#LIKE I NEED A CANON REASON FOR THIS BEHAVIOR

[spacepajamas956]

Having PreMob Teru brainworms right now guys. :P

[bibuckaroo]

absolutely hilarious to me that that side of the fandom think the buddie side is the delusional one because of the tim interview when the man himself CLEARLY stated that he had NEVER seen the fandom behaving this badly in all of his years working in the business and the only difference from all the other years to this one is the bt fandom, like genuinely lol.

he also stated about people coming to talk to him and using what he said when there are prints out there of their fandom doing this, like it’s not all of them obviously, just like there are parts of the buddie fandom who can be disrespectful too, but as someone who recently joined the fandom and saw the comings and goings through the years, i can safely say when a fandom is being too much on the disrespectful side and i saw that behavior way more on that side, honestly.

[neolxzr]

shu's relationship to naru being like "feels outclassed by/feels indebted to" makes me want to read him as being jealous of her SO bad like. shu would not admit being jealous under torture but naru has a brain so she can figure that out herself and she would laugh at him SOOO HARD like seriously shu-chan you are jealous???? of me????? do you think mika-chan is going to leave you?????? for me????? have you listened to him talk ever???????? like is that not top tier comedy

[yuridovewing]

I should make a list of wc super editions that i straight up don’t consider canon. like “no this did not happen to those characters growing up, stop lying”. Mostly Yellowfang’s Secret. Everything about Yellowfang’s Secret. I think we should all collectively look at Yellowfang’s Secret and go “None of that happened, not the family tree stuff, none of it.” and walk away

[bravewolfvesperia]

/ Since I mention in my pinned post that this blog has some changes from canon, I'm going to make a rundown post that I'll be linking in my muse info on my blog. My timeline post covers some of this too and has other things canon to my muse that aren't here because they're timeline based and not direct changes based. I'll update this as needed.

Repede had another owner before Yuri got him in the game. I'm combining this with FS. Thus, Repede would have been basically an infant when he and Lambert ended up with the knights. From there he took to Yuri as he did in the FS drama CD so Yuri was primarily in charge of Repede during his stay with the knights, but he and Flynn raised Repede together as is in line with the game. This means they continued raising him together even after Yuri left.

In the JP version of the game, Yuri says he was with the knights for a short time but doesn't specify how long that time was, so I'm completely yeeting the "three months" dub aspect from this blog. I can't reasonably assume he signed up, took the exams, went into training, went from errand boy to battle status, then went on normal missions and left in the span of three months. So as usual, we're following the JP timeline. Generally anything the dub makes up or actively changes from the original context/tone gets yeeted here.

In the FS drama CD, Flynn is extremely repetitive about Yuri quitting the knights and with his nagging. At least with @mistralxsoul and anyone else who prefers it the following way in threads with my muse, we're toning it down because it just feels absolutely batshit to us how bad it is in the drama CD (it's worse than even the movie itself).

Since the timeline for Yuri and Flynn's knighthood conflicts super horrendously between the novel, FS/FS drama CD and the game, I'm mixing all of it together (primarily because I consider the novel more canon than the FS drama CD). Basically (for my muse), they signed their names and didn't take the exams immediately, but when they eventually did it was at least a couple years later, due to Yuri still having his teen appearance when he signed his name to join in the novel. This is because otherwise, if I average my muse's teen age out to be fifteen/sixteen and his age to be about eighteen/nineteen in the knights, it would mean he'd been with the knights (including training, etc) anywhere from 2-4 years if his sign up was immediately after the novel's events. If they were to sign up and join immediately after the novel timeline, it also makes even less sense because Flynn's attitude in FS and his relationship with Yuri (and remember, the FS drama CD comes before the movie's timeline and Flynn was even worse about Yuri's attitude in the CD) would seem like it literally 180'd overnight.

So basically, to avoid all this insanity, a short summarized timeline for my muse would be: they signed up but didn't join right away, Flynn moved away and was gone for a couple years or so after the events of the novel, both of them changed in personality/behavior drastically in that time, they met up at the exams, they went into training, they got sent to Niren's squad, they were more errand boys than actual knights when they were still super fresh newbies and Yuri was extremely annoyed with that, they were actual knights for a while (I'm going to say Yuri was a knight for at least six months or more, especially if I consider the trajectory of Flynn's behavior toward him in the drama CD through the end of FS), the events of FS were not one straight timeline and things happened between the days etc etc, then Yuri left.

Following the game's drama CDs, Yuri hesitated a lot more when Flynn was injured at Zaude. If not for Flynn nudging him to go after Alexei even while wounded, Yuri wouldn't have left him there.

Following the same drama CDs, it's Raven and Repede who find and look after Yuri when he wakes up after Zaude. That is to say, Repede was already with Raven and lunged when he sniffed out Yuri in his room (super doggo powers). Raven followed Repede in a panic, who ran to Yuri's room upon realizing Yuri was there, and Raven finds Yuri awake but right in the middle of passing back out (the sound is basically Raven's voice being distant with some ringing, so it's from Yuri's point of view that Raven is trying to get him to steady himself but he passes back out). Raven takes care of him from there until he's recovered properly enough to go back. In this time, Rita did investigating and eventually, with the others minus Raven, went to Zopheir after deciding they couldn't dawdle and just wait in their grief. While they're there, Yuri and Raven have headed out after them and show up together and reunite with the rest of the group. Raven has already been updated on what Yuri knows from Duke at this point (Duke saved him as usual, but the drama CD changes come in after that), so the two of them update everyone else.

In the game, there's a skit with Yuri, Flynn and Karol where Yuri mentions "playing in a river", but in the novel, they were actually getting water at the river and the other kids were playing in the river when they got attacked by a monster, fell into the river (Yuri also mentions (I thiiiink in another unrelated skit) that just falling into "a river" was enough to panic him), and Flynn grabbed onto a merman. For my muse, I'm just going with Yuri simplifying the situation to Karol while keeping the novel's event as my muse's canon.

[sabertoothwalrus]

do you think Falin's chimerism would affect her lifespan and behaviors? or just her body? maybe she can make more animalistic noises or has vague dragon-like instincts?

that’s a really good question! I think we could probably figure this out by taking a look at what we know about Falin, what we know about red dragons, whether these things would apply to Falin, and go from there.

The obvious external changes Falin has are: her eyes, her teeth, and her feathers.

It’s hard to pin down what Falin is like! Throughout the duration of the manga, she wasn’t really a character so much as a plot device. We have almost nothing told from her point of view, and the majority of her unbiased (as in, we’re seeing her through a neutral lens and not another character’s perception of her) characterization is from the post-canon omake.

Even Falin believes that her wanderlust might come from her dragon side, but she's not sure. Personally, I think it’d make a lot of sense if it kind of does, in the sense that she has 20/20 vision now, haha! For most of her life, she could probably only see clearly within a relatively small sphere surrounding her, and now she can see everything. She can look up and around freely in a way she couldn’t before. Fuck man, if I had magic lasik I’d probably go out more too.

Some other quirks that are really unclear whether it’s typical for Falin or chimera-influenced:

she enters rooms through windows, sometimes. And given the leaves in her hair, I think it’s reasonable to assume this is not the first floor 💀 But who knows! Maybe that’s not new for Falin.

She points out that Laios’s scent could deter monsters. Maybe she has enhanced smell. But again, it isn’t unreasonable to think this is something she would have said before. (I think even Chilchuck and Izutsumi, whose senses of smell are enhanced, can’t identify scents well. Kuro, however, can.)

VIOLENCE! But again, we’ve seen her beat shit with her staff before, and she also used to wield a flail. It IS a trait for red dragons to fight any large threat, so if anything, she’s got even better monster fighting instincts than before. I don't think this would carry over to people. Falin has always been better with people, and I'm personally not a fan of seeing her depicted as territorial or possessive. Marcille is already the possessive one, and didn't need dragon blood to be like that.

Ultimately, I don't think her dragon traits extend much farther beyond this. Especially when you consider How Little the dragon is represented as in her conscience.

it's not like it's a 50/50 split. She's like a person with a dragon ratatouille. I don't think she'd be able to make dragon noises. I don't think her body is built for that. I know there's like, a set list of tropey characteristics that are given to almost every non-human character in fiction. and sure that's FINE but they tend not to be especially personalized to the character, and tend to just be an excuse to write them OOC. Like, sure, dragons may have instincts regarding sleep habits, hunting, courting, raising young, etc etc, but so do humans! And we don't compulsively act on every instinctual whim we have. I don't see why it'd be any harder for her new dragon instincts.

If anything, I think she'd feel more affected by the fact that she has part of the demon in her.

I don't think Falin's in any sort of trouble. All the demon was was a way to communicate with people. Here, it's representing Falin's tether to the infinite realm, to mana itself. The winged lion no longer has the desire to consume anymore because, yknow, Laios has that now. This is very likely why she no longer needs to chant to cast magic.

But what else does this mean for her? She already had unusually high reserves of mana + an innate connection with spirits, but is her mana essentially limitless now? How would that affect her lifespan? I'm leaning towards, it wouldn't really?? But is she immune to mana sickness now? Is it more like her magic is just sort of amplified like it would be in a dungeon?

We can infer that having more mana doesn't increase your lifespan, because-- while elves and gnomes have both naturally high levels of mana and longer lifespans-- dwarves live longer but have lowest levels of mana of all.

So to answer your question! Maybe a little bit?? But I don't think she'd change a whole lot.

[kiwi-bitchez]

The Girlfriend Experience

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie doesn’t think he’s cut out for dating. Self-resigned to a life of one and done hookups, you’re determined to make him see that he has the capacity to be a worthy companion… for when the right girl comes around. Fake Dating AU, classic corny fic for a fav corny troupe, Stranger Things canon divergent ofc, 18+ smut (see warnings below), big dick energy but also slightly emotionally unavailable!Eddie, yada yada yada, you know the drill. 

Content warnings: AFAB reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol, smoking the devil’s lettuce, mention of panty stealing, food consumption, semi-public sex, fingering, PIV, Dom-ish!Eddie, oral (m and f receiving), pierced dick Eddie because I said so!, unprotected PIV sex, hair pulling, mild angst but nothing too angsty just like one heated conversation and Eddie feeling a little worthless but happy ending I promise

Word Count: 20k ahhhhhh!!!

A/N: Thanks to all those who comment and reblog! Your feedback and engagement makes my heart soar and keeps me motivated to write this filth! Sorry for the gargantuan length, in very-me fashion I always ending up writing one behemoth fic every so often rather than just separating it out into chapters. Also, realizing after the fact that I use the brand name ‘Goodwill’ a lot in this fic, which maybe not everyone might know is a thrift store, not sure if that’s just an American thing or not but figured it was worth noting. 

“I guess I’m just not boyfriend material, ya know?” Eddie shrugs.

“Don’t say that, Eds,” your eyebrows pinched together, “different qualities are important to different people. Not everyone is looking to date a Steve, or a Brian, or a whoever. I’m sure someone is out there looking for an Eddie.”

“It’s not that,” he shot a look towards Steve, who, despite your analogy, was unfortunately everyone’s type and the textbook definition of boyfriend material.

“I just don’t think I’d be very good at gooey romance stuff, or even like, passable boyfriend behavior. I mean, look at me, I hardly take care of myself, I’m loud, I have no money, I’m basically every dad’s worst nightmare, do I need to keep going?”

“The nightmare thing can actually be a bonus,” Steve chimes in, “the whole bad boy persona can be a huge draw for most girls.”

“Sure Steve,” Eddie’s voice grows exasperated, “I’m the mysterious bad boy until they realize I’m a huge loser who runs not one but two dungeons and dragons groups. Real fuckin’ attractive I’m sure that is.”

“Shows you’re committed to something…” you trail off when his eyes tell you to stop coming up with a positive spin for every excuse he gives. 

This whole discussion had started because of something that happened at the bar last night. A small group of you decided to meet up for drinks, your usual group of pals. It was a Thursday, so the bar wasn’t too busy. Your friends all squished into a booth in the corner, chatting and catching up over a plate of shared nachos, when Robin started making frantic gesture at you and Steve.

“Please just say what you’re trying to say instead of this elaborate charade,” Steve makes a few mocking hand signals back at her.

“Okay, one at a time, and keep it subtle,” her voice lowered to a whisper, for some reason, “over at the bar, some girl is totally flirting with Eddie.”

You and Steve both turn around. “I said not at the same time!” She whisper yells. 

There was, in fact, a pretty girl with shiny hair and glossy lips doing a half fake laugh and pressing her manicured hand to Eddie’s bicep. You whip back around to find Robin with her mouth hanging open in a “can you believe this is happening” way. 

“Good for him,” Steve swivels back around too, “She’s pretty hot.”

You return to your nachos, pretending there wasn’t a ping of jealousy in you. Eddie was your friend, that had been made abundantly clear.

When Robin introduced you to all her friends from high school, you had easily gotten along with all of them. You especially got along with Eddie. He was funny, authentic, abrasive at times, but a truly good person at his core, creative, protective, you could go on.

After getting to know him a bit, and developing a budding crush, you had made a few passes at him. Nothing too forward, just small compliments here and there, open ended offers to hang out that never lead anywhere.

It’s not like he flat out rejected you, but any feelers you were putting out to see if there was potential there were met with him looking past your flirtatious intent and just being his goofy, friendly self. He treated you exactly the same way he treated everyone else, which was awesome, except for when it wasn’t. 

“Oh no,” Robin’s gaze was not subtly fixed on the unfolding scene at the bar, you and Steve watched her face drastically shift from confused, to a cringe, to an eye roll.

Still half whispering, as if Eddie could even hear your corner of the bar, “He’s totally blowing it. DON’T both turn around at the same time again.” 

“Okay, so,” she starts before either of you can even confirm that you want to know, “she was totally laying it on thick, like you could see it from all the way back here. And he must have said something off putting, cuz all of a sudden she like went cold on him and pranced away. Shhhhh, okay okay, he’s coming back.”

She was acting as if she wasn’t the only one gossiping. You and Steve were innocent bystanders in all this. 

“WHAT was that?” She immediately blurts out when Eddie returns to his seat, fresh drink in hand. 

You and Steve share a side glance to sigh at Robin’s inability to be subtle, god bless her. Eddie shifts around awkwardly and lets out a forced dry laugh, taking a long sip from his drink before facing the wrath of a curious Robin. 

“Oh, that,” he gestures to the bar as if she could be asking about anything else, “some girl. Not sure.”

“Not sure? Eddie she was FLIRTING with you,” Robin all but yelled, causing Steve to scan the bar to see if the girl in question had landed somewhere within earshot. 

“I know that,” he hisses, “She just… wasn’t my type…”

“Okay sure, hot girl in a tube top and no bra isn’t your type, riiiiight,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s just,” Eddie was so over this inquisition, “she asked if I wanted to get coffee.”

You, Steve, and Robin all give him a blank stare, trying to decipher what he could possibly have against getting coffee with a hot girl. 

“That’s like,” he gets defensive, detecting the wall of confusion facing him, “something people do on a date. Coffee is serious, and I’m not a very serious guy.”

“What do you mean ‘coffee is serious,’ coffee is like, as casual as you can possibly be?” Steve’s tone now emulated Robin’s from earlier, half whispering, half yelling, all scolding towards his friend. 

“That’s just not really my speed. Coffee dates and flowers and hand holding and all that,” he was avoiding eye contact with all three of you, “Yeah, she was hot, sure, and maybe if she had been like ‘hey lets go fool around in the bathroom’ then I wouldn’t be here having this lame ass conversation with you three. But I don’t do coffee dates, so I’m not gonna waste her time and pretend like I’m that sort of guy when I’m just not.” 

“Well good on you for not leading her on, cuz I’m sure you could have agreed to the coffee date and still gotten lucky in the bathroom,” Steve mumbles, and you smack the back of his head lightly to scold him. 

“So you only date girls who’ll fuck you in a bar bathroom the first time you meet?” You redirect your now equally scolding energy to Eddie.

“No!” He runs his hands through his hair, “I don’t date. Anyone, really. At all. Ever.”

“Oh,” you think for a minute, realizing in your few years of friendship you never had seen him with anyone, or heard him mention a romantic interest of any sort. 

Leading you to your present conversation, you and Steve continuing to question Eddie on his decision to reject the hot tube-top girl at the bar and why he felt like coffee was such a scary commitment. 

“You guys know me,” he continued to defend his stance, “If I took that girl out for coffee she probably would have picked some fancy hoity toity place and I wouldn’t know what anything on the menu meant, I’d probably spill something or like, get crumbs everywhere, and the bill would be way more than two coffees should be. It would have been a waste of both our time.”

He was staunchly refusing eye contact with the two of you, knowing he’d be met with something along the lines of pity. 

“Fine, we’ll drop the subject,” you shoot a look to Steve, “but I just need to make sure you understand that not every girl likes expensive coffee, or flowers and handholding, or whatever your expectation of girls and dating is. There’s plenty of girls who have similar interests to you, who feel the same way about PDA and mushy romance stuff that you do. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do, y/n,” you could practically feel his eyes rolling at you, “but girls like that sure as fuck aren’t here in Nowhere, Indiana. Even if she was, I’m sure I’d still find a way to fuck it up given that I’ve had exactly zero serious girlfriends and the closest thing to a date I’ve ever been on is when you me and Steve pooled our ski ball tickets to win that ugly stuffed turtle.”

The memory of what you had all agreed to be the world’s ugliest stuffed animal caused all of you to crack a smile. Steve had silently agreed to change the subject, not wanting to dig Eddie any deeper into his pit of self despair. 

Steve’s mouth was half open, about to suggest that the three of you have a smoke and watch one of the rental movies he brought over, the words just about to escape him when you harshly cut off any chance at ending the pity-party.

“Date me!” You exclaim, without much thought. The shocked look from both boys caused you to rapidly back pedal , “You can date me, as practice!” You said it as if it was the simplest concept in the world. 

When met with gaping mouths and confused stares you continue on, “You and I can be fake boyfriend-girlfriend for like, a month, and I’ll tell you everything you do wrong, and like generic do’s and don’t’s, so that way the next time some hot girl hits on you, you can be all like ‘Coffee isn’t really my thing pretty lady, but I’d be down to get drinks sometime’,” you did a silly impression of Eddie’s voice, and then switched to a high pitched one to impersonate what you assumed the girl at the bar sounded like, “and then she’d be all like, ‘Oh yeah that sounds greaaaaat, getting coffee is just like, a generic catch-all thing that most people say when they want to get to know someone better, but you can buy me a drink’ and then the two of you will ride off into the sunset and it’ll be great.”

Still no reply.

“It won’t be all romantic and gooey, I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. It’d be a way for you to get some honest feedback and catch up with the stuff most people have to learn the hard way.” 

“I suppose you are the most brutally honest person I know,” Eddie doesn’t sound convinced. 

Steve just looked between the two of you with eyebrows raised, not knowing if giving his opinion on the matter would be appreciated or not. “I guess I would’ve appreciated someone telling me that most girls don’t want to be asked out with a pickup line from a John Hughes movie, would have saved me a few dozen rejections.”

“I’m pretty sure Robin did tell you that…”

“I don’t know y/n,” Eddie scratches his head. 

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

“Ask me out, for practice, ask me out on a date like I’m a pretty girl you met at some metal show or a DnD convention or something like that,” you stand in front of him with your hands out as if to prompt him to say something. 

“Will you go out with me?” He sounds more like he’s asking himself if he even wants to be asking the question.

“No.”

“What the hell!” He throws his hands up.

“I said no because that wasn’t a very good effort. Go out where? To do what? You’re asking me, a pretend stranger, out on a date Eddie, not if I want to go have a smoke with you.”

“Ughhhh,” he spun around and tried to get some sympathy for Steve, who unfortunately was on your side with this one. 

“A compliment or two doesn’t hurt as well,” Steve added, deepening Eddie’s groan. 

“Hey pretty stranger lady,” his voice was laced with sarcasm, but at least it wasn’t disdain, “you seem really…” he hesitated to find his words, “cool? Would you like to come see my band play this weekend at The Hideout? We-“

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

“Eddie, you can’t ask a girl to watch Corroded Coffin play for your first date with her, that’s like date four or five material, no girl wants to go sit by herself at a bar to watch some guy she just met play an hour of heavy metal. She would have to know you a little bit more for that to feel organic. Pick something more generic, like coffee.”

“I think you seem cool, would you like to get coffee with me?” it all came out as one monotone mumble from him. 

“Sure,” you wait for him to lift his head up to make eye contact with you, “But coffee isn’t really my thing, maybe we can go out for drinks?”

“Oh fuck off,” he flopped back onto the couch next to Steve. 

“See, now we have our first fake date, and then you can ask me to be your fake girlfriend, and then you’ll be so comfortable with emotional vulnerability that you can find a real girlfriend to take on real dates.”

“Yeah, I suppose it could be beneficial,” Eddie was slowly coming around to the idea. He knew that he was oddly charismatic at times, but he was just always too self conscious to follow through with the whole romance thing.

This maybe wasn’t a bad idea, because he knew you weren’t the kind of person who would make fun of his hobbies, or put him down if he slipped up, the sorts of things he was always afraid of girls doing. Sure, he’ll agree to the girlfriend experience. 

After a night of movies and pizza with Steve fake-third-wheeling, you made sure Eddie knew that the fake-date was actually happening, that the two of you would go out for drinks this weekend as your first official practice date. 

After giving it a bit of thought, you realized that you and Eddie had never hung out alone. In your feeble attempts at flirting with him all those months ago you had invited him to have movie nights or grab a bite to eat, but he always showed up with Steve and or Robin in tow.

As the night of the fake-date rolled around, you’d be embarrassed to admit it to him, or Steve, who didn’t care to hide how skeptical he was about this whole idea, that you went through your normal pre-date routine. You took some extra time on your hair and makeup, exfoliated in the shower, chose an outfit you felt confident in, added a few spritz of perfume for good measure too. 

Eddie rolled up in his van, only a few minutes late, but a few minutes was very impressive compared to his typical chronic tardiness. The two of you agreed to just grab some food and drinks at your usual spot, considering you and Steve openly agreed that it would be a good first date spot in theory. 

