#handling flash etc just fine...

[fishmech]

nobody was a netscape 5.x user that shit didn't even make it to beta status. the failure of it and consequent inability of netscape to catch up is why IE was the browser of choice for web standards compliance for a number of years, pure fumbling from any reasonable competitor.

and of course the AOL ownership and mismanagement really fucked over the 6.x and 7.x versions which were based on versions of mozilla that frankly didn't work well (due to receiving poor support within netscape while they were there), and were hobbled by aol insisting on tying in the other application suite nonsense to the mozilla engine - not that mozilla was all that stable in the pre-firefox days on its own, but the official aol-netscape flavor was worse. if the failure of netscape 5 was the browser hitting a landmine and needing emergency assistance to survive, AOL management was making sure the browser bled out. (and man mozilla's first seperate release in 2000 really did a number on your system resources with that first implementation of XUL!! probably wasn't a big deal for people who already had the highest pentium iii/whatever the comparable athlon models were that year but we did not have those at home or school or the county library lol)

it is fascinating though that this poll doesn't include Opera as an option when it was already around for 5 years in y2k. i mean no one should rightfully support it because that was when it still had poor compatibility with all websites not specifically built for it AND they had the audacity to charge for it or force you to view extra ads.. but it did exist then and one of my friends swore by it.

konqueror of course barely functioned when introduced in 2000. Camino/Chimera didn't even exist til 2002 so it shouldn't even be here.

[pucksandpower]

hiii! with the chaos that was today’s career, could I request one with driver reader that she started telling her team that she wasn’t feeling good but still wanted to continue but the next moment she isn’t answering her radio because she fainted in the car and the car goes out, the marshals take her out of the car and she doesn’t wake up, maybe she has extreme dehydration and is hot to touch, etc.

How the other drivers react when they found out, her team, etc.

Thank you

Too Hot To Handle

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the Qatar Grand Prix pushed every driver to the limit … and some past the limit

Warnings: heat stroke, dehydration, crash, medical conditions

The Lusail International Circuit hums with electric anticipation, its asphalt ribbon shimmering under the floodlights. The roar of the crowd fills the night but the oppressive heat weighs on everyone, creating a contrasting atmosphere of excitement and cautious apprehension.

Standing alongside your Red Bull Racing car, you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow. In only your first year with the reigning double champions, you already have a record that has quickly become the talk of the paddock. But for all the praise and whispers, there is one voice that stands out.

“Remember, liefje, it’s not just about speed tonight. Keep hydrated, alright?” Max’s voice is full of warmth and concern. His hand rests gently on your arm.

You flash him a confident smile even though you’re battling your nerves internally. “I’ve raced in heat before, Maxie. I won in Singapore. I’ll be fine.”

He pulls you into a quick embrace, the temperature doing little to dampen the spark between you. “It’s different here. This heat ... it’s like nothing I’ve ever raced in before.”

Pulling back, you raise an eyebrow teasingly. “You worried about me, Verstappen?”

He laughs but there’s a hint of steely seriousness in his blue eyes. “Always. Just ... promise me you’ll be careful out there. For both our sakes.”

You nod, touching your helmet to his. “Promise.”

The intercom in your ear crackles to life. “Drivers, to your cars!”

You both exchange a final glance. Racing is in your blood, it’s what brought you together, but it also keeps you apart, if only for the few hours you’re no longer partners in life but competitors on track.

Sliding into your car, you secure your helmet and gloves. The world outside becomes a bit muffled but your focus sharpens. The engine’s purr is a familiar comfort, but tonight, it’s edged with the unease Max’s words left behind.

Your race engineer, Hugh Bird, checks in over the radio, “Everything good, Y/N?”

You take a deep breath, “As good as it’ll ever be. Let’s light up this track.”

“Give them a show.”

Lights out and away we go.

***

The Qatar Grand Prix unfolds with its usual mix of intensity and skill, drivers navigating tight turns and overtaking with precision. But beneath the spectacle, a subtle tension mounts. The oppressive heat, the stark floodlights, and the weight of expectation — all of it seems to be building to something.

In the garage and on the pit wall, your team closely monitors the race and your performance. Hugh occasionally chimes in with updates, “You’re doing great, Y/N. Remember to hydrate whenever you need to.”

You nod even though he can’t see it, “Understood. The heat’s something else in here.”

A pause. Then, “Just keep stead. And Max told GP to tell me to tell you to remember what he said.”

A smile touches your lips, “I always do.”

***

The track is a blur as you push your car to its limits, feeling the adrenaline surge in tandem with the roar of the engines. It’s as if the heat has seeped into your very core, burning with intensity. Each lap feels slightly longer, every turn a tad sharper, as the humid air takes its toll.

“Y/N,” Hugh radioes through, sounding distant and slightly distorted by the pounding in your head, “you’re P2. Great pace. Remember to sip some water.”

A trickle of sweat runs down the side of your face, stinging your eye. Blinking rapidly, you reach for the button that activates your hydration system.

“Got it,” your voice sounds foreign even to your own ears. The water is lukewarm and tastes metallic, not as refreshing as you had hoped.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he urges.

With every lap, the world outside your visor seems to grow brighter, the floodlights shimmering like mirages in a desert. The race has become a battle, not just against other drivers but against the environment and, increasingly, against yourself.

“You’re dropping pace. Is everything alright?” Hugh’s concerned voice crackles through.

A knot tightens in your stomach. “I don’t know. I ...” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as a wave of overwhelming dizziness hits.

You can hear the alarm in your engineer’s voice becoming more pronounced. “Y/N, talk to me. Do we need to pit?”

The heat wraps around you, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. Your hands, slick with sweat, struggle to grip the wheel even through your gloves. “Guys ... I don’t ... feel ...” The world spins and your words falters.

“Y/N? Y/N, talk to me!”

But before you can respond, before you can even finish your sentence, the world tilts and blurs into an incomprehensible whirlwind. The sweltering heat, the relentless pursuit of victory, and the weight of expectation converge into a maelstrom that engulfs you entirely.

Your hands, once deftly steering the RB19, now hang limply by your sides. The car veers off the track, careening towards the barriers. Panic rises in you but it’s too late. Your body refuses to act.

The deafening sound of metal against metal fills your ears, followed by the nauseating sensation of impact. The world outside your cockpit twists and spins, a kaleidoscope of colors and chaos. Then, abruptly, it all goes dark.

In the garage, your team watches in horror as the monitors show the violent crash. The radio falls silent, the connection severed. In that heartbeat, the world goes eerily quiet, punctuated only by the distant echoes of screeching tires and the blaring alarms.

Moments pass like hours and finally the static on the radio clears, replaced by your frantic race engineer, “—please respond. Y/N? Are you okay?”

But there’s no response. Your world remains shrouded in darkness as the circuit comes to a standstill, gripped by an eerie silence that drowns out even the most deafening of cheers.

The track is plunged into chaos. Red flags wave fervently, signaling danger. Marshals rush towards your wrecked car, their fluorescent jackets contrasting brightly against the night.

“Get her out! Get her out!” One of the marshals shouts as they reach your car. Your limp form is carefully extracted and they begin immediate first aid. The severity of the situation is clear — the heat, the dehydration, it’s all taken its toll.

The crowd watches, a collective gasp filling the air soon replaced by a thick, heavy silence. As your unconscious form is stretchered away, the weight of all those warnings crashes down.

Back on the pit wall, four words whispered into the radio are the first of many about to turn your boyfriend’s world upside down.

“Safety car, safety car.”

***

“Max, we’re pitting this lap. Box, box,” the calm, steady voice of Gianpiero Lambiase, Max’s race engineer, instructs over the radio.

Max’s voice is curt, his mind still on the race. “Why? Tires feel fine.”

“Non-negotiable. Safety car is out. We need you to pit now.”

The urgency in GP’s voice is not lost on Max and he immediately senses that something is wrong. “What happened? Why is there a safety car?”

Silence follows for a heartbeat too long. “There was an incident. Just focus on your race.”

An icy dread seeps into Max’s bones. The circuit is massive yet his world feels terribly small at this moment. “Who was it? Who crashed?”

His engineer hesitates, and in that pause, the weight of a thousand possibilities presses on Max.

“Who. Was. It?”

GP wavers, “It’s … Y/N.”

Max’s breathing becomes ragged. Panic and fear flood his system. “Why the hell wasn’t I told immediately?”

“It was team orders. The decision was made to keep you focused on the race.”

Max laughs but it lacks any humor. “Team orders? You’re saying Christian decided not to tell me that Y/N ... my Y/N is hurt?”

“Yes,” the reply is uncharacteristically soft, “It was believed to be in everyone’s best interest for you to be fully focused on the race.”

Max has never felt such white-hot rage. He spits into the radio, seething with fury and pain. “You tell Christian that if he ever makes a decision like that again about someone I love, I’ll cut his balls off with a rusty spoon.”

“Max, I understand you’re upset. But right now, we need you to stay focused.”

Stay focused? When the love of his life is in potential danger? The weight of what that means presses down, threatening to crush him. “I need to see her,” he finally rasps out, voice breaking.

The plea hangs in the air, met by another long silence. Finally, the radio clicks on again, softer than ever. “Y/N would want you to finish. You know that. Win this for her.”

Tears blur Max’s vision, mixing with the sweat already pooling in his helmet, but he nods, a silent assent. The roaring engine now sounds distant, the glinting lights a backdrop to the storm that rages within him. Every second is an eternity, every turn a test of his resolve to keep racing. But Max drives on, pushing his limits for you.

Every fiber of his being silently screams your name, a prayer or a promise or both, Max doesn’t know. All he knows is that the faster he crosses the finish line, the sooner he can be with you.

For the world watching, the race continues, cars whizzing by. But for Max Verstappen, each lap, each second, is a race against his own heart, torn between duty and desperate love.

***

“Her pulse is erratic! Get the defibrillator ready!” A medic shouts as the emergency team frantically works around you, the ambulance parked haphazardly nearby.

Another voice, calmer but filled with urgency, counters, “Wait, give her a moment. She might come around.”

“Come on, Y/N,” A young medic mutters, pressing an oxygen mask to your face. “Don’t do this.”

The ambulance door opens again, the head medic speaking into a radio, “We need an airlift, now. The situation’s deteriorating rapidly.”

Another voice, muffled, replies, “The helicopter’s on its way! Clear the area.”

As the medics continue to administer aid, working desperately to stabilize you, the chief medic tries to maintain order, “Every second counts. This heat stroke is severe, coupled with dehydration ... it’s a nightmare scenario.”

“We should have had more cooling stations,” the younger medic mutters. “The humidity coupled with the heat ... it’s brutal tonight. And we’re not even the ones out there driving.”

The older medic takes a deep breath. “That is on the organizations. We can’t fix there mistakes but we can focus on what happening now and do everything we can to get her through this.”

The thrum of helicopter blades soon overwhelms the noise of the circuit, growing louder as it approaches. Soon, the bright light from its landing spotlight punctuates the night. “The helicopter’s here!” Someone shouts.

“Alright, team, on three,” the chief medic commands. They work in perfect sync, lifting you carefully but quickly, your body still unresponsive.

As they approach the helicopter, the pilot shouts over the roar, “We’ve got the best onboard. She’s in good hands.”

“She’s one of our best,” the younger medic shouts back. “She has to be okay.”

The chief medic, securing you inside, murmurs more to himself than anyone else, “Come on, Y/N. The race isn’t over. Keep fighting.”

***

“You expect me to smile and stand on that podium knowing she’s been airlifted to a hospital?” Max’s voice trembles with rage as he confronts the FIA officials blocking his way.

“Mr. Verstappen, there are rules, procedures,” an official replies stiffly.

“Rules? Y/N might be fighting for her life right now and you want to talk to me about rules?” Max’s hands clench and unclench as he physically holds himself back from throwing a punch.

Another official steps forward, trying to mediate, “Max, we understand your feelings but millions of viewers are watching. The podium is an essential part of the race.”

Max’s eyes flash with anger. “You think I care about a trophy when my girlfriend is in a hospital? Do you really think that piece of metal means anything to me right now?”

“We sympathize— ” the first official begins but is cut off by Max’s heated response.

“You sympathize? Do you even know what that word means?” He’s on the verge of breaking, voice barely above a whisper as he continues, “She is everything to me. Everything. And you want me to smile and wave for the cameras?”

The air grows thick with tension. The two drivers from McLaren waiting for their cue to go to the podium are silent, their eyes darting between Max and the officials.

A new voice interjects , “Let him go.”

It’s Lewis Hamilton, who despite DNFing early in the race, made his way across the paddock after seeing the distress on his rival’s face. “There are things more important than a ceremony.”

The officials exchange glances, clearly not expecting this intervention. But before they can reply, Max levels them with a final scathing look. “Fine me if you must! Penalize me! Suspend me for all I care! But I am going to her.”

And off he goes.

***

A nurse at the desk recognizes Max immediately when he runs into the hospital. “Mr. Verstappen,” she begins hesitantly, “Miss Y/L/N is in the ICU. Room 302.”

He doesn’t need any further prompting to sprint down the hall. Reaching the room, he stops dead in his tracks. You’re there, surrounded by machines that beep and whirr, tubes running to and from you, an oxygen mask on your face. The sight of you, once so full of life, now frail and vulnerable, breaks him.

His voice, when he finally managed to finds it, is a choked whisper, “Y/N ...”

Approaching the bedside, Max gently takes your hand, feeling its clamminess. “Hey, liefje ... it’s me,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. His tears fall freely, wetting the back of your hand.

“Come on, love,” his voice cracks as he continues, “You’ve got to pull through this. For us.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tracing the familiar curves and lines he’s come to adore. “Remember that time in Monaco? When we snuck out for that secret dinner that our trainers would have killed us for? We promised each other forever that night. You can’t leave me now. Not when we’ve got so many more memories left to make.”

The room’s silence is punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in a cruel reminder of the fragility of the moment.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs. “Please ... please come back to me.”

Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours, allowing the weight of his anguish, love, and hope to flow between the two of you in the sterile room.

***

Nothing has changed. The steady beep of the heart monitor still punctuates the silence of the hospital room. Max sits vigilantly at your bedside, his hand gently clasping yours.

It’s been three days since the crash and you still have not woken up. The doctors say your condition is stable but uncertain.

Max leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Morning, liefje. I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle as if you might break. In the stark hospital lighting, the dark circles under his eyes are visible. Sleep hasn’t come easy to him, not with you lying here.

A soft knock at the door draws Max’s attention. Hugh pokes his head in hesitantly. “Hey, Max. Any change?”

Max shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Nothing yet. But she’s fighting. I know she is.”

Your race engineer steps further into the room, his expression solemn. “I should have seen the signs earlier. Pushed her to hydrate more. Slowed her pace.” His voice catches, “It was my job to look out for her.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Max says firmly. “Y/N is stubborn. We both know that. She wanted to prove herself.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “It’s what makes her brilliant.”

Hugh pulls up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. For a moment, the two men sit in pensive silence. Then your race engineer speaks again, softer this time. “Has she ... has she responded at all? Squeezed your hand or anything?”

Max clenches his jaw and stares past Hugh at the blank wall. “No. Nothing yet. But I know she can hear me. I tell her about training, the team ... I update her on everything. She’ll want to jump right back in when she wakes up.”

Footsteps approach and a nurse enters, checking the equipment and your vitals. After making some notes on a chart, she offers an encouraging smile. “No change but she seems stable. Just keep talking to her. Familiar voices help.”

After she departs, Hugh leans forward, clasping your still hand. “Hear that, Y/N? You’ve got to wake up. The team needs you. Your fans are all rooting for you. And ...” His voice cracks. “I need my driver back.”

Max looks at him gratefully. “We all need her back.” Reaching out, he gives your race engineer’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Another knock sounds. This time, it’s Christian. His face is etched with guilt and worry. “Max. Any improvement today?”

Max’s expression hardens. He hasn’t forgotten Christian’s decision to withhold news of your crash. But his voice remains even as he responds to the team principal. “Nothing new.”

Christian pulls up a chair next to Hugh. He chooses his next words carefully. “Max, I need to apologize. I made the wrong call that night. You deserved to know immediately about Y/N. My priorities were skewed.” His voice shakes slightly. “Seeing her like this ... I would give anything to go back and change what I did.”

Max studies him for a long moment and some of the hardness leaves his eyes. “I appreciate that. But right now, the past doesn’t matter. All that matters is her getting better.”

Christian nods. Reaching out, he gently smoothes your hair. “You hear that, Y/N? We’re all here for you. Your whole team. Now you need to come back to us.”

A heavy silence settles on the room once more. The three of them remain clustered around the bed … keeping vigil … willing you to show any small sign of recovery.

After some time passes, the ringing of Hugh’s phone snaps the three men out of their thoughts. “Sorry to interrupt,” your press officer’s voice filters through the speaker, “but the team’s on the line. They want to send their well wishes to Y/N.”

Hugh glances at Max questioningly who nods, “Patch them through. Let the whole team remind her why she needs to wake up.”

A smile tugs at your race engineer’s lips. “You got it. Go ahead, team. She can hear you.”

A chorus of voices floods the room. Your mechanics, pit crew, strategists, PR team … everyone chimes in with encouraging messages.

“Come on, Y/N! We need our star girl back on the grid.”

“You can do this, kid. You’re the toughest one out there!”

“We all believe in you. Keep fighting!”

Max grips your hand tighter, emotions threatening to spill over. Even Christian and Hugh have sheens of tears in their eyes.

“Alright,” your race engineer says after the team signs off. “You heard them. Time to wake up.”

And that’s when Max feels it. A short, weak squeeze of his hand.

Then your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Y/N?” Max leaps to his feet, leaning over you anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, painfully, your eyes open, taking in the scene around you. Confusion clouds your expression. “M-Max?” You rasp.

A brilliant smile breaks across Max’s face. Relief floods through him so powerful that his knees nearly buckle as he chokes out, “Yes, yes it’s me! You’re back, liefje. You’re really back.”

Hugh lets out a shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Welcome back, superstar.”

You try to speak again but Max hushes you gently. “Save your strength. We’ve got all the time in the world to talk.”

Christian grins, looking years younger. “Oh thank god. I need to tell the team. They’ll be thrilled. Welcome back, Y/N.” He hurries from the room, phone already in hand.

Your race engineer squeezes your shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

As he and the nurse move discreetly out of the room, you gaze up at Max. “You ... you stayed.”

Max lifts your hand to his lips, blinking back tears. “Of course I stayed. I’ll always stay by your side.”

He leans down, pressing his lips against your chapped ones. All the fear, the uncertainty, the heartache of the past few days melts away.

You’re back. You’re really back. And Max knows, without a shred of doubt, that your lives from this day on will be greater and more meaningful than all your wildest dreams.

***

In the following days, drivers from across the grid make the pilgrimage to your hospital room. They come bearing gifts — flowers, balloons, even a nearly life-size plush race car. But more importantly, they come bearing a message.

“That race should never have happened,” Lewis says solemnly, handing you a get-well card covered in signatures. “The heat was dangerous. We should have acted sooner.”

Esteban grips your hand tightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We should have spoken up about the conditions sooner. We all suffered but you suffered most.”

“Your crash woke us all up,” Lance adds. “No trophy is worth risking drivers’ safety even more than we already do each race.”

You’re moved by their solidarity but sigh knowingly. “The FIA would never have listened to just one driver saying something. But maybe they’ll listen to all of us.”

Max’s jaw clenches, residual anger simmering beneath the surface. “They have to listen. We won’t race in unsafe conditions again.”

The other drivers nod, They know the power that you all wield together and for the first time in a long time, you are going to use it.

In a show of outspoken unity, the GPDA drafts a strongly worded letter condemning the lack of caution around extreme heat and demanding tangible changes to make sure drivers aren’t put in avoidable jeopardy.

All twenty of you threaten to strike.

To your surprise, the FIA not only apologizes for the oversight but pledges to implement the requested changes immediately.

“Your crash was a wake-up call,” the FIA president says solemnly during a visit to your hospital room. “We should have protected you better. That will never happen again.”

When he departs, you let out a long breath, leaning back against the pillows. The anger and hurt from that night haven’t disappeared entirely but you feel a sense of hope, that some good has come from the experience.

Max clasps your hand between both of his. “What you went through is unacceptable but you used that to make the sport safer for every driver out there. I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a tired smile. “We did this together. All of us.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. When you’re better, we’ve got plenty more checkered flags to take. Side by side.”

The long road to full recovery still lies ahead. But with Max by your side, and all the drivers behind you, you know everything will be okay.

The race goes on but it will be a safer race thanks to you.

[nanamiskentos]

BORN TO DIE — Geto Suguru minors dni!

prologue. → it's been three years since suguru left all you had ever known, crumbling it into the fine dust of the earth. a suspiciously timed mission from gojo leads you right into the arms of the man you swore to kill. well, fuck him right?

pairing. geto suguru x afab!reader

warnings+. implied/mild gojo x reader, lovers to enemies, or enemies to lovers, past relationship, injuries, mentions of blood, reader is lowkey violent, some establishing plot idk, geto is kind a jerk (well he's a cult leader so) but hes also down bad, making out, doing it raw and desparate (wrap it before yall tap it!), creámpie etc, minor mentions of infidelity, ríde him until he sees stars trope, minor implied stsg, suguru lowkey a messy slút for this <3 🩵

word count. 4.5k song inspiration. born to die — lana del rey

a/n. heehee

mp3.. my heart it breaks every step that i take, but i'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine

ask to be added to a taglist! likes and reblogs appreciated <3

fuck suguru geto.

literally.

it had been days of you tracking down a mere rumour of curses that haunted this side of the mountain, and you know you're close — close enough to feel the cold prickling along your skin, ripe with cursed energy with that taste of something unnatural and spectral in the air.

gojo had delegated this mission to you, claiming that you had a natural born talent for hunting curses, but you knew the truth was that he had laid on the flattery thick, so that he could kiss you chastely on the cheek, go take a day off, and let you handle this one on your own.

but just as you raise your hand to cast a light, a flash of movement catches your, a fleeting gleam, drawing you off the trail before you even realise where you're going.

you round the grove, and the sight ahead steals the breath from you. through the night's shadows, a pale blue light pulses, illuminating a tall figure whose outstretched hand has already grasped the curse, right into a neat orb.

it would take only a heartbeat to recognise the sorcerer, but you feel as though your heart has leapt into your throat, your blood pulsing under the thin skin, with such dizzying shock. your chest has tightened, and each breath is laced with something sharp and electric — not sadness, nor grief.

anger.

suguru geto.

you swallow against the burning in your throat, his features are half-lit by the eerie glow of his cursed technique, and yet they are sharper than you remembered, refined and all the more hauntingly familiar.

but he's turned, with his raven hair spilling over his shoulders, and violet eyes meet your own, and you scowl as his lips curl up, voice smooth as he speaks.

"hey. it's been a while."

"you...you — fuck you!"

ugh, now it's just embarrassing. you had spent three years, pondering and wondering what cutting words you'd deliver upon suguru geto when you saw him again. and now you can barely get a sputter out without your eyes wandering over him.

geto raises a singularly arched brow, "don't you think we should catch up first?"

