#he was so close to death and he had NO idea

[enviedear]

LOVING ALONE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | jason having (what he thinks is) an unrequited crush

CW | lovesick!jason with issues accepting love, just-a-buncha fluff. 1.6k words. 🎧ྀི

your eyes flicker to your window for the hundredth time in ten minutes. there's an attempt at forcing your gaze back to your book, but your concentration on it has long since shattered. it's impossible to concentrate on anything other than him, perched on your fire escape right outside your window—JASON TODD.

he thinks he’s so subtle, as if you'll never notice when he parks himself on your fire escape like some sort of gargoyle. you smile slightly at the thought, heart pounding a little faster than it should. a condition that makes itself apparent far too much when your mind drifts to him.

he's silently taken on a sort of sworn protector role, separate from his nightly redhood rendezvous. you count yourself lucky to have his presence around your domicile so often. you truly never got over the culture shock that was gotham, but jason helps. even if he decides to go to great lengths to try and hide it.

outside, in the frigid and everpresent putrid gotham air, jason todd sits in complete rumination. he has goosebumps marring his arms beneath his leather jacket, but he pays them no mind. no, he's far too busy listing all the reasons he should just leave, why sitting outside under the guise of guard is utterly stupid, but still, he sits.

he runs a gloved hand through his hair, tugging slightly. he feels pathetic. how can he meet death, the criminally insane, survive things that would kill most—and somehow, he's shocked still with nerves at the very idea of knocking on your window.

in his head he has it all pictured, if it went perfectly. you'd come to the window, a confused look on your face until you spot him. he'd pull some stupid line, something he heard dick use once, and it'd make you laugh. he loves hearing that, more than anything. then he'd crawl in—spend the rest of his night with you, doing anything. and in his head, that's perfect.

but the underbelly of that dream keeps him rooted to your fire escape. to him, there's no way you could ever share his sentiments. you refer to him as a friend and no matter how much he wishes for something else, he can't change reality. can't force himself to make something more out of what you give him.

between the blood on his hands and the rage he can never seem to fully rid himself of, he's come to the aimless conclusion that you deserve someone better. someone more delicate, someone who doesn’t live with one foot in the grave. but every time you laugh or shoot him an easy smile, it gets easier to admit that he’s too far gone.

you deign the separation foolish, but still, you give yourself one more attempt at reading before you put your book to the side. really—you just wish he’d just say something. you’ve thought about saying something yourself, more times than you care to admit, but the timing never feels right. besides, there’s a part of you that wonders if jason even realizes you’ve been waiting out for him.

every time you joke or tease, you can see some struggle behind his eyes. as if he wants to let go and laugh with you, but something—himself—holds him back. your very own sisyphus—his very own boulder to carry up a labyrinthine mountain.

maybe it’s his past and the walls he’s built around himself, but you’re over him expecting you to be afraid of him. you wonder how much more evident you need to be. if anything, you wish he could see himself the way you do—intense, yes, but also loyal and good, even if he doesn’t believe it.

he proves it every night when he stands watch outside your shitty apartment.

with a sigh, you stand up from the couch, moving toward the window. he’s always so close, and yet there’s a distance he keeps in place—you’ve had enough of that.

you slide the window open, leaning out just enough to catch him mid-step as he’s about to leave—flee moreso. “going somewhere?”

he turns on his heels, red helmet in his hands, "figured you'd be asleep."

you hum, eyes narrowing, "already? it's six pm on a saturday."

“just didn’t want to bother you.” he admits, voice low, almost timid. he doesn’t meet your eyes, and it’s frustrating how hard he tries to hide, even from you.

“you’re not bothering me, jason.” you say softly, leaning on the window frame. “you never do.”

jason looks at you then, something uncertain flickering in his gaze. his lips dart out to quell his chapped lips—you hold his stare, hoping he can see what you’re trying to tell him, wordlessly.

that you want him here, that you’ve been wanting him all along.

“i can stop by for a few.” he finally says, adding a shrug to the end of his sentence.

you smile, opening the window fully as invitation. jason crawls in, a rather innocuous task but given his stature, always surprises you.

“i have pizza and brownies. saturday special.” you tell him, a persuasion. you want him to eat.

“sounds good.” he’s in the middle of slipping out of his redhood garb, clad in a skintight athletic tee and his cargos—mask sitting on your coffee table. “i’m gonna change in the bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

before his fingers can grab his duffle you start, “why don’t you shower here? i know you don’t have any of your usual stuff but—”

he cuts you off, “i couldn’t. i’m already eating your food…and using your fire escape as a landing spot.”

“jason, seriously. shower here. i’ll heat up the food and put on some tv. it’s a saturday.” you’re not one to beg, but this is treading the line.

his shoulders sag, but there’s a small smile on his face, “thanks, sweetheart. you’re too nice to me.”

his tone is sarcastic, self-deprecating, and that annoys you slightly. you want him to know that he’s welcome here, wanted. needed.

“i like it when you’re here, you know.” you feel like sparking a match, timid flames sparkling. “i miss you when you’re gone and everything.”

he quirks a brow, "what are you tryin' tell me?"

you feel silly at his question, the air around you seemingly buzzing. jason peers down at you with a raised brow, as if he's genuinely confused by the sentiment. as if he's baffled by the notion he could be someone to miss.

your breath hitches as you debate your next move. you're walking a thin line between saying too much and not enough. you could play it safe, keep your cards close to your chest—or you could be honest. near painfully so.

when you find your voice, it comes out soft, "i'm trying to say that i like it better when you come inside instead of sitting on my fire escape. i don't want to be a landing spot for you, i want... more."

he clears his throat, shifting on his feet, "you don't want that." he seems to take a step back, not physically, but mentally. his face goes still, chest breathing even, mind anywhere but the present.

you groan, annoyance evident, "i do though. you have to see that in some way by now." you step towards him, "sometimes i think you feel the same way."

jason’s gaze flickers toward the floor, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed the line, if he’ll pull away entirely. but then he looks up, eyes darker, severely sincere. “you have no idea what you’re asking for.” he cautions, but his voice is lower, almost a whisper.

you smile softly, finally letting your hand touch his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath. “maybe i do. maybe i’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“i mean it.” you reply, sincere in your admission. “i’m not afraid of you, jason. i’m afraid of what happens if you keep shutting me out.”

he grumbles at that, a half-willed attempt to argue against your point. you stay quiet, urging him to continue where you left off. you watch his face contort through a realm of emotions—confusion, fear, and then, thinly masked and wistful poignancy.

“i’m not shutting you out. if anything, i’m protecting you.” he finally decides, arms crossing over his chest, eyes scanning the wall behind you. nervous.

you shake your head, fingers reaching for his twisted expression, finding home on his pink-tinted cheeks. “i don’t need you protecting me from you. i need you to want me as bad as i want you.”

your words are bold, maybe overconfident, but you mean them to the fullest extent. you’re so beyond exhausted of attempting to disregard or conceal your feelings. even if jason’s not, you think he deserves to know.

jason todd looks you over. his eyes raking you up and down like you’re some high valued product—and he’s unsure wether to take the bid or let it pass by. in the time you’ve known him, even in the thralls of his vigilante persona, he’s studied things. eyes pointedly and silently assessing his situation, no matter how far removed he is from his upbringing—his “father” lingers in his antics.

finally, he chuckles, low and more timid than usual, “you don’t know how badly i want you, sweetheart. but…” he stops himself, and you’re grateful because you would have done it yourself if he had continued on with some rebuttal. “fuck. you’re all i want.”

it comes out like a beg, pleading that rarely works it’s way onto his features. you smile, and pull him closer. his arms uncross, opting to gingerly hold your shoulders. still timid, unsure.

“you should know how much you mean to me. you do such a good job of showing me…keeping watch and never letting me eat alone. it’s sweet, you’re sweet. i want you to know it.” you keep his gaze when you speak, hopefully drilling each sentiment permanently into his consciousness.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, “i believe you. swear. i just… this is new. i never thought…” he falters off, equal parts unsure and dumbstruck. “i like you a lot. i didn’t know you felt the same, sweetheart.”

you grin, inching your face closer to his, “well i do. deal with it.” your tone is teasing, playful. pulling him back into the safety of reassurance—what you want him to anticipate from you.

it seems to put jason back in his element, “oh? you have demands? usually that’s my thing.”

you laugh, “could always be our thing. the demanding couple—sounds inspired, don’t you think?”

“something like that…” his smile is soft, “but for now, i think i’m fine with just being yours.” he says it so earnestly, no thought to it. just the truth, and it feels damn good. it envelops you just the same as his arms, wraps you up in utter victory. love hard fought—and it feels so sweet.

[sceletaflores]

come on and show me a little bit of spine!

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader

wc: 5.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, drinking, smoking, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, public sex (alleyway hehe), biting, blood but not blood play, pain kink, scent kink, a special guest (!!!), jealous logan muahahaha, emotional constipation but like wtf is new, nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, probably ooc logan and friends sorry i'm just a girl, porn w/ plot (a little???), no use of y/n.

author’s note: HAHA BACK ON MY LOGAN BULLSHIT! who’s laughing? not me. i can’t stop writing for him it’s insane and selfish i know i know i’m sorry. bee tee dubs this is part two to all’s fair in love and viscera cus i couldn't get them out of my head so...kisses!

five x-men walk into a bar, only three walk out…

All men are the same. X-gene or no x-gene, they're all immature pigs.

You've come to find that it's more than just skin deep. If you took a knife to every man in this bar, you'd surely find the exact same little metaphorical mass of arrogance ingrained in every single one of them once all the layers are peeled back far enough.

And that's what Logan is, a man.

A stubborn, arrogant, mind-numbingly frustrating man who's convinced he could never be wrong just because he's had a little more time than normal to perfect the art of being completely insufferable.

No adamantium skeleton or foot long claws of death can change that.

You could set him on fire, drown him, watch him regenerate from a single cell, and nothing would change.

So, in hindsight, you really should have seen this coming.

It was Ororo's idea to go out, insisting the team needed it. A casual night at the bar across town to raise bravado after a few close call missions.

It sounded fun at the time, and for the first thirty minutes it was.

Getting to shed your hero skin for a few hours every so often is always nice, and you love your team. Love getting to just sit and live with them. You hardly get nights like this anymore, filled with playing pool and darts like people do.

That being said, you were reaching the top of your limit. Fast.

It started at the bartop, with Logan sauntering up next to you for the first time tonight. 

He slid into the empty seat to your left, leaned against the bar casually, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. His lips tugged into that half-smirk he wore that night in the training room.

“You avoiding me?” he asks, voice low, bent down just enough to speak directly into your ear. "Haven't seen you all night."

You almost scoffed, almost turned to face him so he could see the look of irate disbelief on your face. Almost, but you didn't want to give him the extra attention.

"I could ask you the same thing."

You didn't miss how things had changed between the two of you after your night in the training room. Something shifted, and not in the romantic 'so...what are we now?' territory.

It shifted into Logan disappearing, closing himself off. He didn't go out of his way to avoid you, didn't even go as far as ignoring your existence entirely. He didn't need to, you knew it was different.

He refused to talk about it, refused to even acknowledge it, completely shutting you down the one time you tried bringing it up.