“Hey,” he reaches across the center console to pop the door open for you, “you look nice.”

It took you a second to register as you settled into the passenger seat, and then whip around with your arm outstretched to give him a high five. He scrunches his face at you.

“High five me Eddie, that was really good! I know you usually open the door for me anyways, but the compliment right away, A+,” you flop your hand down to gently slap his, still gripping the steering wheel. 

“Don’t patronize me, y/n,” deep down he knew you weren’t trying to talk down to him, and deep down he hadn’t even given complimenting you a second thought, he really did think you looked great in your date get-up. 

On the ride over to the bar, the two of you discuss some logistics. Considering all of this is just practice dating, you don’t expect Eddie to pay for you, but you explain that in theory if he had been the one to ask you out then he should be the one to pay for the first date. 

“To me it’s less of a gender thing and more of a who asked out who thing, but I know some people would abide to the stereotypical ‘the man always pays’ standard, which is why you’d just have to be honest on date like two or three about what you enjoy doing and what sorts of things are in your budget. You can still have fun and be thoughtful without spending a lot of money.”

He asked a few questions, like if he should have gotten you flowers for a first date, or what he should do if someone asks to go to a fancy restaurant that he surely couldn’t afford. You tried your best to give solid advice, but always reminded him that every person is different and every relationship is different, so all he can do is be honest. 

You take up a spot at the bar and both order for yourselves, splitting some fries and slipping into some easy conversation. 

“Am I supposed to, like, beat someone up if a guy tries hitting on you in front of me or something like that?” you nearly choke on your drink at his question. 

“Eddie, no,” you answer, also questioning, “why the hell would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “My buddy Jeff was with his girlfriend at this punk show before they were even together, and some guy made a creepy comment to Amanda and Jeff just decked the guy in the face. He say’s that’s what made her want to date him, cuz he defended her honor or whatever.”

“I guess that’s sort of circumstantial, but I prefer my dates to not engage in any sort of violence,” you sip your drink, “even if it’s for my honor. I’d like your face a lot less if you were all bruised up.”

“Well I never said I would get hit,” the two of you were laughing a bit now.

Over a few cocktails you went over some first date etiquette with him. PDA and being touchy, how to follow her lead and gauge if she’s the type who wants everyone at the bar to know you’re together, or keep it strictly platonic to start. How far of a grip on the leg is too far up, that sort of thing.  

“So if she does something like this,” you fake laugh a bit too loud and, lean into his personal space, and then run your hand from his slender down his arm, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to fuck you, but it’s pretty close. You’ve at least got a green flag to get a little closer to her, tell her she looks nice, maybe offer to buy her a drink.”

“I know how to tell if someone finds me attractive, y/n, I’m not stupid,” he said casually, “obviously that girl the other night was hitting on me, I’m not blind. I wasn’t going to ask to buy her a drink or try and get lucky in the bathroom because I was out with my friends. I can find a quick fuck in a bar on my own time. I was having fun with you guys, I wasn’t going to abandon all of you to talk to some stranger, even if she was hot.”  

“Oh,” you processed his comment, “Steve would be happy to know he ranks above tube-top girl.”

“Steve would be happy to be above tube-top girl in any context,” he jokes. 

“You really just find random girls in bars to fuck?” You question, not in any sort of judgmental way, just curious. 

“Not specifically, I guess I did make myself sound like some serial bar-bathroom type of guy. I never really had girls interested in me when I was in high school, at least the first four years of it. Then when we started playing regular gigs at The Hideout it was a little easier to find girls who were interested, but it was always that they were more into fucking some guy who could play guitar and was in a band, so it usually just always happened on-site, probably cuz they had an actual boyfriend or husband to go home to. Girls think I’m fun. Which isn’t untrue, I do enjoy a romp in the Hideout bathroom, or the back of my van, or wherever we end up.”

“So that’s what all those blankets are back there for,” you say with a fake scowl, referring to his van set-up. 

“Not exclusively! They make a cozy nest for smoking blunts and listening to tapes too!” 

You return to your drink, trying not to think too hard about the girls that Eddie brings to bar bathrooms or his van or wherever. 

“I just find the energy of those situations very different from like, talking and getting to know someone. Fucking is easy. I’m not interested in ruining that by adding emotions and the looming feeling like sex is contingent on me acting a certain way or checking a certain number of boxes for someone.” 

He shrugged, and you could understand where he was coming from, sometimes a quick fuck or hookup could be cathartic and easy. But it also saddened you to think that Eddie believed he had to get in and out before the person on the other end got the chance to know him. 

Moving away from the subject of his inability to be emotionally vulnerable, the two of you practice some cheesy ‘first date’ questions as you had called them. As your drinks started to settle into your system you were having more fun being silly with him, pretending to be a stranger on a first date. 

“When’s your birthday?” You ask, twirling your drink straw with your finger and making some fake flirty eyes at him to accentuate the facade of asking him a bunch of questions you mostly knew the answers to. 

“August 9th,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, joining in on your fake ostentatious flirting. 

“Oh my gosh, a Leo! This will never work out, cuz I’m an asparagus…”

The two of you nearly fall out of your bar stools laughing, realizing you meant to say Sagittarius. 

“Okay, let’s get you home Asparagus,” he helped you up, having kept his drinking to a minimum so he could drive you home. 

“Wait, wait,” you grabbed his arm as the two of you exited the bar, “can we go back to your trailer?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “that’s a little presumptuous for a first date missy.”

“No, no, this isn’t girlfriend y/n asking, just regular friend y/n, who thinks it would be a lot of fun to smoke and watch a movie without Steve there spewing all his annoying fun facts, like, we get it, you read the little insert inside the tape while you were bored at work!”

Eddie did agree that the idea of packing a bowl and watching a few movies with you didn’t sound too different from what his plans would have been otherwise, so he agreed, as long as you promised not to give him any dating advice while hanging out as friend y/n and not girlfriend y/n. 

Although you promised to try your best, you immediately started lecturing him on t-shirt borrowing and the potential weight that could hold in a relationship when he offered to give you some more comfy clothes to change into. 

“It’s important to know!” You emerged from the bathroom in one of his oversized shirts and a pair of boxers, “Some girls are very touchy about it. Any shirt you lend her to sleep in, you have to be willing to sacrifice for life.”

“For life?!” Eddie finishes making a bowl of popcorn for the two of you, swallowing his words when he sees you in his clothes, an unidentifiable emotion rising in him at the sight of you so cozy and integrated into his space. 

“Well maybe not life,” you plop down onto the couch, “but do NOT ask for it back. Most girls will give it back once it stops smelling like you.”

“If she gets my shirt, can I have her underwear?” He asked without thinking, the weed he had just smoked with you hitting him a bit too hard in that moment. 

“Oh my god,” you squeal and bury your face into a pillow, “la la la la, pretending like I didn’t hear that!”

“I’m just saying!” He laughs at you, now curled up into a ball, “fair is fair, right?”

“I guess it depends on the girl,” you mumble. 

“So I’m guessing not you, by your reaction.”

“Eddie!” You smack him with a pillow, “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked!”

“If my girlfriend isn’t going to ask before stealing my shirt for an indefinite amount of time, I think that gives me panty privilege.”

“Wow Eddie, if I had known you were such a perv I would’ve reconsidered being your fake girlfriend,” you say sarcastically, with no real judgement behind it. The idea of him wanting to steal your underwear dampens them ever so slightly. 

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t do anything pervy to you unless you ask nicely,” he shoots a wink at you, which you meet with an eye roll and a turn away to hopefully hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

The two of you carry out your platonic movie night as planned. You suppressed any urge to note on his actions from a romantic lens, and he ignored the itching desire to sling his arm around your shoulder or pull your legs into his lap to get more comfy on the couch. 

“Can I sleep here Eddie,” you ask after movie two, “too sleepy to move.”

“Sure, I can take the couch and you can have my bed. It’s been a minute since I washed the sheets but it shouldn’t be too bad…”

“Nonono,” you mumble, “Your legs will totally hang right off the end of this thing. I’m conked out anyways, I can crash right here I promise.”

“Ignoring that you’re my fake girlfriend, I’m not letting you sleep out here on this lumpy thing. You’re taking the bed, no arguments.”

He helps you up from the couch, letting you keep the blanket that’s wrapped around you, snaking his arm underneath it and pulling you from the couch by your lower back. You were slightly taken aback by his assistance, body still limp from your relaxed state, your torso easily arching into his. Your arms fly up to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself with an awkward giggle. 

“In the real world, a time like this would be good for a first kiss,” you make note of your closeness, the way he swept you up off the couch and held you steadily as you made your way to your feet. 

“I know that, y/n,” his face was closer to yours than it had ever been, making your words hitch in your throat. 

“Well, I’m just saying,” you turn your head to avoid the tension, “I’m sure the way you kiss your bar-hookups isn’t the way most girls who’re looking to date you long term want to be kissed for the first time.”

‘Oh yeah? And how do you presume that goes?” He kept his hand planted on your lower back.

You pretend to act wildly drunk, throwing yourself at him and letting your limbs go a bit heavier than they already were. “Ohmygod guitar man, I’ve had like, six dirty Shirleys, please finger bang me in the bathroom,” you slur your words and let your tongue loll out the side of your mouth as if to lean in for the world’s sloppiest and most uncoordinated kiss.

“First of all,” his voice was very serious, “I don’t hook up with girls who are too inebriated to stand, let’s get that straight. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even have our first fake kiss like this on account of the drinking and smoking, gotta make sure you’re in the right headspace. Secondly,” 

He spins you around and quickly backs you up against the wall that stood a few feet behind the couch. His hand sliding up in between your shoulder blades, blanket now slumped around your waist, his other hand suavely cupping the side of your cheek, His hips angled into yours, pinning you back against the vinyl, almost collapsing back into it. 

He pressed against you, not aggressively, but enough to let you know that if you were to try and squirm away he had the capacity to keep you right where he wanted you. He accomplished this all in one elegant motion, leaving you a bit dazed.

As you started to snap into reality, he moves his hand from your cheek down to grab your chin in between his thumb and the knuckle of his pointer, angling your face directly up at him. 

“If you were some girl in a bar, it would be like this.”

The moment before your brain turned to absolute mush, you silently cringed at the thought of what you must look like, mouth hanging open, eyes glassed over, body instinctively sinking into his touch. Pathetic, you were sure of it. 

Sure, Eddie did think you looked a little helpless, but he also thought you looked perfect. Exactly as he had imagined you to in this situation. Of course he had thought about you before, like that.

Of course he had felt an immediate spark with you when you had first met. But he never flirted back, or lead you on, because as much as he was attracted to you and enjoyed your company, he knew that it wouldn’t work out. He wasn’t relationship material, and you were the picture perfect girlfriend that he didn’t deserve. 

He spoke directly into your parted lips, mouth hovering just far enough away to toe the line of ‘holy shit, is he going to?’ But no, as he made very clear, he wouldn’t kiss you under these conditions. He had made his point, and slowly backed off and let you find your footing. 

As soon as he was sure that you were steady, he backed away and started down the hallway. 

“I might have an extra toothbrush stashed away somewhere, let me look…” he ducked into the bathroom, leaving you stunned in the kitchen, head swimming and your stomach traveled up into your throat. 

He was teasing you, he must be. That was his little way of getting back at you for thinking you could give him dating advice. If he was unsure about his capacity for romance, he was going to make sure you knew he was more than capable in other ways. Understood. 

You shook your head, weeding through your inner monologue of how he could possibly look at you like that and then just walk away. Your shock gave him just long enough for you to to not notice him splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom while he “looked for a toothbrush.” 

The two of you decided to ignore the lingering tension from the events in the kitchen, not a peep of fake-girlfriend talk from you for the rest of the night. He did find you that toothbrush, and the two of you moved through a too-easy domestic routine of getting ready for bed. 

You told him that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew he was cramped on that couch, and that you were fine with sharing a bed. You mumbled something about  getting around to bed sharing etiquette at some point anyways, and sleepily pulled him into being your little spoon. 

Eddie lay there, trying not to twitch or fidget, relaxed as best he could into your cuddled form thinking about how horrible of an idea all of this was. He was convinced all it would take is roughly ten more minutes of you burying your face into his hair and making cute little sleepy noises for him to fall irreversibly in love with you. 

But what was he supposed to do? Move and wake you up? Never. 

You rolled around enough in the night to wake up in a less intimate position than when you had fallen asleep. You knew Eddie was a deep sleeper, and took it upon yourself to creep out of bed and back into your day clothes, make a pot of coffee, and watc a bit of TV before he roused and joined you in the living room. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He rubbed the crust from his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see you had brewed a whole pot of coffee to share. 

“You looked so peaceful and cozy,” he shook his head at you, as if that was no excuse for letting him sleep an extra forty minutes.  

After a slow morning, he agrees to drive you home. 

“So this is the part where I say ‘Eddie, I had such a wonderful time on our date. I’d love to do it again sometime.’ And then you agree and tell me when you’re free. It’s best to be super direct and make plans to get together again soon, cuz then it’s not an awkward who’s-gonna-call-who-first sort of thing.”

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

“But for our sake, let’s just agree that I’m in charge of planning our next date. Okay? I’ll do it from the perspective of what I think most girls would enjoy, so you can steal it for the future. I’ll call you later.” 

You hop out of his van before he can agree, and leave him with a “Thanks for letting me stay over!” As you bound away from his view. 

He squeezed his eyes shut the moment he caught himself checking your ass out as you walked away, and let his head rest down on the steering wheel. He was fucked. How the hell was he supposed to tell you that you needed to stop being his fake girlfriend without disrupting the homeostasis of your friendship?

On one hand he could lie and say he doesn’t want your advice, making you think he didn’t enjoy your company, which was entirely untrue. On the other hand he could tell you the truth, and you would never be friends the same way again. 

He drove home with the music too loud, and patiently awaited your call later that evening to iron out the details of your second fake-date. 

Per your instructions, he let you pick him up this time with the argument that you were the one taking him out this time. He didn’t know what you had planned, but let himself fall to the mercy of whatever you had decided was an exemplary date fore him to ‘steal in the future’. 

You picked up two coffees and rolled up to the trailer park, popping a mix-tape he had made you ages ago. 

“Hey, I thought we said no paying for each other with fake-dating,” he objects to the coffee sat in the passenger cupholder, some abomination of mostly cream and sugar, the way you know he likes it. 

“Yes, that’s true, but you smoked me up the other night, and this coffee was like a dollar fifty, so don’t worry about it,” you give him a look that tells him to drink the damn coffee and not sass back, to which he complies, even though he smokes you up expecting nothing in return about every other weekend. 

The two of you sip away and listen to Eddies ‘must-know-to-be-my-friend’ mixtape and arrive shortly at the strip mall across town. This was a regular weekly stop for both of you, the strip of connected stores containing the Goodwill, a pet store, the pharmacy, and grocery. A pretty mundane collection. 

“Okay, what are we doing at Greg’s?” Eddie gestures to the grocery store, the back of his mind running through the grocery list he’s been making for this week anyways.

“What’s the perfect date?” You ask, and answer for him, “a romantic picnic. But gathering supplies is half the fun. Picnic food supplies at Greg’s, some pills to get fucked up at the pharm, some turtles or something to let loose into the wild from the pet store, and then hats, cups, blanket, etcetera from the Goodwill.”

He turns to you with the most bewildered stare, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, I’m joking about the pills and the turtles,” you nudge his arm, “but won’t it be sweet to get together some picnic supplies and then drive out to lookout point? We can still swing by the pet store to check out the ferrets though.”

To Eddie, the idea of a date involved him doing something he didn’t want to do, some awkward small talk, and spending money on shit he truly thought was useless. This didn’t sound half bad. You would “work backwards so the food purchases come last” according  to your reasoning, and he followed you in tow without any arguments into the Goodwill.

“So I’m thinking…” you start to wander into the aisles of used clothes and knick knacks, “maybe a blanket? A basket would be sort of corny, but if we find one for cheap I don’t see why not. Surely two glasses for drinking, and maybe some sun hats?”

Swiveling back around to see a half stunned Eddie, who was still processing how in the hell this was your idea of a romantic date, you grab his hand and pull him to the bric-a-brac section. 

After it got through his thick skull that the same place he had uncomfortably tried on new pants throughout his growth spurt, and picked up his daily-worn leather jacket, had the same potential to provide some silly, cheap, used items to add some flair to this picnic. 

Silly and cheap was right up Eddie’s alley. The two of you picked out mismatched champagne glasses, one with the engraved name of a couple who got married in 1943 and the other a flashy rose color with baby angel carvings dancing around the sides. 

You luckily find an on sale beach blanket, and the two of you pick out some very goofy sun hats. A floppy farmers hat for you, and a bedazzled trucker hat spelling ‘hot mama’ for Eddie.

Through the midst of your giggles and debate on whether you should buy a wooden bench to bring out to your picnic destination, Eddie found himself having a really good time with you. 

As promised, you visited the pet store and checked out the ferrets and fish and geckos. 

“If you could have any pet, what would you want?” You asked him, noses pressed against the chinchilla enclosure. 

“Jaguar,” he said, a little too quickly.

“For real, dummy,” you knock your hip into his.

“I don’t know, we never had enough space or extra money for pets growing up, so maybe someday if I had enough room for it to run around I’d like a dog or something,” he tells. Eyes still transfixed on the chinchilla behind the glass. 

“I can see that,” you imagine Eddie with some mutt from the shelter, wrestling around and giving it lots of scratches behind the ears. 

Skipping the pharmacy, you pop into the grocery store and assemble what may be the world’s most eclectic picnic. 

“That’s the definition of a picnic, I’m pretty sure,” you explain after Eddie insinuated that the gingersnap cookies you grabbed, along with grapes and a block of cheese, wasn’t exactly a meal, “you know, just a smorgasbord of whatever we want!”

Admittedly, Eddie had considered a handful of pretzels and a beer to be dinner on more than one occasion, so he couldn’t argue with you. Quickly catching your drift, the two of you picked out an assortment of snacks and some ingredients for pb&j sandwiches. 

“I thought picnics were supposed to be classy?” Eddie holds up the Wonder bread and bag of potato chips with a look that suggested his question was rhetorical.

Your response was simply to raise the, admittedly cheap, bottle of champagne you grabbed to accompany with your meal, more for the irony of drinking the bubbly liquid out of your new used glasses with your sticky sandwiches than anything else. 

You pack your supplies into a tote bag, not having found a suitable basket at the thrift store, and drive across town to a dirt paved road that leads to a nice lookout point with a view of the lake. 

“Let’s walk down the path a little bit, but not too far,” you grab the blanket and tote bag from your trunk, motioning for Eddie to put on his ‘hot mama’ hat and carry your other auxiliary supplies, “I do not fuck with bugs.”

“I’ll protect you,” Eddie puffs out his chest, making you both giggle.

“From bugs?”

“Yeah, I’ll punch a mosquito right in the face, to defend your honor and all that.”

“I know I told you not to do that, but a mosquito might be the exception to the rule.”

You found a nice little clearing not far from the car, a spot that still had a nice view but was a bit more secluded. Eddie sat pressed right up next to you, making your sandwich ‘to be a proper gentleman’ but simultaneously spilling a glob of jelly onto your leg.

“Shit,” he doesn’t think twice before leaning down and slurping the grape flavored blob off of your bare knee, tongue poking out and licking the spilt jelly from your skin.

“Eddie!” You squirm away, barking out a surprised laugh. 

“What! Your knee is clean, wouldn’t want to waste perfectly good preserves, or a napkin.”

You feel your skin tingle where his lips had touched you, for only a moment, but you still felt it. He was so confident and casual in his movements, not having any hesitation to grab your hand or brush your hair out of your face. It wasn’t under the guise of fake romance, he had always been like that. Not touchy, per se, just sure of himself. You’d never seen Eddie do anything half assed, that’s for certain.

After the conversation you shared the other night, you were unable to stop your mind from wandering to thoughts of what Eddie does with those girls in bars, if he touched him with the same confidence and sureness he put into everything else he did. 

It was wrong to let your mind go to such dirty places about someone you considered a friend, but you couldn’t manage to feel any guilt. He had offered that information freely, so who were you to punish yourself for staring a little longer at his fingers, conjuring up the context in which he’d bury them inside you against some grimy bar bathroom. 

The date was all peanut butter smiles and bubbly laughter that floated up into the trees. Silly, yes, but neither of you could deny there was something sweet, maybe even romantic about it. A cheap meal in the woods shared between two friends in ill-fitting fifty cent hats, but an undeniable touch of romance lingered nonetheless. 

Eddie started to realize that maybe the whole dating thing wasn’t as uptight and scary as he had initially thought. It could be easy and fun, with the right person. And fuck, if he could even imagine doing this with anyone but you. 

Like most things Eddie did, he did not consider any potential consequences before acting. You looked so pretty sitting there in the sunshine, sipping from your cheap ‘Martha & Dave ’43’ glass, a few sandwich crumbs dotting the corner of your mouth.

What else was he supposed to do other than lean over and wipe them away with his thumb, stroking your soft cheek and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. 

“You had some,” he uses his other hand to motion at his own mouth, “and I suppose this is the sort of moment where I’d ask if I can kiss you.” 

You find yourself a bit dumbfounded, his big stupid hand on your cheek and those big stupid puppy dog eyes unrelenting in making everything he says seem so genuine.

“Are you?” You find your voice, only half embarrassed at how shy it comes out.

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yeah,” his answer comes out in a way that insinuates that he never meant anything other than that, that he was always asking to kiss you, he wasn’t asking in theory, in another universe, in the context of advice. 

“Okay,” you found yourself behaving like Eddie, not really thinking of consequences before your words and actions spoke on behalf of your instincts.

Everything so far had been so easy. Your fake first date at the bar, curling up next to him in a haze, making up stories about what sort of people donated the fake palm tree or the Garfield mug at the Goodwill, imagining Eddie running around a yard with a puppy, lounging in the grass and eating your assorted picnic snacks. It was all effortless.

