the hole, it clicked.

 Wade. 

 From the few words you two had exchanged ever since he was back, you gathered he turned every stone to find “a Wolverine” to assist him. Yet you could not imagine what the everloving fuck would he defile your Wolverine’s grave for and what caused him to spread his bones all over like fucking confetti.

  You would not stand for this. Just because Wade saved the stupid timeline, he did not automatically become immune to the most extraordinary ass whooping of the century. If he had something to do with this, you would not forgive him easily, if at all

--------------

 After taking a deep breath, you rang the bell. Tapping your foot on the ground, you heard some mumbling and shuffling before the door opened.

 Wade made a surprised expression that resembled a caricature.

“Sweet baby cakes! You're back already? Come on in, I was just thinking about starting a gossip girl marathon. Again!”

 Wade's cheerful expression fell almost immediately when you stayed still for a moment too long, not responding.

 Althea did not seem to be home. Good.

 Wade's expression morphed into one of concern.

“Pumpkin, is everything-”

“Wade. Guess where I just came back from.”

You took a slow step forward, dropping you backpack to the floor.

“Erm..a male stripclub full of hot babes?”

“North Dakota.”

“Don't you say! Did North Dakota had any good male strip-” He stopped himself before realization hit him. “And..may I ask..what was it you were doing in North-”

“You know very well what.”

Wade put his hands in front of him defensively and closed the door. “Hey Pumpkin, why don't you just sit so that we can-”

“Shut. Up.” You whispered.

“When I got to his grave, someone had completely messed it up. Signs of fighting around. Do you happen to have anything to do with that?” You said in a dangerously low voice, eyes glued on him.

 Wade, whose mouth formed into an awkward line, clearly not having a reasonably enough excuse to give you.

“Er, you see, um remember when I was looking for a Logan, well I started my search with the OG, you know, just to make sure he was dead dead and unfortunately he was and um then you see err the TVA showed up and um-”

He stopped when you put your hands on your face, squeezing it while a muffled screech of rage escaped you. 

“You motherfucking, with no semblance of decency, insensitive prick. You defiled Logan's remains and used them as a shield, throwing them around like toys? And you have the nerve to come back home and look me in the eye after the fact? To look Laura in the eye? Do you not have any fucking shame? Am I simply an afterthought to you?”

Silence. You could not see through the tears. With shaky hands you pulled out of your pocket a tiny clothed item and you carefully unwrapped the cover to reveal a small metallic fragment.

“You may think everything's a fucking game but that man was my family, and worst part is you know this very damn well! How dare you!”

“You have every right to be angry, just let me-”

 You grabbed the first object you could reach, which was a half empty bottle of liquor and threw it across the room, causing it to smash angrily on the wall of the living room. Wade winced slightly before groaning in frustration.

With that, a bedroom shot open and an alarmed Logan variant made an appearance, claws already out.

“What the fuck is hap-”

 He stopped in his tracks seeing it was just you. He probably had already heard your yelling earlier yet it did not answer any questions about what was going on.

“What the hell, kid?” he said with a subtle hint of alarm.

 You take a step towards him, looking up at his face, paying no mind to his blades that were now retreating back inside. God, how it hurt to stare right into his features. Feeling a wave of nausea, you picked up your bag and turned your back to the two men.

 “Wait, can't we just talk about this?” Wade said

 “No, you ruined my week enough” You mumbled bitterly before exiting his apartment. Week, more like, year.

--------------

 The roof of the building was pretty nice, you always preferred it when you wanted some time to yourself outside the walls of your apartment. You rarely ever saw any other tenant there, especially in the late afternoons.

 This is where you found yourself that night, elbows supported on the railing, observing the busy street from above while sipping on bad beer.

 How you wished he was there right now. How you wished for one more simple moment with him, where you could just be in his presence once again, chat about nonsense or simply sit in comfortable silence next to him. 

 What would he think of you as the person you were trying to become? Would he be proud of you? 

 How you wished he would put his hand on your shoulder comfortingly right now.   

 You missed him. So much.

A high pitched creak came from the direction of the heavy door behind you, causing you to jump a little and instinctively wipe the fresh tears that you just then realized were running down your face.

 “Sorry, kid, did I scare you? They mustn't have oiled this door in fucking ever..” There was Logan, the new one. Whatever entity was reading your thoughts a moment prior must be finding your misery hilarious.