It stung. The feeling of rejection, especially after that night. You felt like you bared a part of your soul to Logan on that dark blue training mat. You swore you saw something different in his eyes too, a subtle shift, something that said this ran deeper than just a messy fuck between friends.

It played on your mind like a loop, every detail. You nitpicked almost every single thing you did, searched your mind for what you could have done that scared him off.

It has to be you, it always is.

It took a week to get over it. A week to wash away the feeling of Logan's hands on your body, of his lips on yours, of his cock carving a space for itself in your cunt, of his blood sliding down your throat and slicking the palms of your hands.

Eventually, that sadness gave way to self-reflection. Self-reflection gave way to anger, and now you're just plain pissed.

This has nothing to do with you.

Logan is a grown man, not a goddamn baby. He should know how to communicate by now, should take the stick out of his ass and drop the whole 'I'm no good for you baby' martyr cross he's carried around for over a century and talk to you.

But if he wants to be alone to sulk in self pity and sorrow for two hundred more years, you'll let him.

Logan's smirk falters, his expression falling with a heavy sigh. He leans back, one boot moving to rest on the rung of your stool. "You really want to do this here?"

"You came up to me," you shrug, finally turning to face him. The warm glow of the bar lights catch the edges of your frustration. "If you’re here to talk, then talk."

Logan doesn't respond, just meets your gaze with a raised brow. His eyes scan over your face slowly, taking in the pinch between your brows and the stern look in your eyes.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Scott's voice pierces through the tense air between you. His tone is casual in a way that's undermined by the smug smile turning the corner of his mouth up. It's too knowing, like he'd been listening in before.

Logan's brows pinch together in irritation the same way they always do when Scott talks, but he holds your gaze. His silence is infuriating because it's the same old routine—he just stares, brooding, like he’s waiting for the problem to magically solve itself without ever opening his damn mouth.

It makes your blood simmer just under the surface, the tips of your fingers burning with it.

You grind your teeth, balling your hands into fists where they sit on the bar. "Scott," you say, not breaking eye contact with Logan, "go play fetch or something."

Scott raises his hands in mock surrender, but you know he won’t leave without a parting shot. “Just looking out for you, you know. Can’t afford you two tearing each other apart over a little lovers spat before the night’s even over.”

As he saunters off, you turn your full attention back to Logan, who’s still studying you with that infuriating intensity. It’s as if he’s trying to decode some secret language written across your face.

You almost want to laugh at how predictable he is, how he thinks he can just sit there, unbothered, while you’re ready to explode.

“Are you really just going to sit there?” you challenge, leaning closer, daring him to respond. “You can’t keep dodging this forever, Logan. You think I’m the only one feeling this? We were both there that night."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think you see the flicker of vulnerability beneath the gruff exterior. But then it’s gone, replaced by that stubborn wall he always puts up.

“I don’t need to talk about it,” he mutters, his voice low, but there’s an edge of desperation that catches your attention. “What’s done is done.”

“‘What’s done is done’?” You can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes you. “Is that your new catch phrase? They gonna start printing that on the front of your action figure's box?"

Logan's brows furrow deeper, his mouth turning down in a hard frown. "Watch it," he warns tersely, the edge of a snarl on his lips.

You lean forward, desperate to get anything out of him. "Or what?"

The bar buzzes around you, laughter and music blending into a distant hum, but all you can focus on is him—the way his eyes flare with that familiar spark of rebellion, how handsome he looks under the bar's dim lights, the way his smell is starting to warm your insides despite how mad you are.

You raise your brow, waiting, hoping. He stays silent.

That's it.

You stand abruptly, causing your stool to scrape against the floor loudly. Logan straightens, eyes narrowing as he watches you, but you’re more than done with all of this. You've had enough.

"I'm going for some air." you say evenly, slipping your jacket off the back of your chair. "Don't follow me."

You turn and walk away before Logan can answer, heading in the direction of the bar's alley door.

You try your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, the first tendrils of dread wrapping themselves around you tighter with every step. Your eyes burn embarrassingly each time you blink, but you refuse to cry.

You’re emotionally spiraling a couple feet from the door when someone suddenly steps in front of you, and you crash into them.

“So sorry, ma’am,” A familiar voice says from somewhere in front of you as two strong hands grip your waist to steady you. “Completely my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

You crane your head up, eyes dragging from the blue gingham button down stretched over impressive muscle until they land on a pair of blue eyes and blonde head of hair you recognize.

“Steve?” 

Steve Rogers smiles down at you, his hands still lightly resting on your waist. His expression is soft, apologetic, and a little surprised. Your name falls from his lips in a warm greeting, his hands lingering for a second longer before he drops them and takes a small step back.

“I’m surprised you still remember me. It’s been a while,” he says with the same boyish charm you remember, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly barge through the door like it owed you money. “How’ve you been?”

You blink up at Steve, the frustration from your situation with Logan still fresh, swirling through your system like a storm.

How’ve you been?

What a loaded question.

“Better,” you answer with a tight smile, barely convincing yourself. “Just tired. We’ve been so busy recently, you know how it is.”

Steve gives you a searching look, his eyes skimming your face with the kind of care that makes you want to shrink into yourself. His brow furrows slightly, concern flickering in those crystal-clear eyes of his as he studies your face. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, genuinely, like he’s already picked up on the fact that something’s off. 

How could you forget, he’s got the emotional radar of a saint. Lucky you.

"Yeah, sure," you lie, adjusting your jacket and pointedly avoiding the obvious upset that’s probably plastered across your face. You force a smile, hoping he buys it. "Just needed some air. This place is packed."

The furrow of Steve’s brows deepen, his lips pressing into a thin line like he doesn’t believe you. You feel worse under the intense pressure of his knowing stare, like a bug trapped under a magnifying glass.

You’re about to say something—anything—to fill the awkward silence, but then you feel it. That heavy, unmistakable presence at your back.

Of course he didn’t listen.

Steve’s eyes flick over your shoulder, and you don’t even have to turn around to know Logan’s right there, brooding like a dark cloud about to burst. You can practically feel the tension rolling off him in waves as one strong arm slides underneath the thick denim of your jacket and around your waist.

“Cap,” Logan’s clipped voice greets from somewhere behind you, laced with barely concealed irritation as his fingers dig into the cotton of your shirt, staking some sort of unspoken claim.

Steve gives Logan a respectful nod, though his expression remains calm, measured, the same quiet authority he always carries. “Logan,” he greets, smile faltering for the second it takes him to drop his eyes to Logan’s arm. “Nice to see you doing well.”

Logan hums noncommittally, you feel the rumble of it against your back. “Didn’t think this was your scene,” he says to Steve, brow cocked in suspicion.

Steve shakes his head, a small laugh falling from his lips. “It’s not, usually. I got strong armed into joining a few friends.”

“Right,” Logan replies, tone flat like Steve would have a reason to lie.

You can almost see the tension thickening in the air, an electric pulse that shoots straight through you. Logan’s grip tightens subtly, an instinctive reaction to Steve’s presence, but you can feel the subtle heat rising, the way your heart races under his touch despite yourself.

It’s infuriating, and for a second, you’re tempted to dive right into it, to unearth the chaos lurking beneath that chiseled exterior. But then you remember where you are, why you walked away from Logan in the first place—how public it is, how many eyes are on you.

“Steve and I worked together, a base infiltration in Albany a few years ago.” You cut in, shooting Logan a look over your shoulder, like a sharp glare alone could get him to calm down, if only for a second. But he just meets your gaze with that familiar stubbornness, eyes dark and unyielding. 

It’s infuriating, and for a moment, you’re tempted to dive right into it, to unearth the chaos lurking beneath that chiseled exterior. But then you remember where you are—how public it is, how many eyes are on you.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” Steve says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

And it does. 

You think of Kevlar squeezed around your ribs, of explosions and buildings falling and the smell of gunpowder.

"Yeah, it does," you reply, ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach and forcing a smile.

“God, you look…” His gaze rakes over you like he can’t help it, the bright blue of his eyes trailing from your face down your legs and back up all over again. You can feel Logan bristle next to you. 

”You look amazing,” Steve finishes with a small shake of his head, million dollar smile still pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Buy you a drink?”

“We were just leavin’, Cap,” Logan cuts in tersely, his arm tightening around your waist even more. His grip is possessive, but it’s not affectionate—it’s an unsaid challenge, a warning. “Calling it an early night.”

You whip your head around, confusion evident on your face. "We?" you parrot back, the word hanging in the air like a challenge of its own. “We haven’t decided anything.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, that familiar stubbornness rearing its head again. His hand splays flat over the span of your lower back, pushing just enough for you to feel the power behind it but not enough to really move you. “Let’s go.”

You look at Steve, then Logan, then the crowded bar, then the door to the alley, and repeat. 

It should be an easy answer, an easy way out of going in circles with Logan even more than you already have.

But you find yourself stuck, feet rooted to the floor as your mind races with a hundred different thoughts in the span of a second.

Your lips part, and you’re not even sure what you’re going to say, when Steve beats you to the punch. 

"She can decide for herself," he says evenly, though there's a subtle shift in his tone. It’s calm, but there’s a steely edge to it, like a well-honed blade concealed beneath all the politeness. He’s still smiling, but it’s less soft now, more hardened around the edges.

Logan’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging in like he's daring Steve to push the envelope any further. “Yeah? Don’t think she needs you speakin’ for her, either.”

"Enough," you snap, stepping out of Logan’s hold with a sharp turn, your voice cutting through the growing storm between them. You turn to him with a hard look, brows pinched in anger. "Fine, let's go."

Your smile feels strained, the edges sharp and jagged as you face Steve, the weight of Logan’s presence at your back heavy and suffocating. “It was great seeing you, Steve. Really.”

Your voice sounds strained even to your own ears.

“We’ll have to catch up some other time,” you add, though the words taste bittersweet on your tongue. 

You can tell he wants to say something, his smile completely dropping as his eyes flit between you and Logan a few times. You give him a pleading look, a reassuring nod that you’ve got this. 

Steve hesitates, you can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing the situation and trying to gauge the tension in the air. But ultimately, he nods, offering you one last smile that’s laced with concern.

“Absolutely,” he says, his voice warm despite the tension hanging in the air. “I’d love to. Just let me know when.”

With one last nod to Logan, he turns and walks away to meld into the crowd until you can’t make out the blue of his shirt anymore.

You don’t turn to Logan as you finally walk out the door. The clunk of his boots follow you the whole way out.

As soon as you’re outside, all the anger sets in at once, burning hot in your stomach as you spin around to face him. The fresh air hits your face like a slap, cool and bracing, but it does nothing to quell the fire simmering inside you.

"You really can't leave well enough alone, can you?" You snap, folding your arms defensively. “You just had to go and stake your territory?”

Logan’s face hardens, his eyes dark under the dim streetlight. “What do you expect me to do? Let you walk away and get buttered up Rogers while I sit at the bar with my dick in my hand?”

“Steve wasn’t doing anything!” You exclaim, frustration seeping into your every word. “He was just being nice, we’re friends.”

Logan lets out a disbelieving snort, shaking his head hard enough that his hair sways with it. “Nothin’ about that was friendly, kid. You’d have to be fuckin’ blind to not see that.”

You huff, turning your eyes to the sky in exasperation. “Why do you care?” you fire back, heart racing at the challenge. “We’re not together! You’ve made that more than clear!”