Suddenly, being kissed by Eddie sucked the ease from your lungs and sent your mind spiraling into a cacophony of bells and whistles and giant swirling red flags. If this is how he kissed you, casually across some half eaten peanut butter sandwiches, you’d spend the rest of your days yearning to know how he kissed someone with true intention. 

Of course, his intentions were all there, but the lingering knowledge that all of this was happening under the umbrella of “you giving him advice” or “helping practice for the next girl” poisoned any true feeling he poured into it. He cupped your cheek, soft, let his lips press into yours delicately for a moment before he felt your breath hitch, opening his mouth just enough to deepen the kiss and capture your lower lip fully. 

He was more careful, gentle, methodic with his movements and so receptive to every little signal your body gave him, it was unlike any first-kiss, heat-of-the-moment-kiss, in-the-throws-of-passion-kiss, any of it. Like hell you’d ever tell him that, inflate that big ego that fuels his snippy comebacks at you, but Jesus, was it remarkable. 

While at war with yourself internally, your heart was on the precipice of exploding in your chest from the way he snaked his hand into your hair and pressed his forehead against yours to catch a breath. You suck in a sharp breath and feel that stupid cocky smirk creep up onto that pretty mouth of his.

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

“Fuck offfff,” you were still a little out of breath, smacking his chest and flopping back down onto the picnic blanket, throwing your arms up and rolling your eyes at him, “if you’re so damn confident, maybe we just should fake break up, cuz you don’t seem like you need my advice.”

“Nooooo,”he slumps down next to you, burrowing his head under your arm so he can pop up right next to your face, “I’m learning a lot, I promise! This date was so fun, and cheap! I would have never thought any of this could be remotely romantic. I’m hopeless, y/n, look at me.”

He wriggles around and gives you a big fake pout, “If left to my own devices I would probably do something horribly embarrassing or off-putting, like…” he digs his head into the crook of your neck and blew a fat, wet raspberry right into your skin, making you yelp and squeal, but his position half on top of you pins you down. 

“See!” He pulls up for air, you were in a fit of screaming giggles, “I’d go right in for a kiss and just,” and he does it again, leaving you gasping for air, trying your best to tickle his ribs to get him off of you, but not minding the close contact by any means. 

“Now I’m not so sure,” he pulls back to give you a minute to catch your breath, “it seems like you enjoyed that, so maybe survey says I should pull that move on the ladies.”

Your airy laughter subsided, but he stays half pinning you down to the blanket and the lumpy grass underneath.

“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’m not grateful for your help,” he says earnestly, catching your gaze, “it’s just… this isn’t what I need help with.”

As his statement is processing, you find his lips back on yours, his torso pressed flushed with yours and his wild mane of hair coming down to curtain around your head. He doesn’t take it too far, but kisses you as earnestly as he had before, giving your lip a slight drag with his teeth and running his hand up from your hip up the side of your ribcage, leaving you arching slightly into him by pure instinct.

Before your head got too dizzy again, before you could really throw yourself into it and say fuck it and kiss him back the way you secretly wanted to, he pulled back.

“That.” his voice was even, you hated how needy you felt and how even keeled he could be milliseconds after stealing the air from your lungs, “It’s the rest of it,” he threw his hands up and gestured to all the food and knock knacks around you, “it’s this stuff that you make seem so easy, so forgive me if I lay it on a little thick when we get to the parts I’m actually good at.”

“Just,” you sat up a bit, grounding yourself and formulating a response despite your brain looping the past twenty seconds back infinitely, “don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” he sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you knocked his knee with yours, struggling to articulate how you felt without showing too much of your hand, deciding to just be candid, “I just- I liked that a little too much if you know what I mean. And this is strictly business, or education, maybe?”

“You liked it when I pinned you against the wall the other night,” he said matter of factly, “I think you liked that a little too much too, and you still took me on this fake educational business date.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me,” you threw your hands up in defense.

“Which one is it though?” He asks and you don’t quite understand, “are you a sweet kiss on the picnic kind of girl, or an up against the wall kind of girl?”

“That’s none of your business, as far as fake-dating is concerned,” you say a little too quickly, “and no you can’t have my panties.”

You say it with a smirk, but he doesn’t press any further. He turns and does that Eddie-thing he’s so good at, just changing the subject and shifting the vibe completely away from what might have been a stale moment or awkward pause. He starts asking if you like green or purple grapes better, going off about how he used to put them in the freezer as a kid. 

The remainder of your date went without a hitch, of course. You picked away at your picnic until the sun started to set, and once the sky started turning purple you made your way back to the car. The drive home consisted only of easy conversation and no further mention of the kiss, well, kisses that had transpired. He hopped out of the passenger seat with a ‘thank you’ and a ‘see ya later alligator.’ 

A scalding hot shower, a restless night of sleep, and too many cups of herbal tea the next morning did nothing to quell the noise in your head that blasted those moments over and over. You couldn’t stop picking apart whether he had thought about it for even a millisecond, and felt embarrassed that you could think of nothing else. 

It was simply an amplified version of what your whole friendship had been up until this point. You silently admiring him and wishing he would look at you the way you looked at him, and settling for friendship over heartbreak. 

Pushing it aside to the best of your ability allowed you to get through your week, but you had the lingering feeling that the next time you saw him would strike you with warm cheeks and a scrambled mental state.

Guilt had started to seep in at the corners of your mind, but you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t punish yourself for having romantic or sexual thoughts about someone you simply found attractive and compelling, it was your actions that would determine the validity of your guilt. 

“Long time no see, loser,” Robin hollered from the pool table across the bar, where she was likely kicking Steve’s ass. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you shrug off your coat and plop down at their regular booth, knowing her jabs were entirely empty. You notice Eddie’s leather jacket hung up by the wall, and scan the bar to find him ordering a drink. 

There was a silent mutual understanding that you’d keep the fake dating thing to a bare minimum when out with your friends like this. Even though Steve was well aware, and therefore Robin was too, you figured tainting your social time with the performance of romance is the exact reason Eddie turned down the girl at the bar in the first place. 

“For the lady,” Eddie waltzes over and hands you a drink.

“Oh, thanks,” you take it with a confused smile, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“You bought me coffee last weekend,” he sat across the booth from you, “plus I’m trying to get better at buying drinks for pretty girls, right?”

You remind him that he doesn’t have to keep tabs on things like coffee, but you appreciate the gesture regardless. As per the past few times you’d been out with your friends, you expected him to put a pause on the flirting, but it seems to be bubbling over tonight. You weren’t complaining, but admittedly the arm around your shoulder or the noticeable way he checked you out when you got up to refill your drink took you by slight surprise. 

Sneaking in to claim the always occupied dart board for a challenge against Eddie while he uses the restroom, you keep your eyes on the corner of the bar to signal him over once he returns.

“You need a partner?” A man suddenly appears behind you, a little closer than you’d like but the bar was crowded, so you’ll let it slide. 

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

“Let me fill in until your friend gets here, we can get you warmed up, yeah?” His tone wasn’t too pushy, but you didn’t love the look he gave you when making that comment.

Awkwardly staggering for a second, unsure weather to just agree or tell him to fuck off, “He really should be just a minute-“

“Or maybe less,” Eddie comes up right behind you and pulls you possessively into his side.

Your head whips up to see him with a devilish smile, his hand on your waist and the fire behind his eyes telling his guy to get lost.

“Oh, sorry man,” the guy starts backing away with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, better luck next time, pal,” Eddie snakes around to take the guy’s spot in front of the dart board.

He had his darts in hand and took his stance to start the match, gesturing for you to do the same. 

“What was that,” you ask with a slight joking tone, but seriously curious.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact and instead throws the first dart, “I’m not allowed to get fake jealous?”

“You’re allowed to feel any fake emotion you want, I guess,” your tone is somewhere in between a joke and a question. 

“You’d feel fake jealous if I was getting blown in the bathroom by some chick rather than playing darts with you, I bet.”

“Okay,” your tone shifts to defensive, “getting blown is very different than some guy asking to play darts with me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Eddie turns to face you, having thrown all his darts, “for real.”

A moment lapsed where you didn’t register that your mouth was hanging open in disbelief, the look in your eyes Eddie immediately clocked as lust and bottled up to store away for a later time. 

“I knew the scary dog thing would work,” his ‘i-told-you-so’ tone rubbed you the wrong way, but he wasn’t wrong, “you said girls weren’t into that, but you totally looooove that I defended your honor.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I said girls wouldn’t be into it if you punched him,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know, babe, I think you liked the whole ‘back off of my woman’ act.”

You mumble out a ‘whatever’ and let him have this win, which he was clearly reveling in, trying to focus instead at beating him at darts. 

“Just don’t pull shit like that on a first date, acting too possessive off the bat is a huge red flag for a lot of women.”

“I thought we weren’t doing dating advice tonight?” You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s got that stupid sarcastic smile.

“Yeah I thought so too,” you fail at your attempt to beat him in darts, as well as your attempt to not flirt back with him. 

He insists on collecting all the darts, picking up the ones haphazardly strews across the floor from failed attempts to hit the board. 

“I’m no pro or anything, but I think you’d hit the board a lot more if you fixed your stance.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you flip him the bird and take back your red tipped darts. 

As you steady your arm to aim your first shot he comes up behind you and grabs your hips, causing you to let out an unexpected squeak. He adjusts your stance, not aggressively, but with some force, twisting your hips and using his big combat boot to sweep your foot around so you stood more sideways. 

“You’re standing straight on,” he backs up, allowing you to secretly catch your breath, “and all your shots are veering to the right. If you plant your feet more angled you’ll hit the board.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, miss on purpose to show him he’s full of shit. You flippantly toss the dart, not trying particularly hard, and it hits. Not a bulls-eye or anything like that, but a lot closer than your previous attempts had been. 

“Good girl,” he comments, leaning in to breech your personal space just enough to make your blood boil.

You drop the remainder of the darts in your opposite hand onto the floor and whip around to face him, half jokingly smacking him on the shoulder. 

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

You’re met with his trademark shit-eating grin.

Truthfully, Eddie hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night. He’d spent the night after your picnic date with his hand in bis boxers, squeezing his eyes shut and remembering the little gasp you had made when he grabbed your waist, the hum in your throat that bubbled up when he kissed you pinned against the blanket, that night and every night since. 

“Oh, you don’t like that?” that joking tone he uses to cover up what he actually wants to say. 

“Shut up, you know I do,” you didn’t even try to stifle your reaction, knowing it was his intent to get under your skin.

“How would I possibly know that,” he playfully looks up at the ceiling and around the bar, hands clasped behind his back now, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You better cut that shit out, unless you plan on doing something about it,” you manage the most assertive tone your wobbly insides could muster, a little shocked at yourself for actually saying what you were thinking. 

“I’m not much of a planner,” he gracefully takes a stance next to you and rips all three darts, not great shots, but all hitting the board, “I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, you know that.”

“Well your pants better make up their mind if you’re playing boyfriend tonight or not,” your insinuation was heavy but you had fumbled your hand, and he had already seen all your cards at this point, so there was no reason to bluff.

“The real question is,” he leans in, his imposing figure crowding your space in a way that made your head spin, “do you want me to play boyfriend? Or do you want me to play guy who fucks your brains out in the bar bathroom?”

Your eyebrows pinched together for a millisecond, and before he could decipher your expression you grabbed his hand and started storming through the crowds hoarded by the bar. Why the hell a seedy downtown bar has a single stall family bathroom with a changing table is beyond you, but you drag him inside and slam the lock down behind you. 

“You’re not allowed to treat me any differently after this,” you start to fall into the sinkhole of oh my god what the hell is about to happen, but are cut off by him pressing you against the closed door the exact way he had handled you against his kitchen wall that night weeks ago. 

“Not unless you want me to,” he doesn’t hesitate to get his mouth on yours, immediately pulling your mind from wondering what the vague sticky substance on the door pressing into your back could be. 

“I mean, you’re not allowed to fuck me and then never talk to me again,” you say in between moving lips and tongues, giving him a moment to bury his face in your neck, "Promise me."

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he pulls back, “we can go get coffee tomorrow and you can give me a full performance review. Promise.”

Your annoyed eye roll quickly turns into them fluttering shut as he licks a stripe up to the junction behind your ear that has you melted into a boneless puddle between his pressing hips and the door. He drags his teeth across your lobe while leaning into you with a black denim clad thigh.

“Why don’t we make a deal,” you let out, voice breathy and unfocused. Before he can even pull back to reply you continue, “if you’re half as good at this as you claim to be, and can make me cum in this dingy bathroom, I’ll let you take me back to your trailer and you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

He was leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss before he could even process your request, because yes of course, a million times yes he’s taking this deal. Despite the rouse of you playing bar hookup for the night, and despite the idea of bringing you back to his place and finally doing what he’s wanted since the day he met you absolutely terrifying him, he nods and kisses you. 

It’s electrifying. His confidence only spurs you on to kiss him harder, grip his hair a little tighter, say the things you would only imagine in the deepest parts of your mind. The feeling of his grin against your lower lip and his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans fuels your fire. 

“You sure you know what you’re getting into,” he mumbles playfully, pulling you away from the wall with a gasp and leading you over to the tiny built in counter against a mirror by the sink. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you fuck me against any of these sticky surfaces,” you note as you’re lifted onto the counter covered in mystery substance, “and I think you need to earn it.”

Of course it was no surprise to you that Eddie was good with his fingers. You probably could have told anyone that long before this impromptu bathroom hookup. Egging him on and challenging him in a way you were sure he wasn’t used to was well worth abandoning your assumptions. 

“Oh yeah? I think, if you’re lucky, I’ll earn it more times than you can count before the night’s over,” he positioned himself in between your legs, pressing your torso into the mirror behind you as he leaned in for another heated kiss. 

He pulled your ass to the edge of the counter, and looped his thumbs into the waistband of your unbuttoned pants. You were quick to assume that he’d yank the fabric right off your legs, preparing to lift your ass from the counter to assist.

Eddie paused, pulled back and gave you a look that asked ‘you’re sure about this?’ and when a dreamy smile spread across your cheeks he melted into you with a kiss that turned your stomach inside out and made your pussy flutter.

He snakes a hand from its grip on your torso down into your unbuttoned pants. You arched up into his touch, wanting to urge him to get on with it and get your pants and underwear out of the way, but appreciating how much he seemed to be reveling in feeling you for the first time. 

“So fuckin wet,” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers only feeling up your cunt from outside your underwear. He pressed the fabric into your slick center, following the path up to your clit and then teasingly back down to where your panties were soaked through.

“You weren’t lying when you said you liked this a little too much,” he’s rolling his hips ever so slightly against your spread thigh as he rubs your clothed pussy, his teeth sinking into your lower lip as he moves the material aside and sinks two fingers right into your wet cunt with ease.

You were sure that you’d retrospectively have a million quippy compacks that come to mind, but in this moment it was impossible to come up with words when his fingers were buried inside you, still, just letting you squeeze around them, and his hard cock straining against his jeans nestled against the inside of your thigh.

He slowly drags his finger’s up from your hole to your clit, and you let out a whine of desperation as he fully removes his hand from your damp underwear. 

Before you can manage the breath to tell him to please, for the love of god, get on with it, he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a long suck, never breaking eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out and presses his forehead against yours, “I might like that a little too much too.”

Protests and urging words catch in your throat as he yanks down your pants and underwear with one quick pull, not even needing you to lift your ass off the counter more than it already was. He was methodical and moved with intention, folding up your pants neatly and shoving your soaked panties into his back pocket, shooting you a wink. 

“Eddie, please,” your overdue complaints are finally bubbling over. You hardly finish your plea before his face is buried in your neck, and his fingers are sliding right back into your needy hole. 

The top of your head rests against the mirror behind you, exposing your neck and arching your back into his touch. He sucks and nips at the soft skin between your collar bone and ear, all while letting his two middle fingers pump slowly into you.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into the crook of your jaw, “such a good girl for me, perfect pussy squeezing my fingers so tight, can’t fuckin wait to feel you soak my cock.”

Nearly orgasming at his words alone, your eyes flutter shut and you let out a moan of his name as he lets his thumb drag circles across your clit. “Eddie, please, just like that, I-”

“Oh, suddenly she’s not questioning my abilities?” he says with a biting smirk, “What was that about me not being half as good as I think I am?”

“Fuck,” you want to raise an eyebrow and shoot something back, hold out and make him work for it, but after hardly two minutes of his fingers rolling inside you, hooked up to drag along that perfect fucking spot, you had no choice but to feed his ego and let him win. 

“You wanted to make your little deal,” he pumps a little faster, making your head loll to the side and mouth hang half open, “I’ll sweeten it for you, babe. I say we can get this pretty pussy to come twice all over my fingers before anyone even knocks on this door.”

“Yes,” is all you can squeak out, “yes, please.”

If Eddie was being honest, he was a few half-thrusts into your thigh short of coming in his own pants from how hot you looked. Your eyes glassed over, pretty lips parted and gasping his name, perfect cunt sucking his fingers in. 

The hand not occupied by your gushing cunt slid up to cup the side of your cheek, forcing you to look into his fiery eyes. “Feel’s good?” he questions, knowing the answer and not expecting a verbal response.

He drags the pad of his thumb up to your parted lips, running it along your plush bottom lip and dragging it down a bit, relishing in how under his spell you were. His thumb slips into your mouth and you immediately wrap your lips around it and suck. 

“Good girl,” his thumb on your clit is rubbing more focused circles, “suck on that and keep your voice down, don’t want the whole bar knowing what a good little slut you are for me.”

Jackpot. 

A muffled moan around his thumb and the spasming of your inner walls signaled that you were hitting your peak. He drags the spit slicked digit from your lips and quickly replaces it with his lips and tongue, kissing you with fervor as he feels you ride out your orgasm on his hand. 

“Mmmmmmm” you moan, somewhere between a pleading whine and a sigh of satisfaction into his lips as his fingers don’t let up. 

Under different circumstances you would tell him to slow down, give you a minute to catch your breath. Eddie was stubborn, this you knew, and he had already made it abundantly clear that one orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. 

He pulls back from your lips, loving the sharp intake of breath you swallow as your cheeks continue to flush and eyelids keep fluttering. 

“So fucking good, came all over my fingers,” his gaze locks in on where his hand was buried into your cunt. “Gonna give me one more?”

Of course you would, whether it was up to you or not. He did slow up for a second, just enough for you to regain your grip on reality before he started curling them up again. 

“Eddie,” you whine out, eyes nearly crossed and unable to focus your attention on his face, hands, anything other than his boner poking into your inner thigh, “wanna feel you.”

The hand formerly gripped tight onto the edge of the counter snakes forward and pulls his hip into you, a permanent indentation of his stiff cock molding against your skin. 

“Not yet baby,” he rolls his hips forward, giving you a delicious feel of how it would be if he was inside you, but instead pushing his fingers a touch deeper and then pulling his hips away, “one more and then I’ll take you home. You’re gonna let me ruin that perfect little cunt, right? That was the deal?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, his other hand moving from your hair down to rub fast tight circles on your clit, the other hand still pumping steadily inside you.

“That’s right, I know this pussy is gonna take me so well. You’re already drooling for my cock, so fucking perfect.”

You feel it building up again, that sacred double orgasm that only ever came during your alone time in the shower or when you were so desperate for release that your hand didn’t stop after the first, but never with another person, never like this. 

His smile nearly touched his ears at this point, pulling back to take in all of you as your eyes screwed shut and thighs threatened to break his wrist at how fast they snapped together. 

Hitting you like a punch to the gut, your abdomen tightened and released rapidly, air sucked from your lungs and his hand working you through it between your clenched thighs. 

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

If you were in a cartoon, stars and chirping birds would be swirling around your head as you slowly came back to reality. He gave you some space, and begrudgingly gave you pack your panties after you hand out your hand and gave him a stern look.

“I’m gonna go tell the others that you aren’t feeling great and I’m taking you home,” he makes sure you’ve pulled your pants back up before unlocking the door, “Take your time, and I’ll meet you at the van, okay? I’ll grab your stuff.”

“Yeah,” you still feel a little flustered, looking back into the mirror and smoothing down your hair, “thanks.”

He shoots you a wink before slipping out, giving you a moment to collect yourself and splash some cold water on your face. Okay, so you’re doing this. 

Any nagging feelings that this might ruin things or that he’s only teasing you because of your arrangement are quickly squished down into a deeper compartment of your brain, overtaken by the post orgasm bliss and wandering thoughts of what might happen next. 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door, and slink your way to the back door without passing your group table or a stray Steve or Robin. The fresh air equalizes your buzzing thoughts, and you spot Eddie, already in the driver’s seat of his van. 

“You good?” He asks as you hop into the passenger seat. You won’t let him have the upper hand, just because he made you come twice in under ten minutes. 

“Yeah,” you gather as much assertion as your voice will project, “You good?”

“F’course,” he starts backing up, you internally roll your eyes at the way his outstretched arm muscles and curved neck make your stomach flutter, “Just wanted to make sure I passed the test.”

You sit in silence, not wanting to give into the cocky game he clearly wants to play, yet know that he’s entirely correct in his assumption that he’s driven you completely crazy. Once he’s on the main stretch of road, finally rolling to a stop at a red light you let your hand migrate across the center console, dancing its way into his lap. 

As you hoped, his cock was still half hard and apparent underneath his jeans. You let your hand draw circles next to it, loving the little twitch you get when you run your nails against his thigh. 

“Easy there, tiger,” he lets out a huffed laugh, with just an edge to his tone that suggested you were getting yourself into something you’d soon regret. 

“C’mon Eds,” you let your head fall on the corner of the headrest, gaze angled over at his tight grip on the steering wheel while your hand dancing around the bulge in his pants, “you’ve been pushing this thing against my thigh for the past twenty minutes, forgive me for wanting a better feel.”

You put on a pretend pouty face and flash him your best puppy dog eyes to ward off any incoming snippy comments from him. He rolls his pretty eyes at you and silently bites the inside of his cheek as you feel up and down his lap, grazing his growing cock with each pass. 