 “Hope I’m not bothering you”

 “No, no. I don’t own the rooftop..” You mumbled softly, turning your attention back on the street, trying to ignore the feeling of clear tension he brought with him. You swore to God, if he was about to make a crass comment..

 He came to stand next to you, mimicking the position of your elbows on the railing. He himself was holding a glass, filled with one most likely alcoholic liquid.

 “That asshole told me everything about the grave thing. If I were you, I would have torn him apart.”

 “I’m sure you already know this isn’t possible by any means”

 Logan huffed. “Oh, believe me, I do. I’ve tried at least three times”

 You gave a noncommittal nod, trying not to focus too much the gruff voice you always found so comforting.

 “...You know..You existed in my timeline too” He mumbled before gulping a generous sip of his drink.

 That made you look up at him, surprised. “I…did?”

“Oh, yes you did. Lively little brat you were.” He said with a laugh you could only describe as melancholic. He said it like it hurt.

“You went through so much for a child. And you did cry quite often ‘cause of it, yet you were still so..” He seized, taking a heavy breath and emptying his glass. “So full of life. A good kid.” The city lights reflecting on his eyes, making it easier for you to see how watery they were.

“I..assume I…”

You were interrupted by another one of those devastating low laughs that made your heart ache.

“Yeah. You were among them. Those fuckers did not even spare a fucking child. I was the one who got you with the X-men and it ended in..” He hissed through his teeth and half closed mouth. He took a moment to collect himself and breathed out.

“I’m so sorry, Logan.” You whispered genuinely. You didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t be, …sorry, didn't mean to make it about myself.”

“You didn’t, really!” 

 A moment of awkward silence before you decided to share your piece.

“My Logan, er, you..I suppose it’s more or less the same as it was in your world but..you were like a…You were the closest I ever felt to a parent. I grew up because of you and..yeah, when I was around 17, you died.” It was almost funny how much you oversimplified those statements but it was the best you could manage at the given moment.

 He nodded, listening intently.

“I’m sure that..If he saw how you grew into who you are today, doing your own thing, in spite of the mutation shit and all…he wouldn’t change a thing about how all these fucking events went down..”

“You..think so?”

He chuckled, giving you a small smile, tired but genuine.

“Hell, I know so.” he said. You could tell. You could tell that he desperately wished this was how the events played out in his own world, with the other you alive and a bright future ahead of them.

 You hesitated for a moment, not sure if what you were about to say would be too much for him. Then again, it was him who approached you with this vulnerable conversation. 

“For what it's worth I would… they would want you to keep on living. Not forget them, not at all. Just..be. Be a person. Make friends and..live.”

 He looked you in the eye for a second, before averting your gaze and looking anywhere but you. This was hard for him. But he was trying.

 He patted your back firmly. “Thanks, kid.” It was a very simple thing you told him yet you could not possibly know what it meant to him. 

You thought that maybe you got what you wished for. Not exactly and certainly not ideally. But you and this Logan had something in common. Maybe, you could help and comfort each other in a way nobody else possibly could. 

 “Y’ know..I'm glad you got to stay, Logan.”

 A smile. “I'm glad to be here, kiddo.”

A pause. 

“How long do you think I should make Wade do my laundry for? Y'know. For retribution?”

“Oh, six months at least, bub..” 

You stayed for a couple hours chatting above the restless city, topics including but not limited to work, university and acquaintances.

Your pain was soothed a tiny bit and you hoped Logan's was too. You had a lot of time ahead of you to work on that further, after all.

[portalmonsterrr]

[Alhaitham Become Human AU] Meeting Nahida part 1/4

Some notes on the au + if you haven't played the game:

One of the playable characters, Connor, is able to enter something of an introspection mode or a mind palace where he discusses the unfolding events with his imaginary handler Amanda. It's a garden that changes its environment depending on Connor's mental state. rA9 is a deity or a belief among androids, it's unconfirmed if it's even a person; it could be the deviancy virus or the first awakened android. In my AU, Nahida is the first ever sentient/alive android (something that is backed up by her having a conscioussness, being able to dream and self-reflect)

all the pages are available in early access on my patreon

dbh AU: 1 2 3

[diyasgarden]

Adopting a pet together 😫

LOVE THIS ONE!!!