Now that the seal is broken, it’s like you can’t stop. Words fall out of your mouth faster than your mind can keep up, all the pent up frustration you’ve felt over the past few weeks boiling over.

“You’re the one that’s acting like nothing happened!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, your voice rising with every word. “You’re the one who disappeared, who’s been avoiding this whole thing like it didn’t mean anything!”

He growls, stepping closer, his presence looming. "You think I don’t know that, kid? You think I haven’t been dealing with this shit—with us?"

"Well, you sure as hell don’t act like it! You don’t talk about it. You don’t even try! You just stand there and expect me to what? Read your mind?”

For a split second, Logan’s expression falters, his shoulders stiffening as if your words struck a nerve. But just as quickly, the mask falls back into place. "I’m no good for you, kid. And you know it. I’m doing you a favor."

"There it is again!" You bark out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "The martyr complex. You’ve been alive for over a century, Logan. You’ve got time on your side, and you still can’t figure out how to be a decent human being in a relationship?”

He flinches slightly, but his eyes remain locked on yours, anger and frustration swirling behind them. "It’s not that simple."

“Of course it is!" You step forward, closing the gap between you. "You just don’t want to do the hard work. You don’t want to open up, to be vulnerable, because then you’d actually have to face yourself. And God forbid Wolverine confronts something he can’t claw his way out of.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his eyes blazing, and for a long beat, the two of you stand in a tense, electrified silence. The world around you seems to fall away—no bar, no missions, no X-Men—just the two of you, standing in the alley, raw and exposed.

You don’t know who moves first, you or Logan, before you can register it, the distance between you disappears, swallowed by the pull of all that unresolved tension.

His lips claim yours, fierce and urgent, as if this was the only language he’s fluent in—raw emotion, violent passion. His hands find your waist again, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him.

The kiss is messy, desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues, but it’s exactly what you expected. It’s how you and Logan have always been—no finesse, just fire and stubborn intensity. It’s the only way he knows how to communicate, the only way he can let go, even for a second.

Your hands slide up into his hair, yanking roughly as a guttural growl vibrates from his chest into your mouth. You feel the heat of his skin, the coiled tension in his muscles, and it ignites something wild inside you.

The anger hasn’t left—it’s just morphed into something darker, something hungrier.

The kiss is nothing like the ones from that night in the training room. This one is full of anger and frustration, all the emotions that have been simmering between you two finally bubbling over in an explosive release. His lips are hard, demanding, and the taste of whiskey lingers faintly on his breath, mixing with the metallic scent of the alley.

You push back just as fiercely, your hands tangled in his hair as you try to pour all of your hurt, your confusion, and your pent-up rage into that single kiss. For a moment, it’s all- consuming—hot, reckless, like trying to catch fire in your hands.

“You’re such a fuckin’ punk,” he grates against your lips, kneading the meat of your hips roughly like he’s trying to anchor himself to you. His teeth scrape your bottom lip, his growl vibrating through you like a warning shot, but it only spurs you on.

"You’re one to talk,” you bite back, the heat between you both as volatile as ever.

You drop your hands to his chest, gripping the leather of his jacket in your fists and yanking him closer until there's no space left, until it's hard to tell where the anger ends and the need begins.

Logan growls, the sound reverberating deep in his chest, as his hands move up your back, possessive and rough. “You keep pushin' me, kid. You really wanna see how far I’ll go?"

"Maybe I do," you shoot back, biting down lightly on his lower lip. You taste the blood—his blood—and something primal stirs in you. His healing factor kicks in almost instantly, but the heat between you spikes with the sharp tang of it. It always does.

Logan hisses sharply, tongue swiping over the blood still dotted along his lip before he’s pushing you backwards.

You have no choice but to move with him, blindly stumbling back a few steps until your shoulders hit the wall of the bar. His lips attached to your neck the whole way, teeth nipping at the rapid flutter of your pulse.

It’s like a wildfire spreading between you, all heat and destruction, and the alley around you seems to fade into the background, leaving nothing but the chaotic mess of you and Logan.

You consider the risks of fucking Logan in an alleyway for all of two seconds, every single warning bell in your mind going silent when his hands tighten their hold on your hips to spin your around, pushing you up against the brick roughly.

“Fine,” he concedes, yanking the fabric of your skirt up hard enough you hear a tiny rip. “I’ll give you what you want, princess.”

The sound of his zipper being tugged down might as well be a gunshot with how loudly it reverberates through your mind. Your thighs slide together slickly, aching cunt clenching in anticipation.

The soft sound of Logan pushing his jeans down is the only warning you get before the thick head of his cock is sliding over the wetness staining the fabric of your panties.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the lace to tug it aside and slip the length of himself through your slick folds. “You need a cock in your hungry pussy to feel better?” He lines himself up with your fluttering entrance, pushing gently until the very tip slips in.

Your lips fall open, brow furrowing as he starts feeding you his length one infuriating inch at a time.

Anger still warms your gut, but you find yourself nodding wordlessly. Tiny, desperate sounds escaping your throat the deeper he sinks in.

The stretch of him is almost too much, like he’s splitting you in two. It’s the kind of sting that just barely toes the line of pain and pleasure in the best way. It has you crying out when he finally bottoms out, pressing your forehead against the brick to try and ground yourself.

Logan’s considerate enough to keep still, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips as you adjust.

“God,” you groan, shifting your hips enough to feel the way his cock rubs along your walls. The burn starts to melt away into pure pleasure with every grind.

“That’s it, baby,” Logan goads, hands still planted on your hips as you start to bounce on his cock in earnest. “Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

His words just spur you on, a high whine falling from your lips as you set a steady rhythm. The slap of skin on skin getting louder, echoing around you lewdly. 

“Mm, feels good huh?” he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder.

You barely choke out a garbled ‘yes’, thighs starting to shake with the effort of thrusting yourself back. 

“Sorry,” he says, gripping the meat of your hips to pull you back against his cock roughly. “What was that?”

“Yes!” you mewl, cheeks burning. The anger steadily drains from your body the closer you get to come, until it's an afterthought just present enough in your mind to still matter. “Feels so good, please Logan…”

Logan groans under his breath, pulling his hips back back back until he’s reaming forward. He thrusts once, twice, three times before he’s taking over. Big hands anchored to your hips to drag you back on every snap of his hips. 

Your entire body lights up, the pathetic noises passing through slack your lips barely register over the white noise rushing through your ears. Logan’s fucking you like he wants to break you, heavy hips pounding into the meat of your ass like an animal. The slap of it stinging your skin only for him to pull out and leave you empty before filling you again.

You go pliant in his grip, a high moan escaping you as he expertly hits that spongy spot inside of you that has heat pooling in your gut.

“God, I missed this,” he admits into your hair, one hand sliding around to press against your lower stomach. Logan’s hand is massive and blisteringly hot over your skin, cupping and feeling where he punches up into you with every thrust from the outside.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, pressing his forehead to your back desperately. “Do you feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, stuff you so full you’ll be leaking for weeks.”

“Logan,” you gasp, heat coiling in your belly. 

“I know,” he breathes, hips speeding up impossibly faster. “I got you, honey.”

You turn your head, the skin of your cheek scraping over the rough bring with every hard snap of his hips. The thick muscle of his forearm fills your eye line, strong and tan where it cages you to the bar. You swear you can see the blood pumping through his veins. Your stomach jerks with need, your mind buzzing.

Without thinking, you lean forward and bury your teeth in the muscle there. The coppery tang of blood on your tongue sends you reeling, a deep groan rumbling through your chest.

“Fuck!” Logan exclaims, giving one last thrust before he’s burying himself as far as he can. His cock throbs, pulsing as he unloads inside you. Rope after rope of come paints the shaking walls of your cunt, slicking the thrust of his that much more.

Pleasure goes off in sparks all up your spine, lighting up every vertebrae until the fireworks go off in your brain. Your hands claw at the wall desperately, eyes screwing shut as you fly over the edge.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you come, hands digging into the brick hard enough that it cracks and crumbles beneath them, falling to your feet in little rock’s.

Everything around you fizzles out into nothing, just a dull hum cocooning you in this moment, and for just a second it’s like you're floating. 

The heave of Logan’s chest against your back and his lips on your neck only add to that far away feeling, nice enough that has you leaning into the warmth of his body. 

A car horn blaring somewhere in the distance jerks you out of any warm, fuzzy feelings and deposits you back in the real world. Your eyes refocus on the building in front of you, and a displeased groan rips from your chest.

“I made a mess,” you murmur quietly, looking at the two matching dents in the bar's wall and the same red powder staining your hands.

Logan huffs into the sweaty skin of your neck, an amused noise. “That’s alright,” he says, barely out of breath. He pulls out just enough to let his come start leaking out around his dick, sliding down the length of him in thick rivers of white. “So I did.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disgust as he steps away with a snort. Your voice is breathy and small when you speak, “You’re disgusting.”

It's quiet for a long time, both you and Logan dressing yourselves in silence. The thrum of traffic around you mixed with the muffled music bleeding through the wall is the only noise filling the space.

You drag your eyes to him, watching as he yanks up his jean’s zipper while you smooth your skirt down.

“I told you not to follow me. When we were back inside,” you say, voice steadier than before but just as breathless.

Logan meets your eyes, and there’s a pause. For a second, you think maybe he’ll turn around and leave, run away to try and forget this too. Instead, you hear his boots scrape against the gravel as he steps closer.

"I don't take orders well, remember?" His voice is gravelly, like he’s chewing on the words before spitting them out.

"Obviously," you huff under your breath, a humorless laugh shaking your shoulders slightly.

Logan’s lips quirk into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile, but it fades just as quickly.

He takes another step closer, close enough now that you can feel the warmth radiating off him again, his presence as heavy as ever. But this time, there’s something different.

He looks drained. Not physically, but emotionally. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits quietly, his voice tired. “You know that.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck in that rare, almost vulnerable way he does when he’s out of his element. Finally, he meets your gaze.

“I’m…" he trails off, mouth pulling into a wince like it physically pains him to apologize. "I’m sorry…”

“Wow,” you say slowly, head tilting to the side as you study him. “That was the worst apology I’ve ever gotten.”

Logan narrows his eyes at you, a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement flickering across his face. “You gonna let me talk?” he asks curtly, but there’s no real bite to it.

You sigh, nodding your head for him to continue.

He shifts his weight, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. “I know I’ve been a stubborn ass. I’m used to keeping everyone at arm’s length. It’s safer that way. I’ve lost too many people to just let someone in without a fight.”

His voice drops, laced with a vulnerability you rarely see. “I thought if I just stayed away, it would make things easier for you. I’m not relationship material, kid. I can’t be that guy for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

He shakes his head, his shoulders slumping in more as he talks. “I’m a damn mess, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I do. A lot. It just scares the hell out of me.”

For a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. Part of you wants to lash out more, to keep the anger burning because it feels safer than the vulnerability you’re feeling now.

On the other hand, for the first time tonight, you see the man behind the adamantium, behind the claws and the gruff exterior. The man behind the Wolverine.

You only see Logan, who’s lived through centuries of loss and pain, who’s learned to build walls so thick even he can’t break through them sometimes.

And damn it, you hate how much you still care. You hate that, even after everything, Logan is the one person who can make you feel like this—angry, frustrated, and vulnerable all at once. But you can’t deny the truth any longer.