“Forgiven,” through gritted teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut as your fingers circle around his head, now taking visible form beneath his black jeans. He internally reprimands himself for losing focus on the road, and zeroes his concentration on getting back to his trailer as fast as this van can take him. 

You have your fun watching him wiggle in his seat, feeling his thigh muscles clench under your palm every so often. You weren’t full on jerking him off over his pants, but you were certainly relishing in the feeling of his dick getting harder and harder with each occasional pass of your hand.

He parks diagonally across the lawn in front of his trailer, not giving a shit where the van ends up as long as it’s stopped. He wanted to dash around the vehicle and scoop you out of your seat, throw you over his shoulder and take you inside to continue with whatever this evening had in store for you.

The second his hand stalled on the clutch, shifting the van into park and taking a moment to let his mind wander to what would happen once he got you inside, you were already halfway out the van and skipping up the steps to his front door. 

Entering his trailer, you start taking off your coat and shoes, trying to act as normal as possible. Your facade of keeping it cool entirely shatters when he enters behind you, calmly clicking the door shut and patiently waiting for you to finish unlacing your boots.

You remain crouched down, darting your eyes up at him, deciding against being a brat and undoing your laces as slowly as possible to keep him waiting. Any caution you had was long swept away by the wind, and he’d taken control in your little bathroom tryst, so it was your turn to say fuck it and just do what felt right. 

And in this moment, there was only a few quick movements and about six inches of space between you and Eddie’s semi-hard dick. One shoe was only half off, haphazardly kicked behind you as you pivoted onto your knees and had your hands moving eagerly up his tensing thighs.

“Can I?” Your question was half formed and he was already nodding. 

You’d teased him enough on the ride over, you wanted him, now. Pants quickly unbuttoned and blue checkered boxers pushed down to his knees, and you were about to go feral and just go for it when a silver glimmer adorning his thick cock caught your eye.

Your mouth was already half open, but your jaw nearly unhinged and hit the floor when the pierced head of his dick falls out of his boxers and lands at your eye level. 

Unmoving, mouth agape, you look up to make eye contact, ripping your eyes away from the shock of two silver balls on his cockhead. He knew it was nice, he wouldn’t have bedazzled it if it wasn’t, but the look you were giving him sucked all the unwavering confidence from his body for a split second, suddenly feeling weak in the knees at the sight of you slowly sicking your tongue out, not making any contact but waiting. 

He took the base of his dick in his hand and gave it a few precautionary strokes before angling it down and slapping your wet tongue with the tip a few times. 

You were two and a half seconds away from being entirely fucked out. If he pulled away and asked you to crawl on all fours to him, you’d do it without a second thought.

You let him slide his cock gently against your outstretched tongue a few times before coming to your senses and wrapping your lips around him, moving your hand to replace his and move against the length that your mouth couldn’t yet reach. 

All it took was a few steady bobs of your head, hand twisting and eyes still focused upwards on his face, to have him biting his knuckle and looking up at the ceiling to ground himself to try and not bust on the spot. You love this, of course, seeing him visibly spiral paired with the salty taste of precum already leaking from him. 

The hand not jerking him off comes up to the back of his hip, gently pushing against him in tandem with the movements of your head, encouraging him to shallowly thrust into your mouth.

“Jesus fu-“ he grunts out, not wanting to overestimate your encouragement, but unable to keep his hips from rolling forward slightly with the push of your hands and the bob of your lips. 

After an unexpected snap of his hips that sent his cock sliding into the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, a pang of guilt struck through him for pushing too hard. That was, until you let your head pull back a touch to catch your breath, but a long string of spit connected your lips to his cock, and a wild smile broke across your face that nearly sent him to the moon. 

You dove back in and pushed his cock all the way into the back of your throat, going so far that your nose pressed into the patch of dark curls that sat above his perfect dick. Focusing your breathing through your nose, you make a point to constrict your throat a few times until you feel him twitch inside you.

Pulling off with a gasp for air, you notice his eyebrows pinched together and gaze locked on you. 

“I like how these feel,” you comment, letting your pointed tongue dance around the metal balls on his tip.

He shudders and you clench your thighs at the sight of his stomach muscles tensing up when your tongue makes contact with the underside of his head, right where it meets the shaft. 

“If I let you fuck my mouth until you come, are you still going to be able to give it to me in a bit, or are you a one and done kind of guy?” You ask with a playfully teasing tone, but genuinely want to know if you suck him off to completion if the night will be over or not. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, more blood rushing to his cock at the idea of coming down your throat, “I’d fuck you all night if you’d let me babe.”

Half a second doesn’t pass before his cock is back in your mouth, hips shakily moving forward with your movements, gaining confidence as you flicker your eyes up at him through your lashes, the glimmer in them telling him he can take what he wants. 

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he comments to himself, “takin’ it all.” 

“Mhmmm,” you hum around him letting your tongue roll around his tip each time before he pushes his cock back down your throat. 

“You think you can get away with teasing me like that? That shit you pulled in the van back there, you think it’s cute to try and get me all riled up?”

You nod, tongue out and saliva coating your lips and chin. You could tell he was close by the way his words came out staggered, and his hips started snapping towards you in a new tempo, like his body was chasing it. 

Grunts and moans pulled from his chest fill the space mixed with the hums of satisfaction you let out while you take him deeper and faster. Moving in for the kill, you carefully slip your hand up in between his legs, cupping his balls, trying your best not to startle him. 

“Oh fuck,” it was a pitch of his voice you’d never heard before, a new tone especially reserved for the moments before orgasm, “you’re gonna make me fuckin come, y/n, y/n, I’m…”

The feeling of his balls constricting in your hands cues the warm wash of come sputtering down into your throat.

Getting the feeling he’d appreciate a bit of a show, you continue to jerk him off and pull off his cock slightly, letting the tip balance onto the tip of your tongue and the rest of his load spills out into your open mouth, some landing around the corners and onto your lips. 

“Christ, y/n,” his chest is heaving, his eyes finally pulling from you to squeeze shut for a moment. 

Once you’re sure he’s looking at you again you swallow down the salty white substance and lick the excess off your lips. You take his head back into your mouth, sucking just enough to clean off the tip and lap up any stray drops. He’s sensitive, you can tell, so you stop torturing him and place a final kiss right in between the two metal balls. 

You thought of asking him if the piercing hurt, or maybe make a comment about the two matching tattoos on his hipbones, ink of his you’d never seen until now. Before your brain can jump from swallowing his come to making post-nut chit chat, he’s yanking you up off your feet and wrapping you in a searingly passionate kiss. 

In your past experience most guys wanted you to drink some water or brush your teeth after they came in your mouth, at least before kissing you. Not Eddie. The way his tongue immediately slipped into your mouth, you almost believed he was trying to get a taste for himself. 

“C’mon,” he whispers in between slotting his lips with your, “Bedroom. Now.” 

He takes your hips in his hands and spins you around, causing a surprised yelp to bubble up from you, making him chuckle behind you as he walks you down the hall, keeping his hands on your sides. 

You knew where you were going, there were only so many doors in his tiny trailer, and you’d been here plenty of times before, but you liked the feeling of his hands pushing you forward, guiding your movements and steering you down the hallway into his room. 

Before your knees can hit the bed he spins you back around and captures your lips in another heated kiss. His hands trail up your sides, letting his fingertips slide beneath the hem of your shirt and push it upwards until your ribs were exposed. He pulls away from your face, leaving you leaning back into him, not wanting the kiss to end. 

“Up,” he pinches the sides of your shirt in his hands, and signals with his chin that he wants you to lift your arms, which you comply. 

It slides up and off of you, his hands quickly darting back to unclasp your bra, seemingly without even trying. This makes you roll your eyes, but the realization that you’re bare before him eclipses the thought of making a snippy remark about what a man whore he is. 

Flat palms caress your sides and move up to cup your breasts, his tongue pressing into the side of your neck. 

“These too,” his thumbs dip into your pants, managing to wiggle under the waistband of your panties as well. You’re going to do it yourself, but he gently pushes you back onto the bed, letting you flip back into the unmade blankets. 

“I wanna see you,” he pops your pants button and waits for a nod before sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. 

In between the blowjob and now, he’d tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans back up, still unbuttoned, but covering him back up as his cock returned to a half hard state, unlikely to stay that way for very long considering how things were going. 

The scene of you now sprawled out onto his bed, naked and needy for him, and him standing above you, basically fully clothed, had a flood of lust traveling south between your thighs.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” you burned under his intense gaze, raking down your body and soaking in the image of your skin laid out against his flannel plaid sheets. 

He crawls over you, letting his body melt into yours, the center seam of his jeans pressing against your soaking core, just as it had when he had you pressed up against the door of the bar bathroom.

Rocking gently against you, you feel his cock already starting to harden again. His tongue moves against your neck, hands roaming freely against your skin, arching into his touch. 

His breath was heavy against your lips, he was already starting to lose himself, and he knew he wanted to make you come with his tongue at least once before his dick came back out, but it was already pulsing between his legs, growing rock solid with every little whimper that came past your lips. 

Your fingers intertwined themselves into the tresses of his long, messy hair. You use your new grip to pull his face as close into yours as your bodies will allow, smushing his nose up against your cheek and foreheads plastered together. The weight of his body on yours, and the lovely rocking motion of his hips against yours stopped as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees. 

He slides off the side of the bed, feet returning to the carpeted ground and yanking your body to the edge of the mattress. You let out an unexpected giggle, body limp like a rag doll, moving wherever he wanted you. 

He leans back over to give you another deep kiss, teeth dragging against your lower lip and tongue sliding gracefully against yours, before he slides his mouth down, stopping to lap up at your nipples for a moment, not letting any part of your skin go untouched as he takes his time moving down to where you want him most. 

Wiggling around on his mattress, your body is begging him to get on with it, but he loves to make you squirm. He takes his time licking up your hip bones, kissing from the innermost part of your thigh all the way down to your knee, and then back up the other side. He even takes a long moment to suck a dark purple bruise into the meat of your thigh, biting down on the flesh and licking over the skin to soothe it, noticing how your back arched a little when he bit down harder. 

“Please Eddie,” your voice is hardly above a whisper, whimpering and whiny.

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he has that too-cocky tone again, but it’s long forgotten once his tongue is buried in between your thighs, lapping up the excess of wetness already pooled there.

“Ohhh,” you let out a moan, sucking in a sharp breath and allowing your body to relax under his focused touch. 

His hands push up from your ass to the crooks of your knees, moving your legs back to either side of you, strong palms finding their resting place on the backs of your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide open for him while he buries his face deep in your cunt. 

“You-“ the start of a compliment, or maybe a request, escapes your lips but the sudden harsh suck of your clit into his mouth has you speechless and moaning, “Mhmmmmm, uhhhhhhh.”

The sloppy wet sounds of him making out with your pussy are enough to drive you wild, your hands originally balling his sheets in your fists quickly move to the top of his head, resting atop his mop of messy curls. 

“Y’can give it a tug,” the first half of his statement spoken directly into your pussy, “I don’t mind a little pain.” He shoots you a wink and keeps his eyes locked on you as he lets his tongue lap a fat long lick up your slit, and then leaning back down to encourage you to tangle your hands into his hair. 

Coming to either side of his head you grab two points of purchase, locking your fingers in at the roots and feeling him hum into your cunt when you grabbed it a little tighter. 

Your hips start to quiver, so he brings one hand from your thigh up to your lower stomach, pinning you against the bed, and still keeping you spread open with the other. 

Working a steady rhythm against your slick center with his lips and tongue, he can tell he’s found the spot you like most by your open mouth and tight eyebrows.

“Ohmygod,” your chest starts moving with heavy breaths, you can’t bear to keep yourself up any longer and flop back down flat onto the mattress, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. He lets go of his anchor on your tummy and returns his hands to your thighs, allowing your hips to wiggle and wriggle against his face to chase after your own pleasure. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” one glimpse of his big brown eyes looking up at you and his nose pressing deliciously into the spot above your clit has your head reeling, “please don’t stop, fuck.”

Rather than reply, he just continues to devour you at that steady pace, your thighs almost snapping shut around his head . 

“Uh huh, right there, oh fuck Eddie I’m gonna-“ 

A strangled moan rips from your throat and your back arches off the mattress, his hands quickly come to wrap around your thighs and keep your center held closely against his face. He’s pulling your hips flush with his face, despite your spasming torso and gushing core. 

As your orgasm peaks, your hips angle themselves to push up deeper into his face, and he uses his leverage against the backs of your thighs to lift your ass, the entire lower half of your body now off the mattress and sliding backwards as he keeps his moving tongue glued to your clit. 

He climbs up onto the mattress as you slide back, the grip he had on your legs was sure to leave a sore memory of him unwilling to let your coming pussy away from his face. 

When he finally pulls away, your hand pushing at his forehead to prevent overstimulation, both of you gasping for air, his knees are propped under your thighs, and your hips are propped up right at perfect level with the bulge in his pants. 

“Fuck me,” you say through catching your breath, not as an expletive but rather a demand, “Eddie, I need you to fuck me,” your voice was whiny and desperate. 

“This okay?” he starts pulling his dick from its constraints in his unbuttoned jeans, not even shoving them halfway down his thighs before he had that pretty pierced dip dragging through your open and ready folds. 

“Yes, inside, please,” you were chasing after his length, while he tossed his shirt off. He teasingly ran it up and down your slit before sinking into you, collapsing down to press your lips into a kiss to swallow your moans as he slid the whole thing in slowly, making sure to take his time and fuck you right. 

He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his forehead to yours, finally sheathed all the way inside you and stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Pulling back so he can watch your face as he pumps his first few thrusts, he knows he’s beyond fucked. 

“So fucking good,” you slur out, eyes almost crossing from how deep his cock was hitting your insides.

“Yeah? This pussy’s god damn perfect, fucking made for me,” he articulates each thought with a snap of his hips, “suckin’ me right in.” 

“Wait, can we,” your voice had a little more weight behind it unlike the airy moans he’d grown obsessed with in the past forty minutes.

He pulls back, and rather than finish your thought you slip him out of you and roll over, shuffling up the bed and positioning yourself face down ass up, knees spread and back arched. 

“You think you can handle it?” he asks jokingly, swatting your ass playfully and then landing a second, harder smack on the flesh when he notices you pussy clench around nothing at the sensation of him spanking you. 

“Want you to fuck me hard,” you mumble into his pillow, wiggling your hips a little bit to jiggle the fat of your ass, “I know your cock is gonna feel so fucking good in me this way, wanna feel that fucking piercing back in my throat from the other direction.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he was genuinely a little shocked at your words, slowly learning that your freak side might match his. 

You expected to feel his cock slam into you once his hands came to spread your ass apart, but instead the mattress dipped and he was licking another fat stripe from your clit all the way up past your second hole, running this back a few times until you were moaning into the pillow and thighs were tensed up from the attention he was giving you.

“Sorry babe, just needed another taste,” he pushed the head of his dick into you, and moved the first few inches agonizingly slow into your soaked hole. 

“Eddie please, need it, need you,” he loved that his sheets were balled up in your fists, using the tension of the material to bounce yourself back onto him. You only manage to slide back down about three quarters before he’s tightly gripping your hip and pulling out half way again. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, you need to learn to be patient, pretty girl,” he’d thrust it an inch of so, and then slowly pull back, making you whine and start to feel tears bubble up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Want it so bad,” your cheek laid flat against his pillow, and you could catch a glimpse of him behind you out of the corner of your eye if you craned your neck a bit. You sounded so desperate, but you knew he liked it, liked hearing how badly you craved him. 

He starts moving in and out of you, firm grip on your ass never wavering. Restrained grunts left his mouth as he fucked into you, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, despite how viciously he's pounding into you. His head cranes down to your shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. 

As his long fingers move your hair away from your eyes, you push your head back into his hand, not wanting to lose contact. He tentatively runs his hands up into your hair, taking a soft grip on your roots.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, “you like it rough?”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out, “fuck, pull my hair, spank me, do whatever the fuck you want to me, please.”

His vision practically goes black with this new unrestricted passion, allowing himself to thrust into you as hard and as deep as his hips would propel him, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling you up from your laid position, quickly letting your hands jump to his headboard to support you as your head was pulled back. 

You tried to bounce back onto his cock, wanting to feel him as deeply and wholly as your bodies would allow, but you could hardly keep up with the pace he had set. 

Your ass bouncing against him and the occasional glance he caught at your fucked out expression spurred him on to fuck you even harder. He had your hair pulled back so tight that your back was pressing flush up with his chest every so often, and he took the opportunity to snake an arm around you and hold your chest up flat, his other hand moving down to rub frantic circles on your clit.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” you manage to croak out, voice hoarse from the harsh bend in your neck. 

“Nuh uhh, no,” his voice was gruff and commanding, right into your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. 

He pulled out of you fully, and had you flipped around flat on your back again before you could even open your mouth to complain. 

“Need to see that pretty face when you come on my cock,” he lines himself up with you again, pushing into you and making a mental note of how the bulge of his cock looked pressing up from the inner part of your lower stomach. 

And of course, your face screwed up in pleasure, puffy lips and sweaty brow, slack jawed and panting his name would be something Eddie wouldn’t be able to forget even if he tried.

His thumb found its way to your clit to pick up where he had last left you, steadily building to an earth shattering orgasm. Talking you through it, knowing you were close by the vice grip your walls had on his dick, in between grunts he spilled out some “good girl”’s and “right fuckin there, that’s it.” 

When he felt your thighs tense up, and the muscles in your neck strain against the soft skin he’d previously had his lips all over, he knew you were nearing the finish line. 

“So fucking perfect, feel so good wrapped around me,” he managed to sweet talk you without altering the pace of his hips, “That’s it, come on my cock, give it to me.”

With that, your body can’t help but throw itself over the edge of pleasure. A deep grunt rattles in your chest, and you lose all sensation other than the wild pulsing in between your legs. You can’t be bothered to worry about what your face looks like, or if your thighs are squeezing him too hard, you only feel the riptide of an orgasm shattering through you. 

The animalistic noise that Eddie grunts out, his wild gaze locked on your face only makes your body shake with pleasure even harder. He had that instinct that most men lacked, to keep the exact pace and motion when your orgasm hit rather than speed up or slow down, it was a gift, a talent. 

Of course he wasn’t going to change a thing about what he was doing, look at you. You were so fucking perfect, shaking and coming all over him, those sweet noises and the beautiful squelching between your thighs. He’d rather die than change a single thing about this moment. 

He stilled only when you paused to catch your breath, and within seconds was flipped over by the power of your thighs onto his back.

Unexpectedly, you began to ride him, trying to match the pace he had earlier set. The aftershocks of your orgasm still washed through you, but you seized the moment to get him right where you wanted him. This angle was different, deeper and more connected. You roll your hips and bring your hands up to his hair, foreheads pressing together once again. 

“You’re making me feel so fucking good,” you manage to breathe out into his lips, he quickly comes to the realization of what’s happened and shifts the angle of his hips to hit you even deeper. 

“I’d give you everything, if you’d let me,” he doesn’t let a single thought pass in his mind before the words slip out, “always.”

Your lips capture his in a kiss that has far more emotion behind it than two friends play-dating and fucking for fun. His hands come up to grasp your cheeks, your hips continue to roll down into his with purpose. 

“I’m- Where-“ his words are hardly intelligible in between breathless kisses, but you know what he means. 

“Inside, please, need all of you inside me,” you try to keep your voice steady so he hears you loud and clear, wanting to give him the exact attention he had paid to you, “Please Eddie, come inside me.”

His hands travel down and guide your hips to fuck down onto him one, two, three times before he’s groaning in your ear and letting out the prettiest and most vulnerable sounds you’ve ever heard form him. 

The swell of his cock inside you makes you drape your head into his neck, focusing on riding out his orgasm and making sure he was twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm before you let up. 

When you felt his grip on your hips tighten, signaling that he’d had too much, you sink all the way down one final time and let your body lay limp on his, pulsing cock still filling you up. 

His chest rose and fell harshly with his recovering breaths. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing up through the spot on his neck where your ear laid on his sweaty skin.

Silently awaiting the inevitable tap on the shoulder, the slow pull out and post-sex cleanup process, you try to savor every passing moment. But it doesn’t come. Eddie wraps his arms around your midsection and holds your limp body close to his, letting his cock start to soften inside you. 

You nearly fall asleep like that, all wrapped up in him, until you recognize that you should pee and clean up to avoid a UTI. You slip off of him, and hear a disappointed groan from him. He makes cute grabby hands at you as you cross the room, making you roll your eyes, but something deep inside you flip flops with how sweet he’s being, so caring, so unlike the picture of himself that he had painted for you. 

You give him a wet hand towel to clean up the remnants of your activities, and slip back into bed with him per his insistence. You doze off for a while, until the rising sun peeking through his blinds catches your eye, striking you with the sudden decision to stay and face the music or leave and let it settle. 

You’d already regretted it, but weren’t ready to have the “hey, so I know we had fake boyfriend-girlfriend sex, but I actually really like you so what should we do about that?” conversion with him, so instead you take the cowardly path and tiptoe out of his room in the early morning hours, leaving behind your underwear on his nightside table with a scribbled note saying to call you. Hopefully that was enough of a signal. 

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

It was all starting to get to your head. While you had gone through the stages of being nervous that you had done something wrong, that he was avoiding you to spare you the rejection, thinking he regretted what had happened and didn’t want to face you, who was so obviously into him it was painful, you’d just now turned a new leaf. Fuck that. If he was too much of a coward to call you, you'd hope he'd at least give you the decency as a friend to tell you the truth, you deserved to be angry, and you deserved a response. 

After stewing in your feelings for longer than felt healthy, you just get in your car and start driving to his trailer. If this all blew up in your face at least you wouldn’t have to keep biting your nails and waiting for the phone to ring. 

Three deep breaths, and a quick moment to gather your thoughts, and suddenly your body acted on instinct, putting the car in park and walking up to pound three concise knocks on his trailer door. 

“Just a second,” he hollered from inside, giving you a few seconds to be stricken with regret for showing up unannounced without a plan on what exactly to say. 