Art and you would definitely adopt a puppy together. I'm leaning towards golden retriever, but I can also see him adopting a german shepherd, border collie, or a husky. Active dogs, very playful and upbeat, on the little larger side too. He's already an early riser for training, so he loves taking it on early morning walks. Even after retirement, he is up by at least 7, leash in hand and ready for walk. He adores playing with the dog too. Both of you do, going to parks so you can all run around together or playing fetch with an old tennis ball. You don't think the dog prefers Art over you, but he is definitely a bit more in sync with him than you. Watching the puppy grow up is a treat for both of you, an undeniably important part of your family.

Tashi and you adopt a kitten together right after she graduates from Stanford. it's a small white cat you guys decided to get once you both found an apartment. There isn't much reason or planning to the decision, but it came up one day and you both felt it was time. Truthfully, you think you were more excited than her about it. Not because she cared less for the kitten, but because to you it felt like a big step in your bond. You both adore the kitten, a peaceful little creature. Truthfully, the cat seems to have a mind of it's own. Occupying itself when and how it wants, following both of you guys randomly, snuggling when it wanted your warmth. Tashi jokes it's an extra roommate, which you can't necessarily deny. Your apartment is scattered with little toys for it, a lot of which are tennis-themed (curtesy of the one and only Ms. Duncan).

After you find out about the fact that Patrick is just raising a random cat, you become a second parent to it. There is no discussion, no paperwork (it is a stray after all), it just happens. A pet adoption only in retrospect. You take her to the vet and makes sure she is healthy before fully assimilating her into your lives. The responsibility to care for her is shared, both of you buying the things she needs and spending time with her. The cat is more attached to Patrick than you, largely because he saved her life, so you can't really fault her for that. And either way, the cat really loves you too. A fairly peaceful kitten, although she meows a lot. Sometimes it feels like she is talking to you both, and somehow Patrick always seems to understand.

NOTE: this draft was started before i wrote betting on losing cats but i guess you can consider this a sequel to that

[azaharinflames]

you’ve had such well-thought out answers to everything 911 and bucktommy so i wanted to hear your take on this. i just came across someone writing that bvddie endgame is corroborated in the overall story and not going there is in bad faith 😵‍💫

i’m sorry but when the showrunners - both tim and kristen - plus the actor who portrays one half of that ship have emphasised over and over again the deep friendship and brotherly bond between buck and eddie…what am i missing here?

there have been numerous instances where the writers have opened up the possibility of buck realising romantic feelings for eddie and every single one of those instances have been clear: it’s always been about TOMMY

I had a long answer to this, and then the blackout happened and I lost it :/ So, trying again!

First of all, thank you so, so much, Nonnie! I really appreciate your words.

I've always thought that there is no stopping from living in delusion, if living there is all you know. But what do I know, lol.

I don't see how Buddie endgame is corroborated in the overall story, I genuinely don't. And I think anyone trying to claim the people not seeing it do it in bad faith are adding to some harmful rhetorics I've been seeing a lot in the fandom. Where if you don't like Buddie, then you're labeled as a racist and a homophobe.

Stop it. Cut that shit.

What they're doing by throwing accusations like those so easily is trivialising some very serious issues, whilst actively engaging in perpetuating those. Meaning, you cannot seriously tell me I am homophobic for not liking Buddie when in the same breath you're saying (with your whole chest, mind you) that Tommy Kinard, a canonically gay man (or Josh, also a canonically gay man), should be run over by a train. It's not a joke. It's not funny. Stop it.

Sorry for derailing there a bit, but it truly annoys me.

Look, to be very blunt here, I don't think 911 has written a single one of their pairings as being corroborated by the storyline. They've hit gold with Henren, Bathena, and Madney, and now with Bucktommy, but honestly? In all cases, it was a product of their luck in having actors that had insane chemistry together without the producers expecting it, in having actors advocating for their characters and the directions they wanted to take them in... I am not undermining the talent of the writers. There is only so much an actor can do without some good material. But I genuinely believe not a single couple of 911 was planned from the start (save Henren, because of obvious reasons), nor did they orchestrate the whole series to fit them.

Bucktommy are an anomaly (affectionate), in the way that, somehow, they fit so well, to the point that the red string theory was born. But we all know they were not planned from the start, and that Tim is probably still in shock at how hard he hit the jackpot with them.