Because underneath all the anger and hurt, there’s still that spark. That stupid, stubborn spark that refuses to go out.

You take a step closer, your hand gently reaching for his. “You don’t have to be anything, Logan. You just have to try. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He nods, a slow, deliberate movement. Taking a slow set closer to you, he takes your cheek in his hand. The bright red rawness of your skin is slowly draining, tiny cuts knitting themselves together. “I can do that.”

He slides his thumb across your cheekbone and somehow, you believe him.

It’s not perfect. It’s not a promise that everything’s going to magically be okay. But it’s a start.

Maybe that’s enough.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[malavera]

Logan: "I'm right here, Bub." (18+) — Logan Howlett

summary: You had a fight with your father, he pissed you off so much you ran off to Logan's for comfort. But is that all you want?

warning: SMUT! MDNI. Legal age gap, Unprotected sex, logan has a big cock, reader wanted creampie, reader is called peach, daddykink, foul language, spanking, choking, basically SMUT.

an: concept is inspired after reading @plutodexay-nsfw's thoughts/ideas i hope i got the permission to write this one! This one's dedicated to you!

🏷️: @robynanthonystark @joelsgoldrush @bpmiranda @bobateababe @simonwifu @weallhaveadestiny @daddy-hugh-jackman @suchasweetieee @kholdkill @superhoeva @narjuko @wcndercore @bontensbabygirl @weallhaveadestiny @heart-0f-silk @peachyystuff @the-occasional-artist1125

this is part 4 from my series called Peaches, you can read it as a standalone! if you wish to read the previous ones, click here.

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“Logan! … Logan! Where are you?!”

You storm into his house like a burglar ready to hit the jackpot, the wind rushing in with each determined step. You're on a mission to find the six-foot, muscular beast of a man—and complain about what a complete jerk your father is. How dare he come back from his long-awaited business trip with a woman on his arm, declaring she’s the one he’s going to marry—after all this time since your mother’s death. You put up a hell of a fight back there, screaming and crying, saying that you will not accept that woman as your step-mother as there will be no one that can replace or resume your mother's love.

Logan knew about this. Your father had a long conversation with him, asking whether it would be a good idea to introduce this woman to you. Logan didn’t want to come off as a know-it-all, even though he is, but he steered clear of family matters. Still, if your father had asked for his honest opinion, he’d have told him it wasn’t the best idea—you’re not emotionally ready for something like this.

And then you were off, rushing to Logan’s, even though your father yelled your name countless times. His new girlfriend held him back, urging him to let you be for a moment, to give you some space.

“I’m right here, bub.” Your head snapped toward the sound of his voice from the kitchen, where he stood, a mix of pity and disappointment etched on his face. His eyes reflected sadness, but there was also a glimmer of understanding; he knew how you felt, even if he believed you should show more respect to your father.

You exhaled sharply before rushing to him, enveloping him in a tight hug. His body radiated warmth, and with each passing moment, your anger melted into a puddle. Sobbing into his neck, Logan wrapped his arms around you tighter, his hand gently caressing your long, soft hair as he shushed you. “There, there, calm down, Peaches,” he cooed. He lifted you off your tiptoes, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Holding you close, he made his way to the living room, settling down on the couch with you in his embrace.

“I hate him. I hate him so much,” you murmured into his neck, grumbling a bit as your anger began to bubble up inside you again.

“I know, Peach, I know. It’s okay—just calm yourself, okay?” Logan gently pulled you away to face him, wanting to see those beautiful eyes, even if they were now clouded with tears. Your eyes were bloodshot and red, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sniffled, struggling to hold back the snot threatening to escape.

You sighed, looking down, pouting. "I need you, please..." You whispered, your hands fisting his buttoned up shirt.

"What do ya need, Peaches?" His eyes searching for yours, looking for your honest answer.

"I need to fuck you, please. Please give me what I want." You pleaded, finally looking at him as your hips started to move on his lap a little.

Logan’s eyebrows knitted together, torn between giving you what you wanted and being the better man who took care of you. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sickness in his gut; even as you cried, he found you utterly adorable and breathtaking. He wanted those tears to be from pleasure, that only from him you would receive. He wanted those tears to be from the pain of taking his big cock, his hips piston while fucking you hard. Too bad, the day he saw those tears streaming down those kissable cheeks, was from every little girl's first love, their father.

“Please,” you pleaded once more, pressing your face closer to his, connecting your swollen lips to his soft ones. You began to peck and kiss him all over. The kiss was charged with your wants and needs, the urgency evident in its hurried pace. Short breaths mingled as your tongues swirled together.

Logan couldn't find the words; all he could do was surrender to your control. In that moment, he convinced himself it was okay—as long as it was what you wanted and it made you happy, he would give in. Because why? Because he was in love with you. He knew it was complicated, that he should be cautious given the age difference, but from the moment he laid eyes on you, he vowed that you were meant for him and him alone.

The fabric of his jeans felt rough against your exposed skin once you started grinding on him. The tent in his pants started growing each time you ground yourself more to him. Soft moans and pants coming out of your lips as you ground yourself more on his bulge. You placed both of your hands on his shoulders, supporting yourself to grind more on his lap. Logan leaned back and scootch his bum a little lower so you'd feel more comfortable moving on top of him. His arms that were wrapped around you now lay defenseless on his sides, as he now lets you do whatever you want on him.

"This what you want, Peaches? To use me?" Logan grunted, his eyes watching yours as you screwed them shut and whimpered.

"Please—Need... More," you whimpered. You moved a little to sit on his thighs as your hands found their way to the band of his jeans.

"Peach," Logan spoke, he wanted to stop you right there but he himself is not even sure if he should stop this moment right here and right now. You fumbled with his jeans attempting to undo it and once it's done, you pulled his jeans along with his boxers a little, enough to free'd what you're looking for.

Logan grunted once his cock released to open air, slapping against his clothed abdomen. You gasp, even though you've seen it, it never fail to always leave you breathless. His cock stand tall and proud, and you couldn't help but immediately scootch off his lap, until your knees hit the soft carpet, to grab him with both hands and put the tip inside your warm mouth.

Logan nervously moaned from the feeling of your warm tongue twirling around his tip that keeps throbbing from the way you suck on his cock. You purposely let some of your saliva spilling out of your mouth down to his balls, as you let one hand reached down to knead his balls in your hand.

"Argh, god." Logan grunted, screwing his eyes shut, tossing his head back. His hand found your head, as he fisted some of your hair. "Peach," he choked out a moan.

You whimpered before you started to bob your head up and down his cock, purposely making a mess with your saliva. The slurping and squelching sound from sucking his cock is the only thing that fills the quiet room, along with Logan's constant grunts and heavy breathing.

Giving him a couple of bobs before you release his cock from your hold, Logan grunted in surprise. You pushed yourself back up on your feet as you attempted to pull your panties off. Logan could literally smell your arousal leaking down your needy cunt. You pushed him to lean against the cushion as you mount on his lap before grabbing on his cock giving him a couple of pumps while you aim his cock at your entrance.

"Peach, peach—Wait... Baby, I gotta get us a condom." Logan hastily stop you right there but you whined and hold him by his chest.

"I need to feel all of you, Daddy, Please." Before Logan could say anything, he moaned once he felt you sinking down on his cock slowly while you looked down mouth agape slightly trying to hold down the pain from his monster cock tearing your walls.

Logan wished he'd claim your innocence in some other way, other than this. He wanted it to be special, to be memorable for you, but if this is what you want, and he'd hoped this would be memorable enough for you, then so be it.

He grunted through his gritted teeth, trying to hold himself from combusting in you right there and now. The way your tight walls choking his thick cock, it feels like as if he was getting choked by his neck. Your tight cunt felt so good around him, he wanted to take the matters into his own hands and fuck you hard right there.

"Baby, can you move, please?" Logan, is the one who pleaded.

You whimpered before nodding your head as you started to move yourself up and down his shaft. Once you get the hang of it, you place both of your hands back on his shoulders. Eyes bore into his as his into yours while your lips spill out the prettiest moan he's ever heard from you.

"God! Logan, you're so big." Logan lazily smirked.

"I know baby, I know you can take it. Come on, work that pussy on daddy's cock. Use, me baby." Logan whispered, his hand found its way to your nape, pushing your head closer to him to connect your forehead against his.

You started to screw your eyes shut, whimpering once you feel him move his hips along your rhythm. "So good, daddy." You sobbed.

"Yeah? Need to fuck that anger away on my cock, don't you, Peaches?" He reminded you why you needed his cock. To fuck your pain and anger away. The little girl that was once fragile on top of him all of a sudden snapped into someone even you don't recognize. Someone sinister that has been long living inside you.

You snapped your eyes open, eyebrows knitted together before pushing your head off disconnecting from his forehead. Logan keeps his face neutral, looking at you and groaned when he felt your hand wrapped around his throat. You started to move your hips rapidly, like riding a horse to make it gallop fast.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Use my cock, come on, make yourself feel good. I know you're mad, baby. I know you do, come on, fuck my cock. Faster—Harder!" Logan gave your ass a couple of smack earning a loud moan from you, resulting in getting a rapid move from your hips.

"Yeah... There's a good girl," Logan whispered. "Come on, baby, I know you can do better than that," Logan coo'ed when he felt your hand attempted to squeeze his neck. He almost laughed at you on how pathetic you are, trying to control him.

So he reminded you, even though you're in control, who's the captain of this ship.

Logan's hand found your neck, as you choked out a moan. His squeeze was far from choking you but it felt like he was. He started to thrust his hips upwards, fucking your throbbing pussy; the squelching sound could be heard. His semi-saggy-and-heavy balls slapping against the bottom of your ass, sounding like a clap.

"Awh—Daddy!" You pathetically moaned for him. "Daddy—Yes! Right there, like that—Please! I wanna cum." You pleaded.

"Come on, Baby, cum f'r me."

"Ah—!" You shrieked with your eyes screwed shut as your whole body stuttered reaching your orgasm, coming down on his cock.

"There... We go." Logan helped you ride off your orgasm by still softly fucking your cunt. "Now come on, make daddy cum. Daddy wants to cum too." Logan whispered before he begin to fuck you back, fast.

"Ngh—Daddy! ... Does my cunt feel good around your cock?" You softly spoke, looking down at him flexing your doe eyes and your famous pout while Logan's bore into you, his mouth fell agape slightly as his main focus was to reach his high.

He panted, he groaned, while you're there on top of him doing nothing but letting him use your cunt. "Grrh—Fuck! 'M gonna cum." Logan grunted and now you started to fuck him back forcing his hips to stay down.

You rode him fast, faster than before to help him reach his high. "PEACH—GET OFF!" He boomed but you refused to listen to him, instead you crazily smiled at him and spill out tiny moans, looking at him.

"FUCK—I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM! GET OFF OF ME!" Logan roared.

"Cum in me, Daddy—Yeah!"

Logan couldn't hold himself any longer, his moral is not even working at the moment. All he thinks is only shooting his hot load out and he does, as he choked out a moan gripping your hips to stay in place while he shoot out his strings of cum inside you. His thighs stuttered a little while he still emptying his load; it was so much.

You giggled watching him trying to gain his breath while he looks at you dead in the eye.

"I better not see that attitude for the rest of the night." Logan warned while you just sit there, on top of him, looking at him without a care of his words.