“What do you- oh, y/n,” he was in a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung low on his hips, shirtless and hair still damp from a recent shower, “uh, hey?”

“Oh, hey,” your tone was laced with annoyance, “I left something here last week and I’m here to get it back. If you don’t mind.”

“What- oh,” he’s a second too slow to realize you mean the underwear you had purposefully left behind with that note. The note telling him to call you. Which he never did. 

You were left standing on his porch steps, arms crossed and shooting daggers out of your eyes while he stood there in the doorway, an apparent guilty expression plastered on his face while he rocked back on his heels to buy some time to figure out what to say. 

“You don’t have to invite me inside, if you can just grab them and give them to me, and I’ll be out of your hair,” you say flatly, recognizing if he does as asked then this might be the last time you speak to Eddie Munson. 

“No, no, uh, you should come in,” he steps aside to let you in, “we probably shouldn’t have this conversation on my front steps.”

Avoiding eye contact, feeling an overwhelming mix of anger, confusion, and betrayal, you step inside and don’t make any effort to move into the space. You just stand by the door and give him an expectant look. Either he could go get the underwear, or he could grow a pair and say something to you. 

“I, uh-“ he looked so defeated you started to feel bad for using such a pointed tone, but then you remembered the days and days that passed without hearing from him, “I’m sorry, that I, y’know…”

“Yeah, well I don’t really care if you’re not looking for any post sex recap conversations, because you’re obviously pretty sure of yourself in that department,” the words flew out before your mind could even conjure them up, “but you fucking promised me that you wouldn’t do this, so can I please just have my underwear back and I won’t bother you again.”

He runs a hand through his hair letting out a deep exhale and searching the ceiling for words, “I know, I-“

You cut him off, your thoughts were ripping through you now and you were going to say your piece whether he asked for it or not, “You said you wouldn’t pull this shit with me, but I guess our friendship isn’t substantial enough for you to see me any differently than you do every other girl you throw away after you’ve gotten what you want. You clearly don’t want any more advice and you clearly don’t want to be my friend, so please, just give me my shit so I can go.”

“That’s the fucking thing y/n, of course I don’t want to be your friend,” his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

At this point you were seconds away from just storming out, letting him keep your underwear as some twisted little trophy for breaking your heart. 

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

“Being your friend is already hard enough, and I knew this shit was a bad idea, the whole trial-girlfriend thing. But how the fuck was I supposed to say no to that? The girl of my dreams offers to do all this no-strings-attached romantic shit, I’d be the dumbest man alive to turn that down.”

You just give him a blank stare, your scalding anger twisting into a more confused frenzy of bees swarming in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows pinched together, you just stare at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. 

“And yeah,” he goes on, letting all his words out like a big exhale in the same cadence that you had just hurled all your angry words at his, but his tone was filled with guilt as opposed to rage, “maybe we let it go a little too far, but I would never say no to you, I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t know what the fuck to say to you after, but that’s exactly the reason I’m not good enough for you. The more we kept that fake dating shit up the worse it was gonna get, so I’m sorry, but I can’t keep spending time with you like that, because it’s starting to fucking hurt.”

“Hurt,” you say with a dry laugh, which almost scares him, “YOU’RE hurt? Give me a fucking break Eddie. I know you don’t see me that way. So what, you’re too scared to hurt my feelings? You’re doing a wonderful job, keep it up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, not see you like what?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumb Eddie. When we first met I tried so hard to get your attention, asking you to hang out, and you always blew me off. It’s fine that you don’t want to date me or whatever, but at least just tell me that, don’t fuck me like I’m special or something and then toss me aside. I deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, y/n, you do,” his voice was no longer guilt stricken, and was on the same straightforward plane as your last responses, “you deserve so much fucking better than me, that’s why I could never let anything between us happen. I don’t call girls back. I’m rude. I don’t take care of myself, let alone others. I like to smoke, and drink, and get head from girls in bar bathrooms and never learn their names, and that’s not the kind of person that a girl like you dates. I’m a fun quick fuck. You’re the kind of girl that after three dates he’ll already have a ring picked out. You’re everything, and I’m nothing, so forgive me for sparing you of that.”

Your bones are frozen and the beat of silence gives him the opportunity to spin on his heel and start down the hallway, presumably to get your panties. 

Snapping back into it, you let out a louder than expected, “Hey,” and you start following him, not taking long to catch up to him in his bedroom. 

“You,” you point a finger at him, and start to feel the rage bubble up again, “don’t get to decide that you’re unloveable. And you don’t get to tell me what kind of girl I am. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you’re so lonely and miserable is because you choose to be? You don’t get to decide what I deserve, I do. And I really fucking like you Eddie, so forgive me for acting like it.” 

You snatch your underwear off his bedside table, and give him a look, not fueled by anger or resentment, but empathy. 

“I’m going to leave. And if you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine, but if you do, you can call me. Goodbye Eddie.”

You feel out of your own body, floating above it all and rewinding the conversation over and over, body on autopilot taking you home while your soul stayed behind and relived his words over and over, unsure if you feel better or worse than when you showed up. 

Days pass by again, and you take his silence as more of a response than anything he had said to you during that conversation. You try not to wallow, but you feel scattered and distraught, at both the prospect of losing Eddie and having to deal with your shared friends, would they allow you to dance around each other, or would they flat out choose him and shut you out? Would group nights out bowling suddenly just turn into the occasional one-on-one coffee with Robin? 

Until suddenly, on a random Tuesday afternoon when you've gotten home from work and are relaxing on the couch in your pajamas, three knocks are at your door.

At this point you figured it was over. He hadn't called and he'd made no effort to continue the dialogue. So a thought of Eddie doesn't even cross your mind in between the couch and opening the door.

And there he is.

In a suit, slightly descheveld in Eddie fashion, and holding a slightly wilting bouquet of flowers. Posture straight and brave face, but expecting your brutal edge upon answering the door nonetheless.

"Hey?" you're somewhat at a loss for words answering.

"Hi," he seems like he's running lines of a play in his mind, "I was hoping we could talk."

You reluctantly let him in, and he hands the flowers to you, as if it was a normal occurrence for him to bring you such a gift.

"First off," he starts, hardly breaching your living room entrance before starting his apology, "I regret the way we last left things, and I'm sorry for leaving you waiting for a response."

He flicks those big brown eyes at you and you can't help but give him the benefit of the doubt, he always was so sincere with his words.

"You're amazing. And although I'll remain adamant that I don't deserve someone like you in my life, I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I'm sorry that tried to tell you how to feel."

You remain stoic at your seat on the couch, watching him shift his weight and bare his soul to you.

"You're perfect. Nice, funny, sexy, brave, all of it. And if you're willing to give me a chance, I don't know why the fuck you would, but if you are, I want to put aside all my bullshit and try this out, if you'll have me."

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in his request, bouquet in hand and suit adorned.

"And I owe you a few dates, for real."

As hard as you want your exterior to be, a smile cracks through.

"Okay, but know I don't fuck until the third date, at best," you jab, breaking his nervous exterior and visibly relieving the tension from his shoulders.

"I'm somewhat of a refined gentleman myself, so that won't be an issue," he bows and extends a hand to you.

You pull him down by the hand onto the couch with you, wrapping him up in a deep kiss. He was worth it, and you both knew it was worth the shot to try.

[fictionalmenmistress]

I haven't seen anyone else talk about it, so I wanted to share that Logan's rant monologue insulting Wade in the Honda Odyssey, before Wade decides to beat him up and they ~fight~ all night... that so clearly to me, was Logan projecting. It started as a tempered rant to cope with how annoyed and pent up he was, with the heat of everything and with Wade's muchness that makes him, him, but the longer he went on, the more he started ranting and exposing himself in the process.

"THE XMEN REJECTED YOU, AND THEY'LL TAKE FUCKING ANYONE!!!" That was my first hit, that he was referring to himself. He sees himself so lowly, so failed, that's canonical to the film. And canonically, he didn't even quite originally feel worthy or want to be with the XMEN. Didn't feel like there was a place for him there, a place for him anywhere. One of his biggest healings was Professor X not giving up on helping him believe that he deserved to be there, was wanted, was worthy, was a good guy. That's canon to his character. So we know he was speaking about himself. He was chewing Wade out, but he was also talking and focusing moreso on what upset him about himself. (He sees himself as just any jo shmo, when he IS literally THE X MAN ㅠㅠ)

He was seeing himself in Wade, how he "can't even save a relationship with a gd stripper", (he sees himself as not able to save anything either, and he's angry for that more than anything else he's angry or annoyed at) projecting SO HARD as he pieced together saying it out loud, that Wade was exactly like him. Logan hated himself for not saving anything. For being a "loser", a "failure", for all of the same reasons he was lashing out at Wade for. He was so angry and annoyed by Wade reminding him of himself, because he related to him. Wade was his reflection, in his eyes, calling him out so loudly with his own behaviors. And he hated himself. He deeply was suffering with that hatred for himself, and as a result, he lashed out on Wade when really he was chewing out himself, inside, admitting it.

"God's CRUELEST JOKE, IS THAT YOU *WONT* DIE ALONE. BECAUSE YOU! CANT! DIE! SO THE REST OF US HAVE TO SUFFER YOU THE REST OF OUR EXISTENCE!" (something along that.)

He didn't know for sure that Wade can't die. He picked up on that Wade can't be killed. Logan is the one who can't die. They are two flipped sides of the same immortal power coin. When he finished his screaming at him, and everyone was silent at how cruel and shocking the confrontation and his words were, I was sinking with a very empathetically whispered "oh, Logan..." Because I felt his misery. I immediately picked up on him really talking about himself, and I think that was genius and layered. I was upset for how awful that was to say to Wade, heartbroken for Wade taking that to heart, and I was heartbroken that Logan was saying that because he believes that about himself. Because they are, oddly, a lot alike. Very compatible.

This scene here:

I read that Hugh said that Ryan wrote that. He's brilliant with these films. It was so genius. I really needed to share this and bring this thought, meta, analysis to light. For all of us to have.

Is Logan mad at God's "cruel joke" of his immortality, yet ability to feel so much pain through it still? Yes. He punched the roof in rage, because it's not fair. Venting his own pain. He sees his powers, his own and Wade's too, empathetically, as their curse. The curse of being the one who lives, and the guilt with that. The one who can't die. The one who lives, who is forced to live, while everyone who "deserves to live" dies. And WILL die, around them.

"And You can't die. That's on all of US!" Logan says, clearly referring to himself living forever... And "us" being the people HE loved. He saw himself as a burden for existing with them, for them. He deflected that onto Wade, as if the people in Wade's life must feel that way too, but didn't really mean that. He meant it about himself. Logan believes he was a burden on the people he loves, the people he lost. That's probably why he left too, and didn't come back when they called out for him to. He distanced himself to protect them, and protect himself from that fear of rejection that he feels is so imminent, and them not having him, is the one element that led to none of them surviving without him. He was always the key. He was always wanted, and he was always important and needed. He just couldn't ever believe that.

Man, that's why it became so personal for Logan too, when he was shown Wade's photograph of his family. Because HE had a family, and he would do anything now to save them. Just like Wade. He held that photograph all night, he went and got it when it fell out of the car, he kept looking at it. It became personal for him, when he identified with it. That Honda scene really was their turning point of everything. That's when Logan cared with everything. He got it. Wade is the him he couldn't be. But now he can.

I dropped some heat with this one.

Extra little personal context/thought notes: Maybe I just spotted it because I have a natural knack for psychology, I'm hyperobservant, highly empathetic and deeply feeling, and I'm also years experienced of my parents and whole family treating me the same exact toxic lashout way almost every other day. That's a workweek for me to see through toxic lashout anger BS. These are not my gifs!!! They were created by another amazing account. I will refind their @ and tag them!! >>> It's @landoslastnerve ! Thank you friend! 🤍

Also wanted to include someone's tags from those gifs:

.

[ovaryacted]

GUARD DOG

─ Logan Howlett/Wolverine x fem! reader || WC: 5.0k

SYNOPSIS: On another one of your joint club outings with Wade, your boyfriend Logan stands by to make sure you enjoy your night. Once you both arrive at your apartment, he tends to your needs and helps you relax.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Established Relationship. Age gap implied [Logan is his canon age, Reader is mid to late 20's]. Alcohol consumption. Kissing. Unprotected P in V. Shower sex. Fingering (f receiving). Manhandling. Biting/Marking Kink. Size Kink if you squint. Mutual fantasies of public sex. Worst!/Variant! Logan Howlett. Grumpy! Logan in public, soft! Logan in private. Wade is the third wheel who drinks for fun but can't get drunk (obvi). Descriptions of the reader's clothing (mini skirt & skimpy top). Reader is shorter than Logan in heels. Logan can pick the reader up.

A/N: Lord this was a pain in the ass to write for absolutely no reason, but I am glad it's done. Big shoutouts and thank yous to @ozarkthedog and @pedgito for reading this over and encouraging me. And also thank you to @zloshy and @studioghibelli for holding my hand and helping me out with the brainstorming process. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Enjoy! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

To this day, Logan doesn’t know why he still puts up with Wade’s shit or agrees to his antics. But he doesn’t mind doing it so long as it keeps his eccentric friend off his back and keeps you happy.

The club he was brought to was loud, the air thick with the pungent stench of weed, and he swears he could distinctly sniff out cocaine in the bathrooms, irritating his nose. Bright strobe lights strained his vision, and the obnoxious pop music vibrating through the walls was anything but pleasing to his sensitive ears. Thankfully, the bar had Jack Daniels on the shelf, enough to do the job and keep himself busy.

He raises his arm to lean against the bar, sipping away at his fourth cup of whiskey, knowing that the buzz he feels will go away as quickly as it hits him. Adept eyes scanned the club, landing on your figure as you danced to the current song.

Logan admired the sway of your hips, the mini skirt you wore riding up your thighs with every pop and swivel. The low-cut top you paired it with shifted when your arms rose to the beat change, the open back showing more than enough skin to leave to the imagination. He could taste the light sheen of sweat from your neck at a distance, amplifying your natural pheromones that elevated the perfume you sprayed on earlier.

He did what he did best. He watched. Even with his dominating presence, he was hyper-aware of the other men who stood by prowling like hawks, stalking their prey and waiting for the best moment to attack. Wade was enough to keep you safe during your joint club outings, but now that he was with you, Logan ensured you made it home every night.

You were smart and vigilant, always were before you met him. But Logan was familiar with the instinctive behavior of men, especially men like him. Ill-tempered. Selfish. Prone to arguments and have an affinity to attract trouble. He knows what they were all thinking, creating mental checklists of what tricks they’d use to guarantee you went home with them instead. Countless fantasies of their hands feeling you up, touching you in ways that Logan was allowed to, in a way only he could.

His heart thumped in his ribs at the thought. The innate possession he felt towards you flared as he impatiently wiped his hand over the dark denim of his jeans, ignoring the growing itch to claw the next fucker that thought about coming within six feet of you.

You could hold your own; you’ve told him more than enough times that he didn’t need to stand by and monitor your every move. Yet he does it without hesitation, refusing to give anyone else a chance to breathe you in or get close enough to touch what was his. 

Wade waltzes to the bar and orders another martini, glancing at Logan and contorting his neck to peek at you dancing with a blissful smile.

“Having fun, Wolvie?” he asks, grin widening as his lips envelop the thin straw in his drink, slurping it up like a refreshing cup of water. 

“You know the answer to that,” Logan mutters, finishing the rest of his amber liquid in one gulp before tapping the cup on the bar countertop and asking for a refill. The bartender flashes him a look of concern, receiving a flick of Wade’s hand and topping off the glass.

“You’re five drinks in. Quit being so fucking grumpy,” Wade sneers, detecting someone walking in their direction. “Now flip that frown upside down, Logie bear. Our girl is coming over, and I don’t need you getting your panties in a twist because you’re moody.”

Logan rolled his eyes before spotting you striding to him, standing in front of the burly man with a hazy smile. He noticed the multitude of heads that turned to follow your direction, tracking you with every step you took toward the deviant pair. A low whistle seized his attention, Logan’s head rapidly spun at the sound to find its source and nip it in the bud. The growl settling in the back of his throat simmered down once your soft hand touched his chest, grounding him to you.

“Hey, old man.” Even in heels, you still couldn’t reach him face-to-face, smirking when his thick arm wrapped around your waist to bring you closer. “Enjoyed the show?”

“The music in here fucking sucks, but I can’t complain too much,” Logan’s lips hovered over the shell of your ear, lowering his voice as he spoke. “You were my favorite part.”

“Oh, you weren’t looking at the girl in the cocktail dress? I don’t know, her dress was real short.” The corner of his mouth curled up, challenging your statement that feigned any truth. Giggling, you clutched his bicep, the alcohol loosening your tongue to speak more bluntly. You pivoted to spot Wade, who watched you both from afar in animated shock.

“Problem?”

“Sorry, honey. I just can’t stand seeing the two of you be all touchy-feely in front of me. It’s very disturbing.” Wade finished his martini, ordering a margarita and explicitly asking for a tiny umbrella. “I hate that you took my spot. Creeping in like a slut into a happy home and snatching my man away.”

Ever since Wade had introduced you to Logan almost a year ago, it had been an instant connection he got front-row seats to witness. He was excited when he finally compelled Logan to go to the club you both frequented, recalling how he raked his eyes over you when you weren’t looking. It was only a matter of time before you left the club with Logan one night, and Wade met him at the front door the following day like a disappointed parent acknowledging his walk of shame. 

All jokes aside, considering the pair he just unleashed into the world, he would believe himself to be the city’s most qualified and successful cupid.

“Can’t call me a homewrecker if there was no home to wreck, sweetie,” you shrugged, hearing Logan’s dry chuckle.

“Sure, whatever. But you should be thanking me, you know? You get to have those big, meaty hands on you all the time. Not to mention you get to fuck him and actually see his d-”

“Wilson.” Logan’s voice cut him off, causing Wade to murmur under his breath. You fronted the brunette, messing with the collar of his leather jacket.

“Don’t be mean to him. He’s right. I do have the happy privilege of fucking you all the time.” Your glossy lips hypnotized Logan, his hand kneading your rear as he caught your breathless laugh again. He’ll never fully admit it, but he’s always loved your lack of filter when you had a little bit to drink. You were funny and engaging without needing the extra boost, but something about you being openly vulgar made his blood flow south.

“That you do.” His ego blazes inside him, leaning forward to kiss you in the club for the first time that night.

You happily accepted it with a pleased hum, tasting the Jack he’d been drinking and exchanging the flavor of vodka still on your tongue. Your fingers clutched at his jacket, body pulsing with need as the alcohol in your system beelined straight to your clit. Audible gagging noises pushed you to draw away from Logan, your drunken sight landing on the culprit.

“Oh, am I interrupting you guys? I told you to give me a PDA warning next time before you start getting freaky, otherwise I’m joining,” Wade taunted, getting a scoff from you and an irritated grunt from his friend.

“How about we share another drink? Will you forgive me then, Wadey?” You flapped your lashes at him, his wrinkly skin creasing to mimic your gleeful appearance.

“Fine, but only because you know how to sweet talk me. Tequila?” Your optimistic nod motivated him to order another round of shots for the two of you to down. You felt a gentle squeeze on your arm, meeting Logan’s gaze and silent questioning. Can you handle drinking more?

“Just a few more, and we’ll go, okay?” You stroked his chin, kissing the corner of his jaw in reassurance. He asked to test your senses, only intervening to stop if you were too far gone to speak to him. Unlike him, he wants you to keep your liver intact.

“Alright. But the second he starts offering you shit to snort, we’re leaving.”

“I would do no such thing!” Wade dramatically reacts, offering two tequila shots while holding some of his own. “Besides, I don’t need our precious darling over here fucking up her pretty nose. She needs that thing to smell your bullshit from a mile away.”

With another laugh, you swallowed the shot of clear liquid, inhaling a hiss and consuming the next, sucking on the lime to reset your tastebuds. Your body warmed with a buzz from the drink, an electric shock coursing through your veins as it roused you. 

“C’mon, sugarplum, you owe me a dance.” You didn’t have time to waste as Wade dragged you to the dance floor, throwing Logan a flirty wave and joining your mutual friend. The Wolverine returned to his position, manning his post and sipping on the remaining liquid in his glass. He kept tallies on the wandering eyes that gravitate to you, fighting the urge to rip out every single one.

He’ll keep the peace for your sake. You were already his, you’ve been his ever since you took him home and made him stay the night. What more did he have to prove?

It was nearing two in the morning when you finally decided to call it a night. By now, the heels on your feet started slipping, and your footing grew unsteady when you attempted to walk to the bathroom. You held your bearings long enough for Logan to call a cab home after buying some greasy food for you to eat, shooing Wade once he said he was stopping by Vanessa’s.

Logan’s touch was constant the entire way home, skimming your thigh and lower back in the cab, responding to every one of your little mumbles to keep you awake until you arrived at your apartment. Getting you out of the backseat was another hassle he was familiar with, aiding you to stand up straight without accidentally exposing yourself. The best solution he came up with was carrying you inside, wrapping your arms and legs around him as he held you steady and trekked inside the apartment complex.

He didn’t mind the faint squeezes of your arms or the clenches of your thighs around his waist. You were calm, safe, and happy, mindlessly humming in the crook of his neck as he eased his way through the front door. Strong arms entrapped you as the familiar walls of your bedroom filled your vision, Logan placing you on the edge of your bed with a huff of breath.

“I’m gonna get you a cup of water. Alright?” Logan’s hazel eyes met yours, taking in your feeble nod.

“Okay,” voice light and airy, you patiently waited for Logan to return as promised. Within a minute, he had a tall glass of cold water in his hand, a few ice cubes floating at the top.

“Open up. Need you to drink some of this for me.” Heeding his command, you sipped the refreshing beverage, soothing your parched throat. You got halfway down the glass before he drew the cup away, placing it on the bedside table for later.

“Let’s get these heels off now,” Logan suggested next, descending to his knees and bending his leg to raise your foot on his thigh, messing with the straps tied to your ankles.