So. For Buddie? Nothing indicates it was them from the start, and I think some small fun tidbits (like the elf in Season 2) that were done to joke around with the fans got taken too far. I'll just put in as simply as I can, I guess:

If the show wanted them to be endgame from the start, their growth would've gone perpendicular. Meaning - the actions of one would constantly be reflected in the other. Furthermore, if they were meant to be endgame, you know what we would've seen? Them acting like they do in fanfics.

Hot take, idc. But I mean it. Because in fanfics, back when I was reading Buddie, I maybe could see it (in the ones that didn't heavily mischaracterize them). A situation where they were fully supportive of each other, where they were each other's number 1 (Chris on a whole other league ofc), where their decisions were heavily influenced by each other, where they shared every big moment with each other.

But that is not what we got. And that is not what we have, for as much as they want to twist it that way.

And they made that even more obvious once Tommy came into play. Once they had Buck leaving his sister's wedding momentarily because he wanted to share that moment with Tommy (who, also, put Buck as his priority the second the emergency was over). Once they had Buck going home to his boyfriend in 710, instead of almost moving in with the Diazes to try to fix Eddie's mess. Once they showed us how Tommy takes care of him in a way no one else will, will put Buck as a priority even when they are not together (yet), will feel Buck's pain as if it were his own.

I feel like this got very long, and that my thoughts are all over the place lol. But to sum it up:

I do not think Buddie endgame is corroborated in the show, nor do I think it would be as amazing as they think it would be. Mostly because we've had Eddie looking about done with Buck several times this season (and in a no-cute way, I'll say), and mostly because after all they've done with Bucktommy, how significant they've made them so far? Yeah... I don't know if they could ever achieve that again without people thinking: Oh, but this is just a copy of Buck and Tommy. Meh.

Sorry for the long ass answer hehe. I was answering this ask shortly before the power outage, so it was on my mind most of the day (whenever I wasn't worried sick lmao)

[pinklotushere]

Direct continuation of this

14th Century, The Wedding

The chapel was quiet, the flickering candlelight casting golden hues over the stone walls. Dick grinned as he clasped Dan’s hands, his voice soft but full of playful energy.

“Do you think the gods will bless us?” dick asked.

Dan raised a brow, his stoicism barely hiding a hint of a smile. “If they don’t, I’ll have a word with them myself.”

“For once, you’re not brooding,” dick laughed “I could get used to this.”

Dan smirked faintly. “You have a talent for unsettling me.”

As they exchanged vows, Dan felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel: hope.

It was short-lived.

When dick fell ill years later and succumbed to the plague, Dan begged the gods to take him too. Instead, they cursed him, forcing him to live with his grief.

---

Dan wandered through centuries, haunted by dick's absence. Time didn’t dull the ache; instead, it sharpened it, leaving him restless and yearning for the impossible.

16th-Century venise

The courtesan was beautiful, with dark hair and a sharp wit that reminded Dan of dick. He found himself drawn to her, lavishing her with gifts and stolen moments.

“You seem sad,” she said one night, tracing a finger along his jaw. “You’re always looking at me like you expect me to say something I haven’t.”

Dan forced a smile. “You remind me of someone I lost.”

She kissed him softly, but it felt hollow. No one could match the fire that dick had carried in his soul.

---

17th-Century England

The lively marketplace bustled with activity as Dan passed through, blending into the crowd. A merchant’s voice caught his attention, cutting through the noise with its cheeky charm.

“Careful, sir, you’ll scare the quills if you stare any harder.”

Dan’s gaze snapped to the stall, and his breath caught. The merchant’s auburn hair and bright smile were eerily familiar. He bought a quill just to linger, his heart aching with an unnamed longing.

“You remind me of someone,” Dan murmured.

“Lucky him,” the merchant teased.

Dan left, the stranger’s laughter echoing in his mind.

---

The Napoleonic Wars (19th Century)

The young soldier, Henri, had dick's cheeky grin and quick tongue. They met during a brutal campaign, bonding over shared hardships.

“You’re too quiet, Dan,” Henri said one night by the fire. “You’ve got stories, I can tell.”

Dan chuckled softly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Henri laughed and leaned closer, his gaze lingering. Dan kissed him, hoping the heat would drown out the emptiness. It didn’t. Henri was kind, but he wasn’t him.

---

19th-Century Paris

The bookshop was warm and dimly lit, a haven from the cold Parisian streets. Dan browsed aimlessly, distracted by the shopkeeper’s lively chatter with another customer.

“You’ve got a serious look about you,” the shopkeeper said, noticing Dan. “Let me guess—love lost?”