"i should kill you," you wonder if your fractured voice betrays how quite literally unravelled you feel right now, like the earth has fallen out beneath you, and you're not sure if you're moving towards him, or taking a step back, "oh my god, i should actually just kill you."

you wonder how you should do it. draw a blade and let it kiss his skin, to see red split out from his throat. or if you just forgo a weapon and push the air from him until his creamy skin is red and bruised.

but he's beautiful, he's so beautiful and it leaves you wondering if this is how orpheus felt when he turned around in that tunnel, and saw eurydice again. if he was also planted in the ground, unable to move at the sight of what his heart most wanted.

the boy who once broke your heart is now a man, draped in robes of deep purple and green, and gold. a man with ghostly eyes that leave you unsure on whether you're furious, or wanting.

still wanting to wrap your hands around his throat, perhaps. you tamp down any other traitorous thought.

"what's your business here?" you manage, and you wonder if he can hear a tremor, and a crack where all that hurt was buried when you were seventeen years old.

but geto just smiles, "you don't think i'd notice the presence of a curse on my own estate? or a jujutsu sorcerer? you've come a long way, haven't you?"

"huh - your estate?"

ah, it hits you, as you follow your line of sight behind geto's head, past the thick trees that you've been wandering in, to where silver rods strike up, out into the dark sky — the roof of what's clearly an important building, the time vessel association.

you cross your arms, "you mean your bullshit cult?" you wonder how quick you can pull out a knife, one of several that you must have taken with you on your missions.

now it's his turn to scowl at you, and a petulant expression dances across his face, but geto doesn't address your barb, "you've come a long way, did satoru send you here?"

you bark out a laugh, "that's gojo to you now."

now he’s right in front of you, and you force yourself not to swallow or betray even a flicker of nerves.

you hold his gaze, determined and unwavering but geto has always been tall, his frame deceptively broad beneath the layers of his robes, but standing this close, you catch the heady scent of allspice and sandalwood, maybe even some ceremonial incense.

"oh, i'm sorry. only you get to call him satoru now, is that right?"

you're not stupid, you know that there's an undertone of a question in his snarky tone, well fuck him. you don't owe him an answer of what your life has been like in the past three years (nor what gojo's has been like, for that matter).

he watches you for an answer, with a face as elegent as an idol in an ancient shrine, pale and luminous against the moon-lit sky. you briefly wonder how a tall, beautiful boy who floated around campus with headphones around his neck, and an obscure band-tee, had managed to peel off his skin and carve himself into something more holy, like a heian-era deity.

"suguru," you finally breathe, and your head feels jumbled and aching. he tilts his head, lips parted, as if he's been waiting for his name to fall from your lips, and he's savouring it.

"come with me," he says simply, gesturing to the shadowed building behind him, and his hand lingers in the air, as his pale, slender fingers reach towards your own, "just this once, you don't have to tell him, y'know."

yes, you know. you should refuse, fuck, you should have been grinding his blood into the earth, for the night has no time for traitors. and if you were to take his hand, it would make you one as well.

oh, how easily suguru geto has always been able to unravel you, and all you've ever known or believed in.

suguru's fingers are like ice as they close around your wrist, with a firm but unhurried grip, pulling you along that makes resistance feel almost laughable.

you try to twist free, but he only glances back, with a teasing smile over his face, "still as defiant as ever," he murmurs, and you're not sure whether your cheeks are flushed from how he's drinking the sight of you in.

"i wouldn't be if you weren't dragging me through this place like some prisoner."

suguru laughs, "is that what you are?" and a dangerous, dormant merriment glints in his violet eyes, "i thought you'd come with me willingly."

his voice is maddeningly calm, as if this was some routine rendezvous, as if he hadn’t walked out of your life three years ago and left nothing but emptiness behind. suguru leads you down a long hallway lined with tall, flickering candles, their dim glow casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. it's so quiet you can hear your own breathing, each inhale tinged with the scent of incense that lingers on his robes.

you give another half-hearted tug against his grip, but his hold only tightens, but he stops, looking down at you, his gaze softening, almost pitying. "save your strength. we’re nearly there. and i need you to behave, and be quiet."

you hate the way your heart races at his touch, at his command, at the intimacy of this shadowed corridor that seems to belong to no one but the two of you.

"and where exactly are you taking me, suguru?" you ask, voice brittle.

"patience. you'll see soon enough."

he leads you forward again, each step echoing through the silence until he finally stops at a large, dark-stained wooden door. his fingers slide away from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling in their absence, and your own fingers curl outwards wanting to reach for his again before you tuck your hand away shamefully.

you can see his smile out of the corner of his eye. he knows this, and more.

but now suguru glances back, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "you came all this way," he says, voice low. "i thought you wanted to catch up."

yeah. catch up.

that's exactly what you'd call it when you barrel through the doors alongside him, and push your mouth against his, hearing the satisfying breath that he draws before he's moving against you too.

you lean into suguru, feeling the heat radiate from his broad body as every nerve in your skin awakens as his lips crash against yours with a fervour that leaves you breathless. it's been three long years since you last felt this, anything, like this and you fight back whatever demon lurches within you — an ode to bittersweet rage, longing and want.

you can taste him in your mouth, a mix of mint and even something sweeter, and it stings you, pricks at every cut he must be leaving over you. but suguru's hands grip your waist, and you wonder if he feels just as you do. but he must, for his arms have pulled you in, anchoring you onto his chest, as if he's afraid you might slip away (just as he had, from you).

you don't know where the tears came from, but salt runs down your cheeks, mingling in with your kisses, and you take a moment to pull away from him, and trace his face with shaking fingers.

"i should hate you," you breathe out, but how can you when he stares down at you as if you've reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. a killer, a traitor, a murderer. but it's still him all the same.

but his lips are now on your face, as his tongue runs over the streaked sorrow, licking it right up, "don't," and now his tone is pleading, suguru geto is pleading above you, "i can't live with you hating me. just let me do this."

he leans into your more deeply and your hands move instinctively, slipping beneath the soft fabric of his robes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. you explore the contours of his muscles, tracing the lines of his body, every touch igniting a spark that sends shivers through you, makes your own core feel heavy.

it's delicious how his breath hitches as you slide your hand even lower, past the waistband of his pants, right where the hard evidence of his desire is plain, and there's a satisfying rush of power that courses through you at his response, at the breath of air suguru rushes through his teeth in a low keen as he separates yourself from your panting mouth, to trail his soft lips on the sensitive skin lower.

his teeth briefly sink into the juncture of your neck, and you jolt at the brief pain before he runs his tongue over the fresh marks, soothing, hot.

his large hands are both under your top now, moving over the expanse of your stomach and up, up until they cup both your breasts, pinching, and twirling and leaving you slick with the arousal that has gathered at the apex of your thighs.

"so pretty, ah! so - pretty," suguru breathes, and you quirk your lips up as he lowers you slowly to the mat. he'd let you to quite a bare room, with nought in it save for the floor and the walls, but you're honestly content with him having his way with you like this.

you should feel guilty, you should be seeing blue eyes peering up at you from between your thighs, white hair plastered with the sweat of exertion.

but instead, all you see is the twilight sky, brushstrokes of black and dusky violet as suguru takes his place on his chiselled stomach, as you feel the mat press into your shoulder blades while you lay flat on your back.

"stay with me, gorgeous," he murmurs, his breath warm against the skin of your thighs. his plush lips brush against your mound, and you squirm and shake from the need, the need to feel his mouth lower and you cannot help but just arch into him, mewling as he starts drifting his fingers down.

"oh my god, oh!," you're almost embarrassed to be put in this position, moaning like a wanton whore, but you can't just bring yourself to stop, "fuck, suguru. can you please -"

and you're bucking your hips up towards his mouth, begging him to get a hint, and give you a hit of the pleasure that you're so craving.

but suguru stares at you flatly, and then in between your legs almost methodically, like he's waiting for something, and the flat of his palm rests heavy over your clothed cunt.

"i don't think so," he mutters, "tell me something first," and he's playing with the elastic band of your underwear, pulling it to the side before snapping it back, thwack!

"tell me you don't hate me. i need to hear you say it, that you never hated me," and you can feel a new bruise bloom on the inner corner of your thigh from his teeth's ministrations.

"i don't hate you! please, suguru, i could never, ah! -" and you don't get the chance to even finish your sentence before the man is pressing his tongue straight to the damp, translucent patch of fabric that's been soaked with your slick.

his teeth have caught on the fabric deliberately, and he's pulling the fabric, up and up, and the sight makes you so incredibly delirious that you wonder how on earth you're going to recover after this.

and to your credit, his eyes have gone wide, and hazy even — and you enjoy watching him swallow, adam's apple bobbing as suguru seems so entirely pussydrunk, just from you alone.

oh, now you have an idea, and so you pull yourself up and onto him, and he lets you push him down so your positions are reversed. he looks so beautiful like this, dark hair splayed out and falling over his flushed face, as you straddle his thighs, lewdly dripping over his robes as you try to gain some friction from the fabric.

"you're so desparate, baby. didn't think you'd be so — mmph! fuck!" it seems that all it takes to shut suguru geto up is a well-intentioned roll of your hips against his groin, and his hands shoot up to find their place on your waist, rubbing small circles over your hipbones.

you let out a shaky laugh, leaning down to press your lips to his again, "yeah, that's what i thought," and you kiss him, quick and almost outstandingly chaste, and you grin in satisfaction as he leans up again to chase your lips as soon as you separate.

as moonlight spills into the room, you decide to make short work of his robes, reaching underneath the silk to part the fastening, revealing the smooth ripple of muscle underneath, illuminated like godly marble in the silver light. suguru's gaze is fixed on you, his breath shaky and quickening, as he lets you trace your nails lightly over his abdomen.

taking a quick breath, your fingers slide beneath the waistband of his pants once more, and you relish at how suguru's entire body tenses at your touch, his breath hitching, "oh, fuck! right there," as your hands make contact with his cock, feeling the soft skin and the steel underneath. it's large, and heavy in your hands and you gulp, and realise now he's enjoying your reactions.

"there you go, you've had your fun," he breathes out, before shifting your hips back till you're situated right over his cock, "now, let me handle this."

you're barely given a few seconds to catch your breath before he sheathes himself, gliding straight into you thanks to the obscene amount of arousal practically weeping from your cunt, and you keen up at the sky, writhing from the delicious stretch of his wide cock that's made its home in your gummy walls.

"oh, ahh - suguru! wait, let me -," and you shift yourself, groaning as you feel his cock right in the sweetest spots, so you're in his embrace and he gladly envelops his arms around you, bringing you closer and planting desparate, hot kisses on your skin as your nails create crescents in his smooth skin.

suguru seems just as whipped as you are, gone from this mortal plane of the earth and onto a higher level of existence, just from your pretty, tight pussy that's holding him together, "keep doing that, pretty, look how. good. you. take. me."

and each word is punctuated by suguru's hips bullying into yours, pushing his cock deeper and further than you thought you could ever handle, as his mouth pants under yours, "taking it like a fuckin' champ. missed this, missed this so much."

you missed it too, chasing after the feeling of threading your fingers through his soft black locks, feeling him shudder as you scraped your nails down the back of his head,

"yeah, that's it," oh, suguru's always been mouthier like this, when you're sucking up him so deliciously, ramming his hips and angling them in a way that has your abdomen tingling, and has your eyes (and his) seeing stars and the heavens.

he taps his shoulders, where his dark robes have slipped off, revealing the smooth expanse of toned muscle and hot skin, "hands here, baby. keep you steady, yeah?"

and you plant your hands on his chest, determined to swivel your hips in a way that has you gasping for air, and glancing down right where - fuck, where you can quite literally see his bulge through your skin.

"oh, suguru! ah, keep doing that!" you desperately hope that these premises were vacated, for your unrestrained moans must have been rippling through the thin walls, strained and throaty as they bounced off wood.

and you just couldn't pull your eyes away from the sight of him, intoxicating as he was. suguru under you, broad chest heaving as he caught his breath with every rock of your hips — with a flush painting his creamy skin, framed by dark strands of hair that fanned messily around his face, falling in careless waves over his forehead and brushing against his cheekbones.

you couldn't help yourself, curling your fingers in the unruly halo and drawing him up, closer to your face as his crimson-bitten lips parted slightly, clacking around a deep groan.

his mauve eyes lifted away from the swell of your chest once more, hazy with exhaustion, but they softened as they met your own gaze with an almost reverent, quiet awe. even lying there, while you quite literally rode him to hell and back, cunt pulsing against his cock in a way that left you both breathless, he looked at you as if you were some vision, and his rosy-bruised mouth curled again.

"always thought you - hah - looked like a dream," he murmured, his gaze tracing your face as if he were committing every detail to memory, "i used to think that i had forgotten, or tried to forget how beautiful you were, are."

"but now," and he bucks his hips into a steady tempo, a constant allegro, "seeing you here, like this as if you were made for fuckin' me, how could i ever forget?"

his fingers are still under your top, brushing against your spine and you mewl, pressed close enough to him so your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest.

"stay a little longer, yeah?" he whispers, "just let me look at you, fuck! don't think i'd ever be able to stop lookin' at you anyway. can't get enough of you," and he reaches a hand in between your thighs, finding your swollen clit and beginning to run soft circles around it with the pads of his fingers, "don't think i'll ever get enough."

it's becoming too much, the harsh smack of his skin against yours, the feeling of your throbbing clit being showered with white-hot attention from his quick hands, the counter of his dense shaft gliding down your pliable walls, spanning them out until you can feel him so deep within you, "fuck, it's too good - mmph, way too good, i can't -"

you're practically tangled in his arms, in the arms of a man who should have been an enemy, a traitor, one who crumbled all that you held once dear. but his chest rises and falls erratically against yours, and you can feel him heartbeat jump, grounding you in the most unbearable way,

his fingers are now bruising your hips, leaving marks that you're sure (in the back of your mind, somewhere that's still rational) satoru would easily be able to recognise but you can't bring yourself to care.

you can't tell whose tears are staining the fabric of his robes between you, his or yours. the line between the two of you blurs as much as the fog in your mind from the way his cock has driven into you, made its imprint in a way that you'll never forget.

"suguru -" you're wondering if your poor, torn heart will just simply give out now, why is it so hard to breathe? each press of his fingers against your clit has you moaning over the shell of his ear, "i'm close, hah, i'm so close, suguru."

he chuckles weakly, bubbling from him and mingled in with a grunt, "yeah, i fuckin' know. i know." and his soaked fingers are still drawing circles in your sticky arousal that's leaking from you, over his cock, over his robes, dampening the dark trail of hair that coats his groin.

"always been mine." and as he bites your neck, teeth sinking into you, you feel the coil in your abdomen snap! and god, you don't think you could ever go back. not like this.

you can't even imagine the picture you must paint now, lips parted and open as you feel yourself being rocked through your orgasm in a way that leaves you untethered from the earth. how the spasm of your walls must finally trigger his own release, and suddenly he's stiffened too as thick, creamy ropes of his seed find their home in you, "see, mine. always mine, don't go soft on me now, pretty. oh my god, fuck!"

all you can truly do is let him handle you now, let his arms tighten and pull you in as close as possible, so his teeth are tugging on your lips, kissing right into your mouth as you ride out the stars of your own release, tears springing to your eyes once more from the overstimulation, hands digging into the woven mat under him.

later, you lie in suguru's arms, wrapped up entirely in the exhausation (and guilt, oh fuck, the guilt of what you've done) of the world, and everything else feels hazy and irrelevant. the steady rhythm of his breath in small puffs is the only thing grounding you, the warmth of his chest rising and falling against yours. he's tracing soft lines across your back, like he's trying to memorise the feel of you.

"suguru," you whisper, your voice breaking once more on his name, lips close to the damp skin of his neck. you're not sure if you're still crying, or if this is the quietest, most intimate form of surrender that has replaced the weathered storm.

he doesn't speak for a long moment, but his grip has tightened on you, as though he's trying to draw you even closer, like your soul will meld into his, "don't," and his voice is ragged raw, "you don't have to leave just yet."

the quiet desperation in his words cracks your heart, and for the first time in three years, the distance between the man who had become a shadow, and the boy you once knew feels almost unrecognisable.

his face turns toward yours, his eyes searching yours, as if he’s looking for something to anchor him, something to give him the assurance that all the destruction he’s caused, all the distance between you, can still be undone.

but you’re not sure if it’s possible.

you want to say something, anything, but the words lodge in your throat, too heavy and too tangled to escape. you let your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, matching the pace of your own.

"i don’t know if i can stay, suguru," you say, "how can we go back to what we were?"

"then let me make it up to you," he says softly, his voice shaking with a quiet urgency, as though this is the last chance he’ll ever have. "let me show you what i've built here. that you don’t have to leave."

if you stay, you risk losing yourself. you risk losing the anger that you had cherished, and treasured, nurtured and held onto. the anger that had guided you through the world. still, as you meet his gaze, something inside of you shifts. maybe it’s the way his hands slide gently up your back, steady and sure.

"please," he breathes again, his forehead resting gently against yours. "don’t leave. do not do to me, what i should never have done to you."

the moonlight spills through the cracks of the window, and it brings to mind the flicker of bright blue eyes, six eyes, alongside their warmth and steady presence, and you wonder if the earth will swallow you whole for what you've done.

you should never have come here. you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get caught up in suguru's gravity again, shouldn’t have let him pull you back into this mess of old feelings and broken promises.

suguru's low, tired laugh pulls you from your thoughts, his breath warm against your skin. he pulls back slightly, his dusky eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place — a spark of surprise, maybe amusement, even a little mockery, but there is no lie in his eyes.

"satoru?" he says, the name slipping from his lips with a touch of disbelief. "you really think he hasn’t visited me in the past three years either?"

[queenpiranhadon]

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⭑.ᐟ : Your brother asked you to watch over his adopted sons for the night while he attended an important meeting. However, he forgot that he had asked you in the first place, and in the midst of all the confusion, you're now tasked with babysitting your two nephews alongside your brother's friend, Nanami Kento.

⭑ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Not really much, fluffy fluffy fluff, you're Gojo's younger sister by like a year, you're 28, he's 27, Yuji and Megumi are your adopted nephews, fem!reader, ooc? etc etc.

⭑ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Nanami Kento x Reader

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: ⭑

You're pulling up into your brother's driveway when another parked car catches your eye.

You frown slightly. Satoru never said anything about having anyone else over.

He had called you a week ago to watch over his adopted sons for the day, Yuji and Megumi; though knowing him, he probably forgot.

You sigh. Might as well go see your nephews anyway - since you came all the way.

Parking your car in the driveway, you make your way onto the porch to ring the doorbell.

Immediately, you hear screaming and chaos from within the house, snorting as you come to the conclusion that it's probably Yuji and Megumi clamoring to the door. Though, your idiot brother most likely had a hand in the destruction that was occurring too.

Eventually someone opens the door, and to your surprise it's someone new.

A tall man, around your age or older, with sandy blonde hair and gorgeous brown eyes. He's wearing a nice polo and slacks, undoubtedly something a little over the top for what you assumed to be babysitting, but you found it cute.

It may or may not have taken you a while to realize you were staring though.

Clearing your throat you look to the side while flashing the man an awkward smile.

"S-Sorry! I-uh, I'm Satoru's sister" you say, giving him your name while sticking out your right hand for a handshake.

The man looks amused, reciprocating your handshake and chuckles lightly. "No worries. My name is Nanami."

Just then, Satoru comes barreling in, a child in each arm. His hair is mussed up and his sunglasses are crooked, something you point out to which he groans, setting Yuji and Megumi down, only for them to run out the door and attach themselves to your legs.

"Hi Auntie!" Yuji chirps, grinning widely as his looks up at him excitedly.

Megumi doesn't say anything, being the quieter of the two, but you don't miss the small smile on his face as he smushes his cheek against your leg in a hug.

You chuckle, ruffling their hair affectionately. "I missed you too, boys. Is Satoru treating you okay?"

Yuji huffs and shakes his head vehemently. "He's a meanie."

You raise an eyebrow and your brother stares at the pink haired boy incredulously. "What do you mean?! I let you have dessert before breakfast yesterday!"

You glare at Satoru and sigh, lifting up Megumi so you were carrying him on his back, and gently detaching Yuji from your leg in favor of holding his hand.

"And I'm assuming that means you forgot you wanted me to babysit last week?" you ask, and Megumi peeks his little face over your shoulder judgmentally.

Your brother groans. "Ah shoot... completely slipped my mind. Completely forgot I texted you with everything going on..." he looks at your helplessly and you relent.

Sighing, you finally step inside the house, and turn towards Nanami, no longer as awkward as you initially were as you slip into Auntie mode.

"How about this- you go to that super important meeting you needed to attend and Nanami and I will stay here and watch over the boys. I'm sure we can handle it, right?"

"Yes, we will be fine. We'd probably do better than you anyways." Nanami says, rolling his eyes and you fight off the urge to laugh.

Ignoring his friend's comment, your brother wraps you in a one armed hug before grabbing his coat and thanking you both one last time, closing the front door and dashing to his car.

Megumi still on your back, groans. "I'm hungry."

Yuji nods. "Me too!"

You chuckle, walking to the kitchen to whip up something for dinner, setting Megumi down as you face the man behind you. "Nanami, do you want to keep them occupied while I make something? I won't be long, maybe only 15 minutes."

The blonde haired male nods, scooping Yuji and Megumi up in his muscled arms. "Sounds alright to me. We'll be in the living room."

You smile and rummage around the kitchen, praying to some supernatural force that the only thing Satoru kept in here wasn't just loads of sweets. Thankfully, your brother had some sense left in him and you found a decent amount of rice noodles in the pantry along with some broth and vegetables.

Putting together a decent meal, you put the bowls of steaming noodles on a tray and bring it to the living room where the boys are.

You find Yuji and Megumi watching Nanami in interest as he recounts a story from his work, only to bolt up immediately at the sight on you with food.

You place them down on coasters on the coffee table, warning them that the noodles were hot and to be careful, before handing a bowl to Nanami with a smile.

"Here- I'm not sure if you've babysitted these two before, but eat up, because you're going to need the energy."

Nanami smiles slightly. "Thank you. It looks amazing."

You feel the butterflies erupt in your stomach from his earnest compliment, nods, motioning to the kitchen.

"I'm going to grab some water for us - want to come?" You ask, and he nods, setting his bowl down on a coater and gets up to follow you to the kitchen.

Looking around the kitchen you groan, not realizing the step stool wasn't present in the room. You see the cabinet where your brother keeps his cups and curse your parents in your mind for giving him such tall genetics as you attempt to reach the cup on the shelf.

"Here, let me get that for you." Nanami's deep voice comes out from behind you and you freeze, realizing just how close he is, basically trapping you against the counter as his chest brushed against your back, grabbing four cups for you.

He hands them to you as you turn around, your eyes meeting with him beautiful brown ones, and yet again, you find yourself staring.

Clearing your throat awkwardly for a second time, you look away, and mumble out a thank you.

You fill up the four cups, and with Nanami's help you bring them back to the living room, handing them to the boys before digging in to your respective bowls of noodles.

Nanami offers to do the dishes, and you smile warmly as you thank him and usher the boys upstairs to get ready for bed.

However, even after they've brushed, showered, and settled into their pajamas, they still have energy for one last game for the day.

"Can we play 20 questions?" Yuji asks, plopping down on the large rug in his shared room with Megumi and you sigh, chuckling lightly as you sit down, patting the space in front of you and Megumi and Yuji sit down excitedly.

At that moment, Nanami comes upstairs, sitting down next to you across from the boys.

"What are we doing?"He asks, and Yuji grins at him widely.

"We get to ask you guys questions!" he chirps, and Megumi nods.

"Wait, that's not how-"

"Why don't you have a wife?" Yuji asks the man to your right, catching the both of you off guard.

"Uh- well, how do you know I don't?"Nanami asks, raising an eyebrow at the very inquisitive child.

"Do you have a wife?" Megumi asks immediately, mirroring the man's expression.