"Thank you, Daddy."

[luveline]

hello lovely angel!! humbly requesting zombie!steve au, perhaps more of jealous steve? i love their dynamic so much💗 maybe someone is flirting with reader, and enter protective steve:)

thanks for requesting! fem, 2k

You tend to think of it in two weird halves. You love Steve, and you never would’ve known that without the end of the world, so things are okay. Sometimes you wonder if he ever could’ve loved you if he hadn’t been so close to you for so long, but he loves you in this insane capacity of softness that says otherwise. Like, soulmate style. 

It didn’t begin that way. Steve your reluctant guide, and you his unlikely saviour. You’d stopped him from dying at the very start of it all and he couldn’t leave you behind. And Steve, he’d been mean to you. He didn’t want to take care of you initially, but you’d grown to get along. You’d argue black and blue and he’d still rub your back at night. 

There are so many moments you’ve shared that make what you have all the more special. A hundred different memories from before you’d ever kissed. You think about it now, watching him across the firepit as he shows a young girl, Cassandra, how to braid her hair. 

The one that’s sticking today is when Steve got really bad food poisoning for the first time. When you’d known you were in love with him for a while, and when he’d stopped pretending he didn’t know. He’d been sick everywhere, on both your shoes, and you’d rubbed his back through everything.  

It was nice to take care of him. Nicer that night when you’d shared a bed and he’d hugged you half to death. 

He has no idea how much he means to you, or how much those moments with him kept you going when you were all alone. You’re lucky now to have found community, but those stolen hours in bed with him hugging him and getting to be his support, you wouldn’t have made it here without them. 

“Hey.” 

You look up as a man sits down. A boy, a man —what do you call twenty somethings? You don’t feel like a woman most of the time, but you are. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“I’m Jamison.” 

“You’re Eddie’s friend, right?” 

“Who, Munson?” Jamison makes a kidding face, a disgusted scrunch of his eyebrows that falls away to more friendly fondness. “Yeah, we go back. You’re Eddie’s friend too, right? I saw you guys taking out some laundry a few days ago.” 

Jamison is handsome. He has tan skin, short hair, and a crooked nose. His smile is disarming. If you hadn’t fallen in love with the handsomest guy around, you might feel nervous under his gaze. 

Time spent ugly under Steve’s reverent handling makes you confident. You genuinely feel prettier knowing Steve loves you, and it makes it easier to be yourself with strangers. 

“Eddie’s awesome,” you say easily. “I thought he was gonna kill me when we first met, but he’s too nice.” 

“Nice, really?” 

Jamison is casual, as people go. You wonder what his motivations are for talking to you at first, but as conversation stretches, littered with the cracking pops of the fireplace and brief pauses of surprisingly comfortable silence, you realise he’s just talking. Maybe he’s lonely. You know how that feels. 

He tells you that he and Eddie had been in a rock band together before the apocalypse. You’d known to some extent that Eddie was in a band, but Jamison tells you all the details you’d been missing. They were called Corroded Coffin, four members, Eddie played guitar and Jamison thought he was pretty fucking good at it, actually. 

“I don’t think we would’ve been, like, Metallica. But we could’ve been good. We were gonna make a record.” 

You smoke sympathetically. “I bet you could’ve been.” 

“What were you doing? Before all this?” 

“I honestly barely remember,” you say quietly. Your life before Steve is a blur, and it’s painful, too. “Things are harder now, I know that. I wish every day that we could go back to how things were, you know, I miss TV and grocery stores and my family.” You lick your lips. “I wish things were different, but somehow, I think I like my life now. I have stuff to do. Is that crazy?” 

“It’s not crazy. Everything fucking sucks,” —you both laugh— “but that’s not crazy. I’m lucky, I still have my dad, and my friends. There’s purpose in being here.” 

You nod emphatically, just once. “Exactly.” 

You have purpose, now. You get to be a friend, a girlfriend, a confidente. You take care of people. 

It all comes back to Steve, at the end of the day. Would you change the world if it meant never having met him? 

Nope. 

You glance across the fire for him, but he’s not there. 

You put your arm behind your back and bend, looking for him. 

“Looking for someone?” Jamison asks. 

You deflate with relief when you spot him standing near the gaggle of tents about fifty feet away. He’s looking at you from over Robin’s shoulder. You wave, and he waves back with a big smile. 

Something seems a little wrong. 

“Steve,” you explain. 

“He’s your boyfriend, yeah? Eddie told me you’ve been together since the start.” 

You don’t bother correcting him. He might not mean together as how you’re thinking it. “Yeah, that’s him. Have you met him?” 

“Kind of. We all thought he was a huge dick, back then.” 

“He sort of was,” you say. “I mean, we all had our own stuff going on. I get that I’m biased, but he’s my favourite person I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, I don’t think I could describe it to you or anyone just how much he cares about people. I wouldn’t be here without him, and… I don’t know, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if you ever wanted to meet him again, he’s amazing. He’s a great friend. He’s so fucking funny, he makes me laugh every day.” 

“He’s sort of giving me the stink eye,” Jamison says. 

You wave your hand weakly. “He has raging jealousy issues.” 

“Shit, am I getting you in trouble?” 

“No, never!” you say, tempted to laugh. “He doesn’t get mad at me for stuff like that. He’s normal, I promise. Just sensitive.”

You tell Jamison that it was nice talking to him because it really was, but you’ve been missing Steve for hours already and you need to get back to him before you go totally bonkers. 

He’s sitting on the floor in the tent. The weather has been beautiful lately, you could sleep under the stars if you weren’t scared of being zombie charcuterie. Steve has stripped down to just his jeans and socks, no t-shirt or shoes to be seen. He has his sketchbook splayed open on his thigh, but he abandons it the moment you kneel down. 

“Hey,” you say. 

Steve folds his book closed, pencil between its pages. “Hi. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” 

You shuffle in to take his hand. Clumsy touches, his fingers warm and a tad clammy between yours. “You told me yesterday that I have a smile like an angel. I know you were kidding, but I still felt it.” 

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, wrinkling his nose with a smile. “You think every compliment is a joke.” 

“Don’t make me laugh so much, then.” 

He squeezes your fingers gently. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to Jamison. Just, I knew him already from school. And he did not like me.” 

“That’s okay. He seemed nice, I think you’d get along if you met now.” You kick your shoes off and crawl as close to him as you can get. He looks up at you, but you look down at his lap. “What are you drawing?” 

“I was just trying to touch up that landscape I did of the river,” he says, a sheepishness to him as he opens his sketchbook. 

You read it with affection, trace lines and hatchings in awe. “Steve, I really wish you had time and space to do this stuff properly. Not that you aren’t doing it properly, just, I know you could make something just as beautiful as this with paint.” You slide to be sitting properly, putting you both at the same height, so you can meet his eyes as you continue. “Did you know what you wanted to do, when you were finishing school? Did you ever think about art?” 

“I thought about it.” His lips quirk. “Mostly about how my dad would’ve kicked me out if I said something that stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

“I know.” 

That would’ve been a nice life. You and Steve living together, with a basement for his paintings, or a garage turned studio. You’d read books together every night like you do now, and you’d scrub paint smudges off of his cheek. 

You love him so much it must give you an aura. 

“I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?” he asks softly. 

You drift in, tipping your head back for a kiss you don’t take. “I don’t know, Steve, Jamison used to be in a rock band.” 

He scoffs in disgust. You think it might be a mixture of anger at Jamison and himself. “Who wants to date a rockstar?” 

“I might’ve.” 

You’re teasing, of course, smiling as your kiss draws nearer, and nearer. 

“Well, I can be a rockstar,” he says quietly, warmth of his breath on your lips. “Just give me a chance to get there.” 

You brush the tip of your nose against his and hold your breath. “That’s okay,” you say, letting it rush out of you in a huff, your excitement to be kissed too much to bear, “I like my guys all mixed up. Preferably good at track, and swimming, but with a soft side. Kind of guy who fills a sketchbook up with my face.” 

Steve lists to the side. Your lips are so close, you can feel the phantom of them against yours as he moves in. “It’s not just your face… it’s your hands, your arms… your everything–”

He cuts his own explanation off with a soft kiss. That softness swiftly hardens, turns rough, ten long seconds of sweetness before his hands coming up behind your head and he’s pressing inward, deepening the kiss, and giving you little room to breathe. 

You have no intention of dating any rockstars, but his jealous streak has nothing but upsides for you. Steve knows that his jealousy over the innocuous is his own problem, his own insecurity that he’s working on, and while you sympathise with him (after all, haven’t you yourself worried he’d find someone else he liked more?), you have to confess to enjoying the edge to his kissing. 

You make a pleased, humoured sound as he breathes you in like you’re a drug he’s been waiting for. He gets sloppier, and you can’t help pulling away to laugh. 

“What?” he asks, thumbing at your cheek in a soft juxtaposition. “Sorry, am I being a dick?” 

“No, it’s fine. Kiss me how you want to.” 

Steve kisses your cheek softly. “He knows you have a boyfriend, right?” 

“He knows.” 

Steve hums like he’s smiling and nudges your nose with his, until you part your lips, and he wades in for another dose. 

[ozziethegreat]

hue makes an appearance again.. if any of yall know me from tiktok and saw my first post about him ily

don’t mind me @toffeebrew @howlsofbloodhounds

Yapping below \/

So initially he didn’t have much of a story because I’m not very creative and I blank out whenever I try to make something original so yeah.

basically, if Color were ever to get error-d, I think he would be on a hike, probably in some random AU that had nice scenery or something. He’s wearing a rain jacket because it was raining at the place he was, and he he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Error or some other entity was destroying it or something. As for how he got into the anti void,,, yall can use ur imagination 😭

(That’s the best explanation I can give, kill me)

I was more focused on the actual character than his backstory, so I’ll just explain my ideas of how he would act and such..

I called him Static Hue, or just Hue for short. (It’s a synonym of color I’m very creative guys)

I think whatever caused the error in his code amalgamated the human souls, and kind of made them fuse together, so Hue can never understand what they are saying because they speak over each other all the time. The different traits overlap and he feels mixed emotions all the time, along with intense mood swings and anxiety attacks. His flames also change color at a much faster rate, so people with epilepsy will stay FAR away from him 😭😭😭😭

Fun fact: he’s also blind. The only thing he can actually see is the color of his flames (which change all the time), and it tends to give him headaches and nausea. His grabblings are always out and just attached to his back so he can use them to move around.

As for the strings, they are very hot to the touch and leave burn marks on however he uses them on. They burn himself as well but he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

Hue’s memory is very jumbled, he didn’t necessarily forget about everything, but he doesn’t remember why exactly he does things. He knows he needs to help killer and protect him at all costs, but he isn’t sure why. He knows he hates Nightmare and REALLY wants that guy dead, but he doesn’t know where that hatred came from. And of course he naturally feels safer near the epic trio, and nervous staying in the same places for too long.

hue’s pretty obsessive over Killer for this reason. His need to help killer was multiplied by a gazillion, and he tends to just.. kidnap Killer and take him random places to keep him close. Sometimes he accidentally hurts him, but he doesn’t realize it, the only thing he can think about is keeping him safe and close to himself. On the contrary, he gets super aggressive and defensive at the mention of Nightmare, and if he were to see him face to face he would attack without hesitation. He knows his job is to keep Killer safe and away from Nightmare, and that’s really his only motive. He just doesn’t know where it came from.