Dan stiffened. The man’s blue eyes and teasing smile felt too familiar. He handed Dan a slim volume of poetry. “This one’s good for broken hearts. I’d know.”

Dan nodded curtly, paying without a word. As he left, the shopkeeper’s parting words lingered: “Come back if you need more stories.”

It was sweet, but Dan already knew he wouldn't be coming back

---

20th Century A Bar

In a smoky speakeasy in New York, Dan nursed a drink while watching the barmaid move through the crowd. She had dick's charm and confidence, her laughter cutting through the haze of jazz and cigarette smoke.

She leaned against the bar, grinning at him. “You’ve been staring all night. Care to explain?"

“You remind me of someone,” Dan admitted, his voice low.

“Lucky her,” she teased, pouring him another drink.

Dan smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He tried to convince himself that these fleeting connections were enough, but the truth gnawed at him: they weren’t.

---

20th-Century New York

The train station buzzed with energy as soldiers boarded. Dan leaned against a pillar, watching a young man in uniform charm a group of women nearby.

“Not boarding?” the soldier asked, his grin infectious.

“No,” Dan replied.

“Suit yourself.” The soldier extended a hand. “Rick.”

Dan hesitated before shaking it. “Dan.”

As the conductor called for final boarding, Rick tipped his hat. “See you around, Dan.”

Dan watched him go, the ache in his chest a reminder of something he couldn’t quite place.

Dick grayson’s life had always felt... incomplete. He couldn’t explain the strange dreams that plagued him—visions of a medieval chapel, a bustling market, a quiet bookshop. He dismissed them as nothing more than fantasies.

As Nightwing, Gotham demanded his focus. Yet, during a battle with a rogue magician, something changed.

A spell struck him mid-air, throwing him to the ground. Pain rippled through his body, but so did something else—a torrent of memories flooding his mind.

Dan, he mind whispered to him

Oh.

Oh.

Dick spent months tracking Dan down, piecing together clues from his fragmented memories and his skills as Nightwing.

He chased whispers of a man who never seemed to age, stories of someone who disappeared when connections grew too close.

In every lead, dick saw glimpses of Dan’s regret—an unfinished painting left behind in a French chateau, a carefully preserved diary in a London museum, a love letter hidden in the pages of an old book.

Each discovery hardened Dick's resolve. “You won’t run from me this time,” he muttered as he packed his gear.

Dan was sitting in his apartment, staring at the same photograph. The weight of centuries pressed down on him, his guilt and longing a constant ache.

The knock at his door startled him. He wasn’t expecting anyone. When he opened it, his breath caught.

Dick stood there, rain dripping from his hair, his eyes blazing with determination.

“How many lifetimes will it take before you see me for who I am?” dick demanded, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation.

Dan took a step back, his mind racing. “dick?”

“Yes, Dan,” dick said, his voice firm. “It’s me. It’s always been me. And you—” his voice broke slightly, “you’ve been running from this for centuries.”

Dan sank into a chair, unable to meet dick's gaze. “I thought I was protecting you,” he whispered.

Dick crouched in front of him, gripping his hands. “You thought you were protecting yourself,” he said, his tone softer now. “But I’m here, Dan. I’ve always been here. And I remember everything,i remember you”

Dan’s eyes filled with tears. “I wanted to save you from this... from me.”

“You’re not saving me by leaving me behind,” dick said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re breaking us both.”

The room was quiet, and Dan hesitated before reaching out, his fingers brushing against dick's cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Dan murmured, his voice cracking.

Dick leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. “Then stop running. Stop hiding. Be with me this time. For real.”

Dan nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything,” dick said fiercely. “But you have to let yourself believe it.”

---

Months later, Dan and dick walked along the Gotham waterfront, the city alive with its usual chaos. But for the first time in centuries, Dan didn’t feel haunted.

“You’re awfully quiet,” dick said, bumping Dan’s shoulder. “Regretting your decision already?”

Dan chuckled, a rare sound that made dick grin. “Hardly. I’m just... grateful.”

Dick smirked. “Good. Because I’m not letting you off the hook this time. You owe me centuries of explanations, love letters, and... well, everything.”

Dan stopped walking, turning to face him. “You have my eternity."

Dick's grin softened, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Dan’s lips. For the first time, they were finally whole.