"Well- no."

"Then why don't you have a wife?" Megumi asks, and you want to laugh at the man's visible discomfort.

"How about we move on, yeah?" you say, trying to show a little mercy to the poor blonde.

"You many friends do you have?" Yuji asks, turning to you and you blink, unsure of how to answer.

"Um...three...?" You answer, a little sheepish.

"That's not many." Megumi says, unimpressed.

"Why do you only have three friends?" Yuji asks incredulously, his golden eyes impossibly wide.

"Well, um... back to him!" you chuckle nervously, nudging Nanami with your shoulder to change the topic.

"How come we only see you during the holidays?" Yuji asks Nanami curiously.

"Because I work an office job." Nanami answers, relieved to have a question he can answer.

"Is that why you don't have a wife?" Megumi asks and Nanami looks like he doesn't know why he puts up with the boys' antics.

He sighs, and stands up, brushing off his slacks. "Okay, enough questions - time for bed."

Yuji and Megumi groan, but you quiet their complaints with a knowing smile.

"Hey now, no frowns. If you two go to bed right now without complaints, you'll get a bedtime story."

Yuji and Megumi brighten up immediately. Your stories held a very high reputation in the Gojo household, and they knew it, racing to their beds and eagerly diving under the covers, awaiting your story. Sitting on Megumi's bed, and Nanami sitting on Yuji's you take a deep breath, and start recounting a story about a grumpy dinosaur who didn't have many friends.

"Did the dinosaur work in an office?" Megumi mumbles and Yuji is thrown into a fit of giggles.

You frown and flick Megumi's shoulder lightly. "Be nice, boys, and apologize."

"Sorry Mr. Nanami..." the boys mumble and you sigh quieting them again, sending an apologetic look to the blonde on Yuji's bed to which he responds with an amused expression.

"Good. Now, it was the dinosaur's birthday and...."

｡ﾟ•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈꒰ა ⭑ ໒꒱┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈• ｡ﾟ

It's late at night now, the boys fast asleep as you sit on the balcony floor that overlooks the backyard.

You hear the door slide open, and suddenly Nanami joins you on the wooden floor, heat radiating off of him and you have to physically restrain yourself from getting closer to its source.

"So, you've been doing this for a long time, right?" He asks, and you turn to him, surprised.

"Huh? Oh yeah, Satoru adopted them the year we graduated, so I've had my fair share of babysitting duties since then."

"Oh, you and Gojo are the same age? I figured you'd be older, given how mature you are in comparison."

You snort. "To be fair, there isn't much maturity to compare myself against. We're basically the same age, Satoru was one of the oldest in our year and I was one of the youngest, so we're a little over a year apart. How old are you?"

Nanami chuckles. "I'm 27, so a year younger than you."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You're kidding, I thought you were older than me! You're so put together in comparison to Satoru."

Nanami laughs. "And here I thought we weren't comparing ourselves to Gojo."

You laugh alongside him, sighing as you enter a comfortable silence, leaning against the walls of the house and staring at the stars.

"Call me Kento."

"What?"

"My first name. Call me Kento."

Your eyes widen, as the butterflies in your stomach are surely going crazy by now, but you manage to smile.

"Alright! Call me Y/N then. Don't think you'd want to call me Gojo too."

Nanami shakes his head, smiling. "No, you are far too special to be referred to by your surname."

You blink, staring at him, flustered. Did he just call you...special?

You can't bring yourself to look at him without dying from giddiness, but staring at the stars, you manage to speak.

"Thank you... I think you're pretty special too, Kento."

A/N: Heheh they're total dorks <3

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @tootiecakes234 @gina239 @its-liberty-frazblair @lilyadora @callmeanythingyouwant00

@milkm4nz @lightsgore @skaiblu-e @that-one-lightskin @hahajsphaha

@marie-is-in-the-dark @beaniesayshi @abinformyobsessions @sharycatx3 @meddykip

@riririr11 @ladygojooo @abyzissupersleepy @lilaccmilk @anime2006

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: hello again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy comes up the stairs and you back up. Your adrenaline continues to pound in your skull. You inhale sharply and cough. He slows as he gets to the top. 

“How are you doing?” He asks cautiously. 

You nod and gulp, “fine. I’m... fine.” 

He closes his eyes and nods. When he opens them again, the intensity behind his blue irises makes you wince. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

“It’s okay,” you grasp the handle of the oxygen tank with both hands, keeping it in front of you like a shield. 

“It’s not okay. Your mom is wrong, you know that, right?” 

Your eyes dart back and forth, “she’s--” 

“I know she’s your mom and you love her, because you’re a good girl, but I don’t want to hear excuses for her.” 

You frown and flicks away a shell of tears with your lashes. “Sorry, Andy.” 

“Don’t apologise to me, okay?” He sighs and pushes his head back as he grips his hips. “Look,” he looks down the hallway. “We’re gonna figure this out, together. Alright, sweetheart?” 

You lower your gaze. You still can’t accept that your mom is just gone. That you’re here with just Andy. 

“She won’t stay mad--” 

“You can’t be serious? You can’t go back to her. Sweetheart, you’re sick and she’s not making it any better.” 

“It wasn’t that hard,” you murmur. 

His face flashes with concern and hurt, “that doesn’t matter.” His jaw ticks, “let me see your arm.” 

“What?” 

“Where she hit you, let me see it.” 

You pull your arm back and put it behind you, “it’s not--” 

He shakes his head, “I know it hurts. Even if you don’t show me, it doesn’t undo what she did or what I saw.” He sniffs and rubs his nose, “besides, I’m a lawyer, I kind of have to report that sort of thing.” 

“Report? Oh,” you whimper. “Please, don’t.” 

“Sweetheart,” he exhales. 

“Please, Andy. I won’t go back but I don’t her to be in trouble.” 

You look at him, the irritation stitched into his forehead. He purses his lips and drops his hand form his hip. He lets out a resigned breath. 

“Alright, for now. We’ll just do one thing at a time,” he girds. “Let’s go pick up that mess.” 

He steps past you and heads down the hall. You follow him, the wheels on the tank squeaking. He enters the guest room and kneels to gather the mess spilled from the belt bag. You near and bend to help. He glances up. 

“Sweetie, please, you should sit down,” he says. 

“I can help,” you insist as you grab your lip balm. At the same time, he reaches for it and clutches your hand by accident. You flinch away and recoil.  

He doesn’t say a word as he continues to gather everything. He checks a pill bottle before he tucks it away. You peek at his face and notice the red blemish deepening on his cheekbone. The slap was loud, it sounded painful. 

“Are you okay?” You ask. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he assures as he keeps his head down. 

“No, uh, that,” you point at his cheek. "Does it hurt?"

He stops, cradling the belt bag in one hand as he touches his cheek with the other. “Not really,” he says. 

You reach out, “here, I’ll take it.” 

He hands over the bag and you snap it around your waist, careful to keep it from tangling with your oxygen tube. He stands and clears his throat. 

“This room works for you?” He asks. 

You peer around then back at him. 

“You’ll be here for a while so... I could grab you more blankets. A fan?” 

You shake your head, “this is fine.” 

He clicks his tongue and looks past you to the window, “I’m going to make some calls.” 

“To the police? You said--” 

“Not right now,” he shows his palms. “I’m just... I got work, still, and a few other things. Sweetheart,” he steps closer, “you just relax, okay? It’s been a long morning. And if you need anything, my office door will be open, alright?” 

You scrunch up your lips and nod. It’s all you can do. You teeter around and sit on the side of the bed. You brace the oxygen tank to keep yourself upright. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

“This is... normal for me,” you croak. “My mom’s right. I’m a burden. I’m too sick...” 

“She’s not right,” he insists. “Lay down, sweetheart. Take it easy. I’ll be about an hour and then we can chat a bit more. There’s a lot to go through.” 

You stay as you are. You wait. He lingers before he finally strides out of the room. He leaves the door open as you sniffle at your lap. What does he mean? A lot to go through? 

Oh, this is bad. You’re so lost. What do you do? You’re not Andy’s responsibility. If you do go back to your mom, she’s going to be so mad. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You wipe your nose and gulp. Why do you have to be so worthless? 

🩶

You can’t remember when you slumped onto your side. It doesn’t really matter. Most days you spend like that; dizzy, tired, and sick to your stomach. That day is worse.  

You want to be home. Not with your mother, just in your room, with your figurines and your books. With the familiar. You stare at the wall as you listen to the airiness of the strange house. Cars pass with soft swishing noises and a few voices come from the suburban scene outside. 

Andy’s footsteps precede him up the stairs. You see his shadow as he approaches the guest room and you make yourself sit up. What you don’t expect, is the other set of steps or another figure. You bounce slightly, expecting your mother, but finding only a stranger. A man. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Andy asks. 

You stare at the man then grimace at Andy. He stands just inside the door as the other man lingers at his shoulder. 

“You said you wouldn’t call the cops,” you squeak. 

“Oh,” Andy looks at the other man who gives a grin. “He’s not--” 

“Hi,” the man says your name. “I’m Dr. Kemp. A friend of Andy’s.” 

Your eyes flick between them. “It’s just a bruise.” You cover your forearm where the tenderness thrums. 

“A bruise?” He repeats. “I can look at that too, but I’m just here for a check-up.” 

“A check-up? I have a doctor. I have doctors,” you argue. 

“He’s just making sure everything is normal, sweetheart,” Andy says. 

“I could’ve called Dr. Hawes.” 

“You could but I don’t think he’d be able to see you at short notice, this is just a precaution.” Andy explains. 

“I’ll be quick, okay?” Dr. Kemp says as he nears and puts his leather bag next to you. “We’ll do the standard run through, alright?” 

You pout and shrug, “okay. I’m sorry, sir.” 

“It’s okay.” He assures you, “now, I don’t have your records so just a few questions.” 

You nod and your eyes drift to the wall. Questions. There's always questions. You answer the same ones over and over. It’s just like when you had to sit in court. 

“So, I see you’re on oxygen,” he begins, “is that something you need all the time or is it just now and then?” 

“Always,” you answer. 

“Alright, and have you been diagnosed with a specific condition that requires it?” 

“Several. Cystic fibrosis, asthma, other things...” 

“Hm, okay, you’re doing good. I know the questions can get annoying,” he says. “Do you have dizziness?” You nod. “Nausea?” Another nod. “Muscle spasms? Chest pains?” Yes and yes. 

“Even with the tank?” He prompts. 

“Yes, sir,” you reply bluntly. 

“Right, let’s listen to your heart.” 

He unzips the bag and takes out a stethoscope. You stand up stiffly as he comes closer. He points to the bottom of your shirt. “You mind?” You shake your head and he tugs it up, slipping his arm beneath. You blanch as your eyes meet Andy. You almost forgot about him. 

Kemp puts the cold stethoscope on your chest. He moves it around. Across the top, then beneath, closer to your lungs. He listens intently. He hums and removes it, fixing your shirt for you. 

He then starts with the other tests; temperature, blood pressure, eye response. He gives a thoughtful look then crosses his arms. He considers you for a moment. 

“I want you to try something for me, okay?” 

You nod once more. 

“I need you to take off your oxygen.” 

“What?” You yelp. 

“Just for a few minutes, alright? I’m a doctor, right? You’ll be okay.” 

You bat your lashes and glance at Andy again. He dips his chin. He watches intently. You look at the floor and unhook the tub from around your ears. You drag it off your nose and let it hang. 

“Alright, how are you feeling?” Kemp asks. 

You shrug. He just stands there. You do too. You sway slightly, confused. 

“You having any issues?” He intones. 

You shake your head. 

“Alright, just a small test. Hold your breath for me,” he bends his arm and looks at his wrist watch, “we’re going to see how long you can do it. Tell me when you stop.” He pinches the small golden face, “three, two, one.” 

You hold your breath as your eyes widen. Your lungs are full but not horribly so. You search the room in a panic. What if you pass out? Your panic rises and makes you itch but you keep your breath in. He waits and waits and waits. 

You let it out suddenly, “I can’t--” you gasp. “See, I can’t.” 

“A minute forty-seven,” he taps his watch, “pretty standard. Definitely pretty good for someone with bad lungs.” 

“A minute... no, it wasn’t that long. Was it?” 

Andy shifts as his jaw squares. His brows furrow. He looks angry. Kemp peeks back at him and turns back to you. 

“I’m going to review your records. I’ll put a call in to Hawes.” 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Just to make sure I’m getting a full picture. Right now, you’re doing just fine. I’d say you’re doing rather well,” he squeezes your shoulder. “What I want you to do is to take it easy on this.” He touches the oxygen tube. “If you feel out of breath, by all means, put it on, five to ten minutes, but not 24/7.” 

“But I need it,” you whimper. 

“I know you feel like you do, but I’m the doctor, right? I understand you have a lot going on but your lungs aren’t bad enough to warrant constant oxygen. I’ll be back tomorrow once I get the chart,” he says. “Andy has my number.” 

Your lip quivers. You don’t understand. You need the air. That’s what mom says. And when you forget to put it back on, she gets so mad. 

“You having trouble right now?” He asks. 

You stare at him and take a breath, and another, and another. “No,” you answer. 

“There ya go. You got Andy. He'll keep an eye on you,” he packs away his bag. 

“Thanks, Steve,” Andy says as he holds out his hand. 

“We’re even,” Kemp shakes his hand then looks back at you, “see ya tomorrow.” 

“Oh, okay, sir,” you eke out. 

He leaves and Andy gives you a nod before he follows. You listen as they go downstairs. You sit on the bed and clasp your oxygen tube in your hands. You look at the tank and frown. 

It doesn’t make sense. You don’t feel like you’re struggling. You feel like you’re breathing better, actually. It’s strange. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. 

Andy returns and you push your shoulders back. He enters tentatively, “well?” 

“I won’t...” you reach over and turn the dial to cut the supply. “It’s off.” 

“Maybe he can help. More than the other doctors,” Andy says. “Er, you know, you don’t have to hide up here. I’m done for the day so I’m free and uh, if you’re hungry, we can order?” 

“Not right now,” you say and hang your head. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s a lot,” he says. “You got time, sweetheart. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here, okay?” 

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au p aring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> abuse, mention of sex / pregnancies, etc. words -> 2.3K

abstract -> Never owe people favors it could one day cost you your life...

y/n’s perspective

“Taeyong, you can’t be serious,” I said as I was now in the office of the devil himself. And he's called to get his end in a favor. “You owe me,” he said and I scoffed. 

“You’re literally chasing in a favor from when I was in college,” I said and he only grinned. “You still owe me. Besides, it shouldn't be dangerous” and I scoffed at his reassurance. 

“It's just an interview. You’ll wear a wire, and all I need is evidence” he asked and I sighed. “Fine. But I won't risk my life for this, Taeyong” I said and he nodded. 

“I would never put you in a dangerous situation. This won’t hurt you”

“Do you have to do this? Or at least take one of us with you?” Yeosang asked and I shook my head. “I have to repay him. He helped me a lot in college… besides he's trying to do a good thing” I explained and they sighed. “You’ll be okay right?” Wooyoung asked as he hugged me tightly. 

“Of course, he explained that I'll be going in for an interview and he’ll be listening in case. He will only interfere once he's gotten information though, so I won't be in danger. This won't affect us” I assured them and they nodded. 

“Be careful, circus hybrids are some of the most deprived and abused hybrids” San warned and I nodded. Over the years people stopped performing with animals and advanced to hybrids because of their ability to be trained and have a human way of thinking

Even though many people thought it was better it's not too well known that it's abusive to them just repeating history. “Be careful” they said as I was now on the elevator waving bye to the boys. 

They've really grown. 

I’ve officially had San and Wooyoung for five months. Whilst Yeosang joined us two months ago. It's actually been seven months since I originally adopted Son. I couldn’t be happier to have them by my side. 

Now I had to pay my debt to the devil named Taeyong. He truly does hold grudges… 

I walked into the VIP line where I showed my journalist ticket. I would be able to take pictures, and even conduct an interview. As I walked in I noticed the hybrids on display. 

There were two specifically at the entrance. They had bold big letters ‘MATZ’. They were meant to sit there in a glass box… it didn’t even have enough room to walk one step. In a smaller print were their names. 

Seinghwa was the one smiling and bowing, whilst Hongjoong only stared. He would be too far down, he could probably be dangerous. The ones around me started flashing lights at them… it clearly bothered them. I made sure to ask Taeyong to give me a camera without a flash. I took a photo of the surroundings. Another reason why he had me do this job and not Mark was because I have a hybrid specialist license to see and even handle red-coded hybrids with supervision. 

I knew how to analyze their behaviors. So when I saw Hongjoong, he had the potential to be a black code hybrid. 

“Hello! Welcome, it's an honor to see such esteemed guests !! I hope you may enjoy the show !--” as he spoke I saw his ringmaster look. He had jesters and clown costumed people handle hybrids. A few were assigned to cuff and ensure ‘MATZ’ did not act out.

They were tigers and therefore dangerous. 

“-- Of course, if you need help please ask one of my staff. I look forward to the interviews I’m scheduled for” he said as he left. As the staff looked at our tickets I was led to the back. I was given a pre / post-interview. 

“Hello, I’m going to be conducting an interview?” I said as I now saw the ringleader with the two tigers. They had chains connecting to their collar which looked like ones that were for black code hybrids. 

“Ah yes, may I ask which firm it is under?” he asked and I nodded. “It would be under the N.E.O. Firm” I stated and he nodded. 

“I see. How is Dong Sicheng ?” he asked and I smiled. “He’s actually on vacation at the moment. Last I heard he was in China visiting a few friends. '' I answered and he chuckled. 

“I know, your firm isn’t too keen on me,” he said and I noticed the curious eyes of the tigers. “Well, the firm has hybrid rights associated. It has been for years now” I answered and he nodded with calculating eyes. 

“That it is. Though I can assure you, our hybrids are treated like family” he said and I smiled softly as I wrote down notes of the two hybrids behind him. They were clearly agitated by his words, almost like he was lying.

“Well then. What are your questions?” he asked politely. “How many hybrids currently do you have registered?” I asked and he nodded. “Around fifty dear,” he said and I nodded. “And all are vaccinated with the current hybrid regulations, health up-to-date, VISA’s registered?” I asked and he answered yes. 

So he denied hybrid trafficking, and hybrid health neglect.

“May I ask you to talk about MATZ?'' I asked and he nodded. “These two were born into the circus. Their parents are a mix from our circus and a breeder which I know personally” he explained and I saw how Seonghwa kept on staring at my coat. His ears were twitching and I noticed Hongjoong’s glare at me….

“These two are such close friends we thought that a show would be most beneficial and fun for them,” he said while lifting his hands to pet their heads making them both clearly uncomfortable. Seonghwa stared wearily whilst Hongjoong looked like he could bite any minute.

“May I ask if I own hybrids?” He asked and I contemplated. “Decline anything in your personal life” I heard on the headpiece Taeyong gave me.

“No, I do not,” I said and he nodded. “Are you against the ownership?” He asked and I shook my head. “Not necessarily… it would take a lot of circumstances for me to adopt a hybrid,” I said and the ringmaster only nodded. 

“I can assure you every hybrid here is taken care of, and we’ll look after it, '' he said and I noticed Seonghwa's gaze. It wasn’t like Hongjoong’s glare; it was almost like he was pleading for help. 

“What’s the situation with heats?” I asked and he chuckled… “I don’t believe in heat suppressants. I let them go on with it with the other gender hybrid” he explained. 

Meaning it's how he has so many hybrids… he’s illegally breeding them. “Are you not worried about pregnancies?” I asked.

“No… some of our female hybrids are sterile so they can’t reproduce either way” he explained.

It wasn’t abuse per se to sterilize a hybrid… but it was being argued for hybrid rights.

“How long have you had this duo?” I asked curious. “Hmm, these two rascals? Well, they were born in 1998 and they’ve been with me since then.” He said and I nodded.

Would they speak out against their master? They would’ve seen everything… been through… everything.

“Sir?” I heard a clown asking for the attention of his boss. “Ah give me a moment my dear, why not have an exclusive interview with a MATZ performer. Hongjoong needs some touching up so Seonghwa treats her nicely '' be said and I knew the reason why they took the orange tiger away was because of his behavior.

“Be careful, an abuse hybrid can be triggered at any mention of abuse. Ask simple questions.” Taeyong said and before I could start I looked at him.

He stared at me with soft eyes and a smile... it shocked me how gentle his expression looked.

“I’m not fragile for you not to ask me,” he said and I felt my eyes widen. “The moment you walked in I heard that radio of yours… it kinda hurt at first” he confessed.

“I’m sorry,” I said but I couldn’t turn it off for my safety.

“It’s alright… you're not the first person to come here to infiltrate this place,” he said with his ears flattening on his head. He was losing hope for himself.

“How many hybrids are there?” I asked and he sighed. “I’ve lost count… it is over a hundred by now and more to come” he explained. “Oh, and he doesn’t register hybrids in case they die. It’s a miracle to even survive birth here… let alone survive being a baby here. We aren’t checked for until we’re cubs… after that, we’re never looked after again. The only thing he’ll ask to do is hygiene for his top performers” he explained.

“I’ve heard of your firm from the clowns… they hate you,” he said and I chuckled. “They said something about a girl writing about hybrid rights. Since then they’ve shut down several enterprises” he said and I smiled.

My reputation follows me.

“They might know who you are, be careful,” Taeyong said and Seonghwa only stared at me with twitching ears.

“You must have really good hearing to catch it,” I said and he smiled softly with his tail swishing behind him.

“Thanks… but it comes in handy with the staff,” he said and I sighed. 

“Do you have anything you want to tell me?” I asked and he swallowed down saliva showing how nervous he was.

“I’ll tell you everything if you manage to burn this place down,” he said and I sighed. “How about we make a promise?” I asked and he looked at me confused.

“I’ll shut this place down… but that’ll be the easy part. I’ll still need some more evidence after to concrete it” I asked and he nodded.

“Good luck”

The show was like any other hybrid show. 

You could see the fear in hybrid's eyes when they made a mistake and had to cover it. Clowns and performers have the upper hand. 

MATZ had the opening… they did dangerous stunts. There were a few times they stumbled but otherwise did the best they could. The crowd loved them… I saw the contrast of the two… fear and anger.

Once the show was over I did a closing statement with the ringmaster and some staff who showed me around.

“And our opening act. Did you enjoy it?” they asked and I smiled when I saw Seonghwa and Hongjoong in a tiny cage. It had enough room for the both of them but it must've made them feel trapped.

The staff were talking to other reporters when I noticed the heavy glare Hingjoong was giving me.

Seonghwa got his attention and looked to be scolding him only for him to scoff. He looked over at me and bowed in an apology in which I shook my head. 

“I hope you enjoyed the show” 

seonghwa’s pov

As the reporters left with the staff, Hongjoong glared at me. “Quit acting that way” I scolded and he scoffed

“She’s not the first person to come here asking for questions with a wire,” he said and I sighed.

“You heard what they said about that firm though—“ “She also said how she didn’t own any hybrids but owned three,” he said and I was confused. 

“She has hybrid scents reading out of her. You shouldn’t trust humans so easily… one day it’ll be you they’re disposing of” he said and I looked down.

“I… sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. I’m just sick of this Seonghwa but this is our life and it’ll never change” he said and I chose not to believe that. 

I had hoped that she’d complete her promise.

“Hongjoong…. Sometimes you just have to have faith that people are still good. We don’t know how it is outside… maybe it’s different” I said and he sighed.

“But is it any better?” He asked and before I could respond I heard yelling.