“Yes, please. They’re fucking killing me.”

He chuckled as you wiggled your foot at him, allowing his thick fingers to unclasp the buckle that held your heels together. Peeling one of the shoes off and dropping it to the floor, he loosened the other, the heel falling to the ground with an audible thud.

Strong hands held your right foot by the ankle and gently twisted it, stretching the tendon after a long night out and doing the same to the left. You whizzed contently at the touch, the devoted rubs of his thumbs and forefingers massaging your feet after hours of dancing never failed to make you feel better. Before you started dating him, you underestimated Logan’s capacity to be affectionate, but he eventually got the hang of things once your relationship grew more steady. 

Sure, he had been alive a long time, you got that warning from Wade prior to meeting Logan. But once you cracked through that tough exterior, you developed a soft spot for the man buried under all that trauma.

“Always so nice to me yet grumpy with everyone else,” you said, running a hand through his hair as he stayed on his knees.

“You’re saying you don’t like special treatment?” he teased, the look in his eye heating your belly. He caressed your shin, drawing circles over your skin as you watched him.

“Never said that. Like it too much sometimes,” he stood up, kissing the top of your head and walking to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Let’s take those clothes off and get you in something less skimpy.”

“Already? You didn’t tell me anything about my skimpy outfit. Thought you liked it…” you feigned a pout, and Logan raised a curious eyebrow.

“You look good, you always do. I told you that before we left.” He loomed over you, a shiver rushing down your spine when his musk surrounded you. His hands were at either side of your hips, palms resting on the mattress as he observed you.

“I like it when you get all dolled up for me.” One of his knuckles moved to graze your bare forearm, the hair on your skin rising from the goosebumps that followed. “Hate that everyone else gets to look, though.”

“You did good tonight. Didn’t claw anybody in the ribs.” You were only half joking, but you knew it wasn’t such a farfetched idea for him to do just that. All it took was one guy to come too close, and Logan’s knuckles were splitting to unsheath the blades embedded between them.

“Trust me, I was thinking it.”

“I know you were. Still happy you didn’t, so thank you for that.” You held his cheek and tenderly kissed him. “Now take my clothes off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Logan tugged your mini skirt down your legs, tossing it to the floor. Your top was next, lifting your arms so he could pull it up from your torso, leaving your top half bare. He leaned back to take you in, raking his eyes over your uncovered figure. You were only clad in the lace black thong he noticed earlier when you were getting dressed, the thin piece of fabric doing nothing to conceal what he knew lay underneath.

“You’re staring again.” Your voice brought him to reality, a dry hum being his response.

“You don’t usually complain when I do,” he noted, growing more cocky at the uptick of the subdued tension between you.

“Because I like it when you look at me, smartass.” You held him by the fabric of the white tee hiding under his jacket, hands roaming over the expanse of his chest and stomach, messing with the metal of his belt buckle.

“Seems like you want something…” Logan hungrily watched as your legs spread wider to accommodate for his thicker ones between them, lingering to pounce on you.

“Want you to fuck me.” A rich groan tumbled out of Logan when you yanked him down for a kiss, chasing his tongue with your own and biting his bottom lip. His large hands skate over your thighs, textured fingers pinching your hip to keep you in place. Pulling his head away, he exhaled out of his nose, lightly grazing the tip of it against yours.

“Not until we shower. You smell like Wade and tequila.” He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, messing with the knobs to get the searing temperature you liked and coming to capture your dumbfounded expression.

“Are you fucking serious?” You shouldn’t be surprised. Though you think he was just finding more ways to get you to sober up.

“Very. I don’t need you smelling like him in bed. I want you to smell like you.”

Rising to your feet, you entered the bathroom and bent down to peel your thong off. Holding the last piece of clothing by the tip of your finger, you flung it to Logan, swaying your hips with an added flare as you stepped under the showerhead. The steaming water hit your aching body, comforting your sore legs from standing on an arch for so long. 

You heard shuffling from the other side of the glass barrier, enjoying the feel of the scalding spray as burly arms encircled your midriff, holding you loosely by the waist. Turning to face Logan, he eyed you with a softness reserved only when you were alone, your love worming its way into his cold heart and chipping away at the frozen bits and pieces over time.

“I’m surprised you haven’t melted yet from how hot this water is,” Logan jested, pressing yourself closer and gliding your fingers over his torso.

“You’ll get used to it,” you brushed his comment off, his rough fingertips coasting down your back, much softer than how he handled you in the club. “You’re the one that likes showering with me anyway.”

“Course I do, but I’ll never know how you tolerate this. You sure you aren’t the mutant here?” You lightly slapped his sternum, petting his skin with a shake of your head.

Logan maintained the scorching temperature of the shower stream as he held your chin with his forefinger and thumb, bending forward to kiss you, slow and passionate as it always was. You reached for his broad shoulders, opening your mouth to welcome his tongue, the muscle curling around yours with ease.

Maneuvering to pin you to the tiled wall, your hands ran up to the nape of his neck, driving your fingers through his wet hair as you sought more of his touch. Logan parted from you, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and neck, biting at the skin. Your breathing grew more sporadic, desire surging through you and flourishing between your thighs.

“Logan, please,” you were already begging for more, and he hadn’t done anything prevalent yet. Even with the alcohol slowly ebbing away, your arousal intensified, and a desperate craving for his attention overwhelmed you.

“What do you need? Tell me, sweetheart,” he commanded, his tongue rolling down to your clavicle, sucking a mark into the side of your neck for you to uncover in the morning.

“Need you to touch me.” Unabashedly, you took one of his hands by the wrist, spreading your thighs to position it where you needed him most. His fingers quickly found your pussy, drenched and crying out for his touch. The tips of his pointer and middle fingers drifted up to your sensitive nub, twitching under the initial rubs he delivered.

“Yeah? Need me to make you feel good, sugar?” Logan’s ego continued to ascend as he observed the expressions on your face, your eyebrows furrowing when his digits plunged into your aching hole.

“Been like this for a while, hm?” The smooth timbre of his voice spurred you on, directing his free hand to hold the bottom of your thigh, raising it to his hip and keeping it in place.

“Since you kissed me in the club.” Your confession fell over his lips, nails digging into his shoulder blades, leaving crescent indents in their wake. “Wanted you to fuck me in the bathroom.”

A deep moan rumbled in Logan’s chest at your words, crooking his fingers into that spot tucked at the roof of your entrance. You whined loudly at the touch, tossing your head back against the tile behind you and clenching hard around his thick digits.

“Next time. All you gotta do is bring me there, and I’ll fuck you over the sink.”

You couldn’t help but envision what it would be like to follow through on Logan’s proposal. How he’d pursue the imprint of your natural scent, mixing in with the aroma of your perfume that emanated off of you in waves. His lips would make a path over your shoulder and neck, leaving teeth marks for the club members to see after he was done with you. His fingers would wrap around your throat as he fucked you against the counter of the bathroom sink, forcing you to look at your reflection as you took him from behind.

Mascara streaked down your cheeks in dark smudges, your lip gloss fading and leaving a ring on the base of his cock from when you sucked him off, his cum dribbling down your thighs while he grabs your torn underwear and stuffs them into his pocket. And once you’ve both had your fun, you’d take his hand and stroll out of the bathroom with a smile, proudly flaunting Logan’s claim for everyone to acknowledge who you belonged to.

He was focused on the dives of his fingers inside your cunt, concentrated pulses to your g-spot and sneakily adding his thumb to the mix to press into your clit. Your half-lidded eyes glanced at him, the tell-tale signs of your upcoming orgasm creeping up and building in your gut. Logan could sense it too, the increase in your heart rate and the pulsing of your walls signaled that you were getting close, desperately seeking that release he could give you.

“I know you’re close.” He picked up the pace of his fingers, punctuating his thrusts to work in a third digit to stretch you out properly, the circles on your bundle of nerves becoming relentless. “Come for me, darlin’. C’mon, let me feel it.”

Trained like a dog to obey his command, your climax hit you with force, the strained rope of tension snapping and shooting relief up your spine. Gripping at the nape of his neck, the moan you emitted resounded through the bathroom as your thighs quivered from Logan’s ministrations. The slick walls of your pussy convulsed around him, giving you a few more pumps with his fingers before he took them out, watching in a daze as he licked them to taste your slick with a satisfied grumble.

“Always taste so damn sweet,” Logan remarked, letting you taste yourself on his tongue with another kiss. The hard length of his cock twitched over your lower belly, the ache of being empty overwhelming your senses.

“You can take a little more right, princess?” It was a genuine question, analyzing your energy levels after a long night out. But you craved to feel Logan the best way you knew how, nodding your head at the thought of feeling him deep inside where he belonged.

“Want you, please,” you implored, large hands grabbing the underside of your thighs to lift you from the ground, Logan’s strong hold keeping you upright on the wall. The tip of his cock bumped against your opening, your arms wrapping around his neck as he positioned himself.

“Hold on to me.” You did as he said, mewling in pleasure as he sank into your waiting cunt.

You welcomed him without resistance, his legs and forearms flexing to hold you up as he drove his hips forward until he was down to the hilt. A whimper wormed its way out of your mouth once Logan was tucked snug inside you, the tip of him hitting depths only he could reach. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of him, legs wound tighter as you adjusted to him.

“That’s it. Exactly where I’m supposed to be,” Logan confirmed with a grin, pressing his forehead to yours and breathing you in. He concentrated on the way your wet heat enveloped him so well, pussy molded to take him like that was your purpose.

Leaning more into your embrace, he began to move, shifting his hips to dive into you just the way you liked. Deep and even thrusts sent you reeling into ecstasy, your toes coiling as he persisted in his consistent pistoning.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cried out at his movements, the upright position Logan had you in propelled the tip of his cock to hit the roof of your entrance with rehearsed accuracy. Your clit came in contact with the hair at the base of his length, the delicious friction adding to the amplified sensations.

“Feel so good. Fucking warm and wet. Shit.” He rambled against your throat, both of his big hands cupping your ass and keeping you secure as he fucked up into you.

Logan used his strength to bounce you on top of him in time with his jabs, heavy balls smacking into you as he picked up the pace and chased his release. You tightened again, nails biting into the taut skin of his shoulders and raking down, drawing a noisy groan out of the man from the pain. His skin reddened with the streaks you left behind, mending together as his regenerative powers healed him in seconds, removing any evidence of your marks.

“Logan, need it, need you. Please.” He understood what you were asking for, the pounding of his hips getting sloppier on your instruction. “Want you to fill me up…”

“Cum again for me and I will. Fill your pussy up the way you need.”

He wasn’t asking. Your deft fingers went up to his hair and gave him a harsh yank, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, meshing your mouth with his. Logan panted a breath and followed with a hiss at the slight ache, the urge to fill you up awakening the most primal parts of him.

Your climax washed over you abruptly, mouth positioned in a silent scream as you unravel underneath Logan. He whispered words of praise in your ear, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he could. Your walls flexed and spasmed around him, soft cries morphing into helpless whimpers with every fierce buck of his wide hips. Molten pleasure surged down his back, and his hands sought purchase on your body, squeezing hard enough to bruise. 

“Fuck,” Logan rasped into your skin, stifling his growl with a sharp bite to your neck. The blunt ends of his teeth dug into you, hard enough to tear at your flesh that bloomed into bright red and will fade to purple.

With a few more lunges, he burrowed himself deep inside, painting your walls with his spend and claiming you like he always has. Your legs tensed around his abdomen, making sure to keep him safely tucked and not let a single drop go to waste. You slumped against him, head lolling forward to rest on his shoulder as he littered soft kisses over the marks he left behind in a muted apology. 

“Better now?” he asked, carefully bringing you to stand on the ground, keeping his hold on your hips in case your wobbly legs gave out.

“Mhm. Much better.” You nodded, offering him a kiss and enjoying the aftermath of your respective highs. The carnal appetite you felt earlier dimmed down to manageable levels now that you got what you wanted.

“Good,” Logan reciprocated your delicate kisses, doing what he could to calm and prep you for bed. He knows you could theoretically go for another round, but your exhaustion was palpable. He’d have to make up for it in the morning.

He took your loofah and body wash, pouring the liquid over the net fabric and scrubbing at your figure. He washed you meticulously, rinsing off the suds, and you returned the favor by cleansing him too. Your scents interlaced together as you washed each other, a smile sneaking up on Logan’s face at the realization.

After the shower, Logan did the honors of drying you off, rubbing you down with lotion, and grabbing a baggy dark T-shirt to dress you in. You brushed your teeth as he searched for his sweatpants, alternating between using the sink until you were both ready to end your night.

You eased into the mattress first, tugging the duvet to the side for Logan to follow you and lay on his back. Instinctively, you cuddled into his side once he made room for you, throwing an arm across his chest and lifting your leg to bend comfortably over his thigh.

“You’re gonna make me breakfast, right?” you questioned sleepily over his shoulder, familiar with the post-coitus routine he established in your relationship. In a few hours, you’ll find him making pancakes in the kitchen, or he’ll be under the sheets between your legs again. Either way, it’ll be a good start to your day so long as he’s the first thing you see when the sun beams through the bedroom window.

“I’ll think about it.” Jabbing at his ribs in mock retaliation, you closed your eyes and listened to the distant sounds of the city filling the room, soothing you to sleep.

“Love you, baby. “ You’ll doze off before you hear his reply, nuzzling into his body and chasing the stability and comfort of your personal weighted blanket and heater.

He waited until your breathing evened out and your heart rate leveled, beating on par with his. Giving you a side glance, you were fast asleep, embracing Logan like a teddy bear. Pressing one final kiss to your forehead, he watched you sleep for a while longer, stroking your backbone and holding you close.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

[yandere-writer-momo]

4k follower special. Lesbian vampires 🧛‍♀️

Yandere Head Canons:

The Guard Dog

Yandere Vampire Servant x Vampire Afab Reader

TW: Yandere behavior, stalking, mentions of murder, dom/sub dynamic, cunninglingus, afab parts used, etc

Mila had been a servant for a millennium with you as her mistress. You were her savior and her world! Her reason for existence! The air that she breathes… you were everything to her!

You had saved Mila from the slums over a thousand years ago and she had been ever so dutiful to stay by your side. It was only natural to bow to someone stronger than you, and she would always be subservient to a powerful creature of the night as yourself.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to bathe you or to make sure you had the best quality blood to consume. Only the best for her mistress! And Mila would personally eliminate anyone who stood in the way of your happiness!

No other servant has lasted as she has. Mila drove off any potential bed mates other than herself. There was no one quite as willing as her to please you. You didn’t need anyone else other than your loyal dog! Your eternal guard dog, Mila!

Mila murdered every vampire hunter and every obstacle that dared to overthrow you. There was no one as loyal as her by your side… your eternal guard dog.

Mila was mean and cruel to anyone that wasn’t you. Her massive form towered over most men and women and her face was intimidating to gaze upon. A destructive, blood thirsty dog that only wagged its tail at you. How funny it was to see such a massive force of destruction on its knees begging you to allow her to give you cunninglingus. A reward you made sure to always indulge her in fear of her losing interest (a fear that would never come true)

All she wanted was for you to acknowledge her overwhelming love. Her face is often buried between your legs as her tongue greedily lapped at your damp warmth. Your essence was far more delicious than any blood that ever touched her tongue, a flavor she wished she could taste for all eternity… if she would be allowed to be between your legs forever, she would do so without compliant. Mila would do anything you asked of her!

Just like now as she sat on her knees before your regal form, her face pressed in between your legs. In a few hours it would be daylight, but Mila felt as if she deserved a reward for killing all of those hunters who wanted to rid this world of you. Mila was still quite high from her bloodlust and she absolutely had to have her fill of you…

Mila gasped when your palms tugged at her wavy black hair. Your fingers tangled in her thick wolf cut as you smiled down at her.

“Ever so eager to please, my pet.” You cooed as your free thumb brushed your juices off her scarred lips. What an enticing sight. “I promise you can always have your fill.”

“Please let me please you more, mistress.” Mila begged with a whine, her red eyes hazy with lust. Her being palms grasp at the flesh of your thighs. “You taste so fucking good…”

You sigh and spread your legs a bit farther. “Do as you please.” You gasp when she gets right back to work, her tongue greedily lapping at your folds with the fervor of a woman possessed. Mika’s crimson eyes staring up at yours expectantly. “Don’t… don’t stop.”

Mila moans as she continues to perform on you. Mila loves how you tug at her hair and grind your hips into her eager mouth. Yes! Fuck her face!

Mila continues to feast on you throughout your climax, her strong hands hold your thighs in place to prevent you from escape.

“Mila! Mila!” You cry out her name as you shake and tremble, but your servant merely continues the eager pace of her tongue on your swollen clit.

Mila presses a sloppy kiss to your poor, abused cunt before she pulled back to admire your flushed cheeks. A smile on her face to see that the blood of those hunters had allowed you to have a bit more color to you… it made her feel alive once more to know the effect she had on you.

“I love you, mistress.” Mila rested her head on her thighs while your fingers brushed some of the wavy locks out of her face. “And I will forever live a life of servitude under you.”

“You don’t have to-“ You squeaked when Mila pushed you back on your bed, her fingers began to pull down the waistband of her trousers.

“You are my sun, my moon, and my stars. I will love you until my last breath in this lifetime.” Mila bent down to press hot kisses all over your neck and cheeks. “Without you, my existence is nothing.”

You gasped when she began to undress before you. You could now fully take in just how immense of a woman she was…

Mila took your hand and guided it up her abs and to her left breast. “If I still had a heartbeat, it would beat only for you, mistress.”

Mila now rests above you completely bare, her hand still held yours in place. “Now just give me the order and I’ll please you, mistress.”

You smirked at Mila before you reached your free hand out to her. “Then ravage me, my pet. My eternal guard dog… I love you too.”

[unearthly-doting]

finding their soulmate: genshin edition.

a/n: i haven't made a post here in a hot second and i honestly apologize about that lol. the motivation to write just hasn't been there but!! here's a small lil genshin post for now. i just spun a wheel to pick who i write but if u want me to write for some of the others then just lmk!!

includes: xiao, kaeya, kujou sara, albedo, tartaglia, and ayato.

warnings: mdni, yandere content, not edited, gn reader, kidnapping, forced relationships, arranged marriage, manipulation, reader injury in both kujou sara's, albedo's and tartaglia's parts, childe stabs you :peace sign:, canon is a very vague concept in my writing more often than not btw, this is kinda cringey </3, the yandere content in albedo's part is actually very mild bc i was restraining myself bc there was a lot i wanted to do w it.

XIAO — never really cared much about finding his soulmate. His entire existence was dedicated to protecting Liyue, even if the nation no longer needed his protection. Besides, with how long he's been around, he just assumed his soulmate was long dead and that he'd never meet them. Though, a small part of him wondered... what was his soulmate like?

And, almost as if the universe had been listening, he ends up meeting you. His soulmate. It wasn't a classic, romantic meeting. He didn't save your life or anything like that. You were just a traveler who decided to stay at the inn.

He didn't think much of you until his eyes met yours and suddenly color was flooding into his world. It made him dizzy, and it stunned him into absolute silence because all he could so was stare at you with wide eyes.

You were clearly going through it as well, because obviously. You just met your fucking soulmate on a damn business trip. What the hell were you supposed to do now? It would be awkward to just... ignore what had happened, right? I mean, he's staring right at you and this was all just very overwhelming.

It was an awkward first meeting, that's for sure.

But during your time at the inn, whenever you were free from work, you spent it with Xiao. He was closed off, clearly keeping his guard up and not letting you get too close. You didn't know the reasons, but you didn't expect him to tell you his entire life story just because you two were apparently bound by the universe.

Honestly, you just assumed he didn't want to be with his soulmate. This didn't upset you. It wouldn't work out, anyway. You're only staying for a few weeks before heading home.

But archons, did Xiao want you. Behind his typical, distant behavior, Xiao was taking note of everything about you. Your interests, your habits, your sleep schedule, your favorite foods and desserts... everything you told him or subconsciously revealed, Xiao was tucking it away in his mind.

He wanted you. He wanted you to stay here, in Liyue, with him. Where you belong. But he didn't know how to express that. He's never been in love before, and it's not like he'll just suddenly become an expert at romance after meeting you.

When it was time for you to leave, he was crushed. He needed you to stay. He needed you by his side. Letters wouldn't be enough to fill the emptiness in your wake if you left. You had to stay.

You will stay.

And when you wake up to find yourself no longer in the inn, and instead in some small home deep within the mountains of Liyue, you're distraught.

Xiao looks genuinely guilty, robbing you of your freedom but... you understand, don't you? You have to understand. He just couldn't let you go. You're his soulmate, you were destined to be with him! You'll love it here, he'll make sure of it.

Just stay.

KAEYA — had always wondered what his soulmate was like ever since he was a child. He would spend hours just staring at the small crescent moon forever stained on his wrist, wondering if and when he'll meet the person with a matching mark.

Of course, as he got older he spent less time thinking about such things, though he did always hold out hope that he might be able to one day meet his soulmate. Little did he know, he's met his soulmate already. Multiple times.

You took over Sara's shifts at the Good Hunter whenever she had other things she needed to focus on, so Kaeya has spoken with you on numerous occasions, he's just never realized you were his soulmate because you keep your wrists covered. He's not one to judge, his wrists aren't visible either.

Him finding out was an accident. You had been handing him his order when your sleeves rolled up a bit, and his gaze just so happened to look at your wrists and he saw the very same crescent moon that was on his.

And for a moment, he froze. He just stared. Long enough that you were starting to feel a little uncomfortable. But before you could awkwardly send him on his way, he was showing you the crescent moon on his wrist as well and thus began your love story.

Or... well... it's what Kaeya had hoped for, but you didn't seem interested in soulmates at all. You didn't want the universe to decide who you were meant to be with, you wanted to make that decision yourself, so you had, to put it simply, bluntly rejected him.

And he gets it! It hurts, sure. He spent his entire life dreaming of this day, and it's not turning out the way he had hoped, but... you guys can be friends, at least, right? No strings attached?