[leclercinvegas]

can you do 4 and 39 with logan sargeant

UNDER THE PADDOCK STARS

who: logan sargeant x reader

author's note: none

prompt: “Do you hate me?"(4) and “Regardless of what they think, I know you’re an amazing person.” (39)

summary: amid the pressures and criticisms of the racing world, logan sargeant finds solace and reassurance in the unwavering support of his partner. together, they reaffirm their bond, knowing they can face any challenge as long as they have each other.

warnings: none

Sure, here's an imagine for Logan Sargeant based on those prompts:

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the paddock, you found yourself standing alone near the team garage, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. The roar of engines had faded, leaving only the distant hum of activity as the crew packed up for the night.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice Logan approaching until he gently called your name. You turned to find him standing there, concern etched on his face.

"Hey," he said softly, taking a step closer. "Are you okay?"

You managed a weak smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. "Yeah, just… a lot on my mind."

Logan's eyes searched yours, seeing through the facade you tried to put up. "Do you hate me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his tone. "What? No, Logan, of course not," you replied quickly. "Why would you even think that?"

He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I don't know. It's just… with everything that's been happening, the pressure, the criticism… I guess I worry about how it affects us."

You stepped closer, reaching out to gently grasp his hand. "Logan, listen to me. Regardless of what they think, I know you’re an amazing person. You're talented, driven, and you care so much about what you do. That's what matters to me."

His eyes softened as he looked at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thank you. That means more than you know."

You squeezed his hand, a reassuring warmth spreading between you. "We’ll get through this together, okay? No matter what they say, we have each other."

Logan nodded, pulling you into a tight embrace. In that moment, with his arms wrapped around you, the noise of the world seemed to fade away. All that mattered was the bond you shared, stronger than any criticism or doubt.

As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, you knew that together, you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[miumura]

( 📞 ) LOVERS’ TV — JUNGWON SHORT FIC

[ DAY ONE ] of the advent calendar !

( 📞 ) NOW CALLING . . . a christmas movie night with your lover was a great idea, until someone fell asleep before the movie could end…

( ꕤ ) NOW PAIRING . . . bf!jungwon x gn!reader

( 📞 ) NOW GENRES . . . fluff, established relationship

( ꕤ ) NOW WARNINGS . . . none i think ~~ WC 600+ !

( 📞 ) NOW HANGING UP . . . first fic for the winter mlist yay !! with jungwon being the first idol i ever made a fic about , i just had to make him the first day for this event 🫶 !!

You've long dreamt of having a movie night, especially the idea of binge-watching Christmas films with someone special. Jungwon holds that idea in mind—he never forgets what you want. Eager to be the best partner he can be, he’s all in for sharing the activities you've been wishing for, like this movie night.

The only problem was that he was on a trip, being far apart from you. What stung more was that he wouldn’t be around for the initial days of December; he was due to return mid-month. However, he's known for making efforts just for you.

So, how about an online movie date?

He was really excited about this idea because he was still able to bond with you overseas in a special way. And to his excitement, you thought it was also a great idea, having the movie night happen at 8 PM—well, in your timezone. Despite the huge time zone differences, Jungwon set the date night that could fit within your schedule.

And with that, the hours quickly flew by, and with Jungwon setting up his laptop. He stared at the time eagerly, watching it hit 8 PM, calling you at that exact time. You quickly answered, and he had the brightest smile on his face.

“Hi,” you said as you got yourself comfortable in your bed, setting your laptop onto your lap. “Hey love,” you heard that sweet tone in his voice, making you break into a smile. You looked at the screen, looking at your boyfriend in a gray hoodie, fiddling around with the strings of it. “What movie do you want to watch?”

"Hm…Oh! How about watching 'The Nightmares Before Christmas?'" you suggested enthusiastically, noticing your boyfriend's questionable expression. "I heard that movie was more on the scary side rather than Christmassy..."

"It can't be something you can't handle!" you assured him, which he eventually agreed to share his screen and stream the movie.

"I'll trust your word on it."

"Lying down was not a good idea," Jungwon admitted as he felt his eyelids growing heavy. No matter how many times he rubbed his eyes or blinked repeatedly, drowsiness weighed heavily on him. He let out a yawn, drawing your attention.

“Jungwon?” You interrupted his yawn, slightly surprising him as if you caught him doing something terrible.

“Yeah?”

“You tired?”

“Just getting myself comfortable, that’s all.”

“What time is it for you?”