“Woah!? What are you doing?!” I heard as I saw the ringmaster following… policemen? 

“This place is being temporarily shut down for inspection and so are the hybrids in this vicinity. If we find anyone trying to smuggle or hide evidence you’ll be under arrest for tampering with a crime scene” he said and I also noticed people with white lab coats. 

“Start arresting staff members and performers. Contain all the hybrids as well” he ordered and the last thing I saw was Hongjoong defying them whilst I felt a sharp pain in my neck.

Everything could only get better… right?

Waking up in a white and cold room was not what I expected…

“White tiger hybrid seems to be malnourished, untreated second-degree burns, underweight, untreated cuts, and dehydrated. Seems to be approximately 25 years old and unclassified code due to tranquilizer” I heard… Was that a doctor?

I tried sitting up but my wrists were bound. 

“You’re awake? Are you going to comply?” he asked me and I noticed how close he was. He seemed to purposely try to annoy me… “Classified as yellow. He’s one of the tame ones” he said into the radio. Classifications? I knew very little of that… but yellow wasn’t bad?

“The orange tiger is awake, and is showing a lot of aggression” I heard on his radio… Hongjoong? “Tranquilize him,” the doctor said and I struggled against the constraints. “He’s your partner, right? They won’t hurt him, but he will hurt us… he’s in good hands'' he said and I scoffed. Like I’d trust humans now after… 

“What happened to the reporter?” I asked and he looked at me confused. “She promised to help me… what did she do?” I asked and he hummed. “She’ll be conducting interviews this following week. So be on your best behavior or you’ll end up in a higher code” he said as he left the room. 

She actually… helped us?

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

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[artbyblastweave]

Do you have any opinions on how the Big Two do Atlantis? Do you prefer any of them to the other? Is there another superhero workthat does the job better? Non-superhero work?

I've never been particularly invested in Atlantis at either Marvel or DC. It's there. It's fine. The standout elseworld interpretation of the thing, though, is hands down the version present in Tangent Comics.

To recap, the premise of Tangent Comics was that in the late 90s, DC took a bunch of the golden age characters who'd been reinvented from the ground up during the 1960s (Green Lantern, The Flash, The Atom etc.) and repeated the process for the 1990s in an alt-history shared universe. Some characters continued the one-upsmanship in present in the shift from the golden age to the Silver age- Tangent Flash being an energy-being who could teleport instead of a speedster- and some of the characters invoked the abandoned core of the original golden age concepts, Green Lantern being a mystical vigilante psychopomp whose lantern allowed her to command ghosts. But how they handled Atlantis was extremely compelling.

Rather than an ancient undersea society, Atlantis and Atlanteans have only existed in the Tangent Comics universe since the 1960s, when a botched attempt by The Atom to resolve the Cuban missile crisis resulted in the American Southeast getting nuked out of existence and World War Three kicking off. In what amounts to the Atlantis/Atlanta joke from Futurama played deadly seriously, the Sea Devils- the setting's collective analog for Aquaman- are B-movie nuclear mutants that evolved from sea life exposed to the sunken radioactive remains of Georgia. They're between a rock and a hard place; the coasts have been recolonized by Utopian eugenicists who've identified them as the new Outgroup recipient of that famed Southern Hospitality, and even worse nuclear horrors are constantly pouring out of the deeper waters to attack them in the shallows in which they're fighting for space with the humans.

On top of the B-movie creature feature throwback, the recency does a ton of lifting for this concept for me; it eliminates the problem of figuring out how an undersea society as old as human civilization would fit into geopolitics or go undetected for as long as it has, and it also neatly eliminates any pro-monarchy sentiment. The Ocean Master isn't the stately head of a noble dynasty with the weight of history behind his every yadda yadda yadda- he's just the guy who emerged who was charismatic enough to do the necessary and thankless work of wrangling a bunch of scared, perpetually on-edge mutant subspecies that've only been sapient for about two decades and viewed each other as potential food sources prior to that. On the whole it really does feel so much like the kind of ground-up Retool Aquaman deserved to get in the 1960s but never got. And it's not at all surprising that it was Kurt Busiek who wrote it.

[subwillsolace]

i’ve always wondered if solangelo could use their powers for pleasure. like i don’t know how will could turn healing sexy but id love to see it. or i dont know how nico could turn shadow travel into foreplay but maybeeee

oh yes i have. believe me i have.

will has something of an oral fixation.

this, nico knows.

he likes to have something in his mouth. and he likes to be stuffed, too,

they're visiting will's family in texas. longer trip, to make the distance worth it.

and like nico has restraint.

will does too.

kinda.

but theyre also there for three goddamn weeks.

and will looks goddamn good in the texas sun.

and he knows it, too, motherfucker he is.

nico has been resisting thus far because will is loud as all living fuck. genuinely. if hes getting fucked you know it. your neighbours know it. the next fuckin country over knows it.

the only time he is ever in his life quiet is when he has a cock stuffed down his throat.

which they do! for a while. their celibacy and 'oh no not with my literal grandmother in the same house' blah blah lasts about thirty two hours on the dot. neither of them cracks first. they close the door to will's room second night in and snap together at the speed of light.

but will is....

well, he is accustomed to something of a life.

and, frankly, he is empty and its killing him.

its not like he cant handle himself. he can. hes even actually kind of okay at staying quiet when he handles himself, because he grew up with forty billion siblings etc etc.

but why the fresh hell would he ever handle himself when his pretty as sin boyfriend is right fucking there. like.

and will has these big blue eyes and nico is.

well.

there is only so much restraint going around.

also will's ass looks crazy fucking good in jeans and cowboy boots holy fuck.

nico wants to fuck him so bad. but he CANT. there is no way to keep him quiet. even if nico stuffs his fingers in his mouth will is -- he's loud, still, somehow. its literally cock or nothing. a gag, maybe, if they had one. but they dont.

theyre so pent up and desperate that theyre about to risk it anyway. will's grandmother might have a heart attack. but will is like. a doctor. so it should be fine.

nico has him face down ass up on his bed and he is fucking SALIVATING with it. fuck. he looks so good. nico has been aching for it so long. and will is begging for it, shameless, bereft and needing and christ alive, nico, please, if you don' get on w'it --

(his accent has gotten stronger, down here.)

(nico is Suffering.)

nico is fingering him as quickly as he can and avoiding the shit out of his prostate but it doesnt matter because even with will's face stuffed in a pillow you can hear him. and either way, nico wants to see him, fuck.

but nico only has one dick. he can only be in one place at once. he's not a god.

...except.

except.

he can be in more than one place at once, can't he.

a little bit, anyway.

he gets this idea. eyes wide. stops, for a second, and will whines, pushing back, and nico jolts and redoubles his effort and hes getting louder, and louder, but thats okay. nico just needs him stretched. just a minute longer.

soon as he's stretched -- barely, honestly, but will likes it that way because he is a whore -- nico wastes no time. lubes up, exhales.

leans over and flicks off the lights.

and will turns in confusion, opens his mouth to ask what the hell, but then there's the blunt head of a cock against his hole and his mouth drops open and --

before he can moan, there's the blunt head of a cock against his mouth, too.

his eyes goes wide.

because this is not a dildo. this is not even someone else. this is a very familiar cock, one he could probably pick out blind in a lineup, but that familiar cock is up his ass, too, what the hell, what is --

he looks over his shoulder and he can't see, much. just the flash of nico's grin. and something a little off, in nico's vitals, something hidden.

shadowed.

[dootznbootz]

Athena favors Penelope because of who she is, not because of who her husband and son are.

The text even states as such.

"[...] on the score of the accomplishments Minerva has taught her, and because she is so clever. We never heard of such a woman; we know all about Tyro, Alcmena, Mycene, and the famous women of old, but they were nothing to your mother any one of them."

(Book 2, Butler)

"[...] counting too much on matchless gifts that she owes to Athene, her skill in fine handicraft, her excellent brain, and that genius she has for getting her way. In that respect, I grant she has no equal, not even in story. For of all the Achaean beauties of former times, there is not one, not Tyro, nor Alcmene, nor Mycene of the lovely diadem, who had at her command such wits as she. Yet in the present case Penelope has used those wits amiss."

(Book 2, Rieu)

[...] because in her heart she knows that she’s been given by Athena, more than any other woman, a skill in making lovely things, a noble heart, and cunning of a sort we never hear of in any fair-haired woman of Achaea, even the ones who lived so long ago—          like Tyro, Alcmene, and Mycene,                    the woman who wore the lovely headband— not one of them had shrewdness which could match Penelope’s.

(Book 2, Johnston)

Antinous is the one who is saying this but regardless, everyone considers Penelope to be favored by Athena. I think people forget that Penelope's role is very sneaky and sly in the Odyssey; of course not everything about her is "spelled out" for you because just as she tricks the trickster, her husband Odysseus, she tricks the AUDIENCE to a degree.

Not only do other characters acknowledge this Athena also reassures Telemachus that since he is PENELOPE'S SON, he'll be fine. Even while Odysseus is not there.

Then grey-eyed Athena said: "The gods decreed no lack of honor in this generation: such is the son Penelope bore in you."

(Book 1, Fitzgerald)

'And yet,' said the goddess of the flashing eyes, 'with you as you are, and with Penelope for your mother, I cannot think that your house is doomed to an inglorious future.[...]

(Book 1, Rieu)

Goddess Athena with the gleaming eyes answered him: “Well then, at least the gods have given you a family which, in days to come, will have a glorious name, since Penelope has given birth to such a noble son.

(Book 1, Johnston)

Athena wouldn't be reassuring Telemachus with "You are your mother's son; you will be fine" if Athena did not truly believe it. Even if you interpret it as more of a "Penelope has given birth to a great son, therefore you'll be fine," that's STILL acknowledging that she is his mother and the one who had, partially, made him who he is.

I've got more examples but I think I've made my point. Just because Athena isn't giving Penelope power ups to fight doesn't mean that Athena just ignores her or that she's "lesser" than Odysseus and Telemachus. Athena loves Penelope just as much, it's just in a different, though not less meaningful, way. Penelope herself embodies a lot of what Athena IS: intelligence, weaving, trickery, etc. I guess you could say that Penelope is more in the "feminine" domain of Athena's but still in her domain regardless.

I also think it's amusing that Athena had to instruct Odysseus with his plan to take out the suitors while Penelope came up with the challenge of Bow AND the way to test him about their bed all by herself. I'd like to imagine Athena is kind of like "You got everything handled. Let me make sure your husband doesn't die."

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - part four - savior complex

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ [4.1k] warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

As you pulled away from the kiss, panting, you searched Rafe’s eyes and only found solace in them. Why did this feel so right? Was it the greenhouse or the beauty of the plants surrounding you, the hues of green in the leaves that towered over your figure? Was it the romance or the pouring rain? You couldn’t put your finger on it and then, his blue eyes bore into yours and you could. It was Rafe. It was the man of your dreams kissing you at the college you’d both attend. You’d dreamed about this moment forever, thinking it would never really come and yet, you had your guard up, wondering when things got tough, if he’d run away again. 

“Rafe-” 

He kissed you passionately again, cutting off your words, both hands cradling your cheeks like his life depended on it. You chuckled.

“Rafe..” 

You placed your hands against his chest, pushing him away.

“What is it, sweet girl?” 

His tone was kind. It stung. You wanted him as close as you could get him, his sweet voice replaying over and over again in your ears forever.  

“I-, w-we can’t do this.” 

You stuttered out.

“What do you mean?” 

The hurt washed over his face and you immediately regretted the words that left your lips. 

“I’ve wanted this with you forever and-” 

Your words were cut off by Rafe once more, his pleading eyes, begging you not to let the moment end.

“Then, have it with me. I’m right here.” 

Before your brain could register its next move, the words were spewing out of your mouth at an aggressive volume.

“You have a reputation with girls, okay?” 

You said forcefully.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He asks, accusingly. Though, the hurt laced in his blue eyes makes your chest tight. 

“It means I can’t be another one of your conquests. I can’t be another girl at a party or in your truck or on your lap in a golf cart if you’re not going to care about me next week. I’ve been there before, I can’t do it again.” 

You blurted out without thinking, really. But, you can’t deny the words – you meant them. The truth was, you had been that girl, minus the sex, you’d been his girl and then one day, like whiplash after a car accident, you’d woken up and he was gone. You knew you wouldn’t be able to handle that again.  

“Is that what you think of me?” 

His head hung low as he whispered. Before you were able to reply, your thoughts were quickly shoved away when the dinging of your phone erupted from within your backpack that still sat on Rafe’s shoulders. His features softened as yours fell. 

“You feel okay? Is that the tone for your blood sugar?” 

He asks gently. 

“It always does some stupid shit at the worst conceivable time.” 

He could tell you beat yourself about it, your illness. He wondered why, no one could help being sick. Who had made you feel like it was a problem? You looked down at your phone as Rafe handed it to you and realized your blood sugar was fine, you perked up at that. But, mentally cursed at Topper’s contact flashing across your screen. 

“I’m okay, Rafe. Don’t worry. It’s just Top.” 

You gave him a reassuring smile and he returned it. The words from moments ago seemingly forgotten, at least for now. 

“Hello?” 

You asked, clearing the phlegm from your throat. 

“Hey, where are you guys?”

He questioned. 

“We’re in the arboretum.” 

You replied with the hint of a smile. 

“You and that fucking greenhouse, I swear. Okay, well. Let’s get a move on. It’s pouring rain and I’m ready to go home.” 

Topper’s attitude had hurt you more than usual and your smile quickly faltered. 

“O-okay. We’ll be there soon.” 

You spoke into the speaker, trying to keep your voice even as you ended the call. 

“Everything okay?” 

Rafe asked, hesitantly. 

“Yeah, Topper just being Topper. He’s ready to go home because of the rain.” 

You let out a defeated chuckle, eyes tracing to your feet. Rafe had heard what Topper said. You and that fucking greenhouse. Rafe never understood how Topper could be so tone deaf, such a fucking idiot. Why was loving beautiful things so wrong? 

“Okay.” 

Rafe nodded and led you out of the front door of the greenhouse. This time there was no hand on your back or smile from him and you had never craved his warmth so much. There were no words exchanged between the two of you, only your guilt eating away at your core and before you knew it you were back at the Jeep. Rafe didn’t open your door for you and at that revelation, you swallowed thickly and tears lined your eyes. You had ruined your one chance with him. Topper and Kelce were taken aback by the sudden rigidity between you and the Cameron boy, but knew better than to say anything about it. They only assumed the happiness was short lived and you’d go back to hating each other. The car ride was long and agonizing and after two hours of radio silence from Rafe, you were in shambles. So you did what any teenager with no self respect would, you texted him. 

Y: Can we talk? 

R: for what 

Y: i’m sorry 

R: why 

Y: I was mean and you didn’t deserve that, just got scared 

R: scared? Of what? 

Y: you. 

R: why would you be scared of me? 

Y: because I know what kind of hurt your absence can bring. 

He didn’t respond to the last text and you took that as the final nail in the coffin. You had fucked this up. This entire day was perfect until you opened your big fat dumb fucking mouth and now the intimacy, the closeness, the Rafe you had so desperately prayed for was slipping out of your grasp. You could almost cry, but you knew if you started you’d never stop. Brought out of your thoughts by Rafe’s gruff voice, you looked to him as he spoke to Topper. 

“Just go to Y/N’s house instead of mine.” 

Your face fell and you started to spiral, he had taken back his dinner invitation and you could no longer hold in your tears, scared he was going to go away again, this time maybe permanently. You simply couldn’t bear that pain again.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” 

Topper questioned, worry lacing his features as he took in the look on your face. 

“Yeah, m’fine.” 

The tone of your voice made the hair on the back of Rafe’s neck stand up. It was flat, in a broken, numb sort of way. He hadn’t heard you use that tone since the night he took Maggie Mills up to his room after a party. He never understood why that had upset you so much. He looked at you, watching as tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes and you stared at the floorboard of Top’s car. You couldn’t feel anything, numbness over taking your body. He placed his hand on your shoulder, begging you to look at him, but your eyes remained locked on the floor. You couldn’t face him, not now, not after you had ruined things with him, again. You were brought away from the sadness by the ding of your phone. It was Rafe, again. 

R: please tell me what’s wrong 

Y: isn’t it obvious 

R: no, please tell me 

Y: you don’t want me at dinner now. You don’t want me.

R: what? 

Rafe began to put two and two together and visibly winced at the fear he had struck within you. 

R: I just wanted you to have fresh clothes. I’m sorry, I should’ve said that. Please don’t cry, pretty girl. I’d never do that to you. 

You didn’t reply to his message, but he looked on as your body slowly began to relax and reached over, wiping the tears from your cheeks and giving you a subtle smile. You returned it. Rafe had always catered to your anxiety, but he hadn’t been around you in so long, he almost couldn’t recognize it when it overcame you. Topper pulled into your driveway soon after and you were quick to rush inside, slipping into a new dress, adorned with pale pink lilies, and grabbing extra insulin before making your way back out to the jeep and climbing in next to Rafe. You quickly unzipped the bag that sat in between the two of you and shoved the insulin inside and you looked down at your phone, checking your levels one more time. They were still fairly normal, reading at 85 mg. Rafe looked over your shoulder, making sure your levels were okay and he was pleased when he saw they were. He knew it had been a long time since you’d eaten and you needed real food soon. As the sound of Topper’s brakes bringing the car to a halt met your ears, you locked eyes with Rafe who hopped out of the car almost immediately. 

“Well boys, this was fun. I’ll see you two soon.” 

You say with a false cheek. 

“Bye, beautiful.” 

Kelce muttered, dragging out the “L” on his last word. Topper simply nodded his head in your direction, unsure of what was going on between you and Rafe, but too tired to ask questions. By the time you had said your goodbyes to both boys, Rafe had made his way around to the side of the car and opened your door, helping you out with the grasp of his hand. 

“Thanks, Rafe.” 

You whispered, looking at the ground, still too spooked to look him in the eye. 

“No problem, pretty girl.” 

He smiled in response to your gratitude and the both of you made your way into the house. 

“Rafe, is that you?” 

Rose called to him as you both entered the foyer. 

“Yeah, it’s us.” 

He called back to her. She quickly emerged from the kitchen, meeting you both in the huge room, giving her greetings and ushering you over to the table where you were met with your father’s disapproving eyes. 

“Honey! It’s so good to see you. I was wondering where you were all day.” 

Your mother chimed in, walking over to you, placing a kiss on your cheek. 

“Hi, mama. Yeah, Rafe, Topper, Kelce, and I left early this morning to tour UNC. We made it back just in time for dinner.” 

“That’s wonderful, sweet girl! Did you love it?” 

She questioned. 

“Yes. Rafe took me to the greenhouse.” 

You smiled, but it quickly faded as you looked over at him, remembering the events that followed. He didn’t meet your gaze. 

“Rafe! Thank you, that’s been my girl’s dream for quite some time, being in that greenhouse, with you especially.” 

She smiled brightly in his direction and gave him a wink. Your cheeks flushed, embarrassed at your mother’s outburst of too much fucking information. Rafe let out a low chuckle and your brother, Brock, opened his mouth to speak. 

“Hopefully she wasn’t too much trouble for you, today, Rafe.” 

He spoke, his tone demeaning. 

“She’s never any trouble, she’s my best girl.” 

Rafe responded in an even, joking tone, in an attempt to diffuse the situation before his temper got the best of him. His hand made its way to your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. When did your brother become such a dick and what gave him the right to speak about you like you weren’t in the room? The subject quickly changed as Rose and Ward began asking you and Rafe about the campus and your majors. 

“So, Y/N, what are you thinking of majoring in?” 

Ward questioned. 

“I’d like to go into English with a minor in entrepreneurship. I’d like to take some business classes, too, I think.” 

You responded. 

“That’s wonderful! Business and English are two things that will help you so much in the working world.” 

He replied, truly excited for you. He’s always been one of your favorite adults. 

“Yeah, thank you! I think so too.” 

You replied with a sweet smile. 

“You know, you could always intern at Cameron Development this summer and get some hands on training with Rafe, Brock, and I.” 

He suggested. 

“Thank you, Ward. I seriously would love that!” 

You smiled his way, unsure if you’d take him up on his offer. It would look good on college applications and it would mean more time with Rafe, those were both good things, right? 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, y/n. I don’t know that you could handle the workload, what with your condition and all.” 

Brock said quickly with a sneer. You cast your eyes immediately down to where your hands sat in your lap. 

“What about you, Rafe?” 

Your mother questioned him, ignoring your brother. It hurt that they oftentimes bowed down to his asshole nature, not wanting to fight with him. Sometimes you just wanted to feel fought for.  

“Dad and I have been talking about me going to business school and running the company eventually.” 

Rafe replied quietly, still unsure he had heard Brock correctly. Because the guy he knew loved his sister, he wouldn’t be treating you like this, especially not in public. 

“Of course! You’re a smart young man, it’s only fitting. You have a bright future ahead of you.” 

She replied with a cheerful tone. 

“Thank you, that means so much coming from you.” 

He replied with a kind smile. He always loved your mother and her sweet words meant the world to him. The familiar beep of your glucose monitor brought your attention away from the conversation and toward your phone in your lap. Rafe watched you intently, reading the levels over your shoulder. 80mg. ‘That can’t be good’, he thought. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” 

He whispered into your ear and you met his eyes. 

“I’m not feeling good, but I’m fine. I need to eat soon.” 

You responded, reassuring him. Even though you knew your levels were getting dangerously low. 

“How much longer on the food, Rose?” 

Rafe questioned. 

“About 5 minutes.” 

She smiled, letting him know it would be right out. Thirty seconds passed and the alert on your phone beeped loudly once more. You averted your gaze from your brother’s eyes and let out a sigh, but that didn’t stop his mouth from opening. 

“Not this shit again.” 

He spoke, boldly. 

“What did you just say?” 

Rafe’s tone was coated with venom, as he gave your brother a tight lipped smile, urging him to repeat himself, daring him to. 

“I’m just tired of the same shit everyday. She needs sugar, she needs insulin, blah, blah, blah. Everything is always about her.” 

He gritted out. 

“Oh you’re tired of it?! How the fuck do you think she feels?” 

Your father interjected, keeping his voice low, his kind honey-colored eyes becoming dark at Brock’s words. He’s clearly had enough. 

“Well, I’m sorry, this might not be my place. But, I don’t think she’s thrilled about it either and here she is dealing with it. It went off and she sighed, all she did was fucking sigh. She didn’t demand attention from everyone in the room. All she did was fucking sigh and you know what? She’s allowed to do that. She’s allowed to be frustrated about something that is wrong with her body. You could show some fucking compassion.” 

Rafe growled. 

“Rafael Joseph Cameron! Language!” 

Ward spoke Rafe’s full name, his tone laced with warning. 

“What dad?! You can’t let him talk about her like that!” 

He said, exasperatedly. 

“Ward, it’s really okay. He deserves to be bitched at.” 

Your mother spoke, sticking up for Rafe. 

“She’s a type one diabetic, not a fucking drug addict and i’ll be damned if I let you sit here and treat her like one.” 

At Rafe’s words the table fell silent. His father knew what the weight of his words carried, and now, so did you. Luckily for you, Rose served you your food first after the meal was done cooking and your sugar quickly went back up to normal levels, which was a giant relief to Rafe. Most of the dinner was silent after the conversation fizzled out. The words of your father affected you more than you cared to admit, yet not as much as Rafe’s. Rafe stood up for you in a room with two men that scared the shit out of you, all without batting an eye or worrying about a consequence. He stood up to his father for you and you knew you couldn’t just let that go. The conversations quickly became about business and Rafe watched as you mentally checked out, which probed his next question to you.