Similarly to most errors, he has trouble speaking because of stuttering and glitches. He also can’t form very clear thoughts because the souls are constantly influencing his behavior. He has trouble explaining his thoughts and feelings, he tends to speak more in actions (as in he would crush you to death in a hug to show affection.)

anyway. If anyone wants to add onto this or share thoughts I’d appreciate it..

Here’s some older drawings of him LMAO

[girlwtdragontattoo]

In your debt - Part 3

Young Halsin x Reader

Art belongs to @ozumii-fucking-wizard, I also used their Young Halsin headcanon list as a reference :) i love the idea of him being a bit hotheaded in his younger years hehe

Find Part 1 and Part 2 here.

Slow burn, sorry. But the next part will get spicy, I promise. >:D

Song in this fic:

Warning: Swearing

-----

You awoke on a huge matt, covered in a thick quilt. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light as you scanned your surroundings. You were staring at a large tent peak above you, which swayed sleepily in the wind. You turned your head slightly, examining the area further. Smoldering embers cracked softly in the middle of the room, with various tiny cushions placed around it. A kettle peeped, hovering above the low fire, green steam escaping its mouth. Adorning the tent were many little trinkets: dreamcatchers, windchimes, wooden toys and engraved clay pots decorated the walls and small shelves. The ground looked slightly sandy next to you, furthering the softness of your position. The matt was far too big for you, so was the quilt. You looked like a little mouse had sneaked into the cat’s bed.

You noticed a stinging sensation and remembered what happened with the goblin.

Your hands drifted under the covers to your pulsating side. A thick piece of rough fabric met your fingers and as you pawed along carefully, you realized it was bandaging. The pain was dull, but made its evil presence known.

That’s right. You were with Halsin. In his village.

You had no idea what else the dreamy druid had done while you were knocked out. You must’ve looked like a corpse.

You noticed you were wearing different clothes. This long sleeve tunic wasn’t yours and neither were the wide pants you spied while lifting the covers.

Had he…had he changed you? You blushed at the thought.

Had he seen you naked???

You attempted to sit up, quickly, which turned out to be a mistake. Deciding to prop yourself up carefully, you hovered over your unwounded side, relying on the strength of your arm. You eyed the large mug of water close to you, bringing it hastily to your dry lips.

It tasted so clean. You realized how gross the water really was back in the city.

You finished the water in a few gulps and placed the mug back where you found it.

Just then, your ears picked up a distant conversation. The voices were agitated. You weren’t able to get up and walk towards the entrance, so you strained your ears to listen carefully.

You recognized Halsin’s voice, who sounded exceedingly frustrated.

“So, your solution is just to ignore the looming threat? How on earth can you be so thick?”, he growled at an unknown male speaker.

“That is no tone to take with me, novice. You’re in no position to question my decision”, the other man answered, his tone so low it made the hairs on your arm stand up. Who was this?

You heard repetitive, thudding footsteps. It sounded like someone angrily pacing.

Halsin spoke again, his intonation louder than before: “If they tried once, they will do so again. And with more devastation. More goblins! They want our children for some sick game and you would rather do nothing!”

“The only person making that claim is lying halfdead in your tent. You do not know them. I do not know them! I will not send a group towards certain death because a stranger made a groggy statement!”, the other man met Halsin’s tone, with warning etched within.

You felt your stomach drop. The terrified faces the children had made while Izick was fighting you flashed before you. You knew you were telling the truth, but how could they know that?

“Uncle, they are the reason our children are safely returned to us!” There was a slight pause and you heard him step towards the tent, perhaps pointing. “If they hadn’t intervened, the drow-“

“Silence!”, the man Halsin addressed as uncle bellowed, the echo reverberating through the area.

“I do not care what could or would have happened. I care about the facts of the situation. It was YOUR task to watch over them. And YOU left Zacharia alone so that you could feel like a hero. Zacharia’s death and the possible fate of your brothers’ and sisters’ is on your conscien-“

A mighty roar interrupted the uncle’s chastising. A second followed with thundering thuds and tremors. Slicing through the chaos, you heard an assertive, older woman’s command:

“ENOUGH! Halsin, Dafydd. Stop this nonsense!”

The vibration in the soil ceased slowly, with one still insisting on remaining.

“Halsin…!”, she threatened.

You felt the shaking of the earth stop, finally but reluctantly. With vicious pants from both of the arguing parties, you heard the woman speak once again:

“Halsin, go check on your patient. And you, Dafydd, go do something you deem important. We do not have time for pointless squabbles like this.”

A pause and finally a few grunts of agreement. You heard footsteps leaving and two sets walking towards your tent.

Why were you panicking? It was ok for you to be awake, right?

You hastily pulled the covers over half your face as you lay down a bit too bluntly.  You didn’t want them to know you were listening.

The tent flap slid open and you saw Halsin hold it open for the other person.

An older elf woman walked in, her long grey hair tied neatly in elaborate braids. She had exceedingly kind, hazel eyes that met yours with a soft twinkle. Her dark skin glistened with tiny drops of sweat. Her attire was rather casual, it looked like she spent a lot of time outside, judging by her sun kissed, wrinkly nose.

She smiled and you returned it carefully.

“Ah, so this is the savior”, her voice matched the one who had scolded the two men before. Halsin didn’t say anything, but grumpily stomped to the other side of the tent to grab a piece of wood. He started aggressively carving at it with a knife that looked too small for his hands.

The elf lady rolled her eyes and kneeled beside your head: “How are we feeling this morning, duckling?”

You cleared your throat, blinking a bit confused at the last word, but sat up slowly, while she helped you up: “Uh… I think… ok?”

Your words sounded unrecognizably hoarse.

The older elf conjured a gentle, yellow light from her palm and lay her hand on your shoulder. Closing her eyes, you felt a wonderous thrum from her touch.

“Mmh, yes. Healing slow but nicely”, she opened her eyes, winked at you and turned her head towards the tall druid, who was still chopping viciously at the tiny block of wood.  

“Good thinking with the ginkgo leaves, son. Their organs are healing quickly”, she kept her gaze fixed on him. He met her eyes briefly, let out a rough “Hm” as a response and continued shaving.

You looked at Halsin, too. His furious aura engulfed the entire tent. His brows were frowning so intensely that you could barely see his calming eyes. This was his mother? They looked nothing alike. And she was so much older.

The woman turned back to you, deciding to ignore the brewing giant in the corner.

“I’m Anwen, elder druid of the High Forest. I assume you know who the sulking moose over there is”, she gestured vaguely at Halsin, who grunted and continued whittling more aggressively.

You nodded, trying to stop yourself from laughing. The hissy fit was a bit comical coming from such a large man, but you understood where the anger came from.

“Y/N…” you lay a hand on your chest, indicating yourself. “Thank you for … uh…” you were looking down at the clean garb you were wearing.

Halsin blushed excessively in the corner of your eye, turning to face the tent wall.

Anwen grinned: “Well, well, now I know where my sleepwear went.”

You stared at her anxiously.

“Oh, don’t worry. You need it more than I do right now”, she placated.

Your eyes wandered to the back of Halsin’s head. You could see the blushing had increased. So, he had changed you…

“Duckling, I am beyond thankful that you came to my children’s aid. They all won’t stop talking about you and your rescue. I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you properly, once your strength allows”, Anwen tugged at your cover, pulling it over you more and forcing you to lie back down.

You obliged.

“Halsin tells me you overheard something from the goblins. Something about the children…”, she patted the cover close to your chest.

You explained what you had heard before you intervened. Elder Anwen listened intently, nodding along as you described the attire the goblins were wearing to the best of your ability. She thanked you kindly and exited the tent, addressing Halsin to join her in prayer at sundown. This left you alone with the handsome druid.

He finally placed his craft on the sideboard next to his carving knife, leaning against the board and letting out a deep, irked sigh. You didn’t know what to say, so you just watched him.

The silence lingered between you for a bit, when he finally turned to you and tried to smile.

“Sorry. I’m glad you’re doing better.” He approached the side of your matt and squatted down. “I should change your bandage…”

You nodded after realizing you had been staring at him for too long and pushed the cover off your upper half. Hesitating slightly, you lifted the tunic to reveal your nursed belly.

Halsin sat down on the sand and started taking the binding off carefully. You let out small hisses, as he pulled the adhesive off your wound. You saw leaves sticking to the side of the band that lay directly on the most sensitive area. These were presumably the ginkgo leaves Anwen had mentioned before. He grabbed the teapot from the fireplace and filled a goblet with steaming, green water.

You beheld his work in silence, as he dabbed a soaking cloth on your abdomen. He conjured more healing magic with his hands, which hovered over your belly for some time. The comforting humming of his incantation joined the low purring of the fire. The dull light of the tent danced across his face, which seemed absent and deep in thought.

“Thank you for…all of this...”, you cut through the quiet, realizing you hadn’t really thanked him for saving your life.

Your words seemed to snap him out of something. He blinked hard and turned his head towards you, as his hand floated above your stomach.

His smile grew warmer and your heart skipped a secret beat: “You needn’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.”

He returned his attention back to nursing you. Watching him work, you felt a gnawing in your throat that you couldn’t ignore any longer.

“… are you alright?”, You had been wanting to ask about the conversation you overheard since he walked in.

Halsin hesitated for a moment, his eyes flitting from your face to his hands.

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself with. You’ve done more than enough,” he murmured.

You thought about the words the other man, Dafydd, had chastised the young druid with. Halsin seemed to be struggling with immense guilt and a need to correct it.

You accepted his unsatisfying answer and let your eyes wander around the tent, as you heard Halsin sigh once more. You didn’t know each other. Why would he share his woes with you? You were just a useless bard that happened to stumble into an unfortunate situation.

You spent the next few days in his tent, having Anwen and Halsin visit you every hour to bring food, drink and give you healing sessions. You were feeling better every day, the throbbing pain slowly dissipating from your lower body. It got to the point, where you even forgot you were hurt to begin with.

Anwen told you stories about Halsin, whom she adopted as a young boy. Most of the stories were quite embarrassing and you enjoyed learning about his mischievous nature. He carried himself with immense grace whenever he was around you, but you secretly knew he had a massive fear of moths and used to hide in baskets or pots to avoid druid training. He grew more relaxed each passing day, as well, showing off his collection of wood carvings you’d been eyeing in the corner of the tent, realizing you were someone easy to speak to.

You left the tent from time to time, as well, and were allowed to join in meals and share stories with the rest of the villagers. The village had been damaged by the attack, but not by too much. The druids seemed organized enough to fix things swiftly. Everyone treated you kindly.

The children were enthralled with you. They had carved a new, albeit extremely creaky and sad-looking, lute for you as a thank you, which you accepted with warmth surrounding your heart. Their eyes stared up at you, adoringly, as you haphazardly played on your gifted “instrument”, the notes plunking out strained and harsh. Gods, it was ugly. But you loved it anyway.

You learned Dafydd was the archdruid of the High Forest and Anwen’s brother. He was a lanky, older, but tall elf with the same eyes as Anwen, yet lacking her kindness. He had an intense authoritative energy and barely smiled, only nodding to greet you when you joined the circle. The only person he truly listened to was his sister and he was extremely harsh with the rest of the novice druids whom he trained, especially Halsin.