"2:30 A.M," he glanced at the clock, instantly regretting revealing he was up at such a late hour. He might have gotten away with it if he'd said it was 10 PM, but no, he had to ruin his cover. Oh how ready he was for another scolding.

“Jungwon!” You stared at the screen, watching him awkwardly scratch the back of his head. “Why are you even up at this time?”

“Because you wanted to have a movie night, and I wanted to spend the first few days of December with you—and I picked a timezone suitable for you.” He confessed, and you just couldn’t help but have a smile. “It just didn’t work out on my end…I guess?”

“Won, I appreciate that, but shouldn’t you be asleep right now? I mean, we can always pause the movie and continue next time—you’ve got things to do tomorrow.” you suggested. However, he was set on finishing the movie that night. You knew Jungwon well enough to realize he was determined, and so you both continued watching.

But as anticipated, once Jungwon settled into a comfortable position, it was inevitable that he'd fall asleep. Within ten minutes, there was no longer any commentary about the movie.

“Won?” you whispered loud enough, noticing he didn’t move a single bit. Smiling at his peaceful appearance, you paused the movie and ended the call, already feeling his absence.

You opened the messaging app and began typing with a playful smirk,

Who said we had to finish the movie tonight?

You, but you feel asleep! It’s okay though, we can always watch together next time!

And maybe, you won’t doze off <3

You shut your laptop, rolling onto your side and tugging the blanket closer. Sleep was much needed, not only for rest but also to ensure you'd have extra time to see Jungwon in the morning, you figured.

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[sleepy-fiction]

Silco x Ambessa Headcanons

how do ambessa and silco act in their relationship? favorite things to do, how they show their love, and what their sex life is like.

3K EST

(powerful art from seaangel00 on tt)

tgs: fluff at first, NSFW, cuddling, cunnilingus, rope play, manhandling, dom switch!ambessa, switch!silco, absolute sweetness ahead i pray you read this post!! mildly proofread

an: if u like this post u should totally check out my other Ambessa Silco post, "A Friend From Noxus"!!

Ambessa is manhandling silco when it's time for fun.

He likes it, although he tries to keep his authority. It's the one moment where he gets to fully relax in the arms of someone, dare he say, more competent and trustworthy than himself. He truly gets to let go, relinquish his power, and allow himself to be used by Ms. Merdarda.

She likes it because she gets to blow off steam. Dominating is her pride in life. She also likes how gentle he is and pliant. he accepts anything from her if it earns him her company. She's never felt so appreciated. Whether it be her preaching on hours about a topic he's not familar with or sparing with soldiers, he always listens and watches her so intently.

Their favorite activity is letting a fond vinyl play with some aged wine while chatting about whatever comes to mind. Complaining about idiot subordinates, idiot enemies, troublesome daughter worries, tales of betrayal, woes of themselves, and the future - they seem to just understand each other well.

Silco is the only man in the world, outside of her late husband, that she truly feels equal to. Their fights for power, to protect their families, and secure their birthright, however, means that it makes them quick to connect, too. Silco isn't a good man. He knows it. Ambessa isn't a good woman. She knows it. They don't try to change or fix eachother, they carry their burdens and push limits for their wants. Evil is a complex scale to them. Who can draw the line? They have similar ideals in this manner.

Their girls, ooh, their girls. Ambessa and Silco love their daughters from the bottom of their heart. They share many fond memories discussing them, sharing stories, and their favorite pictures. Ambessa admires Jinx's creativity. Her craftsmanship is sublime. And for silco, who would've guessed that the grand Mel from the council would be Ambessa's beloved daughter. But, to him, it made since considering how intelligent her mother was.

Their quiet evenings are the loveliest. They don't get to enjoy a lot of silence. Their enemies are many, their workload is intense, their cleanup is even worse. So when they have minutes to sit in silence, whether it be cuddling up at night, or reading two separate things in the same room, it always brings them at ease. Just knowing the other's presence lingers brings a sort of pride and comfort.

Their intelligence keeps them stuck like glue. Their constant playful battle of wits. Who is smarter, who is wider, who is faster, more secure. They bicker about anything (well, mostly ambessa does, silco loves to listen to her talk), and their chess matches? Phew, they can be intense. Silco's love for literature and writing, he found solice in Ambessa's brilliantly educated mind. She not only understands the thrills of complex theatre, she enjoys it. Her extensive knowledge of history and wars from places he's never even heard of can never fail to fascinate him.