For a while, Kaeya was fine with that. You and he had a really strong friendship. He cared about you, and you cared about him. Though your feelings were platonic, he was holding on to the hope that maybe one day, you'll realize you two were meant to be together.

But it was starting to seem as though that day might never come, because almost a year into your friendship with him, you had told Kaeya that you were thinking about entering the dating scene. He was... not too pleased about that, honestly. It was pretty obvious too, the way his entire mood soured the moment you brought the topic up.

He didn't stand by idly while this happened. Any person he saw you chatting up with romantic intentions would suddenly avoid you like the plague the next time you saw them. Any blind dates would end with you being ghosted. Hell, even some of your friends, the ones who were helping you get dates, were starting to avoid you too. It was so confusing.

But not Kaeya. No, Kaeya was always by your side.

Whenever you needed him, he was there. He always seemed to be able to make time for you. He listened to you vent your frustrations out, never once judging you or telling you that you were being dramatic. He was the only constant in your life these days.

Of course, you were completely oblivious to the fact that he was the cause of all of this. It's not that hard to blackmail people, he's learned. But they didn't deserve you anyway, seeing how easily they gave up on you the moment he approached them.

Maybe... maybe dating Kaeya wouldn't be so bad... I mean, you're the one deciding this, right? The universe isn't having any play in it. This is your decision. Isn't it?

KUJOU SARA — never cared about her soulmate. She knew she had one, you were in every dream she had. She found it to be more of a nuisance than anything else.

Her entire life was dedicated to her training, and to the Raiden Shogun. She neither had the time, nor the interest in searching for her soulmate. Besides, it didn't seem as if you resided in Inazuma. Your clothing was similar what people in Fontaine wear, and Fontaine was far away from Inazuma.

She was confident that she wouldn't be meeting you any time soon, so she never gave you any thought when she was awake. She never made any plans on what she would do if she did, by any chance, meet you. It didn't matter.

And she can't help but regret that, now that you're standing in front of her. If she had known that meeting her soulmate would make her feel like this, as if everything in the world suddenly made sense, then... well... she doesn't know what she would've done, to be honest.

No matter, Sara had no time to entertain you. Your stay in Inazuma was only temporary, so she saw no point in trying to form a bond with you. You, however, seemed to have different plans. She was used to seeing you in her dreams every night, but she was not used to seeing you in her waking moments.

Whenever she wasn't preoccupied with something, you were there to offer her company. It was annoying, and she's sent you away more than once, but that didn't seem to deter you. If anything, you seemed to become more determined each time she brushed you off.

At some point, she had given up on avoiding you. It was easier to just let you stick around. And, the more time she spent with you, the more attached she was becoming. It wasn't smart, she knew that, but could you blame her? You're so... irrevocably you.

Her fondness for you didn't go unnoticed.

Many people in Inazuma treated you with the same respect they treated Sara. You were her soulmate, after all. Should someone insult you, they would in turn be insulting her. Nobody wanted to get on her bad side.

There were, however, a few bad apples.

It should come as no surprise that a target was placed on your back the moment people took notice of Sara's attachment to you. She didn't think she'd have to worry much, because no one would be idiotic enough to actually try and harm you under her watch, but she should've known better.

It happened a few days before you were set to leave Inazuma to return home. A disturbance was going on within the city so Sara wasn't with you when you went on your daily walk just outside of it. It was supposed to be safe, but it wasn't.

Some vagrants had got the jump on you, and you nearly lost your life. You were lucky enough to have been found by some bystanders, but Sara was less than pleased when she heard about this. She had never taken pleasure in killing anyone before, but there was a deep-rooted sense of satisfaction deep within her chest when she watched the lives of those who hurt you fade away.

And as she sat by your side, waiting for you to wake up, she came to a decision. You can't be alone. If you are, you'll get hurt, and she won't be able to protect you. She can't let you leave Inazuma. She knows you'll more than likely hate her for making this decision for you, but if it means she can keep you safe, keep you alive and by her side, then... that hatred is something she'll be willing to bear.

ALBEDO — doesn't have a soulmate. At least, he's not supposed to. He's an artificial being, so it wouldn't make sense for him to have a soulmate. Of course, he does find the concept of soulmates to be intriguing. Who, or what, decides who people are destined to be with? It's a question he hopes to find an answer to.

So he wasn't surprised when he found you passed out in the snow, deep within Dragonspine. He's seen this countless times before, travelers who don't take precautions before trying to brave the deadly cold that comes with being here. He assumed he would just nurse you back to health and you would go on your merry way.

That changed, however, when he was cleaning your wounds and he saw his name inked on your skin, right on your collarbone. In his handwriting, at that. It confused him, because... that would mean that he's your soulmate. But he can't be. And yet, it didn't come off when he tried wiping it off. It was a part of your skin.

This left him with many questions, though none of them got answered when you woke up. You couldn't remember much about yourself, other than your name and a few other details. You didn't even know why you were in Dragonspine, or where you were from. You did hit your head pretty badly, judging from the headwound, so that would explain the amnesia, though he's not sure if it was going to be something temporary or not.

You both decided it would be best to just have you stay here until you were able to recover some of your memories and although Albedo wasn't eager to make friends with you, he was grateful for the company. He was incredibly patient with you too, answering any questions you may have had ranging from a multitude of different topics.

And in return, you helped out as much as you could without overexerting yourself and making your injuries worse. You'd make sure to keep his little lab tidy when he was away. You'd help out with some of his experiments too, if he knew you wouldn't get hurt doing so.

All while trying to figure out how he could possibly be your soulmate. He checked over himself. Four times. Your name was nowhere on his body. So why? Why was his name on yours? As much as he hates to admit it, he thinks he may never get an answer to this mystery.

Though... that's not such a bad thing, he thinks. He finds himself enjoying your company more and more with each passing day, the whole soulmate thing rarely even crossed his mind. At least, until you had asked him why his name was permanently etched into your skin. It was fairly easy to explain everything to you, though he was unable to answer a few of your questions, sadly. Soulmates were still a mystery, after all.

And when you asked if you could write your name on him so you two could match, he found himself unable to say no. He found himself unable to speak at all, actually, as you wrote your name on his shoulder. You even added a little heart next to it.

But no, Albedo was too busy coming to terms with the feelings he has for you. They weren't new. He's been aware of them for a week or so now, he just never gave it much thought until now. Now, with you so close to him, it was simply impossible to ignore.

And once you pull away, you smile at him and say, "There! Now I'm your soulmate too, right?" And oh.

Oh.

There was no way Albedo was going to let you leave Dragonspine now.

TARTAGLIA — feels a little bad for his soulmate, whoever they are. They can feel his pain, and he can feel theirs. So... they probably hate his guts, considering he's not the most careful person in the world. He pushes himself to his limits and beyond, and his soulmate has no doubt felt every single second of it.

Don't get him wrong, he would love to meet his soulmate. It's been a dream of his since he was a child, always eager to hear the story of how his mom and dad found out they were soulmates. Even as he grew older, the desire never went away. It was just... buried.

And his soulmate just so happened to be you, the significant other of a man who owed the Northland Bank a lot of money. He doesn't normally partake in debt collections, but he didn't have anything better to do so he decided to take this one on. He was going to use you as an example to your husband, though the moment his blade stabbed you, he froze.

He felt the pain. He stabbed you, and he could feel it. Oh fuck, he just stabbed his soulmate. That's definitely not the picturesque first meeting he was hoping for. Probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell his family this either...

Stabbing aside, he was utterly delighted. You, on the other hand, were terrified. Not only did this man just fucking stab you, his expression went from bored to something akin to crazed glee. He stared at you with a hunger that made you want to shy away from his gaze.

He doesn't care that you're already in a relationship with someone else. Not anymore, you're not. You're his, destined by the stars or however the story goes. And if your lover tries to get you back, he'll just kill them. Easy as that. Absolutely nothing will get in the way of him having you.

And he likes that you fight back against him. He especially loves it when you manage to escape. Hell, sometimes he'll even let you go just so he can chase you down again. It sends a thrill through him like no other when he catches you, and you stare at him teary-eyed and out of breath.

You're always so scared that he'll hurt you, but he would never do such a thing. He treats you like you're royalty, spoiling you with a seemingly endless amount of gifts. You're not quite sure how he knows what you like, and you're too hesitant to ask.

Honestly... he'd probably let you stab him. Y'know, he stabbed you, so it's only fair that you get to stab him in turn, right?

You think not. You're very hesitant, staring at him as though he were insane for even proposing such an idea. A part of him was disappointed. He wanted one of the many scars on his body to be from you. But a much larger part can't help but go soft at the sight of you shaking your head, sternly refusing to hurt him.

If he wasn't obsessed with you before, he certainly was now. You're too good. Too kind. He's holding you captive (lovingly, of course) and you refuse to hurt him? You don't even want to pinch him? How adorable.

Why, if he didn't know any better, he'd think that you might care about him.

He was nothing if not stubborn, of course. You might not care about him now, but you will in the future. He'll make sure of it.

After all, he's spent his whole life waiting for you.

AYATO — never had the time to think of his soulmate. He was blessed (or cursed, depending on who you ask) with the ability to see the red strings that tied people together. When he was younger, before having to take on the duties of the Kamisato name, he would always stare at the one tied to his pinkie.

He even has the habit of twirling the red string around his finger whenever he gets stressed. Only behind closed doors, of course. It would probably appear strange to others if they saw.

Meeting his soulmate was something he had always planned out in his head as a child, and when he finally did meet you, it was so... simple. There was nothing magical about it, you had just bumped into him one day when he was out in the city and that's what started all of this.

For you, it was a forgettable encounter, one that would never cross your mind again. For him, it was everything he had been waiting for. Thoma thought it was a bit strange, but he dutifully gathered information about you when Ayato asked it of him. He needed to know everything there was to know about you.

He already knew what he was going to do when he met his soulmate, the only thing left was to actually do it. And you were definitely shocked when Kamisato Ayato himself showed up at your home and asked you to marry him.

You said no, obviously, because why the hell would you agree to marry someone you didn't know? Ayato had planned for this, of course. That's why he had Thoma learn everything about you, so the moment you declined his offer, he just smiled and made a comment about your family. It was very obvious what he was implying.

And even if you aren't close with your family, you can't live with blood on your hands. You were pretty much forced into accepting Ayato's marriage proposal. He was pleased with this outcome, promising to take care of everything himself.

Marrying him meant that you would, unfortunately, have to leave your home and instead live at the Kamisato Estate. Everyone was under the impression that this marriage was one of love and not coercion. You highly doubt that anyone would believe you if you told them the truth, and you were too concerned about what the consequences would be if you did.

Everyone at the estate was nice to you, at least, though the only people allowed to actually get close to you were Ayaka and Thoma.

And when the wedding was over, it was time for your honeymoon. You were not excited about that, but it seemed Celestia itself was on your side during that time because he was too busy to spend time with you.

If he wasn't threatening the lives of your family, you would have made numerous escape attempts by now. Still, you've made it very clear that you hate his guts.

Your hatred is something he detests, though he can't fault you for it. He understands that what he's forced you into is wrong, but in his mind, it was something that had to be done. He's sure that given enough time and space, you'll grow to understand why he did what he did.

And even though you scorn his existence, Ayato looks at you as if you've placed the stars in the sky.

Your strings are forever tied together, so there's no getting out of this. He doesn't plan on ever letting you go. He'd be a terrible husband if he didn't keep you close, wouldn't he?

[lubrumalis]

ghost character analysis

tw: spoilers from ghost mw2 comics, nsfw, dead dove do not eat, mature content.

this is pretty much a part 2 to ghost headcanons except with more lore and analysis (im still not sure if reboot ghost has the same backstory as the og ghost).

ghost is not a cold, calculated, ruthless man. maybe in a separate au or something, but theres a huge difference between ghost and simon riley. in fact, we need to understand that the reason he even chose ghost as a new name for himself is because of all that's happened to him. his family got killed, he got tortured by roba, and had to eliminate many men on his own. before that he was simon, not ghost. in the comic he literally calls the child hostages he was saving ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’. hes not that mean and cold yall

we know that PTSD does shit to it's victims, ghost lost his entire family and had no one. think of it as a coping mechanism to have a new name to be known as.

ghost is a ruthless killer. simon is just some guy.

ghost sets himself to an incredibly high standard of discipline. i think it's intuitive that military boys will need to be punctual and organized to some degree, but ghost takes this to a whole other level. considering his father's abusive behavior (explained by his disturbing statements said to simon, is a drug addict, and beats simons mom) his home life was likely chaotic as a child.

in the mw2: ghost comic (issue #3) it specifically stated the following: "discipline, precision, control. these are what riley built his whole life on. break those down and the dark stuff begins to ooze out..." again, this is probably a form of trauma response to his childhood.

so what does this lead to? well firstly, this probably means his room is incredibly tidy and organized (monotone design i know :,c).

would never in his life touch drugs. this is a promise he made to himself.

also kinda proves that ghost aint a reckless guy. he thinks things through before doing it.

ghost isn’t that hypersexual. theres no way of knowing his history with women, but i like to think ghost is not that horny 24/7 and needs a fuckbuddy. in the mw2 comic, he was on a mission and was in an area full of prostitutes (wasn’t actively on duty, but on his way) when they tried to hit on him he politely rejects one of them, and later tells them to fuck off😀 so yea contrary to popular belief i dont think he really enjoys one night stands or the idea of being entertained by random women. in fact, i hc he might actually be a virgin or just have a really low body count.

ghost is a feminist!😁 (misandrist too). ok let me reword that, ghost doesnt like men and respects women. one of the reasons why he doesn’t want to be around prostitutes and do one night stands (his father killed a hooker in front of him, very traumatic) is because he thinks the concept of quick, casual sex is not good for society and dilutes the value of meaningful relationships. but also, remember the discipline, precision, control thing? its apart of his principle. but also, in the comic, sparks (soldier he worked with) knocked out and attempted to rape a woman, ghosts literally looked disgusted and called the police (also why he’d never do that himself, i dont get the hcs that say he does). ghosts seen how his dad treated his mom and absolutely hates abusers. anyways onto misandry—i think ghost internally thinks men are violent and disgusting (ghosts would choose the bear over the man, even though hes a man) mainly because throughout his military career majority of the bad stuff hes seen was done by men, so hes much more relaxed in a room of women vs man. ghost thinks his dad is the epitome of pure evil (canon! he said this to his therapist). this doesn’t mean hes scared or hates all men tho!

ghost isn’t close with tf141… including soap. now before you attack me let me explain. sure, he trusts them to some degree, but i dont think they naturally just hangout when they’re not deployed. in the end we need to understand they are SAS soldiers, they are working a real job that mainly consists of them shooting and dismantling others. considering ghosts betrayal in the past (in the comic, a few soldiers ghost previously worked with killed his entire family 😢) he isn’t gonna just trust his teammates because theyre his teammates. im also pretty sure they all live in different cities while not deployed. tf141 probably all want to separate their job from their personal lives, which includes each other. but onto soap, i dont think him and ghost have a deep brotherly relationship. but i think they care about each other, but exchanging some dad jokes and bantering doesn’t mean they’re suddenly soulmates or brothers. think about it… you and you’re co worker joke around sometimes, never hangout outside of work, and now people are shipping you and calling the two of you besties. makes no sense.

ghost is extremely patriotic. in the comic (i reference this way too much but theres SOOO MUCH LORE i recommend reading it) ghost tells his teammates the reason for joining the military: queen and country, right after 9/11. he also said “the world has changed”. interestingly enough army enlistment did actually skyrocketed after 9/11 attacks, ghost was among them. he probably thought ww3 was about to happen, or that ‘theres no more peace’ or whatever. i hc being obsessed with soccer too lmao and getting mad if english teams dont win. also his playful banter with johnny “get us a tea?”. probably very proud of his british heritage.

ghost doesn’t have much friends. hes a really, reallyyyyy lonely guy. i hc him as an introvert in the first place, but trust issues make this worse. in the comic, he was literally in the newspaper for killing his family and then killing himself (he didnt, he was framed that way tho) so its likely most of his formers friends probably think hes dead. ghost likely got some sort of amnesty or exemption from the military after knowing he didn’t actually kill his family, but whats in the news stays true to the public. even if he does have friends he probably doesn’t share feelings with them or form a long term bond.

ghost is extremely cynical. this is obvious tbh, but i think ghost believes hes going to die in the middle of a battlefield, shot or stabbed, a painful death, body left to rot for weeks, and no one to remember him. just like that. and he accepts that fact too.

ghost isn’t a picky eater. growing up in an abusive household where his parents couldn’t hold a stable job, he had to eat what there was. some days he settles for cheap beans and toast and when people call him out for it, he tells em to fuck off😀

ghost is emotionally fucked up, probably kind of depressed. i mean this guys been through hell: got sa’d, buried alive, had to dig through underground dirt and worms with a jawbone, tortured in horrible ways, had his entire family killed, abusive dad, and the weight of his grey morales because he killed lots of people as a soldier. wow! would you look at that list, itd be more strange if he wasn’t emotionally fucked up after was has happened😅. even when tortured, seeing his family dead, ghost was never shown to have cried in the comic. i hc hes emotionally numb. however, i do think hes emotionally MATURE and able to communicate his emotions, but hes still emotionally fucked. for example a scene where he was talking about his experience with roba (guy who tortured ghost) and ghosts father to a therapist. i think ghosts may be traumatized, but this doesn’t stop him from attempting to get help and communicating how he feels and thinks about this world.

ghost wears a mask... not because hes insecure and traumatized it's to separate ghost from simon riley. first of all he learned the consequences of revealing your identity during deployment, in the comic, he reveals his face in missions before his family got killed. i think he wears a mask because 1) its practical, no one knows who he is, 2) an analogy for himself to remind him simon riley, his original identity, was dead the moment his family was murdered, this SAS soldier with a skull mask is GHOST (yes this is canon, ghost references in the comic!).

in issue #1 while some kids were being held hostage, he starts telling his life story to them to calm them down/distract them from the bad situation. this is his explanation to why he wears a skull mask, word by word: "I bet you're wondering why I wear these bones on my face. It's a tribute to an old friend of mine. He's dead now, but man if he wasn't the baddest motherfucker on the planet."

in issue #6, when ghost was trekking through a jungle in the middle of nowhere attempting to kill roba (a drug lord that started this all, brainwashed soldiers to kill ghosts family), he was never caught. ghost himself, the narrator, says that "even for a single man to get through the jungle, the patrols, the wall, the security... well that man would have to be a ghost."

however, im still a little confused whether or not reboot ghost and 2009 have the same backstories. reboot ghosts mask is more realistic and his look is much more intimidating, his reason for wearing that kind of mask is probably psychological warfare (getting milena the financier to speak up about makarov). i think 2009 ghosts reason to wearing a mask is more personal compared to reboot.

BUT WHAT ABOUT AN S/O???

i think ghost is the guy to not have one in the first place. obviously. but i lowkey think if he had one and really liked them, he would commit. in fact i find it hard to imagine hes a player or isn’t serious about relationships. when his brother tommy got addicted to drugs and fucked up his life, simon quit the military until tommy got 100% better and married. yup. he stayed to help him recover, for years. thats how loving and committed this man is🥹🥹.

ghost would not cheat on his s/o. i can't stress how important this hc is, because it's so out of character for him to do so. sure, guys in the military statistically have higher divorce rates, incidences of infidelity, and much more red flag stuff, but knowing what happened to him, he would never do that. doesn't matter how stressed, lonely, sexually frustrated this man is; he would not cheat on his partner. this guy has been through far more stressful situations and got through it, you think hes gonna cheat because hes stressed because of work?

its not sunshine and rainbows or absolute toxicity being with him. it's not really a mix of both either. ghost isn't that princess treatment, super squishy and cuddly, sweet guy who likes fluffy stuff. he definitely isn't the toxic guy who leaves you with mixed signals either.

hes quite the gentleman when it comes to approaching relationships, hes seen how his dad treated his mom, and ghost wants to do the exact opposite. i believe ghost likes to use the traditional courting methods when dating someone: gifting flowers, paying for dates, holding the door open (ladies first typa guy!!), the old fashioned stuff. idk if i should point it out again but this guy DOES NOT FW modern dating practices, he wouldn't download dating apps, or start 'talking stages'. i dont think he would write love letters just because hes not very good at writing poetry or expressing his feelings in the first place.

theres still downsides to being with him. the long distance, the time being apart (months and months). but i dont think he'd go as far as being emotionally avoidant.

also something really random ive noticed is that 2009 and reboot ghost are very different, personality wise. i like to think that 2009 ghost represents simon riley much better, but the reboot ghost actually gives the essence and character of what a 'ghost' in the military is.

more random headcanons:

simon prefers dogs over cats because dogs are loyal and stay with you until the end (stereotypically)

hates snakes and spiders

probably wouldn’t do 50/50 on dates, he pays!

avoids saying manchester slang when deployed

drinks and smokes. not always. he’s disciplined but he still does that stuff.. hes a british guy in his 30s whos kinda depressed, grew up with adults around him smoking 24/7, whatd you think😀😀 (its canon that most of tf141 smoke anyway)

listens to 80’s rock music. its canon that his mom enjoys the band siouxsie and the banshees :)), he probs does too

shaves his beard

is actually confident hes not bad looking. dude, hes 6’2, in shape with a jawline🙄

i don't enjoy hcs of ghost being the scariest out of tf141 (appearance wise yes). but soap seems much more scary imo, he was the youngest guy to pass SAS selections in the history of the UK military, and was nicknamed soap because of fast and good he is at cleaning up 'messes' (basically killing people).

id arguably say ghost is the most compassionate out of 141, if we're talking about the OG 2009 one.

[varyajc]

UNHEALTHY BEHAVIORS(?) THE HASHIRA HAVE

Pillars x GN!Reader

a/n; Friendly reminder that this is how I view them. None of the things below are canon or hating on their character. I’d also like to add; I don’t know what to make the title, so I’m making it unhealthy behaviors. Some may be healthy, some may not, so ignore the title and enjoy these headcanons (?)

warnings; unintentional gaslight / intentional gaslighting, toxic behaviors / habits, angst(ish), toxic relationships(?)

bold words = unhealthy behaviors

GIYU TOMIOKA

~He has extreme depression episodes to the point he doesn’t want to see you, in order to prevent you from getting hurt.