“Why don’t we go out to the dock, sweet girl?” 

You simply nodded in response, thankful to him for saving you from listening to your brother’s bullshit business plans any longer. Rafe helped you out of your chair and pushed it in behind you, leading you out the patio doors with his large hand placed on the small of your back. You quickly made your way to the dock on the other side of the cool grass, taking your shoes off and plunging your feet in as you sat on the edge of where the wood met the water. 

“You okay?” 

He asked, his cerulean eyes taking in your form. 

“Yeah, I am. Thank you for sticking up for me in there.” 

You gave him your best smile, even though he could see right through it. 

“How long has he been treating you that way?” 

“Since the day I came home from the hospital.” 

You whispered, but Rafe heard you, loud and clear. 

“Can you tell me about it? I mean, what happened when you got sick.” 

You swallowed thickly. Talking about your illness was easy but talking about it with Rafe was just different. He wasn’t there when you got sick and you resented him for it, but you also resented yourself for not giving him the opportunity to be. 

“It happened the Thursday after we stopped talking. I was with Topper, we were at the club, just swinging some golf balls and dicking around. He was with me everyday that week just to make sure I was handling things well and I wasn’t, so I’m glad I had him.” 

You said, with no particular emotion. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He whispered out, hanging his head in shame. 

“You don’t have to apologize Rafe, I’m not here to make you feel guilty. I just-, if I’m gonna tell you what happened, I have to tell the whole story.” 

You replied, trying to reassure him. 

“I know and I want to know everything.” 

He stated with a sheepish smile, nodding his head for you to continue. 

“I told Top I wasn’t feeling good that morning, but I thought it was just because I was hungover and when we went to play golf, I figured I’d be fine. But when we got to the third hole, I noticed that I was kinda nauseous and dizzy and my hands were shaking. I heard Top ask if I was okay before I hit the ground but I couldn’t register anything. Evidently he had called an ambulance because I woke up in the ICU three days later. They said I had a seizure and went into diabetic shock, which is when we found out I had type one.” 

You finished with a swirl of anxiety in your belly. 

“As much as it pains me to say this, I’m thankful you had Top.” 

Rafe smiled into his joke. His distaste for the closeness Topper shared with you had always been prevalent, but especially after the two of you had gone your separate ways. 

“Yeah, the funny thing is, I laid in that hospital bed for days willing myself to call you but I couldn’t do it.” 

You said suddenly. 

“I wish you would have.” 

Your eyes flickered up to meet his immediately. 

“I couldn’t do that to you. You decided you wanted a life without me in it and I respected that even if I didn’t understand it. I never wanted me being sick to be the reason you came back, I wanted you to come back because you wanted to. But it hurt like hell that I had to walk through that without you.” 

Rafe quickly pulled you in and wrapped his large hand around the back of your head, pooling your hair in his hands. He hugged you tightly and suddenly it felt like all the broken pieces of your heart had been mended. 

“I’m so sorry, sweet girl. Please, forgive me.” 

His voice broke as the words stumbled out of his mouth. He felt like there was no air in his lungs and all he knew was that he needed your forgiveness like he needed to breathe. He pulled back, holding you by your shoulders, looking to your eyes for confirmation of the hatred he was sure you felt for him, yet he couldn’t find it. 

“I forgave you a long time ago, Rafael.” 

You spoke softly, giving him the sweetest smile you could muster up. 

“Y/N, I need you to know that I’m never going to leave you again.” 

He said so sure – more sure of anything than he has ever been in his entire life. 

“I appreciate that Rafe and I hope it’s true. It’s just so hard for me to trust that.” 

You replied candidly. 

“I know and I’m going to work everyday to prove to you that you can trust me.” 

He responded, willing to do anything to prove that to you. 

“I hope you do.” 

He nodded, giving you the reassurance you needed. 

“So, uh, where’d you learn to kiss like that?” 

He asked, sheepishly, as he rubbed his hand against the back of his neck - one of his many nervous habits. His voice came out small and awkward and it made you laugh. 

“I don’t know, Cameron. Where did you learn to kiss like that?” 

Your eyes met, as you nudged his shoulder, which made him smile. 

“Lots of practice.” 

He replied and you visibly winced at the words that you had spoken to him earlier. You have a reputation with girls, okay? The hurt that laced his irises when the words left your lips would haunt you forever. 

“Hey, listen, about what I said earlier-” 

You began, but didn’t get to finish. 

“It’s okay, I deserved it.” 

He replied, his head hanging low. You gently lifted his chin, so his eyes met yours.

“You didn’t, not from me.” 

You said, very matter-of-factly. 

“What do you mean?” 

He asked, scrunching his eyebrows together. 

“I mean, I’ve always been your person – the one you tell anything to. It isn’t fair of me to project my shit onto you, so I’m sorry. That’s not what I think of you, Rafe and I need you to know that. I just got scared.” 

You replied, laying your heart directly in his hands. 

“Why are you so scared, sweet girl?” 

He wasn’t trying to pry, he just genuinely didn’t understand what you had to be afraid of, surely it wasn’t him. 

“I just-, I went through some things with JJ.” 

He nodded, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together in his brain.

“I see. You know you can talk to me, right? I mean – if you want to tell me, ya know, I’m the guy you tell.” 

He replied, assurance laced in his blue orbs. 

“Yeah, I do and I will when I’m ready.” 

He nodded, taking your answer as gospel. He knew you’d tell him when you were ready. He quickly changed the subject.

“What days are you working this week?” 

He questioned. 

“Uh-, Tomorrow, Wednesday, and Friday. Why?” 

You asked, confused. 

“Is it okay if I come see you?” 

He questioned, voice sheepish, unable to make eye contact with you in fear of your rejection. That’s what all this has been about to begin with hasn’t it – the years away from you, the fear that he just wasn’t enough. 

“You can always come see me. But, why do you want to hang out at the club?” 

You smiled in his direction, noting how respectful it was for him not to just show up. 

“I am a member, you know?” 

He joked and flush filled your cheeks. Bold of you to assume he'd be there for you, you thought. He must have noticed the change in your demeanor, because he grabbed your hand and lifted your chin. 

“I want to spend time with you, silly girl and I can only gain your trust by spending all the time I can with you.” 

You smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Rafe. That’s sweet.” 

You looked in his eyes, thanking him for more than just his sweet words and he had no idea. 

-

You walked into the club at 4pm the next day, spotting Rafe immediately as he sat at the bar, waiting for your inevitable arrival. You were shocked to see him, even though he said he’d come. Truth be told, you hadn’t taken most of what Rafe Cameron said seriously in the last few years, but him showing up meant something to you. It meant more to you than you cared to admit.  After you clocked in and made your way behind the bar, your eyes met his. 

“Well, hey pretty girl.” 

He flashed you that Rafe Cameron smile and it was over. You were done for. 

“Hello, Rafael, to what do I owe this pleasure?” 

You said, smiling back at him. 

“Just wanted to hang out with my girl, that’s all.” 

He replied cheekily. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“She’s working.” 

You retorted, a fun-loving tone soaking your tongue, dispersing from him to check on your tables. You glanced his way a few times, only to be met with eyes studying your form. Your co-worker Emily made her way over to you, noticing his gaze. 

“So, why is Rafe Cameron being a creepy stalker and staring you down like a serial killer?” 

You chuckled, Emily or Em as she was known by her friends, had quite the knack for being dramatic. 

“Em, he is not a serial killer or creepy!” 

You yelped, rolling your eyes at her. 

“Whatever you say, angel. But, I better not see your face on the side of a milk carton any time soon.” 

You jokingly rolled your eyes at her and made your way back to the bar. You wanted to chat with Rafe for a bit while the club was slow, but he was heading out for the night and that stung a little. As he gathered his wallet and keys in his hands, you snuck up behind him, placing your arm at the small of his back. 

“You just gonna leave with no goodbye?” 

You smiled up at him, secretly hoping that wasn’t his intention. His face lit up at the sight of your smiling face beaming up at him and he relished in the feeling of your hand on his back, touching him like this. 

“No way, pretty girl. Never. Dad called and needed me home, something with Sarah.” 

He responded. 

“Okay. Well, be careful.” 

You replied. 

“Always am. You call if you need me to take you home, okay?” 

He asks, but it’s not a question. 

“Okay, Rafael. Be good.” 

You smiled at him, squeezing his hand before letting him go and watching him walk out the front door. The rest of the night drug by, Sundays were usually very busy with Kildare residents playing golf while heavily intoxicated, but most of the traffic died down around dinner time. It was your night to close so you were by yourself after Emily went home at 4 and that meant blasting Taylor Swift while you started closing the club down for the night. You wiped the tables down first, belting out the lyrics to your favorite Taylor song to date I Almost Do. You could remember it having a different meaning when you and Rafe had parted ways, singing it at the top of your lungs in your bedroom, willing yourself to pick up the phone and call him. Now, the words didn’t sting as much and instead, you just wanted to feel his warmth. It was no longer the song of your heart, now it was just another song. Those feelings seemed so far away and you couldn’t help but feel thankful. You were brought out of your thoughts by none other than JJ Maybank busting through the front door of the club and you knew this could only mean disaster. You locked eyes with him and that devilish smirk that he somehow always sported sent chills down your spine. 

“Miss me, angel?” 

He questioned, hiss in his tone. You ignored him, which you knew better than to do. You knew what it would do to him. You knew it drove him absolutely insane, but you did it anyway because it felt good. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” 

His yell echoed through the building and the fear that you remembered so well returned. 

“What, JJ? What do you want?” 

You scoffed. 

“I want your attention, honey.” 

He spoke softer now and you couldn’t help but think wow, what a psycho. 

“Sorry, you’ve lost that privilege.” 

“I haven’t lost anything, darling. Don’t forget who you belong to.” 

His sneer was sinister and you knew what he meant, what he was capable of. As he walked out of the door, tears filled your vision. You wanted so badly to call Rafe but you knew it would only mean disaster. He couldn’t know everything, yet. So, instead you finished closing the club and went home. 

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt

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[ihavethedreamiesx]

Heat | Wonwoo [NSFW]

Jeon Wonwoo - Seventeen

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~8.5k

Pairing: Wonwoo x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU!, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Acquaintances-to-Lovers, This One Actually Has Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Minor Background Character Gets Shot (Wow! Plot), Pet Names (Pretty, Pretty Girl, Princess, etc.), Daddy Kink (oops), Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Wall Sex, Marking/Biting, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom!)

Author's Note: This one has way more actual story than Hoshi's and Woozi's. Wonwoo tends to need time to warm up to people, so I didn't feel like I should do a quick one-night stand deal with him. So, I wrote in some story so he and the reader weren't total strangers.

-> Hoshi's <-

-> Woozi's <-

-> S.Coup's <- (2)

-> Mingyu's <-

Revised (1/30/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

"You have GOT to be kidding me…" You grumble, huffing a few harsh breaths, and trying again. There’s something stuck under the sand, and you really want to see if it’s worth anything. However, every time you get close to brushing enough sand from the surface to see the logo, a gust of wind covers it back up again. Adjusting your head covering over your mouth again so won’t sand in your mouth, you also brush off your goggles of the fine particles sticking to it. You’re starting to work up a sweat, the blowing dust and sand mixes with the perspiration and coats you in a horribly scratchy paste. Whatever is under the sand is big, and that’s what you’re looking for. However, you really need to determine the make and model of the crashed ship to determine if it’s worth reporting for salvage.

"Finally!" You groan, getting the metal brushed clean. You quickly snap a photo with your holo-tracker, the blue paint still relatively solid, enough to identify. The device spins, trying to connect to the extranet and you click your tongue as it takes for seemingly forever.

"What?!" You swear multiple times when the device flashes, 'no results found’. Maybe you can show it to someone at the Assembly office that’ll know something. You already have a few pictures and coordinates of a few smaller wrecks you can report, but they probably won’t grant very many credits. This thing is huge though, so at least the scrap metal will be worth something. Another blast of wind nearly knocks you over as you stand back up, trying to climb out of the small crater to get back to your rover. The crappy thing about wrecks on Sierra-Vector-Tango, since the entire planet is a desert, is that they’re quickly covered by sand; even if they create massive craters when they fall to the surface. However, that means more money for finding salvage than some other planets. Bad thing? Sand worms. Their saliva gets into the particles and can make it acidic, which makes digging through the sand more dangerous. This, once again, causes the number of credits to be higher.

"Let’s go back for now." You jerk back with your entire body weight as you pull the handle for the door of your rover. It finally opens and you huff, throwing the end of your head scarf aggressively to wrap it around your neck better. Crawling up and into your rover, you rest back in the seat, trying to catch your breath.  Pressing the button to start the vehicle it roars to life and the air conditioning flares to life and you just sit in the cooling air for a few minutes.

"Water!" You gasp dramatically, grabbing your canteen from the passenger seat, and drinking so aggressively the liquid spills out of your mouth some.

"For fuck's sake…" You groan hard, the water mixing with the layer of sand on your skin, thickening it.

"I need a real shower, with water." Shifting the gear of the rover, you start to drive back to the main road so you can start heading to the nearest Assembly office. It’ll be about an hour to Drent, and a little under two for Jaron, but you really don’t like going to Drent. Not only does it have the name of some dude-bro fuck boy, but it’s also full of them too. Drent has one of the biggest…adult establishments in that quadrant. Not only do they have sexy blue alien ladies dancing on tables, but it also allows you to sleep with them. Last time you went you nearly got mugged, and the guy just wanted your underwear. No thank you. Jaron is farther away, but a much nicer place and has a very old-style diner reminiscent of Terra from the 1950s. It’s cool to go somewhere that’s reminiscent of a time over two-hundred years in the past. Plus, they have a hotel with real water showers instead of the air-blasting kind that’s more common. It’ll be more expensive, but worth it.

"This time I wanna rock with you~" You sang along to the song playing over the speakers, drumming your hands on the steering wheel of your rover as you get back to the main road. Turning right to go north toward Jaron, you set the autopilot on and plug in the town, sitting back to watch the view as your rover drives itself. When you can start to see the sign for the town, you shut the auto-drive off and take control again. Large vehicles like yours aren’t allowed in the city proper, so when you reach the entry checkpoint, you pull off to the side and get out. The sun is setting, nearly below the horizon, stars starting to twinkle in the night sky. Getting out of the rover, you slam the door as hard as you can to get it to shut and go around to the back. Grabbing your big pack and smaller bag, you also have a make-shift safe that you keep smaller salvage pieces in. You let it fall to the sandy ground with a thud and jump back out. Keying in the code on the side, the rover beeps as it locks, and you head to the entry booth.

"How old is your rover?" The kid at the booth is at the most eighteen, and his condescending tone is completely unnecessary.

"Doesn't matter." You try not to sneer, slapping your credit chit on the counter and he slots it into the console. He really has no room to talk, his setup is just as old if not more so than you rover. Sliding the chit back out, he grab a small holo-disc and lets the machine stamp it with the time and date.

"Thank you." You emphasize with fake kindness, and he rolls his eyes as he lets you into the town. You let the parking disc fall into your bag along with your credit chit and start to head down the road. Your 'safe' is basically a suitcase that you made more secure and added a few locks to, so you can roll it behind you. The wheels thunk over the creases of the pavement and you wonder why the town is so dead. At that time, most people would be milling about after supper and going to bars and such. As you pass a store, you see a sign blinking on the glass advertising some kind of political rally, must be where everyone is at. At least the hotel is still being manned, though you aren’t sure the old man behind the counter is even still alive.

"Hello, dearie." He smiles up at you, wrinkles so prominent his eyes nearly disappear.

"Hello, sir. Can I get a single room for…" You think, sucking air through the side of your mouth in thought, "how much is four nights?"

"At 250 credits a night, that’ll be about a thousand…If you stay one more night, I will keep it that price?"

"Sweet! Thanks!" You smile back, digging through your bag to look for the chit once again. It’s a bit pricier than you normally like, but it’s worth it to get a shower with water.

"A single bed, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think we only have two-bed rooms…this one is two singles, does that work?"

"Sure!"

"Water shower?"

"Please~" You groan, and he chuckles.

"It’s quite slow today for the rally, so I do not think any restaurants are delivering…" The old man works faster than you thought he would and when he slides the chit back to you, he includes the room key. It looks like a glass playing card and has the room 24H-13 on it.

"It’ll be the second floor, take a right to the fourth hall, then its room thirteen." The old man smiles, and you thank him, heading for the elevator, the wheels whirling on the tile floor. Once you get to the room and inside, you put everything in the room hastily before dashing into the bathroom. After relieving yourself, you shed the extremely sandy clothes, and you notice what looks like an old-style clothes dryer in the corner. It only has two settings, one of which is covered with a piece of tape and the handwritten words, ‘FOR SAND,' on it.

"Perfect." You shrug and shove all of your clothes in the drum, shutting the door, and letting it spin and get rid of the dust and grit.

"Oh~" You hum in delight when you see the water heating panel on the wall. You plug in the best temperature and the water immediately comes out perfect. Standing under the spray, you stand for nearly ten minutes just letting the water flow over your tired body. Glancing up at the shower head, you click your tongue in annoyance, it’s fixed on the wall without a hose…

"Need to find a guy…" you grumble and then proceed to actually wash up. The soaps and cleansers all smell of Terra fruits and you wonder what they might taste like. Getting out of the shower nearly an hour later, you wrap a towel around yourself and your hair, heading back to the main room of the hotel. Flopping onto the bed, your stomach rumbles loudly, and you sigh dramatically. No delivery…The only place that’s probably open is the diner and luckily it’s right next door to the Assembly office in the strip mall. It’s always open since the employees of the Assembly will eat there most of the time, but they never deliver anyway. When your skin finally no longer feels wet or sticky, you put on your set of spare clothes and grab your smaller bag.

"Sandy." you mumble, going back to the bathroom, taking your now sand-free clothes out. Taking everything out of your bag and setting it on top of the machine, you put your bag in to get the sand off and while you wait, putting your boots back on. As it continues, you brush your hair out and braid it again. Looking at your face, you have a slight tan line from your goggles, but it’s nearly unnoticeable thanks to your head scarf covering most of the rest of your face. The machine dings and you retrieve the satchel, putting everything back and making sure you have your chit and keycard, you leave the hotel room to go get dinner. Waving to the old man at the desk, you dash out to the street and jog down the sidewalk. The rally is still going, you can hear the shouting and cheers in the distance. Must be a more local election or campaign because you don’t recognize the politician on the flyer. Most of the store fronts are closed, even as you turn the corner to get to the main street. In the distance, you see the light pouring out of the windows of the Assembly office and the diner, shining like a beacon among the darkened stores surrounding it. Like a good child, you look both ways before you cross the road, despite there not being anything or anyone nearby. The doors slide open when you approach the office and the guy behind the counter looks up lazily from where he’s counting something at the desk.

"Can I help you?" He sounds very tired. You dig in your bag once again and pull out your credit chit as well as your ID so he can see you’re a legit scavenger, but also a freelancer. Freelancers actually tend to gets more money than their own employees because they don’t have to pay benefits and all that other stuff.

"I'll let the Salvage Officer know you're here." The guy hands you your stuff back and you go to sit in the empty waiting area. Tapping your toe on the floor, you look into the entrance of the diner through the windows and door inside the office. There’s only one or two customers inside and just one waitress. There’s a guy sitting in the back corner, thin glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read. A paper book? Who has physical books anymore?

"(Y/N)." Your name is called by a familiar voice, and you smile at the owner.

"Junmyeon!" He motions with his head, and you follow him into his personal office.

"Didn’t know you’re working here now." You sit in front of his desk, and he chuckles, relaxing back into his office chair.

"I just transferred. What have you found?" He takes the holo-tracker from you when you hand it over and plugs it into his console.

"Most of them are small…" You dimple the corner of your mouth, looking at the monitor the best you can from your angle. He shifts the screen so you can see better, and you point to different marks and give more details.

"What one is this?" He’s looking at the blue logo and you shrug.

"I have no idea; it’s huge though. Looks like a Meteor-class size ship, maybe bigger. It’s totally covered and left a huge crater." You emphasize with hand motions, and he pans the picture out to get the measurements before he taps the logo so the computer can analyze it. As it spins you dig through your bag, looking to see if you have lip balm or something. You don’t notice your business friend simply watching you, more like staring. His eyes flash to your lips as you paint the balm on your lips with your ring finger. When the console dings, it brings both of your attention back to the machine.

"Oh, wow." He leans in to read the information.

"I need to make some calls, can you come back in a few hours?" He looks at you and you nod, standing.

"I can grab something to eat in the meantime!" You wave goodbye and don’t even notice when he tries to calls after you. Heading back to the front of the office, you go to the door leading to the diner and the door slides open with a ding.

"Just you, girlie?" The older waitress calls from behind the counter, and you nod, going to sit at said counter.

"What can I get for you?" she asks, sassily chewing her gum. You look over the menu and make your choice, pulling out your holo-tracker to play a game as you wait for your food. You glance over to the back corner over your shoulder, looking at the guy reading.

"Who is that?" you ask the waitress when she comes back with your drink.

"He's been hanging around here for a few days. I'm not sure what he's doing, but I know he's waiting for something. The secretary in the office might know." She nods back to where you had been, and you tell her you’ll be right back. Leaving your bag on your stool to save your spot, you jog back into the office and the guy at the desk casts you a tired glance.

"Who is that guy?" You point toward the back corner, leaning your elbows on the ledge of the front desk.

"He's a bounty hunter of some sort I believe. He’s looking for someone for some reason, and is waiting there for leads. He's offering money for any information." He shrugs and you nod in acknowledgement and head back to the eatery. Your food is ready by the time you get back, and the waitress chuckles at how fast you shovel it in. When you’re done, you hand her your chit and meander on over to the guy.

"I heard you're looking for someone?" You start casually and he looks up at you over his glasses and your eyes widen. He’s freaking gorgeous. His left eye is highlighted red, it seems he has some kind of hologram-like contact in it or something. His black hair is styled half up, his bangs resting over his brow. He’s got a few ear piercings, his left nostril has a simple loop ring, and a matching one in the middle of his bottom lip. A chain hangs around his neck with a pendant on the end that’s some kind of upside-down triangle design. He simply hums in response and puts a slip of paper in his book and shuts it, taking his glasses off. You sit on the end of the booth, a big gap between the two of you since he’s sitting in the corner of the circular seat. He slides his holo-tracker across the table showing you a blurry image from some kind of security feed. It’s a person, that’s about all you can tell, and they have a hood up over their head and only the bottom part of their face is visible.

"This it?" You look back at him, and he’s sitting there stiffly, just looking at you. He’s really hot, actually. He has a tan, old-style button up on with the top few buttons undone. His pants are a brown leather of some kind, and he’s got a belt on with an attached thigh-holster that holds a pistol blaster.

"They stole some schematics. I need them back more than to find the person." He taps the screen as he looks at it upside down and it shows a second image. The person has a cylinder with a strap hang over their back.

"It’s a set of old maps, they were stolen from the archives at the museum in the Capital." he explains, and you slide your finger over the full image, zooming out to see the area.

"You a bounty hunter?" You slide the holo-tracker back to him and he puts it back in his pocket.

"Not really. I'm a Ranger."

"You're a Ranger!?" You perk up and he seems taken aback by your sudden excitement. Rangers are a small and elite group, they’re essentially vigilantes, freelancers. They tend to do more things like rescues or arrests, or other odd jobs. They have a pretty strict rule of not killing.

"So, you want the maps but don't need the thief?"