The children begged you to join them in their barn one night, where you learned Halsin slept while you occupied his tent. They dragged you to the heaps of straw, showing off their own attempts at carvings. You spied a larger wooden object hiding under a thin, massive blanket. That was most likely where Halsin slept, judging by the size of the bedroll. You decided not to pry.

The kids requested you sing them to sleep, as the orange sunrays drifted through the small cracks in the wooden walls. They were all snuggled together, glittering eyes blinking expectedly up at you, as you sat on a large bundle of hay.

How could you say no to them?

You started humming softly, watching them curl up closer to each other and stare at you with their little faces. You thought back to a gentle lullaby you had thought of, while you were wandering through a small village, which had a tradition of burning old keepsakes, in order to release them to the spirit world. You had been writing it below the Oaktree you always visited in the High Forest.

You didn’t need an instrument to keep the rhythm going, as the music flowed from your lips naturally:

I smelt smoke

On the wheezing of the wind when I awoke

A pyre of memory

Some fly-tipped treasury

Out there burning slow

Dark soaked fields

And the snuffling wet noses at my heels

Suddenly hackles raise

At the crackling of the blaze

Out there burning slow

And sometimes I catch him

With his axe in

The shadow

So secretive and private,

But I’m breathing in his life when

He’s out there burning slow

You repeated the lines a few times, until you noticed every chest of the children moving slowly up and down in a sweet cadence.

You heard someone behind you and turned to see Halsin leaning against the open door, the dark night behind him, his arms crossed:

“Beautiful tune. Been long since I’ve heard it.”

You blinked at him in stunned silence. He had heard it before?

He chuckled, noticing your confusion: “I told you Thaniel is fond of you. He likes to sing me your songs. The children do, too. Now I’ve had the pleasure of hearing it from the origin’s mouth, as intended.”

“Oh, wow… I didn’t know a forest spirit liked music…”, you pondered that thought, wondering what this Thaniel being was. If he had been listening all this time, where had he been hiding himself while you played on the riverbank?

Halsin joined you, sitting down on the hay ball. The might of his body made your side move up a bit, leaving your legs to dangle. He watched the children sleep, with a permanent smile on his face.

“Aren’t they precious?”, he cooed and you nodded with a silent chuckle, as one ork boy snored gently.

“Oh wait, one moment!”, Halsin stood up and tiptoed to the large bedroll, pulling the woodwork from under the draping.

He hid it behind his back, which worked amazingly, since he was so wide.

“Close your eyes,” he grinned.

You complied and waited with a secret shortness of breath. He had made something for you?

“Open,” he purred, sweetly.

As you opened your eyes, you were met with a beautifully crafted lute. The wood had been engraved with lovely vines and flowers.

Your mouth dropped open.

Halsin hurriedly sat beside you again, the hay ball raising you once again, as he handed you the intricately constructed instrument. The feel of the soft oak gave you goosebumps and the redness in your face was impossible to hide.

The strings were firm and carefully strung into place. You plucked a few softly. It sounded heavenly.

“This- what- how- why-…” you couldn’t string a coherent sentence together. Halsin chuckled.

“The children told me you sacrificed your lute to save them. The one they made for you is ...cute... , but I thought you needed a proper one.”

You gaped at him. You had never gotten such a thoughtful gift in your entire life.

You felt tears bite your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“Gods…thank you Halsin…I- I don’t know what to say. It’s marvelous!”

His smiled widened: “It’s the least I can do, I’m in your debt, remember?”

You smiled back, gazing at the artwork.

Moments passed as you both watched the sleeping children quietly. Your heart was still racing from the tremendous gesture.

You felt Halsin’s shoulders tense up as his face collapsed into the thoughtful one you first encountered in the tent.

You gulped inaudibly and decided maybe now he would be more open to talking to you. You had this urge to soothe him, especially after receiving the lute.

“Are you still bothered by what the Archdruid said?”, the words just spilled out of you. You realized it would indicate you had overheard the conversation and your throat closed up. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry…” your hands fidgeted around the lute as you nervously babbled on.

Halsin let out a brief gust of air between his nostrils. He nodded a bit, unbothered by your question.

“It’s just…”, he stopped himself. You saw his hands tremor slightly, “Dafydd is such a…such a…”

Your brows furrowed in concern.

Halsin took another deep breath, calming his slight shaking: “I didn’t abandon Zacharia. He told me to go and help. He told me he would take the children to the thicket and hide. I didn’t know those damned goblins were tailing us.” The words tumbled out of him with quiet agony staining his intonation.

You sat up a bit straighter, put the lute down on the ground and turned more towards him, unsure what else to contribute, but offering your ear.

Halsin balled a fist, as he watched one of the girls turn over in her sleep.

“Dafydd won’t go after that filth that tried to steal them. Says it’s pointless and risky and hotheaded. But what if they come back? Perhaps with an army of drow instead of stupid goblins. What if they get their hands on them and…” You heard his knuckles crack as he flexed his fist more.

He realized what he was doing with his hand and released his grip.

“I have to do something. I can’t just sit by and hope for the best.” His eyes scanned the barn floor, then finally met your worried gaze. The jade hue sparkled in the moonlight. You buried the thought about how handsome he was, while you focused on his problem.

You let his words swirl in your mind for a while. You never had any contact with Lolth sworn drows, just the kind ones that had escaped that fanaticism to Baldur’s Gate. At least you assumed they were Lolth sworn, you didn’t know of any other drow group that would do such a thing.

You agreed with Halsin. It was a terrible threat and a danger for the children to have the sheer possibility of another kidnapping exist.

“The thought haunts me, too. So, I understand how you feel”, your voice was almost a whisper, in fear of waking the sleeping souls, “It’s a huge risk to let them conspire in the dark.”

Halsin nodded. He leaned forward, holding his weight on his legs with his elbows. 

He seemed to be at war with himself, unsure if he should tell you something. His eyes scanned you and you felt your body shake. A thought of what his lips tasted like invaded you, which you blinked away ashamedly.

Focus.

You attempted to hide your racy thoughts with a stupidly fake cough.

Halsin sat up again and bit his lip. Then he grabbed your hands and held them within his own. A brush of heat sizzled up your spine. He was so close to you.

“I’m going after them. I need a few nights to prepare, but then I’ll track those miscreants down. Frelma and Danan have agreed to come with me. Three is better than one. I have no idea if we’ll survive such an assault, but it’s better than sitting here and waiting for the next attack. We’re still concocting a plan. The drow are too dangerous to let live.”

His eyes bore into yours, a shred of relief after finally telling someone clouding them: “Please. Do not tell anyone, especially not Dafydd.”

You stared into his forest eyes, that quivered with anticipation at your response. You tried your absolute most not to lean in and clasp your lips in his, although every sinew within you yearned for it. Why was he so Gods-damn fine?

FOCUS.

“I’m coming with you.”

The phrase escaped from you. You couldn’t believe what you just said. Neither could the druid, who still held your hands gently.

He tilted his head, pacifyingly, his eyes softening sweetly: “You are braver than anyone I’ve ever met. But that would be quite foolish. No, you will stay here until you’re fully heale-.”

“I insist.”

OH MY GODS, SHUT UP.

Your insides were screaming at you, what the fuck were you thinking? What would you contribute? Battle music? You would only be in the way.

Halsin let out a soft laugh, lowering your hands but still holding onto them. He shook his head and gazed at you:

“You’re a fascinating person, truly. But I cannot allow you to-“

You released your hand from his grasp and held up a finger. An idea sparked within you. An extremely stupid idea.

“I know I can’t fight. But I can run.”

Halsin’s brow furrowed, waiting for an explanation.

[dreamingfyre]

first writing ever <3 this is a quick os, maybe will turn it into a series later.

psychologist!reader x fbi agent!rafe cameron.

warning : mention of death, HEAVY smut, mention of argument, p in v, unprotected sex, uniform kink, consumption of alcohol, slight degradation dom!ready x sub!rafe for like 3 seconds before switching, use of petnames + insults, thigh riding, restraining at some point. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE. english isn't my first language so sorry if this is badly done.

Rafe knew he messed up the moment he walked in, late again. He didn't need to see you to know—he could already feel it. When he opened the door and saw the glass of red wine sitting on the kitchen counter, untouched, it confirmed everything. You never drank alone unless he had really screwed up. Red wine meant trouble, and tonight, he knew he was in deep.

Lately, things had been rough on both of you. Rafe was always working, consumed by a case that seemed never-ending. It had taken over his life, and he often found himself wondering if they'd ever catch the bastard. It was a cat-and-mouse game, with the guy always two steps ahead—shattering families, killing girls. Always, girls. Each new victim weighed heavily on him, and it was starting to tear at the seams of your relationship. The distance between you grew wider with every late night and every unanswered call.

That’s when Rafe became fiercely protective of you. The idea of you wandering alone at night made his skin crawl. You fit the exact profile of the girls this killer preyed on, and the thought of something happening to you drove him mad. He couldn’t stand the idea of anyone getting near his sweet, innocent girl, so he tried to keep you close, refusing to let you go out. Not that you ever listened. You hated being cooped up, and the more he tightened his grip, the more you pushed back.

Rafe took a deep breath, trying to summon the patience to finally step inside. He didn't even bother taking his shoes off as he slowly pushed the door open. That's when he saw you-just as he expected, a glass of wine in hand.

You sat there, glasses up your nose, wearing nothing but your work shirt, unbuttoned, the soft fabric falling open to reveal the curve of your breasts, sending a shiver down his spine. Your bottoms were carelessly tossed a few meters away. He could feel the tension radiating off you even before you looked his way.

But you didn't even look at him. He raised an eyebrow, feeling the weight of your silence. “ Hello, ” he muttered, his voice low. No response. You didn't even flinch. He sighed, already defeated, and walked over to the couch, sitting next to you. His eyes flicked to the TV, then to you, and inevitably, to your exposed chest.

For a moment, he wondered if you did it on purpose— sitting there like that, with your shirt barely hanging on, hair tousled, panties on display, and your breasts visible only for him. It was the kind of sight that would drive him insane, and he knew you were aware of that. His suit suddenly felt too tight as the thought sank in, desire and frustration mixing dangerously in his mind.

You sat there, your anger barely contained beneath your calm exterior. Did you put yourself in such a suggestive position realizing what it would do to him? Maybe. Even if you were angry at how he constantly came home late, how he tried to control everything, and how he barely talked to you anymore—you couldn’t ignore the fact that you were also needy. You missed him. He barely touched you these days, too consumed by work or exhaustion to give you the attention you craved.

Tonight felt different, though. You both had the day off tomorrow, meaning no early alarms, no rushing to sleep. The entire night stretched ahead of you, and for once, it felt like there was space to reconnect. Even if you were mad, there was an undeniable part of you that wanted him —needed him — just as much as you were angry at him. And by the way he kept glancing at you, you could tell the tension between you wasn’t lost on him either.

You couldn’t help but glance down, noticing the obvious restrain in his pants. A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips—he didn’t even bother to hide it. Yet, here he was, pretending like he didn’t care, eyes fixed on the TV as if he wasn’t completely distracted by you. You watched him for a moment longer, taking in the way his suit clung to him, crisp and sharp, the perfect contrast to the messy situation between you two. He looked undeniably hot, and it drove you crazy.