Tomioka loves you, he really does. However, in order to prevent him from hurting your feelings (or hurting you in general) he distances himself whenever things get slightly bad. He thinks he’s a disease and doesn’t want to affect you in away way, so he does it in the worst way possible; not talking with you.

~He ghosts you unintentionally

This is similar to the first one, however, he does it whenever he’s feeling better, but still feels guilty for not interacting with you. He doesn’t speak with you, avoids you like the plague, sometimes doesn’t attend Hashira meetings in order to avoid you. After a few months, he goes back to you like nothing had happened. This ended up the relationship forming between the two of you to die out.

SHINOBU KOCHO

~She’s really rude to you for no “apparent” reason.

When the two of you started your relationship, you knew she masks her hostility with a soft smile. She didn’t feel the need to mask her true self around you. However, she can be rude to you for no reason or that something is bothering her. Sure, she’s a mature person, but even mature people can be petty. She doesn’t tell you what’s wrong and even sometimes blames it on you.

~She doesn’t take your concerns seriously.

This applies to her consuming poison. You worry for her health, obviously voicing your concerns. However, she brushes it off like it’s nothing. You guys had numerous arguments because of this subject.

KYOJURO RENGOKU

~He’s too pushy

Whenever you need comfort, he tends to give advice that would more likely help his situation rather than your own. He doesn’t understand why you won’t take it, he tends to get upset because you don’t ’trust him.’

~Too positive

He always tries to find the bright-side of the situation. For example: whenever somebody you’re close with passes or gets severely injured, he always tries to find positive energy of the situation. Which, understandably, makes you upset. He doesn’t mean it, yet he can’t help it in a way?

TENGEN UZUI

~He gets upset when things don’t go his way

Now, I’m not saying this man is a child, but I do sometimes see him getting upset over things that aren’t important. Like, choosing where the five of you get to eat, who’s choosing the dress, etc. He just finds it somewhat degrading..in a way. Like, he’s the man, of course he should have the final say in everything. (Sarcasm)

~His mood determines everybody’s moods

Whenever he’s angry, everybody else’s mood is suddenly down. The air is extremely palpable.

MITSURI KANROJI

~Overthinks, a lot. This sweet angel, known as Mitsuri, tends to overthink a lot. She knows you’ll never cheat on her or betray her in anyway, but she still can’t help that you have eyes for somebody else or wants to pursue someone else. You have reassured her many times that your eyes are on her and her only, but she still has doubts and it just won’t go away. She wants it to go away, but it simply can’t. These doubts in her mind made her somewhat self-conscious.

~Unintentionally guilt-trips you.

Mitsuri tends not to watch her wording or how it’s phrased, so she’ll often say things like, “I’m sorry, I’m such a screw-up, I ruin everything.” However, I don’t think she’ll word it like that, but it’s something along those lines. She doesn’t mean too, but it just slips out, like word vomit.

OBANAI IGURO

~Is extremely controlling, jealous, and manipulative + it’s all intentional

This man right here, knows you better than anybody else, he KNOWS how to get into your head and make you rethink everything. “You’re crazy, I never said that!” Or something along those lines. He always twists things into thinking you did something wrong instead of him.

~He twists your words often

Despite Obanai’s tough demeanor, he actually takes everything bad you say about him to heart. He often uses it against you or make it sound worse than it already is.

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

~Extremely possessive

Unlike Obanai, this man knows you can’t and won’t find somebody better than him. However, he still likes to claim his territory? I guess you can say. Whenever you’re out and about with friends, he’s calling you like something happened, and when you rush over to his side, he always repeats “Oh, I just wanted to spend some time with you, baby.”

~He can’t open up

Sanemi is NEVER willing to open up to you, no matter how much you try to persuade him. He pushes you away, and, sometimes, yells at you for trying to persuade him. He doesn’t mean it, I think, however, he finds it offensive that he needs to open up.

a/n; UGH. I didn’t do Muichiro + Gyomei because this an an 18+ reader and I dunno how to write for Gyomei..so. Yh! Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

@varya-jc — DO NOT TRANSLATE, REPOST, OR CLAIM MY CONTENT AS YOUR OWN! YOU WILL GET BLOCKED AND REPORTED. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[hotchfiles]

↪ QUIS UT DEUS? ─ chapter one.

AN IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET SPIRITUS SANCTI INSTALLMENT

pairing: hotch x fem!consultant!reader. summary: murders committed using catholic symbology gets emily to convince hotch it's time to ask for an expert. luckily for you, you're the expert. content warnings: canon typical violence. religious themes. spoilers to season 4. mature themes. word count: 1.5K

    In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…

    “Amen.” If you weren’t paying attention and side eyeing him at that exact moment, you might’ve lost the way his lips moved following the ritual, no word actually leaving his mouth. 

    The black haired man didn’t look too comfortable, but didn’t look out of place either, he knew the cues, he spoke the words on automatic it seemed. It amused you to observe people’s behavior on holy grounds, that was part of the reason you asked to meet in silver spring.

    “Catholic, Mr. Hotchner?” Your question is met with a low scoff, the type only those with a bad bad history with the church gave you. “That much, huh?”

    “My parents were.” The answer is simple and you think it might stop at that, but he shakes his head and scoffs again. “I was an altar boy for years before I left for boarding school.” You nod. 

    “Ah. I've met some of you in my research.” Some of you. Church babies, altar boys. Spoon fed the bible from birth while watching everyone around sin. Sin becoming a term to reflect on what they hated. 

    “And you? Catholic?” 

    “Oh no. Never been.” You don’t explain much, aware Emily probably told him of your time in Rome, where the two of you met. “Your UnSub is though. Either devoted to Saint Michael or knows enough about his roles to look like one.” You note, being reminded of the pictures Emily sent you, big stab wounds, a small scale tipped to one side, the words Hebrews 9:22 written in blood. 

    Hotchner doesn’t reply, making a mental reminder of the new information, he looks around the place as you both leave the church and it hits him, Silver Spring’s St. Michael the Archangel parish, the church you chose as a meeting place. 

    He wouldn’t usually accept consultation for cases, especially from outsiders. And to be fair, the BAU doesn’t usually need any, Reid alone has more knowledge than anyone Hotch has ever met, and despite the humbleness he tends to show, Hotch himself can take care of the general book knowledge if Reid doesn’t step up to it. But he trusted Emily, and Emily spoke more highly of you than of anyone. Honestly, he was also trying to make amends after not having her back during the Matthew case they had not long before. 

    “She's in town giving lectures, it’s an asset we have easy access to, so why not use it?” Were her final and most convincing words before Hotch nodded in agreement, watching Emily make the call that led to the meeting. 

    He thinks now, as he’s driving both of you to Quantico, that maybe Emily should’ve been the one here, his attempts to strike conversation falling flat as you don’t even remember the last time you had to make small talk with someone, it felt awkward all of a sudden, as if you were on a date. 

    “I'm so sorry, I'm not too good with… People.” You blurt out after a long minute of silence, your neck suddenly warm from embarrassment. 

    Hotch side eyes you, brows lifted in confusion. You seemed much less confident in the car now than what you showed him of you minutes before back at the church. He figures you felt confident talking about your area of expertise and that he could relate to easily. “Did you notice anything else by the pictures Emily sent you?” 

    The switch of topic makes you sigh loudly in relief and you mentally thank him for brushing your silliness off. “He’s using different pieces of catholic dogma and putting it together, but most of the symbology eludes to Michael, the stabbing looks like a sword, the tipped scale indicates judgment, the verse he chose doesn’t cite Michael but talks about sins being forgiven by the shedding of blood… He’s the judge and executioner of his victims.” You try not to sound excited as you ramble on, it’s a terrible thing to witness, the pictures were grotesque and would’ve made you sick on a normal day, but the cherry picking of symbols the murderer seemed to make fascinated you. 

    “So you believe it’s a man?” 

    “Oh! I–I don’t know? I just assumed… Is that misogynistic?” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but it’s loud enough to make him chuckle and you look at him quickly to make sure it’s not mean spirited. 

    It’s definitely not. But it is amusing from a profiler perspective, he’s so used to defining serials’ genders by their crimes he hasn’t thought about misogyny being a factor to those assumptions in a long time. 

    “Brutality suggests male. But posing looks remorseful, theatrical…” His grip on the wheel tightens, two victims by now, feet crossed, arms wide open. 

    “If there were more allusions to the crucifixion, yeah, but I–” You take your phone out to look at the pictures once more, an attempt to seem less abstract in what you’re about to say. “No crown, no nails, this isn’t about Christ, it’s about punishment–I mean, I think.” You’re not usually self conscious about your knowledge but inferring characteristics and desires to someone by looking at a crime scene was not your specialty. 

    “To further point they were judged and executed…” Hotch nods, understanding where your line of thought is going and completing it immediately, not leaving you much time to doubt yourself. 

    “A very shameful execution.” 

    You both spend the short ride from Silver Springs to Quantico going over the symbology present, you tried to help here and there with the associations of what you saw to who could’ve done it, even though that was not what you were called in for. Strangely enough—for him at least, Hotch didn’t seem to mind your guesses, they were educated ones.

    And it was interesting to hear someone speak with such passion about religious aspects without any of the fundamentalism. It was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

    “Mi amore!” Are the first words you hear as you enter the famous bullpen from Emily’s texts, her arms surrounding you in a tight warm hug you haven’t felt in years—it hits you then how long has it been. You weren’t able to come and mourn Matthew with her, his parents weren’t fond of you either (Lord almighty, you didn’t even go to church with them!) and you were busy with your lectures.

    “Hey troublemaker, how’s it going?” Your question is muffled in the hug, your hands clasping together behind her back.

    The reunion doesn’t last long, curious eyes set on you two and a rather impatient Hotch leading the way to what you learned was the conference room.

    The briefing room. The round table. Emily told you about it when she first got into the BAU.

    You end up sitting between Emily and who you would bet was Spencer—there’s this sweet kid working with us, he’s super smart, annoyingly smart, but so sweet, he reminds of Matty when we were teens—the lanky boy was the only one with what seemed like naivety enough in his eyes to be the one Emily mentioned back then. 

    Aaron sat in front of you almost, serious, stern, very different from the few chuckles you got from him in the car. This was unit chief Hotchner, the subtle difference was fascinating.

    “Alright, as we know, DC is in trouble, second murder in three weeks.” blonde and gorgeous, you believed that was JJ, there had been no time for introductions, all you could do was try to remember the e-mails and few phone calls you shared with Emily the past years. “Richard Beckett, married, no kids, 27. He works for his father's car dealership.” 

    Pictures show up on the screen, showing the man when he was alive. It’s a punch to your gut, just minutes before you were fascinated by the way this real person was murdered. You’re glad you had a light breakfast by the way your stomach turns.

    “Monica Dawson, divorced, no kids, 53. She’s a counselor at a local school.” The woman continues speaking, with more pictures on the screen. And then pictures of their deaths, side by side. The fascination is completely extinguished then. “Both were stabbed countless times with a large blade. Left in abandoned warehouses posed in a cross position, a tipped scale on their side. Both naked. Both were heavily drugged.”

    “They didn’t have kids, is that a coincidence?” You hear Emily speak up and suddenly you can see all their brains working.

    “Could that be the linking between them? The victimology is all over the place.” Derek. Oh. You’ve heard of Derek. You’ve seen pictures of Derek. He needs no introduction. 

    “Reid, Morgan, go talk to the first victim’s widow. Rossi, JJ, Ms. Dawson’s ex-husband can give us insight on her life. Emily and us—” He gives you a look and you understand he means you, nodding in reply. “Will head to the DC police precinct.” The way Hotch gives orders is effortless, not only his job but his vocation. 

    Everyone listens and agrees quickly, moving and leaving the table, even Emily is fast on her feet, even though she won’t leave without you and him. You stay still, stiff, eyes glued to the screen.

    “Are you alright?” His voice is soft, laced with worry, genuine worry. You didn’t even notice he had stayed behind, but you nod again at Hotch, a question burning at the tip of your tongue.

    “Do you still believe in God, Mr. Hotchner?”

[brucewaynehater101]

I just want good angst about Bruce desperately trying to parent Tim but realizing he fucked it up

or Bruce realizing he kinda sees tim as a father figure in a weird way

or the bats all realizing how Tim’s been forced to mature quickly so he can take care of them, and he won’t stop trying to be the adult in situations even after the bats try to make it so he doesn’t have to

There are a few fics out there that center around Tim and Bruce's relationship after Bruce realizes how bad he treated Tim. "Grudge (I hold none)" by reinersbigtits. "Just How Much I Love You" by sElkieNight60. Honestly, a bunch of sElkieNight60 fics have Bruce trying to be a better parent. Their fic "Redraw Our Expectations" showcases Bruce trying to parent Tim and the teen finds that strange, weird, and restrictive. They chat about it.

I sadly haven't seen any fics where Bruce considers Tim to be his father. I have seen a few that describe Tim as his closest confidant or mental support, but none about the father hc/au :(

If you want some quick angst about Bruce seeing Tim as a father figure, here's an idea:

Bruce is ruminating on his kids. As he's going through his mental list of the kids (perhaps trying to remember where they all are), he realizes that it's an effort to add Tim to that list. At first, Bruce clocks it as the older man being a horrible parent to Tim or needing more time with his son. Bruce wants to fix this and sets out to do so. He tracks down Tim to spend some time with him.

Halfway through the hangout, Bruce starts to relax. They are both having a good time, chatting and laughing. It only changes when he notices Tim's subtle nods, his slight mannerisms that encourage Bruce to keep talking, and the scrunch at the corner of Tim's eyes that indicate he's proud. It's an errant thought of the older man, but one that rapidly changes his worldview.

Tim acts like Alfred.

Tim acts like a father to Bruce.

Tim has always acted like a father to Bruce.

What has Bruce done?

The comment about Tim continuing to be the "adult" or "mature one" in the situation because that's all he's known hurts. If you add that hc to the one where Tim is constantly told to "be the bigger person" when it comes to being insulted by his traumatized family members, that's painful.

Alright, let's build on this hc/au. I'm going to use subtle canon background clues to create a probable psychological assessment on Tim's behaviors. The reasonings are all hc.

Tim was emotionally neglected and abused by his parents (not nearly to the extent of fanon and his parents did love him, but that doesn't change their emotional distance or the harm Jack did after his coma). One could hc that, due to the limited time he spent with them before they left again, Tim tried to keep the peace when they were there. He wanted to spend the time with his parents not fighting, even if that meant choking down his own emotions/needs, placating his parents, and overall keeping a pleasant demeanor around them regardless of passive aggressive insults (looking at Jack here).

If his parents had marital issues, like fighting and insulting each other in front of Tim, the child might have tried to mend their fights and solve their issues in order to spend more time with happy parents. It's a helpful behavior that could've been praised by Jack and Janet, leading to Tim continuously uptaking a mediator role.

This would morph into a people pleasing attitude that heavily clashed with Tim's independence and lack of authority in his life. This is what enables him to be suited for kicking a depressed, angry Bruce into his healing arc (enables, but doesn't excuse Bruce's reliance on a child nor condone it). Tim would probably insert himself into Dick and Bruce's relationship.

Unlike his parents, Dick and Bruce probably weren't happy an unrelated kid was mediating their relationship or getting in the middle of their arguments. Because of their contant rejection to Tim's efforts, the kid's behavior could morph into a more subtle and subterfuge manner. This comes in handy when Jason and Damian come around (because they for sure would not listen to Tim's advice).

Tim, because he's spent his entire life managing other people's emotions for them, would understand where Damian and Jason are coming from as they hurt him. It is painful, and he may hold some resentment towards them (and a frozen anger), but he's used to yanking back his emotions and shoving them into an overfilled box. That's the easy part.

What's burdensome for him is the family. After realizing the lengths Tim goes to in order to ensure their bonds stay strong, they keep pressuring Tim to release some of his responsibilities. They want the relationships to be more equal.

Tim can't, though. If he lets go of his tight grip on holding the family together, he'll have to face that box of emotions he shoved down. He'll have to work through all the pain, anger, betrayal, grief, and desolation all of his family members gave him. If he accepts that he shouldn't be taking on so much emotional labor, he would have to face that he shouldn't have been subjected to so much abuse (from the Drakes or the Waynes).

Tim can't do that without falling apart.

He can't keep his hold on the family's support beams either.

It's not healthy nor productive for Tim to keep his position. Without releasing the pressure from his back, Tim will collapse and take the Waynes with him. He's too scared to let go, though. Will he survive the break? Will he have a place with the Waynes if he's not holding them up?

[villainbait]

Surprise Encounters

Pairing: None (Sylus x reader distantly implied) Rating: G Tags: coffee shop, secondhand embarrassment, canon sylus behavior, playful stalking, flirting, jealousy, crack, fluff Summary: Sylus stalks you to a new coffee shop in Linkon City, but it seems you two weren't the only ones who wanted to try it. Word Count: 1.1k

Someone was following you. 

It had been a long day at work and now there was the definitive sound of someone’s steps dogging yours as you approached the cafe. It wasn’t the one you usually enjoyed visiting, but you were in a hurry and going to duck in for a quick pick-me-up before heading out on yet another mission. Wanderer activity had been increasing lately, which left you exhausted most days so you were counting on this coffee to work miracles for your fatigue.  

Picking up the pace, you do your best to weave through the crowd and lose the person, happy to find you no longer hear the footsteps by the time you reach your destination. Your phone suddenly rings and you look down to find it’s Sylus. You don’t even bother answering it and reject the call. A text message accompanies the rejected call and you sigh in exasperation but before you can open it, you hear the dulcet tones of the current source of your annoyance behind you. 

“It’s not very nice to ignore a friend, kitten.” His voice is far too close to your ear and you pull away with a frown. Before you can retort, you see him glance at the cafe with a curious expression. 

“This isn’t your usual cafe, either.” 

“I’ve been busy,” you huff and look around nervously, before tugging on his sleeve and pulling him quickly into the cafe. The only reason you didn’t make a scene in public, you told yourself, was because you were worried your connection to the N109 Zone would be severed if Sylus was caught. Just because you wanted to punch him in his smug face sometimes didn’t mean you wanted to see him get hurt or worse. It still baffled you that the most wanted man in the world could simply chat with you on the street like this and not a single person knew. 

“What’s the hurry, sweetie?” he playfully murmurs as you march both of you up to the counter, but he’s more than happy to oblige as you both order. The baristas are charmed by Sylus but you don’t seem to notice, too busy bantering with him. 

“The hurry is that you seem nonchalant for a man in your situation.” 

“And what situation is that?” he replied smoothly, taking his card back from the blushing barista with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know,” you gesture vaguely as the two of you move to the end of the counter. You’re not sure if you want to lean away when Sylus puts his face close to yours but your pride won’t let you even if you did so you meet his gaze head on. “Oh? I don’t know that I do, so why don’t you say it?” He remarked, knowing that you wouldn’t give him away. At least not today, in this sunny little cafe where his defenses are low and there’s too many civilians. 

The little bell above the shop door jingles but you don’t notice it at first, your attention still focused on Sylus who hadn’t moved away despite his teasing. Still, with how he had leaned down you could see over his shoulder and you stopped breathing as a familiar face appears in your line of view. 

What was Zayne doing here? 

Sylus realizes mid-sentence you’re no longer paying him any attention and starts to look around and see what you’re gawking at. 

“No! Don’t turn around,” you hiss and jerk him closer to you, using his bigger body as a shield. He doesn’t mind that but his curiosity burns, one eyebrow raised. Opportunistic creature that he is, he slips an arm around your waist before you can protest.

“Why do you need me to hide you?” Sylus’s grin was anything but comforting. “Are you trying to avoid someone? Do I need to take care of it for you?”

The expression on your face must’ve been comical for Sylus chuckled. “You should see how you look right now. I want so badly to know who it is you’re hiding from.”

Zayne had made it to the counter now and you shifted to stay out of sight, still using Sylus to shield you if the other man looked over this way. The barista has the worst timing and offers your drinks at the same time Zayne steps towards the end of the counter. The two of you lock eyes. Time freezes. Zayne's gaze slowly slid from you to Sylus, whose arm was still slung low across your hips but it was too late for you to do anything but accept that. 

Sylus, meanwhile, doesn’t seem fazed and takes the cups one by one, handing yours to you and thanking the worker with a dazzling smile that makes her flustered and blush. “Hope you and your girlfriend have a great day!” she chirps cheerfully.

That immediately snapped you out of your shock and you turned with a disgusted frown. “I’m not-“

“Now, now there’s no need to be hurtful, sweetie.” Sylus interjects. “She's just trying to be nice. Besides,” he leans in close, his saccharine tone dropping an octave. “If you correct her, she might think she has a chance.” He swivels his cup to show you the number written cutely on the side of it and for some reason it makes you jealous and grumpy. 

Zayne’s order comes up quickly after and he inspects the number on his own cup before showing it the two of you. “Is this a new cup/service they perform here for every customer?” He remarks dryly, but there’s a hint of mischief in his expression. He shows the same number on the side of the cup and you have to hide a smile behind your hand. Sylus looks like he swallowed something sour and pulls out his phone. An awkward silence lingers and you almost wished a wanderer would appear in the cafe to save you from this situation. Still, you had to try to salvage the moment and you searched for something to say.

“Why don’t we sit down?” You try brightly and Sylus’s fingers dig into your hip but he doesn’t look up from whoever he’s texting. 

“Sure, and you can introduce me to your friend.” Zayne said calmly, but you’re panicking internally. “I thought I was your only friend, so I’m glad to see that isn’t true.” He was teasing you and you blushed. The two men turn to each other and Sylus tucks his phone away, business concluded. 

“Sylus.” He held out his hand. “Zayne.” They shake hands and you all find a small table to sit at.

They both focus their attention on you and you realize as your stomach churns nervously that this was going to be one interesting afternoon.