"Yes. It would be nice to get both, though."

"Hm. I'll ask around and see, I travel quite a bit-"

"Scavenger?"

"Y-yeah." You chuckle nervously under his intense gaze.

"Be careful out there, if you get a lead, message me." He gets his tracker back out and you scanned his with yours to save his ID.

"What's your name?" you ask.

"Wonwoo…"

"(Y/N)." You smile and get up from the booth, going to retrieve your chit.

"I'll let you know!" You grin and wave goodbye, heading back in. Your timing is perfect because Junmyeon is finished and he tells you the first wrecks aren’t worth a whole lot, but the last one is.

"Two million credits?!" You balk at the number.

"Yeah. Seems it was some kind of cargo vessel, and they think it might still have all of the packages on it still. You can get even more depending on what's inside." He smiles at your gawk, and you finally shut your mouth.

"Woah..."

"I can get you the two million now-"

"Really!?"

"Yes." He chuckles and you dig your chit back out and he slides it into the console so he can transfer the credits.

"Shit…" you whisper, your hand shaking a bit as you take the chit back.

"Are…you staying in a hotel tonight?" Junmyeon asks as you scroll on your holo-tracker, admiring the giant number registered in your account.

"Yeah! I might upgrade my room~" You giggle, and he takes a breath, trying to psych himself up, but no words come out before you stand to leave.

"Thanks, Myeon! I'll make sure to come here when I can, kay?" You wave goodbye and he sighs as you dash out of his office. As you leave to head back to your hotel, you see that Wonwoo has left his booth, and you wonder why. Getting outside, you realize the rally has gotten out, floods of people now walking the streets, a big crowd heading toward the diner.

"Ew." You sneer at the globs of people and dash back to the hotel. When you get in the lobby, you skip up to the front counter, ready to ding the bell and call the nice old man out for assistance.

"Oh?" Someone is sitting in the lobby, a book in his hand.

"Run away from all the people?" You speak a bit louder so he can hear you and he glances up over his glasses again. His face isn’t quite as cold as before, but he isn’t smiling either.

"Yes." His tone is also lighter.

"There's about to be a bunch more. The campaign team is staying here and will be back soon." The old man comes out of the office, and you sneer as he laughs.

"Are you staying here too?" you ask Wonwoo who puts his book away and takes his glasses off.

"I hadn't checked in yet."

"We don’t have any more rooms available, sir. We just had an influx of online reservations since the rally got out so late…" The old man sighs, and you hum.

"I have a second single bed in my room…?" You suggest not meeting his eye as he comes to stand by you. He has a small duffle over his shoulder. His eyes finally meet yours, and he seems a little nervous, but you can only see it in his eyes, past that red glowing contact.

"Is that alright with you?"

"Yes? I wouldn’t have offered otherwise…" You huff and the old man hums.

"Here, I will get you a key as well." You both wait and when Wonwoo receives the clear keycard, you both scurry to elevator, people starting to enter the lobby. Neither of you say anything till you shut the door to the hotel room.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you ask him, he’s even stiffer than before.

"Y-yes." He clears his throat, and he goes further into the room, taking the bed near the window since your stuff is on the other one. He tells you he’s going to shower, and you nod as he dashes past you. Sighing, you shake away some very impure thoughts, and go to your safe, rolling it over to the bench under the clothing rack and hauling it up onto it with a grunt. It takes two physical keys as well as two padlocks and a dial lock. You click each one open and then you’re able to open it. The air seal 'shunks' as you open it, and you carefully rest the lid on the wall so it won’t scratch it. Looking over your objects, you have some small crystal-like artifacts that you’re worried just fakes from some kind of gift shop. You also have some intact parts for ship consoles and even jewelry. There had been just a random case you found washed up on the shore of an oasis once that had gold and silver necklaces and rings inside. It’s never reported missing, so you just kept them. Other bits and pieces are inside as well, and your mind goes back to the image Wonwoo had shown you. The hood was what caught your eye. The person was experienced, knowing how to hide their face from all angles, so they’re probably an experienced thief. Who would want ancient maps though? Especially from Terra.

"What is all that?" His deep voice startles you; you hadn’t even heard the bathroom door open. Glancing up, you swallow hard at the sight. He’s put most of his clothes back on, but his shirt is still unbuttoned, allowing you to see his toned torso. He’s flops a towel onto his head to dry his hair and puts his glasses back on. Trying to ignore how freaking sexy he is, you clear your throat and start to point things out. When you get to the crystals, you let him pick up the one that’s shaped like a pyramid.

"I don’t know if they’re worth anything, they might be fakes.”

"Have you shone light through them?" he asks, and you hadn't even thought of it.

"No?" He hands it back and you dig through your bag and find your flashlight, holding it to the crystal.

"Woah!" You gasp as a map of the stars shines on the ceiling as the light passes through the crystal.

"Is it worth anything?" you ask him. It’s cool but could still theoretically be from a gift shop.

"The fakes have a button to turn on the light, that's the real deal. Where did you find them?" He’s buttoning his shirt up, unfortunately, picking up the three other crystals and coming to sit on his bed across from you. There’s a sphere, one that looks like a big diamond and an obelisk. You hand him the flashlight and he shines it through the other ones. The sphere shows a projection of a globe, but it isn’t S.V.T or even Terra.

"Mars." he mutters, and you look closer, recognizing the small dots over the surface as the towers that hold the barrier around the planet. The diamond one lights up a bright aqua blue, but that seems to be all it does. The obelisk projects the time and date, but it seems to be from Mars as well.

"I found them in some cave. How the did does they get all the way out here?"

"Were these the only things in the cave?"

"Yeah…So even though they’re legit, are they worth anything?

"Hm. Maybe to a collector. I can take them to the museum when I go back-" he halts, "If you're okay with it, I'll pay you back." If he wasn’t a Ranger, you’d be more hesitant to allow it, because he could just pocket the money. You don’t think he would though, not with the reputation of his group at stake otherwise.

"Sure." You shrug and he takes them and puts them in his own pack, and you go back to your safe and lock it up.

"Thank you for letting me stay here." He calls suddenly as you try to figure out how the holo-screen works and what channels there are.

"Sure. I'm not a fan of big groups of people either and this is the best hotel in town." You smile at him, going to hand him the remote.

"Oh, no, you can choose. I'll just read." You nod and don’t press to continue the conversation. While it’s quiet between you two, it’s companionable and before you know it, you have drifted off the sleep, listening to some show and the flipping of his book pages. When you awake, he’s gone, but it’s like ten in the morning, and there’s an unread message on your holo-tracker.

Sorry I left without saying goodbye. Thank you for letting me stay in your room for the night. I am heading back to the capital for now and will get your crystal projectors estimated. Please let me know if you get any leads on the map thief.  - Wonwoo

You sigh, a little disappointed he just left, but he seems quite shy and closed off. Whatever. For the rest of the day and the next few you laze about and do some fun things to spoil yourself after your big payout, enjoying your little vacation. Over the week afterwards you’re having trouble finding anything significant and have stopped at a small tavern set up near a small oasis. You sit at the bar, laying on it dramatically. The bartender has moved the fan closer to you so it could blow straight on you as you lazily sip from the straw in your fruity drink. You glance casually at the entrance when another person enters, and you zero in on their face. They have a hood on, but that doesn’t mean it’s for sure the person Wonwoo had been looking for. After he got the money from the crystals, more than you thought but not a huge amount, he’s sent you more information. It was a woman, presumably, and she’s pretty tall and even always wears heeled boots. Your gaze shifts to their feet but can’t see for sure and you can’t even tell it’s a woman. You and Wonwoo have actually been messaging some even past leads on the thief. You don’t have many friends and while he has the other rangers, he says it’s nice to talk to someone new. As you sit at the bar, you watch her, pretending you aren’t. You casually take out your holo-tracker and take a picture of the person as discreetly as you can, then head out. You continue to wait and watch in your rover, ready to take a picture of their vehicle when they leave. You think you know which one it is, but don’t know for sure, so you wait till they come back out. They get in the one you’d been eyeing, and so once they head off, you send the two pictures and a few more details to Wonwoo. He thanks you for the update, then asks where you are. He then tells you to meet him in the next town of Falko, and since you’re headed there anyway…

~

The town is much smaller than Jaron, so there’s only one small motel, so it’s easy to find where he is and get to his room. He’s on the first floor in room three. You knock and barely wait before he opens it. He’s…smiling. You didn’t know he could do that. You forgot how gorgeous he is.

"T-thanks." You smile bashfully and follow him inside. It seems he’s been there awhile based on everything spread out across the room. There are a few consoles set up as well as tablets and other tech.

"What's going on in here?" You motion around the room.

"While I'm looking for the map thief, I'm also trying to get the Ranger's new communication array set up. I'm making the program myself so it can't be hacked by outside sources." Wonwoo shrugs, moving various tablets from one of the beds so you can sit down. He sits at the small desk and turns to face you. He asks a few questions about the person you saw, and you give him more details from the pictures. It wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but if it is them, then he now has their vehicle information. Before you can talk past leads on the thief, his holo-tracker goes off and he read the message. He sighs.

"What's wrong?"

"My partner is coming back. It might be better if you leave." He stands to lead you out and you grimace.

"I-It's not…I just don’t want him to meet you…" He mumbles and you want to press the issue. His cheeks are slightly red, and he flashes another genuine smile as you leave the motel room.

"I'll let you know if the lead pans out." You nod and before you can turn and leave, he’s holds something out for you.

"What's this?" You take the little holo-card.

"Um…it's my address. If you are ever in Ratalla…I won’t be back home for a few more days, but I should be working from there after…" Wonwoo rubs his hands on his pants, then shoves his hands in his pockets when you notice.

"Thanks." You give him your own smile, then leave giddily.

~θωθ~

Nearly another month passes before you see him in person again, but you’ve messaged back and forth quite a lot. There was once you were near his hometown, but he wasn’t there, so you missed the chance of seeing him again.

You’re currently meeting with a repair man in a city called Guro; your rover hasn’t been driving straight. It seems he’ll need it for a few days to even determine the issue, let alone what to do after. At least you’re in a place with lots of activities. You had actually gotten another half a million credits from the giant wreck you found and had more funds than you know what to do with. As you leave the shop, looking up on the extranet for the nicest hotel, someone catches your eye. Despite the heat of the desert and the midday sun, there’s someone slinking around with a hood on. You watch them, eyes glancing at their feet. Heeled boots. It’s also a woman, and her height matches the parameters. There’s even a cylinder vessel hanging over her shoulder. It’s her. The area has mostly warehouses, and she might be meeting a buyer, so you decide to follow her. You send Wonwoo a message with your coordinates to see if he can send someone by as well, or better yet, call some Guards. You trot behind her, trying to stay out of sight and remain quiet. Hiding quickly around the corner, you watch her go into an unmarked warehouse after looking around for followers. Not well enough. The thief goes in through a large open garage door, so it makes it easy for you to follow. Crouching against the wall right near the edge of the door you peer around the corner and see she’s alone, probably waiting for someone. She glances at her holo-tracker, then goes further in, toward the garage door on the opposite side that opens to a scrap yard. Looking for another hiding place, you dash forward and hide behind a column. When you peer around though, she’s gone.

"Why are you following me?" A voice calls from behind you, and you spin to see the thief, holding a pistol blaster aimed at you. Your heart falls and sweat breaks out on your brow. Those maps must be really valuable if this person is willing to shoot you to prevent the interruption of the hand-off.

"I-I was just trying to figure out who-" The woman pulls back the hammer on the weapon and your stomach drops.

"Shit!" You scramble up and try to at least get around the column when you see her finger going to the trigger.

"Fuck!" You slam your back against the column, seeing a smoking scorch mark on the ground.

"(Y/N)!" a familiar voice shouts, and you’re shocked by Wonwoo's presence, distracting you.

"Stupid bitch!" The thief is back behind you, and you spin to see the gun nearly at your head. You yelp when something yanks you back and you fall into a hard body. Leaning into him, you watch in terror as the woman falls back onto the ground, a hole in her head. Then you notice not only are you breathing hard, but so is he. He spins you around to look over you, his hands on your shoulders, one going to your jaw to adjust your head so he can look you over.

"Are you okay?" He’s nearly frantic, his face and tone full of panic.

"Y-yes." You aren’t sure if you should be more surprised by his sudden appearance or the clear worry he has for you. It makes your heart thud but for a much different reason. When he’s finishes looking over you and determines himself you are okay, Wonwoo pulls you into a hug. You return the embrace, more trying to comfort him than anything.

"Fuck, I was worried..." He sighs right in your ear, his deep voice rumbling through you.

"You were?" He pulls back enough so he can meet your eye and huffs.

"Of course. You didn’t reply when I messaged you to stay away…" His hand goes back to your jaw, his thumb brushing over the skin of your cheek, which is rapidly getting warm and red. When you meet his eyes again yours widen, he gets close again and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Are you okay?" You chuckle a bit, kind of worried. He’s never shown this level of emotion before.

"Yeah." Wonwoo pulls way, petting your hair then goes to the body of the woman. You try to avoid looking at her as he takes the map holder from her and soon the Guards show up. It’s another good hour or maybe two before you both are finally allowed to leave after giving statements and answering questions.

"Do you have a place to stay tonight?" he asks you as you leave the warehouse district.

"Not yet. I was just about to find a hotel when I saw her…" You drift off, pointing with your thumb in the general direction of where you just were.

"I got a crap ton of money from a wreck I found so I’m going to go somewhere fancy." You smile wide and he gives you a smaller one. Wonwoo takes a step closer, looking a bit nervous, his voice has a slight waver when he speaks.

"Wanna get a room together?"

~υ3υ~

From everything after he asked that question, till your back hit the door of your hotel room, was a blur. You got one of the deluxe suites of the nice hotel, so the bedroom is separate from the living area, and there’s a small kitchen even. As soon as the door closes, he presses you against it, his lips swallowing yours. His big hand goes to the back of your head, making sure it doesn’t hit the wood of the door. When your lungs start to burn for more air, he finally pulls his mouth from yours. As you catch your breath, just looking at each other, Wonwoo leans in to whisper in your ear, "I'm going to fuck you on every surface in this place." He promises. Your head swims at the statement and you whine.

"Please~" As soon as he gets permission, he grabs and turns you around, your front pressed to the door and his nose nuzzles behind your ear. You let him do as he wishes, running his hands under your thin top, starting to suck on the skin in the crook of your neck. You’re a bit worried about him having to stoop over so far since he’s so much taller, but if he isn’t complaining, neither will you. You can tell he’s marking your skin as he licks, sucks, and nibbles over your neck and shoulders. His hands quickly get your shirt off and as his hands dance over the skin of your stomach, you toed your boots off, shoving them to the side. Before he completely removes it, Wonwoo slips his hands under your breast band, palming the flesh, making you shiver. Undoing the latch, he takes the wrap off and it falls to the floor as well. Not turning around to see for sure, you hear more fabric rustling and assumes he’s removing his own top. You sigh when his arms wrap around you, holding your back to his bare chest, the right hand cupping your left breast, and his other hand skating over your stomach. He smiles at the whining moan you let out when his hand finally goes into your pants, long fingers stroking the wet patch on your panties.

"So wet, pretty girl." He kisses behind your ear, fingers tweaking your nipple.

"Wonwoo~" You whimper when his bare fingers finally meet your folds, and he groans.

"Let's see how tight you are." Every time he rumbles words in your ear, it makes your entire body shiver. Sighing when his finger slides inside, he huffs, his hips twitching as your gummy walls suck his finger in. You can feel his hardening cock through his pants, pressing into your back side. When Wonwoo adds a second finger, crooking them up and pressing hard into your back wall, your legs buckle, and the only reason you don’t fall is his arms around you.

"Need to get your pussy ready for me, pretty." He smiles against your neck when your groan fades into a whine.

"Fuck~" You practically cried as his palm dig into your clit and you’re already close.

"No!" You gasp when his fingers left right as you’re getting to the edge.

"Wonwoo?" He’s pulls away entirely, you only knows he’s still behind you because his hands are on the waist band of your pants. He pulls them along with your underwear down and kneels behind you, helping you get them off without falling over.

"Hold on, pretty girl." While you aren’t sure what he’s about to do, your fingers dig futilely into the wood of the door. Your breath escapes you when he, without real warning, shoves his tongue into your cunt, his thumb flicking your clit. Your legs immediately begin to shake, a mewl escaping with each rapid breath. You’re done for when his lips seal around your clit, barely flicking with his tongue, and your nails dig into the wood as you cum on his tongue. He chuckles, your cunt dripping release onto the floor.

"Gonna have to clean this place good…" You joke, breathless and he laughs harder. Wonwoo hums, standing back up. There’s more shuffling as you rest against the door panting. You sigh when his arms come back to you, pulling you back into his now completely naked body. His cock is wedged in the crook of your ass, and you swear under your breath, why is he so freaking big? He’s tall and his shoulders are broad, and apparently has to have a fat cock as well.

"Fuck!" You groan when the head of his cock goes to the entrance of your core. One of his arms wrap around your ribs, the hand resting under your breast, and the other is at your hip.

"Ready?" His tone shifts, it’s playful and cocky, a slight laugh accompanies the word.

"Please!" You gasp as he starts to push in, your legs shake as his dick stretches you open. You hadn't been fucked in a long time, and longer still fucked good. You pant out little whines as he keeps filling you, and it seems like he’s going to end up in your throat. Your entire body is trembling when he finally bottoms out, his strong hips pressing against your ass.

"God, your cunt feels so good, princess." His groan rumbles through both of you. You can’t see, but his head is thrown back, adam's apple bobbing as he tries to get used to how tight you are. When he realizes you’re on your tip toes trying to compensate for the height difference, he shifts to ease the strain. He backs up so you can lean forward more, and he angles his hips down. Your feet are no longer burning, and his new angle seems to get him even deeper somehow. Your cunt is burning too, trying to accommodate his size, slick walls fluttering from the stimulation. He still barely moves, letting you adjust, but you’re growing close again.

"Move…" Your request is very quiet. You’re trying not to moan likes a bitch in heat even though that’s exactly how you feel.

"Slow? Fast?"

"Fuck- Wonwoo, just-" He pulls out about halfway and thrusts back in, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. You both moan, his hands leave their original positions to grip the flesh of your ass, and he chuckles when you nearly sob as he starts. Only pulling out part of the way, he’ll fuck back into you hard, grinding his pubic bone into you each time.

"Fucking hell, Wonwoo~" You end up back on your toes just from the pleasure and you hope they won’t fine you too bad for the scratches your nails are carving into the wood. All your breath gets fucked out of you when he finally gives a full thrust, your orgasm slamming into you.

"Shit-" Wonwoo grunts when your already tight cunt squeezes him even more, he has to slow down just to keep himself from cumming as well. He smirks, watching your fingers twitch as you claw the door, your head flopping forward between your shoulders.

"No, no, no!" You babble as he pulls out all the way, huffing in amusement at your whining.

"Come here, pretty." Wonwoo easily lifts you, somewhere between like a sack of potatoes and a princess. Your head is still swimming from your orgasm, so the move to the next location is a bit blurry. You shiver and mewl when he sets you on the counter in the mini kitchen of the suite, the marble very cold on your bare thighs and pussy. He laughs at your yelp when he pulls you so your butt is right at the end of the counter, and doesn’t hesitate to bury himself back into you. The thrust is harsher and faster than the first and your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself as he restarts the brutal rhythm that he’d fucked you against the door with. The man groans when your nails dig into his skin instead of the wood, so he decides to mark you himself.

"Wonwoo~" Your voice wavers, eyes starting to tear up at the feeling of him fucking your brains out. His mouth goes to your own shoulder, at the base of your neck. He starts with open mouth kisses, then sucks the skin before lightly sinking his teeth in. He can feel your whimper against your throat, and you feel his responding hum from his lips. Wonwoo tightens his grip as well, wanting to leave bruises shaped likes his hands on your skin. He’s struggling to hold you upright enough, so you don’t bang your head against the counter, and his knees keep knocking into the cabinet.

"Hold on…" He grunts, and you squeak when, without withdrawing, he picks you up, holding your legs around his waist. Not going far, one hand holds your butt and the other goes to hitch your leg over his elbow as he pins you to the wall. Luckily the paint on the wall isn’t textured, your back rubbing over the surface as you bounce on his cock. Wonwoo looks even more gorgeous than normal like this, naked, sweat covering his brow, pupils blown wide. The red, dancing hologram of his eye contact contracts and spins, and you wonder what it does, if anything. With hazy thoughts, you glance down at his body, whining at the sight of his abs, clenched to work his hips and hold you up.

"Fuck, pretty girl-" He exhales harshly, his thrusts getting less regular as he grows closer to his orgasm.

"Inside, please, fuck!" You plead and he has no desire to argue. His forehead lands on your shoulder, and he moans higher than you thought he could go as he pumps his cum into you. In the silence, cutting through both of your panting breaths, your combined release drips onto the tile floor. Your head is so empty you nearly don’t realize you’ve cum again as well. You try hard not to slump like a rag doll since he’s completely holding you up, but you nearly have no strength.

"Let's get to the bed." Wonwoo stands up straight, staying inside, his cock still rock-hard and he carries you to the separate bedroom of the suite. While he means to set you down on the bed gently, you flop onto it, letting yourself finally go boneless, your muscles and mind are mush. You aren’t sure if you can go any longer, but despite a bit of sweat on him, he’s unaffected.

"I've been waiting to fuck you since you came to my motel room in Falko." He admits, shifting you higher on the bed, following suit, his hard cock covered in both of yours cum resting between the folds of your cunt. You barely registered the confession before your back arches, his cock finding its home inside of you again. It’s hard to fully catch your breath, he’s battering his cock into your dripping cunt without any mercy. As he rolls his hips just right to hit every single good spot inside of you, his hands grip your thighs, maneuvering your weakly shaking thighs so they press to your chest, knees at your ears.

"D-daddy, go slower!" You cry out and his hips immediately stops. You’re too far gone to feel anything but a bit of respite, head flopping so your cheek rests on the pillow.

"Fucking hell, princess." Somehow his voice has gotten deeper, and he starts the brutal pace back up, snapping his hips even harder than before. If you have the strength to scream you would, but your throat is hoarse, so you just mewl and squeak, drool pooling from the corners of your mouth, tears down your cheeks.

"You love daddy's cock ruining your sweet little cunt, huh?" He huffs when your glassy eyes meets his. The red hologram spins and dances, and while you can’t see, through the lens he has a much different view. Little numbers and labels show in the air around your body, telling him how and where your brain is firing, your heart rate, body temperature, blood pressure. He can even highlight where blood pools to the bruises his hands have made.

"Yes~!" You gasp as his thrusts slow down, but just as hard, he barely pulls out before grinding down into you. Different sensors from his lens flashes on and he can tell you’re getting close already. Even without it, he can feel your walls pulsing, more of your wet dripping from where your bodies meets.

"You wanna cum, pretty?" You nod rapidly, whimpering positively.

"Cum for daddy, then." And with one more thrust you fall over the edge. Not just from his words, but also the rough friction of his pelvic bone meeting your clit. Wonwoo chuckles as he feels your pussy spasm, more of your cum squirting from your quivering folds, coating his skin as well. He has a feeling you’re spent even though he knows he could keep going. He’s still inside of you, so he doesn’t overstimulate you too much, and he isn’t for sure you’re still conscious. Your eyes are closed, arms resting on the bed up by your head. He smiles warmly, cooing at your fucked out state, letting your legs go so they can rest onto the bed as well. When he pulls out you shudder, a long shaky whine floating from your parted lips. He’s shocked at the globs of thick, white cum that drip out of your swollen cunt and he’s still unfortunately still very hard. After feeling your core milk him dry, he isn’t sure even a cold shower will calm him down. Though, seeing you laying there, he feels a little bad he’s caused you to become so worn out and doesn’t want to be selfish.