He kills, she kills. They don't judge. Hell, they'll even organize strategic murders together. All to make a statement - to get what they want. Who would've guessed? Noxions can be good at putting idiots in their place, and boy do shimmer warheads make amazing soldiers.

Ambessa takes good care of him. It's no secret Silco is in poor health. He conceals it so well, it's impossible to catch him weak. After years of bonding in bloodshed, although, Silco opens up beautifully to her. And one thing about Ambessa, she will always take care of her pack. She's feeding him so well, trying to bring back the fat in his slender cheeks, and the color back in his pale skin.

Couple workouts? Oh, he hates it, but he'll put up with it for her. He knows she just wants to take care of him. And he'd be a liar if he didn't mention he loved it equally. He likes being pampered and spoiled if you will. He's not one to like dirt, let alone the dirty living that was pushed onto him, tarnishing his zeal for power in the first place. Ambessa makes sure he's got good mecidine and will always be there to help him with his shimmer injections. She's so incredibly gentle when she does it, almost makes you forget she's seven feet tall.

And, Oh, gentleness. Gentleness is the name of their relationship. Silco has always been attentive and gentle to the ones he loves. Ambessa always wants the best for her loved ones, and will be there to give a tough-love nudge. But she doesn't have to do that often with silco. Their so similar, so matured and aged in this world, she doesn't have to teach him anything serious. So this helps her blossom into trusting him more. Revealing her very sweet, gentle, talkative side. She loves to hold him in her massive arms, whisper tales to him until he falls asleep, caressing his smaller body, gazing at him so fondly.

She's the world's biggest mama bear, so it's not surprising that she's cuddly and affectionate, too. Silco's never really been a romance guy, infact he was confused for weeks when he found out she loved him. Him? Of all people? When she could have anyone at the drop of a hat? He was so boggled at the idea! So when she smothers him with her love, his brain freezes. He grew into it eventually, and though he's not vocal about affection, every now and again he'll bury himself into her while she's reading.

Or he'll cuddle up to her first, surpise her with fresh kisses when he's out the shower, or his favorite, kiss every scar on her body, and smother her knuckles with his lips. His physical affection is small compared to hers, but he makes up for it through quality time, acts of service, and always sticking close by.

Sex. Holy hell. It's magical. They battle for authority everytime. Silco was always a switch, but Ambessa? She always knew she was dominant- or so she thought? There were many times where she'd lose to his pussy eating, letting him take the lead and do the impossible- put her in doggy style!! God was it worth it though. She wasn't aware he knew how to move his body so quickly. Silco's dick is long and skinny, and he's incredibly nimble for an old hoot.

But often times, their play consists of intended takeouts, cunnilingus (Ambessa loves to devour him), and then penis in vagina. Typically, with Ambessa rocking his socks and riding him until the cows come home. Their first time had him loose, sweating, gripping onto her gorgeous curves while she rode backward cowgirl, her favorite position. He loves it too, it's like dinner and a delicious show.

Her ass is so juicy, her tits are big and gorgeous, just as much as she likes to lick him up, God he adores doing to her. She's so perfect, so fucking hot, and it's worse she knows it. Got this white man sweating! She's so strong, too. When she pins him down, he shudders every time, reveling in her force. She could really snap him in half. It's thrilling.

She loves manhandling him. Carrying him, putting him down, pinning him. He grunts and squirms every time he knows he loses in battles of strength. But in battles of technique? He'll have her cornered every time. It's like he's memories every sweet spot in her vagina, all the places she loves to be groped and touched, and how intense or how mellow she likes it too. Like he's memorized star charts of what days she likes it sweet or days she likes to fuck like animals.

Ambessa rides him so intensely, liking the slamming, penetrative feeling so much, she forgets the joy of having her walls slowly and deeply massaged by Silco's head. On sweet days, this is what she prefers. Silco eating her out real good, then fucking her slow (only with her permission!), kissing her neck if he's behind her, or making out deep and slow for every thrust, if he's in front.

They love overstimulation, restrictions and rope play, marathon sex (silco can barely keep up at times, but he puts up a brave fight), and cunnilingus. She'll edge him for hours if he'd let her, sucking him off so deliciously.

When they make love, they make serious love. It's the sweetest, most intimate thing. Lots of eye contact, affectionate words, caressing, rubberized, tender praises on both end, and kisses galore.