"Oh, princess." Wonwoo leans back over you, kissing your cheek, the corner of your mouth, then softly presses his lips to yours. You sigh and it makes him grin, you’re at least conscious.

"You're still hard." Your voice is quiet, higher than normal, almost whiny.

"It's okay, pretty, you're tired." Wonwoo nuzzles the side of your neck under your ear, lightly sucking on your ear lobe. If he wasn’t careful, he won’t be able to resist sliding back inside you. With the little strength you have returned to you, you push him back just enough that you can flop over onto your stomach.

"(Y/N), we don't-" You don’t let him finish, grabbing a pillow to shove under your hips, lifting your butt a bit higher.

"Please, daddy~" You look at him with shining eyes over your shoulder, and who is he to resist?

"Oh, fuck, princess. If you insist…"

Master-List

Taglist: @gaslysainz

[theaologies]

spinning my chair around and sitting in it backwards: GOOOOOD MORNING CLASS

FIRST AND FOREMOST: this is not a panic post. It’s an informational preparedness post. Don’t panic. Just be prepared for this like you’d be prepared for an earthquake but you know it’s coming and it’s wet.

I’m 30, lived in Central Florida for the first 26 years of my life, and have experienced more hurricanes and tropical storms than you can imagine. Never in my life did I think I would have to discuss HURRICANE SAFETY again after moving to LOS ANGELES from FLORIDA and yet HERE WE ARE-

(This information is accurate as of 8/17 at 9am PST)

SO models are still early but it seems like as of last night, Pacific Hurricane Hilary is rapidly intensified AND has shifted its track pretty severely inland. Originally SoCal was predicted to get some bands off the coast but this does NOT seem to be the case anymore

As our good friend Jim Cantore mentioned above, if Hilary DOES make landfall in SoCal, it will be the first tropical storm to do so since 1939. Fucking yikes.

THE GOOD NEWS:

It isn’t looking like Hilary will make landfall anywhere as a strong hurricane. If it makes landfall in central Baja it looks like it’ll be a Cat 2 which isn’t great but still- better than the Cat 5 it’s currently strengthening to.

As for SoCal, we’re not predicted to get anything over a Tropical Storm. And mountains tear up tropical cyclones like crazy. It’ll (probably) be weak and, wind wise, no worse than the Santa Ana’s

THE BAD NEWS:

Our Cone of Uncertainty is currently pretty wide- this fluctuation matters as it determines which side of the storm hits us. Is this significant? Yes. The right side of a Hurricane is considered the “dirty” side- it’s the side that is most likely to produce severe weather, such as severe thunderstorms and tornadoes. It’s still too early to determine what side will affect us the most but it’s something to keep in mind.

Also, I can’t speak for the rest of SoCal, but I would not bet on the LA infrastructure doing well even with a weak tropical storm. Which is why I have brought you here today, to run down the IMPORTANT HURRICANE CHECKLIST

NOTE: I made this several years ago for FLORIDA so not all of it will be accurate to SoCal. Most of us live in apartments and have no say over tree trimmings and the likes. If the storm is feeling like it’s going to get bad, I would recommend moving important things and electronics away from windows and hanging out in areas of the apartment that have the least amount of windows. I don’t think boarding up windows or anything will be necessary but here’s information if you need/want it

ANOTHER NOTE: if you have the means, please check up on your unhoused neighbors and immediate community groups that do so, as well. As always, they will be the ones most affected by severe weather. Tarps, anything that rises up off the ground, waterproof bags, etc would be good to grab for them. I am not an expert here and would recommend following the lead of your community groups that work with your unhoused neighbors to find out what will be needed most.

I don’t at all think we’ll see any shutdowns so if the rain does get bad be prepared for dangerous driving conditions. I know it’s dangerous to drive any time it rains in LA but, you know. The Weather Channel isn’t predicting a TON of rain at the moment (for LA) but, just like our winter/spring this year, be on the look out for flash floods.

And again, this is all JUST IN CASE. It’s better to be prepared than not. SoCal’s infrastructure is not at all prepared to handle a tropical event so who knows! Anything is possible. If I was in Florida I wouldn’t at all be worrying about this but I’m not anymore and our wet winter absolutely fucked our roads in LA so I’d rather everyone be safe than sorry.

I’m sure it’ll all be fine and now you just have more safety information, which is never bad! Because frankly climate change is very real and I would not be surprised to see this happening more and more in the coming years. And it does have me worrying that El Niño this year is going to be worse than we imagined.

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 12: All I Want For Christmas

Y/N spends Christmas with Logan and Wade, and Logan's wondering what he really wants to find underneath the Christmas tree.🎄

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, angst & fluff, D&W.

word count: 5K+

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone!!! before saying anything about this special chapter, I just wanted to thank you all for all the support on this series!! I love you guys so so much!!! and although this chapter made me giggle and kick my feet in the air, then I got a little carried away and...turns out Christmas isn't the happiest time of the year.....so sorry....enjoy? (don't worry, I will NOT let you down)

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part / Next Part

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the apartment as Y/N shuffled into the kitchen, her steps quiet against the floor. Her pajamas hung loose, her hair a tousled mess from sleep, but she didn’t care— not yet, anyway.

And then, she saw him.

Logan stood by the counter, leaning casually as he sipped from his mug. His hair was still damp from a recent shower, the dark strands curling slightly at the ends. His shirt clung just enough to his frame to hint at the muscles underneath, and for a moment—just a fleeting, traitorous moment—her eyes lingered a little too long.

When he reached for something on the top shelf, the hem of his shirt lifted, revealing a strip of skin and a flash of muscle along his waist. She swallowed hard, shaking her head. What is wrong with me? It was just Logan. Her roommate. Her very grumpy, very private, very…

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice rough but warm, breaking her train of thought.

Y/N blinked, her cheeks heating. “Morning,” she replied, forcing herself to look away as she reached for a mug.

The cup was warm in her hands, grounding her as she poured herself some coffee. She took a sip, savoring the bitter edge of it. This is fine. Everything is fine.

“So,” Logan started, watching her over the rim of his mug. “What’s your plan for Christmas?”

Y/N hesitated, swirling her coffee. “Nothing, really. My dad and brother are in Europe, and flights to California to see my mom… well, not exactly in the cards right now.” She offered a small shrug, though there was a hint of sadness in her voice.

Logan frowned, his grip tightening on the handle of his mug. After a beat, he said, “Wade and I usually celebrate here. Althea, his old roommate, comes over. It’s nothin’ fancy, but it’s good. You should join us.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Logan, I don’t want to intrude—”

“You’re not intruding,” Logan interrupted. “You’re family, Y/N. ‘Course you’re welcome.”

Her heart warmed at his words, and a smile spread across her face. “Thank you, Logan. That… means a lot.”

Just then, Wade barreled into the kitchen, already half-dressed for work. “What’s up, my favorite morning people?”

Logan smirked. “Y/N’s joining us for Christmas.”

Wade froze mid-bite of a piece of toast. “Yes!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up. “Y/N, you and Blind Al are gonna hit it off. She’s got this whole ‘beautiful disaster’ vibe going on, but you’ll love her.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling genuinely touched by their enthusiasm. “Thanks, Wade. I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be!” Wade called as he rushed out the door. “Oh, and save me some cookies or I’ll never forgive you!”

The apartment settled into quiet again. Logan finished his coffee, setting the mug in the sink. “What about you? What are you doing today?”

Y/N tilted her head. “I need to run some errands, maybe pick up a few Christmas gifts. You?”

Logan shrugged. “Not much planned.”

She paused for a second, wondering if her next question was a good idea, then she smiled. Why wouldn’t it be? “Wanna come with me?”

Logan would be a liar if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

———

Logan had never liked shopping. Too many people, too much noise, and too many choices. It was the kind of thing he avoided at all costs—until today.

He trailed behind Y/N as she navigated the aisles, her attention flitting from one shelf to the next with a focus that he found oddly endearing. She examined items carefully, turning them over in her hands before either placing them back or tossing them into her cart.

Every now and then, she’d turn to him, asking his opinion. Like now.

“What do you think Wade would like?” she asked, holding up a pair of novelty socks with comic book characters on them.

“Probably those,” Logan said with a smirk. “The more ridiculous, the better.”

Her laughter was soft but genuine, and it tugged at something deep in his chest. She smiled easily, even when he barely gave her much to work with. She always had a way of drawing him out, making him feel… less guarded.

“Noted,” she said, tossing the socks into the cart.

As they continued, Y/N brought up another name. “What about Althea? I want to get her something too.”

“You don’t have to get everyone somethin’,” Logan said gruffly.

“I want to,” Y/N insisted. “Christmas is about giving, right?”

Logan shook his head but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, and don’t think I forgot about you,” Y/N teased, nudging him lightly.

He stopped in his tracks. “Wait—you got me somethin’?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Logan,” she interrupted. “It’s Christmas.”

Before he could respond, she turned and headed down the next aisle, her focus already shifting to whatever caught her eye. Logan stayed rooted to the spot, watching her go.

For a moment, everything else faded—the noise, the people, the chaos of the store. All he could focus on was her, the way she seemed to light up even the dullest places.

His chest tightened, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him. He didn’t know what to call it, didn’t want to call it anything, but it was there all the same.

“You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible over the chatter of the store.

After a moment, he shook his head, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he trailed after her.

———

The coffee shop buzzed with a quiet energy, the hum of conversation blending with the clatter of plates and the hiss of the espresso machine. Logan sat across from Y/N, the table between them littered with sandwiches, pastries, and steaming mugs. She was talking, her voice animated as she recounted a story about one of her students.

“...and then he looks me dead in the eye and says, Miss, I’m not late. Time is just a concept.’” Y/N laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and Logan couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

“Smart kid,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Too smart,” she replied with a shake of her head, still smiling.

But then something shifted. The lightness in her expression dimmed, her smile faltering as her gaze fixed on something—or someone—behind him.

Logan’s brow furrowed. He turned slightly in his seat, his eyes landing on a man approaching their table. The guy was average-looking, nothing particularly striking, but there was something about the way he walked—like he knew he belonged in her world, or at least used to.

“Y/N,” the man said, his smile tentative. “Wow, it’s been a while.”

“Hi, Mark,” Y/N replied, her voice polite but strained.

Logan glanced at her, catching the subtle tension in her posture, the way her fingers gripped the edge of her mug just a little too tightly. So, that was Mark.

The man’s gaze flicked to Logan, his smile faltering slightly. “And… you are?”

“Logan,” Y/N said quickly, before Logan could respond. “My roommate.”

Mark’s eyebrows lifted, and his smile thinned. “Oh. Roommate.”

Logan said nothing, his face impassive, but he could feel the weight of Mark’s scrutiny, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Is that all you are?

Mark turned his attention back to Y/N. “So… how’s everything?” he asked, his tone forced, as though he felt obligated to make small talk.

“Good,” Y/N replied, her voice clipped. “Good. You?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh… I’ve been going to therapy,” he said, his words tumbling out awkwardly.

“Oh,” Y/N said, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “That’s… good.”

An awkward silence settled over the table, heavy and suffocating. Logan’s jaw tightened as he watched Y/N’s discomfort. He wanted to say something, to cut through the tension, but he knew this wasn’t his moment to step in.

“Well,” Mark said finally, his smile brittle. “It was good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied softly, not quite meeting his eyes.

Mark gave a small wave and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N stared down at her coffee, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“You alright?” Logan asked.

She exhaled slowly, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Yeah,” she said, though the tightness in her voice betrayed her. “I just wasn’t expecting to see my ex today. Sorry, that was really weird.”

Logan nodded, his chest tightening inexplicably. “No need to apologize, he was the weird one.”

That made her chuckle and he smiled again. Y/N’s eyes lingered on him, her expression softening. “Have you ever had that happen?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his coffee. “Can’t say I’ve had many good relationships to begin with.”

She tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, a small shrug accompanying his words. “I mean, nothing real or long-lasting. Guess I’m not exactly easy to be with.”

“I don’t believe that,” Y/N said, softly. “You just haven’t found the right person yet.”

Logan looked up, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, the noise of the coffee shop a distant hum. There was something in her gaze, something that made his chest ache and his thoughts scatter.

He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Maybe,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Y/N smiled faintly, her attention drifting back to her coffee, but Logan could still feel the weight of the moment lingering between them, unspoken and unresolved.

———

By the time they returned to the apartment, the festive glow of the city lights outside had faded into a softer, quieter hum. Inside, the atmosphere felt almost intimate as they each set about putting away the day’s purchases.

Y/N carried the neatly wrapped gifts she’d picked out for Wade and a few others to her room, her mind still replaying snippets of the day. She placed the bags on her bed, pausing for a moment as her fingers brushed over the ribbon on one of the packages.

Meanwhile, Logan busied himself in the kitchen, unpacking a few groceries he had bought for dinner. His movements were slow and deliberate, but his focus wavered as the sound of Y/N’s light footsteps from the other room reached him.

It was the kind of silence that wasn’t quite empty.

When Y/N came back out to the living room, Logan glanced up briefly, his eyes catching hers.

“Got everything sorted?” he asked.

She nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said, placing a carton of eggs in the fridge. “All set.”

It was an ordinary exchange, but it lingered, hanging in the air between them like the faint scent of pine from the tiny tree Wade had set up in the corner.

Neither of them said much else as they gathered their things to head out, but the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was... charged.

———

The bar was alive with energy, the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter filling the space. Wade was on stage, commanding the room with a confidence that seemed almost effortless.

Y/N and Logan sat together near the bar and when Wade finished his set, he bounded over to them, his grin practically splitting his face.

“Well, well,” he said, plopping down in the seat next to Logan. “Look at you two. What’d you lovebirds get up to today?”

Logan tensed, his jaw tightening as he shot Wade a warning glance.

“Ran errands,” he said curtly, taking a sip from his drink.

“Bought gifts,” Y/N added with a smile, her tone light and unbothered.

Wade’s eyes flicked between the two of them, his smirk growing. “Oh, gifts, huh? For each other, maybe?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “For everyone but each other, actually.”

Wade leaned closer to Logan, lowering his voice but making no effort to hide his teasing grin. “You’re gonna spill every detail later,” he said conspiratorially. “Or else.”

Logan sighed, his gaze flickering toward Y/N, who seemed blissfully unaware of Wade’s antics. “You’re relentless,” he muttered.

“And you love me for it,” Wade shot back, raising his glass in mock salute.

For Y/N, the day had been... strange. Comfortable in some ways, yet unsettling in others. Being around Logan had a way of grounding her and throwing her off balance all at once, a mix of feelings she couldn’t quite name.

For Logan, it had been much the same. A day that lingered, heavy with a tension he couldn’t ignore and wasn’t ready to face.

As they left the bar and stepped into the cold night air, neither of them said much, but the weight of the unspoken hung between them, unacknowledged yet undeniable.

———

*Christmas Eve*

The apartment was aglow with the warm light of fairy lights strung across the walls and a small Christmas tree standing proudly in the corner. The scent of roasted vegetables and spiced desserts filled the air, mixing with the soft hum of holiday music playing from the speakers.

Y/N stood on a chair near the window, carefully hanging the last of the ornaments, a delicate glass star. She adjusted it until it caught the light just right, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. Her long red dress shimmered faintly in the glow of the lights, hugging her figure in all the right ways while remaining elegant and festive.

Logan walked in from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He stopped mid-step, his breath catching as his eyes fell on her.

She was radiant.

He couldn’t look away, and for a moment, everything else faded: the chatter from the kitchen, the music, even the sound of Wade's muffled laughter from somewhere down the hall.

For a moment, he forgot where he was.

“Logan?”

Her voice pulled him back, startling him. He blinked, feeling caught, and quickly masked his reaction.

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice gruff.

Her brow furrowed slightly, as though she wanted to ask something, but before she could, the front door swung open with a burst of energy.

“We’re here!” Wade’s booming voice broke the moment.

Logan exhaled quietly in relief, stepping aside as Wade entered, grinning from ear to ear. Behind him followed a petite older woman with cropped gray hair and a sharp yet welcoming presence. Her dark glasses hinted at her blindness, but her confident stride suggested it had never slowed her down.

“Y/N, this is Althea,” Wade announced with dramatic flair. “Al, meet the famous new roommate. Be warned—she’s deceptively charming.”

Y/N laughed, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “It’s great to finally meet you. Wade talks about you all the time.”

“Does he?” Althea’s tone was dry, but the faint curve of her lips showed her amusement. Ignoring Y/N’s hand, she reached out instead, her fingers brushing Y/N’s arm. “Forgive me, I don’t do handshakes. May I...?”

Y/N quickly caught on, her voice warm. “Of course.”

Althea’s hands moved gently to Y/N’s face, tracing her features with practiced care. Y/N held still, feeling a blend of curiosity and vulnerability.

“You’ve got a kind face,” Althea remarked, a smile softening her sharp features. “And I’d bet beautiful too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. She laughed lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

Wade, observing the scene from the kitchen, raised a brow. “Look at you, Al, playing all sweet. Y/N, don’t let her fool you. She’s got a mouth that could make a sailor blush.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wade,” Althea shot back without missing a beat, her tone deadpan.

Y/N burst into laughter, startled by the abruptness of the retort. The sound of her laugh made Logan glance over from his spot near the counter. His lips twitched, caught between a smirk and something softer.

Wade caught the look and snorted. He leaned in closer to Logan, dropping his voice. “Oh, man, you’re hopeless.”

Logan scowled, draining his drink in one go. “Shut up, Wade.”

Unfazed, Wade grinned. “Hey, just saying— there’s mistletoe. Clock’s ticking.”

Logan’s ears burned red, but he turned away, pretending to busy himself with setting the table.

“Alright, ladies!” Wade called, clapping his hands. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s feast!”

———

The four of them gathered around the small dining table, the dishes carefully arranged in the center. Wade had gone all out, as usual, and the spread was both impressive and slightly chaotic.

Y/N found herself seated next to Logan, their chairs close enough that their elbows occasionally brushed as they passed plates back and forth.

“This looks amazing,” Y/N said, her eyes wide as she surveyed the food.

“Don’t give Wade too much credit,” Logan grumbled. “Half of this was my doing.”

“Hey!” Wade protested, pointing his fork at Logan. “Without me, this meal would’ve been functional but boring. Like you.”

Althea snorted, cutting in with a smirk. “Oh, please, the two of you are basically a mismatched couple from some sitcom. You just need a laugh track.”

The meal carried on, Wade cracking jokes like it was his job (it is) and Logan sighing like he couldn’t care less. Still, there was a rhythm to their back-and-forth, one that made Y/N smile even when Wade was pushing the boundaries.

At one point, Wade casually leaned back and tossed out a comment about how Logan’s “festive cheer” seemed to skyrocket whenever Y/N was around. Logan didn’t hesitate— his foot shot out under the table, hitting Wade’s leg.

Wade yelped, clutching his leg. “Rude! I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!”

“Keep it up, and I’ll aim higher,” Logan muttered.

Y/N chuckled, her shoulders shaking slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Wade, sensing he was close to crossing a line, dialed it back just enough. The jokes stayed, but the comments about Logan and Y/N turned more playful, less obvious.

By the time the food was gone and the playlist had shifted to quieter, slower songs, the atmosphere felt easy, comfortable. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arm casually draped over the back of Y/N’s chair. He didn’t think much of it—it just felt like a natural place for it to be.

Y/N leaned back slightly, her shoulder brushing against his arm every so often. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything, and neither did he. Wade noticed, of course. He always noticed. But for once, he kept his mouth shut, letting the moment pass without a single jab or smirk.

Logan found himself watching Y/N as she laughed at something Althea said, her whole face lighting up. He didn’t realize he was staring, not really. Everything about the evening felt oddly normal, like this was just how things were meant to be.

———

Y/N and Althea sat side by side on the couch, the room warm and quiet now that dinner had ended. Logan leaned against the kitchen counter, nursing a glass of whiskey, while Wade sprawled in an armchair, pretending to be invested in their conversation. In reality, his focus shifted between the two women and Logan, who seemed utterly captivated by every word Y/N spoke, though he still didn’t seem to realize it.

Wade smirked faintly to himself, but again, said nothing.

“You know,” Althea was saying, “it’s rare to find people who make you feel at home so quickly. You’ve got a good heart, Y/N. I can see why these two keep you around.”

Y/N laughed. “Well, thank you, though I’m still figuring out how to deal with them sometimes.” She glanced playfully toward Logan and Wade.

“Hey!” Wade interjected, feigning offense. “We’re delightful.”

“That’s debatable,” Althea quipped.

They all laughed, and Y/N reached for a small bag she had tucked away under the coffee table. “Speaking of feeling at home, I actually got you a little something. Just a small gift.”

Althea’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “For me?”

Y/N handed her the bag, and inside was a plush, incredibly soft sweater in a deep burgundy color.

“For winter,” Y/N explained, smiling. “I thought it might be cozy for the colder days.”

Althea ran her hands over the fabric, her expression softening. “Alright, you’re officially my favorite now.”

Wade gasped dramatically. “What about us?”

Logan smirked into his glass, shaking his head.

“You two?” Althea said, turning her face toward the men with mock exasperation. “I don’t even know how Y/N puts up with you.”

The group laughed, the easy warmth of the evening wrapping around them like a blanket.

Once the laughter subsided, Wade and Logan presented their shared gift to Althea— a huge weighted blanket in a beautiful forest green color.

“For when you’re not here to roast us,” Wade said with a wink.

Althea ran her hands over the blanket, her lips curving into a genuine smile. “Alright, fine, maybe you two aren’t so bad. Thank you.”

———

When it was time for Althea to leave, Wade grabbed his coat and keys, patting Althea’s shoulder as they headed for the door. “I’ll drive her back. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone,” he teased, looking between Logan and Y/N.

“We’ll try to behave,” Y/N replied with a grin, earning a chuckle from Wade and a low, amused hum from Logan.

As the door closed behind them, the apartment was blanketed in a peaceful quiet. The soft glow of the Christmas lights cast warm patterns on the walls, and the faint scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air.

Logan moved to the table, stacking plates. “We should probably clean this up,” he said, glancing over at Y/N.

“Good idea,” she agreed, grabbing a tray of glasses. They worked side by side in silence, their movements synchronized without effort.

“You didn’t have to get Althea anything,” Logan said after a moment, his voice low. “She’s not really the sentimental type.”

Y/N shrugged, glancing over her shoulder. “It wasn’t about that. She’s important to you and Wade, and I wanted to show I appreciate her too.”

Logan paused, his hands stilling for a moment. “She seemed to like you.”

“She’s easy to like,” Y/N replied with a smile, turning back to the sink. “I think she keeps you grounded.”

Logan let out a small huff of amusement. “Yeah, she does. She’s one of the few people who knows how to call me out without pissing me off.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers brushing against his as she handed him a glass to dry. “That’s a skill worth respecting.”

The quiet between them was comfortable, almost tangible, but it was broken when Logan cleared his throat. “Speaking of gifts…”

Y/N turned, curious. Logan reached behind a stack of plates and pulled out a small box, wrapped neatly in dark green paper. “I, uh… I got you something.”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Logan, you didn’t have to—”

“Just open it,” he interrupted, his tone gruff but soft.

Taking the box, Y/N unwrapped it carefully, revealing a delicate necklace with a shimmering emerald pendant. The stone caught the light beautifully, its hues shifting like the ocean.

“Logan,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stunning.”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought it might suit you.”

Her fingers brushed over the pendant, her heart swelling at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. But then, realization dawned, and her eyes widened. “Wait… is this an emerald? Logan, this is way too much!”

“It’s a gift,” he said simply, his tone brooking no argument.

She looked at him, torn between awe and disbelief. “I can’t believe you—”

“Let me help,” he murmured, taking the necklace from her hands.

Y/N turned around, holding her breath as he fastened it around her neck. His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. When she turned back to face him, their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

Logan’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words eluded him. Instead, he gave a small nod, stepping back just enough to give her space.

“I should get your gift,” Y/N said, breaking the spell as she hurried to her room.

She returned with a neatly wrapped package. Logan opened it carefully, revealing a sleek black leather jacket. His brows lifted, his fingers brushing over the material.

“You mentioned your old one was wearing out,” Y/N said quickly. “And I thought—”

“It’s perfect,” Logan interrupted, his voice steady but warm.

She relaxed, her smile widening as she watched him try it on. It fit perfectly, the jacket molding to his broad frame like it had been made for him.

Relief washed over her, and she returned his smile. “I’m glad.”

Logan raised an eyebrow as he looked at the jacket again. "So, let me get this straight... you can get me a jacket as fancy as this, but I can’t even get you a beautiful necklace for Christmas?" he teased, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Y/N smirked and shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "It’s Christmas, Logan. Don’t overthink it," she replied, brushing him off with a quick wave of her hand.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, right, of course. Christmas," he muttered, half to himself. He glanced at the jacket again, his fingers brushing the smooth material. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” he said quietly.

“You’re worth it,” Y/N said before she could stop herself.

Logan looked up, his eyes locking onto hers. The weight of her words hung in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.

The moment stretched between them, the only sound being the Christmas playlist in the background, playing on low volume. Logan’s hand brushed hers as he set the jacket down, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat.

Before either of them could say more, the front door swung open.

“I’m back!” Wade announced as he burst through the door. “I hope you two didn’t burn the place down without me.”

Y/N and Logan stepped apart almost instinctively, their brief closeness retreating into the unspoken space between them.

“Place is still standing,” Logan said, his tone calm as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

Wade gave him a pointed look, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly before they flicked over to the small box on the table. He didn’t comment immediately, though a knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “Good. Hate to think I’d miss out on the drama. So,” he added, as casually as Wade could manage, “what’ve you two been up to?”

“Just cleaning up,” Y/N said with a warm smile, the necklace still hanging delicately around her neck.

Wade’s eyes landed on the necklace, his smirk widening briefly before he shook it off and clapped his hands together. “Right, cleaning. Sure. Well, hope you saved me some holiday cheer. Now, let’s finish this properly and…give me my gifts.”

As Y/N moved toward the living room to join him by the tree, Wade paused briefly near Logan. He leaned in, speaking just low enough to avoid Y/N overhearing.

“Nice gift, Peanut,” he murmured, a sly grin on his face. “Now, try to take the next step.”

Logan shot him a warning glare but said nothing, shaking his head as Wade walked off with a chuckle.

By the tree, Y/N had already settled herself cross-legged on the floor, her fingers absentmindedly brushing against the pendant. Logan hesitated, standing back for a moment as Wade grabbed a gift and rattled it loudly.

“Come on, Grinch, get over here,” Wade said, louder this time.

Logan sighed and made his way over, sitting a bit stiffly on the couch behind Y/N. His gaze lingered on her as she leaned toward the tree, her movements soft and unassuming. She turned slightly, catching his eye with a brief smile that made something stir in his chest.

As the night carried on, the living room buzzed softly with warmth, the twinkle of Christmas lights casting a gentle glow. Wade lounged near the tree, holding court with one of his exaggerated stories about a gift exchange gone horribly wrong. Y/N laughed, her face lighting up as she added her own tale— a hilarious recount of a miscommunication during her first Secret Santa at work.

Logan sat on the couch, watching them. He leaned back, silent, his gaze flickering between Wade’s theatrical gestures and the way Y/N’s smile reached her eyes. The sound of her laugh stirred something warm and sharp in him, though he kept his face impassive.

The way she wore that necklace—his gift to her—like it had always belonged there. And maybe it did. But that didn’t mean he did.

The leather jacket sat on the coffee table. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it. It wasn’t just the thoughtfulness— it was the way it seemed to fit him so perfectly, like she had known something about him that even he didn’t.

“You’re quiet, Peanut,” Wade teased, nudging him with his foot. “Plotting your next great escape?”

Logan huffed, shaking his head. “Just listening.”

Y/N smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Alright, Logan,” she said, leaning slightly toward him, “what’s the worst gift you’ve ever received?”

He blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, the question cut through the haze of his thoughts, and he scrambled to push the weight of his emotions aside.

“Worst gift?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Y/N prompted, tilting her head with that easy, genuine interest she always carried.

“Probably a pair of socks with reindeer on them,” Logan said with a wry smirk. “Ugliest thing I ever saw.”

Wade snorted. “Bet you still wore them, though.”

Logan shrugged, his lips twitching. “They were warm.”

“I know I love mine.” Wade said as he put his feet in the air, showing off the socks Y/N had got him.

The conversation flowed on, but Logan felt himself retreating into his thoughts again.

Y/N’s fingers brushed the pendant around her neck, and Logan’s heart stuttered in his chest. She wore his gift like it was a part of her, and somehow that made the ache in his chest sharper.

The truth clawed at him, relentless. He wanted something to happen— something more than these stolen moments of warmth. But he couldn’t let himself have it. Not with her.

Not someone like her.

Someone so kind, so brilliant, so effortlessly beautiful. Someone who deserved all the light and laughter she brought into the world. Someone who didn’t deserve the shadow of his past— the darkness he never spoke about, the weight of nightmares that dragged him down night after night.

The necklace had been a mistake. A moment of weakness. When he’d chosen it, he hadn’t thought about what it meant, only that it was perfect for her. 

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he knew what it meant.

But the moment he held it in his hands, the contrast had been too evident. It felt almost cruel to give her something so precious, as if he were trying to convince her he was something he wasn’t.

Wade’s voice cut through his thoughts, dragging his focus back to the room. Logan could feel his friend’s eyes on him. Wade always saw too much.

And Wade knew. Of course, he did. The way Logan’s gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his words faltered whenever Y/N was near. Wade saw it all, he knew it wasn’t just a simple little crush. It was probably the reason why he wouldn’t stop commenting on it.

But Logan didn’t need any of it. He didn’t need Wade pointing out how far he’d already fallen.

His heart ached with the weight of it. The selfishness of wanting to reach out, to take a chance, to risk everything for the possibility of more. But it was her. And he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Wade’s eyes briefly. He saw the smirk, the unspoken challenge, and ignored it.

He’d make it through this. He’d hide what he felt. He had to.

Because Y/N deserved better than him.

Logan leaned back on the couch, his face as still as stone as he forced his thoughts into submission.

“Alright,” Wade said, clapping his hands. “Time for another story— this one’s a real masterpiece.”

Logan let out a low hum, feigning interest as Wade began, but his focus was elsewhere.

Y/N’s laugh rang out again, soft and clear, and Logan clenched his jaw against the warmth it stirred.

He’d pretend. He’d hide.

And maybe, if he was lucky, it would be enough.

XXX

[rei-ismyname]

Magneto takes over the X-mansion

There's no way they can hear his rant

My dude has just returned to Earth after being abducted by aliens and jacking one of their ships. That shit wasn't the X-Men's fault but they are bootlicking snitches so he decides to destroy them once and for all! And take over their house of course.

Yeah that's him levitating Chuck's house to hurl it elsewhere, but he changes his mind. It's not an island or asteroid but it's a pretty nice house. He puts the X-Men (minus Bobby) in a hot air balloon that they have immense difficulty escaping before they get too high and run out of oxygen. Ironic death mirroring his time in space? Nah it's just a dumb Silver Age villain scheme instead of, you know, killing them. Mags is addicted to drama.

It's Magneto's house now and he's going to redecorate. He blows up Cerebro out of spite which I can definitely respect. FOOM! Just then, Warren's parents arrive to see their kid, but they don't know who this garish character is. 'I? I am power. Men call me Magneto.' I'm so glad Al Ewing brought that back for RoM - it's a great line that sounds utterly unhinged.

Hilariously, they don't blink at that or him and are like 'sure, cool. Tell Warren we're here.' Rich people out of their element in this so-called mansion with a mere three stories, I assume. Mags hypnotizes them (magnets, don't worry about it) and orders them to bed - they politely oblige. I like to think that the hypnotism did nothing and they're just like that. Hospitality!

Chuck's red bald head rules

While Mags is making himself at home and having new friends over, Chuck is struggling in the hot air balloon. Mags locked his brain up with a gizmo but didn't account for his 'counter-ego.' That's even more made up than most of this stuff yet Chuck blows up the gizmo. Early instance of telekinesis IMO. He wakes up the rest of the X-Men and they work on escaping.

Mags needs to solve his personnel problems, getting to work quickly rearranging Chuck's lab. Dude whips up cloning facilities really quickly and figures he can create a mutant army from the Worthingtons' genes. Their son is a mutant so the science checks out. He can even choose what kind of power they have etc. It's incredibly impressive evil science and his mastery of genetics would be very useful right now in the year of our DOOM 2025. Warren's parents sleep peacefully.

Seriously, he created people from nothing in like fifteen minutes. Somehow Magnetism assists this endeavour. One of the Silver Age X-Men's biggest charms is Stan Lee having no idea how magnets work. It's great. Mags delivers a fantastic monologue as he prepares to conquer the world.

One problem - Iceman is here and everyone knows that snowballs beats cloning machines. Mags discovers the sabotage quickly and confronts the youngest X-Man, but Bobby slides away through an ice tunnel. Mags trips and slides after him. I love it.

With some quick thinking Iceman traps Magneto in an igloo, very briefly. It was a great idea but Magnets! Bobby looks like he's in deep shit, desperate for reinforcements. Luckily Cyclops pops the hot air balloon and Marvel Girl cushions their fall. Mags has nobody to blame but himself. That was a weak death trap.

The X-Men rush in to help Bobby but he handles them pretty easily too. Magnets! Will you never learn? They can't beat him, but they can delay him.

As usual, Chuck's brain saves the day, with the X-Men just buying him time. He contacts The Stranger - the alien Mags escaped from - and he wants his pet/test subject back. Magneto is gone in a flash, back to slavery on a distant planet. Warren's folks are fine - they didn't even realise anything was happening - and the clones just disappear.

The old 'look behind you' trick is an old one, and it really helps if you summoned a cosmic entity to handle your problems. Magneto will return!

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Im feeling angsty rn😈😈

Child reader dying protecting Ben?:33

-🎀

Summary: Child reader dies protecting Ben

Genre: Angst, no comfort

Warnings: Major character death (namely you), grieving, mild gore being depicted, shooting

A/n: I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF FOR REQUESTING THIS

Credits: Ben drowned- Creepypasta, Both Dividers- sister-lucifer on tumblr

It was a mistake. A stupid mistake. It always is. He's a ghost, why did you step in front of him? It wouldn't have hurt him anyways, why did you do that? And it's not like you had unresolved business so you aren't even going to come back, he'll never see you again and-

Fuck, he needed to calm down.

The day started out fine. Today was a special day actually, as Slender was permitting you to go on your first ever mission outside of the manor. You were getting older, so you needed to start pulling your weight around the house. Ben actually doesn't do physical missions like you'd be doing, he does all the technical stuff like finding victim's information, supplying materials, etc. But, because you begged and begged, he was going to be the one going out with you to make sure you didn't get arrested or caught up in more trouble than you needed.

You'd been so excited. Your first ever mission! If only he knew that'd be the last time he'd see your happy face.

It started out good enough, a little messy, but nothing you couldn't handle. The mission dragged on though, but Ben allowed it to. He wanted you to get good experience, even if it meant you took a little longer than he'd like. Yeah, he wanted to hurry up and get home, but every time he saw your enthusiastic smile, he thought to himself that maybe a little bit longer wouldn't kill him. Eventually though, this decision came back to haunt him in the worst way possible.

He was being careless, he wasn't paying attention. He missed the footsteps creeping up behind the two of you, he missed the guy aiming at him, he didn't even know you were behind him until it was too late. He was turned facing the wall, looking at one of the posters the establishment you two were in had up. When he heard the gunshot, he was startled because you two were supposed to be the only ones in there. When he turned around, the first thing he saw was that you were right in front of him, your arms spread out wide, trying to cover him. The shooter had already fled, leaving you standing for a short period before gravity took over and you collapsed.

He didn't even processed what had just happened until he heard you gurgle. You were choking on your own blood. That's when it all clicked for him, you had tried to save him from being shot. His first instinct was to be annoyed that you'd tried to do such a thing, but he found that he was more angry at himself than at you. You were panicking, you were scared about what was happening. You'd never died before. In a flash you are back at the manor, and you are in Ben's arms as he frantically runs around, trying to get someone, anyone, to listen to him and help him get you to the medical wing.

When he finally does get you there, EJ doesn't even have to glance to know it's too late. You'd lost too much blood, and were still losing more. You had too much internal bleeding and not enough time for him to even think about trying to stop it. This was all much to Ben's dismay, he is screaming and throwing things around, punching walls and demanding that you be taken care of, that you be fixed. You'd never seen Ben like this before. He's usually so calm and mellow, seeing him like this would've scared you if you weren't so close to death.

When you finally flatlined, it's like everything in him just broke. He no longer screamed, or yelled. He just....stopped. Like he couldn't believe it'd actually just happened. He knows he'll never see you again, not unless he can convince Slender to revive you, which he knows he won't do. Slender only revives employees that he gets use out of. You'd never even gotten a chance to prove yourself.

He scoops you up in his arms, and sits in a corner of the medical wing, rocking you slowly like he knew you liked. He doesn't know how long he sat there, just rocking you. It must've been a while though, because one by one his friends came in to try to coax him out of the room, saying you needed to be buried and that he needed to rest. He'd never let that happen. For you to be buried is for him to never see you again, and he just can't let that happen. He just needs to hold onto you for a little while longer.

And so he sits, and rocks you slowly in the way he knows you liked.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can’t seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: we can't be ready for this man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Chris sits at the table, his phone in one hand, his other resting latently on the denim stretched around his thigh. You approach and resist the vision that flashes through your mind. If you were braver, you might just dump the mac and cheese all over him. The scalding sting in your ass keeps you compliant. 

You put the plate in front of him with a fork. You say nothing and back up. He huffs and drops his phone heavily. 

“Not gonna offer me something to drink?” He snarls. “Know your ma, it isn’t any surprise you don’t got any manners.” 

You flinch and stop. You just want to go to your room and for him to leave you alone. Why is he even here? 

“Do you want a drink?” 

He sighs and clucks. “Yea, I want a drink.” He says each word with emphasis. “You think you can handle it?” 

“Yes... sir,” you utter. 

“Beer. I know your ma got at least a can left.” He demands. 

You nod and go to the fridge. Your mom won’t be happy. She counts her alcohol, not her money. Still, you don’t care. You just need him to leave you alone. 

You take out a beer and return to him. You put it down as he scoops up a forkful. He leans forward and shovels it into his mouth. He sits back and chews, swallowing tightly. “Open it.” 

You grab the can and crack the tab. You put it back down. He reaches for it and guzzles half of it in a gulp. You go to retreat and he snaps his fingers at you. You stop. Again. 

“Whatcha tryna run away for?” He growls. 

“I’m not. I’m going to clean the pot.” It’s a lie but a convenient one that sounds true. 

“Mm, fine,” he shoos you with his finger. “Ya think you’re gonna keep a husband making boxed noodles? Gonna have to at least learn to make a meatloaf or something.” 

“Yes, sir,” you go to the sink and turn on the water. You scrub at the scratched pot as you try to tune out his chewing. 

You finish and dry it off. You put it back in the cupboard and cross your arms. You turn slowly and reach for the wooden spoon. You try not to react as your flesh speckles with the shadow of his assault. You wash that too and put it in the dishrack. 

You turn and he clears his throat. 

“I didn’t dismiss you,” he sneers as his fork clanks onto the plate. 

You face him, “I was just going to grab my phone--” 

“Why?” He asks. 

You flinch, “I don’t... know?” 

“You ask me first.” 

“But...” you squint at him. 

“Don’t you put that face on or I’ll wipe it off,” he warns with a jab of his thick finger. 

You frown and chew on your agitation. You don’t know why you’re putting up with this. He’s an intruder. 

You shake your head and spin. You don’t have to do this. Your mom brought him home, she can deal with him. You storm off and hear him grunt. You speed up as the chair scrapes on the floor. 

You run to your room and slam the door behind you. You flip the lock behind the handle as he hits the outside. You scour the room in search of your cell. It’s on your pillow. You swipe it up and dial your mom’s number. 

You put the phone to your ear and cover your other as Chris pounds on the door. “What’re ya doing? Don’t you be a little bitch now! Let me in.” He thumps on the wood. “Listen here, girl. I’m giving you one chance to open up or you’re in for it.” 

Your mom doesn’t pick up. Of course, she doesn’t. You know she’s probably too drunk to care. You huff and hang up. You face the door. 

“I’m calling the cops,” you holler at the door. “So you better go.” 

“Go ahead,” he hits the door again, “I dare ya.” 

Your lashes flutter and your hand quakes. You get a grip on the phone and tap 9. The whole door jars in the frame as he throws his weight against it. You whimper as the wood cracks and he does it again. The clasp snaps loudly and the door flies open.  

You cry out and hit one. He storms towards you and knocks the cell from your hand before you can tap again. You swing your arms out to ward him off but he catches you around your waist. He hauls you off your feet. You claw at him as he grunts and growls. 

“Every mark you leave on me, I’ll give ya double,” he barks and as you try to scratch him again, he bites down on the vee of your thumb and index. You shriek and he pinches until you can’t bear it. He finally releases and you shake your hand out with a whimper. “Try me, girl.” 

He drags you out of the room, your feet barely scuffing the floor, as he keeps you locked in his arms. You wriggle as you try to get free. He gets you to the kitchen and hurls you away from him. You hit the counter and bounce off. 

You land on the floor and roll onto your stomach. You wheeze from the impact. You plant your elbows and knees and try to lift yourself. He stomps over as you hear a clatter on the counter and he steps over your body. He drops down to straddle you. 

He grabs your neck and pushes your flat. He pins you, your cheek to the tile, and he moves off of you, kneeling at your side. You get a glimpse of the same wooden spoon as it descends and he batters your ass again. 

“Ow! Please!” 

“Too late, girl,” he grits. “I warned ya but you just can’t behave.” 

“No, no, please. I’m just... why are you doing this?” You whine. 

“’Cause you just can’t help yourself,” he stills the spoon and tugs up your shorts, exposing you. “I’m gonna teach you what happens to bad girls.” 

He hooks his leg over yours and forces your thighs apart. He prods around with the handle of the wooden spoon. You twitch and tense as he pokes down your ass and between your legs. He presses the end against your cunt and you spasm. 

“No--” 

He wiggles the spoon, pushing it against your clenched lips, until he breaks past your resistance. You shriek and slap the floor at the dry intrusion of the spoon. Your disbelief is underlined with horror. This can’t be happening but the arid pain assures you it’s all too real. 

He jerks his wrist and pushes it deeper. You holler and scratch at the tile helpless. His grip tightens on your neck and he thrusts the spoon in and out, deeper and deeper, as your eyes spill over with tears. 

As agonizing as it is, it’s degrading. You are nothing. He’s defiling you as if you deserve it. As if you are his very own plaything. 

“Please-- stop,” you gurgle, “ow, ow, ow,” you heave between your whimper, “ow, it hurts.” 

“Damn right, it hurts.” He rams the spoon into you again and you wail. “Remember this the next time you wanna fuck around, huh?” 

“I wasn’t--” you wheeze and grab onto his arm, trying to shove him off. “Please, please,” you beg. “Owwww, I’ll be good--” 

He rips the spoon out and you cry out again. But there isn’t a moment of relief. He shoves two fingers into you, rocking his hand as you wriggle and whine. He dips in, deeper, deeper, harder, harder, until you’re trembling and weak. 

You pant and lay limply as he demeans your body. It’s only when you’re completely still, almost dissonant, that he relents. He drags his fingers out of you and wipes them on your shorts. He moves his leg off of yours and sits back on his heels. 

“Now you know what the fuck happens to snitches,” he growls. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you babble dumbly as you hide behind your eyelids. “Sorry, please, no more. No more.” 

“Better be no more,” he swats the back of your head. “Got it.” 

“Yes,” you sniffle, “yes... sir.” 

“Mm,” his soles scuff as he gets his footing and stands. He grabs the back of your shirt and wrenches you up, strangling you as you struggle to find an ounce of strength. “You wanna be good? You gonna dress like a good girl.” 

He twists your shirt around his fist and forces you across the kitchen. Your legs are wobbly as you nearly fall against him. You get your balance, barely, and he marches you onward. He shoves you into your room and you hit the floor again. 

He goes to your dresser as you lay on the floor. You cup between your legs as your insides throb hotly. You watch him as your tears dry up. He digs through your drawer and pulls out a pair of your panties. 

“What’s this?” He stretches the boy shorts. “Ain’t no ladies’ clothes.” 

He tosses them to the floor and continues to search. In the next drawer, he takes out a flowered dress with cap sleeves. You don’t wear it very often. You have no reason too. 

“Here,” he throws it at you and it shrouds your face. You pull if off your head and sit up. “Get fucking dressed.” 

You look down at the dress then back at him. He stomps around and bends to pick up your phone. He turns back to you. 

“Do I gotta repeat myself?” 

“N-no,” you murmur and climb to your feet. 

“Damn right,” he goes to your bed and flops down, adjusting himself to recline against your pillows. 

You look down and gingerly move around to put the dress on the foot of the bed. You undress, skin on fire as you strip down in front of him. You feel him watching your every move. You pull the dress on before you shimmy out of your shorts, hoping not to expose yourself entirely. 

You hiccup and sway back and forth. He rumbles, “what d’ya think? Get over here.” 

You waver and clutch the sides of the short skirt. You don’t know how much worse he can do but you don’t want to find out. You obey in hopes that he won’t hurt you again but you don’t think there’s anything you can do to avoid that. 

You go up the side of the bed and stop close to him. He reaches to toy with the short hem of your dress. He clucks as he pokes his finger against the fabric. 

“You fucked anything but that spoon before?” He taunts. 

You flinch and stare at the floor. You shake your head. He chuckle. 

“Course you ain’t. You don’t know what to do with a man. Well, I’m about to teach you, girl,” he yanks on your skirt and you stumble against the bed. “You wanna get mouthy with me, well, then we’ll put your mouth to use.” 

He spreads his legs and snaps his fingers. He points between his knees and you follow the gesture with your eyes. A new well of tears springs forth. He laughs again. 

As you crawl onto the bed and over his leg, he opens the button of his fly. Your lip trembles and you dare to look him in the face. His zipper splits the thick air and he reaches into his jeans with a smirk. 

“Open up, girl. I’m about to show you what a woman’s for,” he pulls himself through his fly and strokes himself. You bow your head and close your eyes, mortified. 

You want to scream and run but you know better. It’s already, you can’t make it any worse. You open your eyes and look up at him, mopping your cheeks as he plays with himself. 

“You’re kinda cute when you cry,” he snickers.