You couldn't hold back anymore. Stretching out slightly, your breasts fully revealed themselves to him, and you watched as his gaze darkened instantly. He didn't need any more of a signal to understand. You could see how he braced himself, how his eyes locked onto your chest, and just as his hand extended toward you, you slapped it away.

“ No touching,” you warned, your voice low, passing a hand over your hardened nipple. “ See what you do to me? How ignored l've been feeling? ”

The frustration was clear in your tone, but so was the need. You weren't going to make it easy for him-not after all the nights you'd spent feeling invisible, desperate for his attention. Now, it was his turn to feel just as needy.

And needy he felt, especially when you straddled him, your body pressing against his as if taunting him. His hands hovered in the air, waiting for permission he wasn't used to asking for. Normally, he was the one in charge, the one who set the pace. But tonight felt different-like everything had shifted.

‘ Do you know how many nights I had to do this myself? ’ you whispered, your voice low, a playful pout on your lips as you teased him, your hips pressing ever so slightly against his hardness. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched, desperate for your touch yet unable to move, completely at your mercy. The power dynamic had changed, and it thrilled you both.

You raised an eyebrow at his silence, a smirk tugging at your lips as you lifted your hips slightly, sliding your panties off with deliberate ease. The cool air hit your skin just as you settled your wet cunt against his clothed thigh, the friction making him groan softly.

‘ Do you want me to show you? ’ you teased, your voice a dangerous whisper as you watched him. He nodded instinctively, but that wasn't enough. You needed more-needed him to say it. Your fingers trailed up his lips, teasing the edge of his mouth before slipping between them, pressing against his tongue. ‘ Words,’ you commanded softly, your eyes dark with expectation.

‘ Y-yes,’ he mumbled around your fingers, licking and sucking at them in desperation.

‘ Yes, who? ’ you asked, your voice taking on a new edge, the question cutting through the haze of his desire. The words ignited something inside him, something primal. He knew what you wanted, what you demanded. but he refused.

He looked up at you, his gaze shifting from submission to something more primal, almost animalistic. The realization of how tiny you were compared to him seemed to spark a flicker of amusement in his eyes. A smirk crept across his lips as he challenged you, ‘ Who? ’ His voice was cold, teasing, and he laughed, ‘ You're practically humping my thighs like a bitch in heat and you're asking who? ’

The playful taunt sent a jolt through you, and you felt your pussy clench involuntarily at his words. His hand came down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you could contain it.

As if that wasn't enough, he began to untie his tie, the smooth fabric slipping from around his neck with ease. With a swift motion, he looped it around your throat, holding it firmly yet not painfully, pulling you closer to him. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his presence consumed you.

‘ Move, ma'am, ’ he commanded, his tone low and filled with authority. The mixture of dominance in his words and the grip on your throat ignited a fire deep within you, urging you to obey and grind against him with fervor.

That's exactly what you did. You ground against him, feeling the weight of his gaze as he took your glass of wine, setting it aside to fully appreciate the show before him. Each movement of your body sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your wetness staining his pants, yet he didn't seem to care in the slightest.

His expression remained nonchalant, almost amused, while you became increasingly unraveled. Your moans grew louder, filling the room as you lost yourself in the sensations. It was as if he were savoring every moment, enjoying the way you squirmed under his control.

Then, he lifted his thigh just right, the pressure hitting your clit perfectly, sending a surge of pleasure that made your back arch. The feeling was electric, and you could hardly keep your composure, the sounds escaping your lips betraying the bliss you were experiencing. Each rub against his thigh intensified your arousal, and you could tell he was relishing in your desperation, enjoying the sight of you coming undone before him.

After a few minutes of blissful torture, he suddenly gripped your waist, halting your movements. You mumbled in protest, frustrated at the sudden stop, but all that escaped your lips was a string of needy whines. He chuckled, the sound deep and teasing, ‘ Jesus Christ, ’ as he began to unzip his pants.

That's when it hit you: you were completely bare, exposed, while he remained fully clothed-from his polished shoes to his tailored jacket. The contrast between your nakedness and his attire only heightened your frustration, making you pout, but deep down, you understood you weren't in any position to protest.

Slowly, he freed himself from the confines of his pants, revealing his cock, standing tall and curved, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He smirked at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

‘ It's a little dry, don't you think? ’ Before you could formulate a response, he wasted no time, pushing you down onto your knees. The urgency in his actions sent a thrill of excitement through you as he tapped his cock against your lips, urging you to open up for him.

You complied without hesitation, opening your mouth wide to accommodate him. As you took his tip at first, you felt the warmth of his skin against your tongue, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. He gripped your hair tightly in his hands, guiding your movements as he slowly pushed his hips forward, making you gag around him. What started as just the tip quickly turned into him sliding deeper, filling your mouth completely.

With a smirk, he pulled out his phone and positioned the camera to capture the scene unfolding before him. ‘ Say hello to the camera, baby, ’ he chuckled, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

‘ Fuck-this is going to help me during work. ’ He caressed your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the rawness of the moment, making you melt further around him as you did your best to take him fully.

As he began to groan, showering you with praise, you felt a surge of pride at how well you were pleasing him. But just as the pleasure peaked, his phone rang, cutting through the atmosphere.

He groaned in annoyance, looking down at you with a mix of desire and frustration. ‘ Don't you dare fucking stop, ’ he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience, before putting the phone to his ear, attempting to balance his work and the overwhelming pleasure you were giving him.

You looked up at him, noticing the way his brows were furrowed in concentration, though you weren't focused on his words at all. Your mouth moved faster, wanting to draw every sound of pleasure from him. But he quickly stopped you, yanking your hair back, a shock of arousal shooting through you at the sudden intensity. He pulled you up to his lap, his body still on the phone, and you were a complete mess, a mix of urgency and desire.

He glanced down at the sight before him, taking in the view of your exposed cunt, glistening with need. With a smirk, he took his cock in hand, pressing it against your clit slowly, teasingly.

‘ Busy? Nah. Just taking care of my cat, ’ he said nonchalantly, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he continued to talk on the phone.

Without warning, he slid into you, the suddenness of it making you gasp, the sensation overwhelming. His eyes locked onto yours, dark with lust as he relished the moment. His hand moved up your throat, a firm grip that sent shivers down your spine. Then, he took his tie and pulled it up to your mouth, tightening it around you, constraining you just enough to heighten the thrill of the moment.

He tilted his head to the side, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear as he continued his conversation, his voice steady and composed. Both of his hands moved to her waist, feeling the way she instinctively tried to contain her noises, muffled breaths escaping her lips.

He started off slow, guiding her movements with his hands, feeling the heat radiating between them. But it didn't take long for him to pick up the pace, thrusting into her with a quick intensity that left her reeling. The sensations were overwhelming, each deep thrust sending shockwaves through her body, making it hard for her to keep quiet.

She wanted to let out a moan, to express the pleasure that was building inside her, but she knew better. Instead, she focused on the feeling of him filling her, the way everything inside her kept buckling under the force of his movements. Each thrust was a delicious torment, and even as she struggled to keep her sounds contained, the pleasure surged through her, threatening to spill over.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally said, ‘ Yeah, alright. See ya, ’ and threw his phone aside, discarding it carelessly. As soon as the device hit the floor, he pulled the tie away from your mouth, releasing you from the makeshift gag. That's when the dam broke.

You became a real mess, your muffled moans escalating into desperate cries that filled the room with unrestrained pleasure. He groaned at the sound, his focus shifting as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and biting it before giving equal attention to the other. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, and your body reacted instinctively, arching toward him.

His free hand moved to your clit, working it with a skill that made your head spin. The roughness of his touch, the way he twitched it between his fingers, brought you to the very edge.

You could feel the tension building, the pressure coiling tightly within you. His moans echoed your own, signaling that he was reaching his peak as well. With every flick and caress, he pushed you closer to the edge, both of you teetering on the brink of ecstasy, ready to tumble into that sweet release together.

But what truly sent you over the edge was when he pinched your clit sharply, the unexpected shock sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. You tightened around him in waves, your body trembling as a delicious heat surged through you. For the first time, you felt yourself dripping around him, the slickness mixing with the urgency of the moment.

At that precise instant, he reached his climax as well. You could feel his cock twitching deep inside you, a low groan escaping his lips as he filled you, his release igniting your own. The two of you were lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, bodies moving together in perfect synchrony, until the world outside faded away, leaving nothing but the heat and connection between you.

You both lingered in that intimate moment for a few minutes, sharing heavy breaths and gentle displays of affection. The warmth of his body against yours felt like a comforting cocoon. Eventually, he pulled himself out of you, and you felt an undeniable sense of loss at the absence of his warmth.

Without saying a word, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you through the house, cradling you against his chest like you were the most precious thing in his world. When you reached the bedroom, he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking the covers around you with the utmost care. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

However, instead of joining you, he walked over to the closet, pulling out a fresh pair of pants. Your heart sank at the sight, and you frowned, an unspoken question hanging in the air. It was as if he could sense your unease because he turned to face you, his expression serious yet tender.

“They found him, baby. I gotta go,” he said, the weight of his words settling heavily in the room. With a final kiss, one that lingered as if he were trying to imprint the moment into your memory, he slipped back into his suit, and left the room.

sorry that was actually sooo long.

[corviiids]

oh would love to see ur breakdown of whether or not miles could do it tho. if not him then do u think polly could do it

verdict: miles edgeworth could beat kira but not without help and significant damage to his psyche. as a player character he could do it with support. as an npc he would support phoenix to figure it out but would argue the entire time

could miles edgeworth intuit the mechanics of the death note

not at first instance. probably not at all. i think if miles edgeworth received the right combination of clues and/or (but preferably and) was forced to eliminate literally every other option, he would accept the mechanics of the death note as factual. however i don't think 'magic notebook that kills people' would ever enter miles edgeworth's mental realm of things that are possible without someone/something very firmly pointing him towards that fact. he would not arrive at this conclusion on his own. also, phoenix meekly bringing up the possibility in court would give him a migraine.

could miles edgeworth identify light yagami

yes. i think edgeworth would ultimately be able to kira even without intuiting the death note's mechanics. i think figuring out how the book works is the very last stage in this inquisition. but i think he would be able to ID light as a person of interest even without solid information on means and i also think he would really enjoy his verbal battle with light yagami and by enjoy i mean miles edgeworth enjoys talking to people that make him want to tear his hair out. can we all take a second to imagine mind chess/logic chess light yagami edition? can we please think about that

could miles edgeworth survive

yes - see my post about shi long lang:

yes i think he survives owing to the rules of the ace attorney universe which he brought with him, namely that a culprit in ace attorney will politely sit and cooperate while you argue with them and will admit when you've defeated them in argument, which is the least realistic thing about ace attorney. so i think light wouldn't make a move to try and kill lang until his Culprit Breakdown, at which point lang could simply kick him in the shins and pluck the notebook out of his hands because light is three toothpicks taped together.

(miles wouldnt kick light in the shins but if lang, franziska, kay, or gumshoe is there they would do it for him while miles does that arms crossed eyes closed pose about it.)

also noteworthy is that miles would give a speech about how he would gladly risk his own life to kira if it means uncovering the truth

(i put apollo under the cut because this post is too long)

verdict: apollo justice could beat light yagami but i think he would need trucy for help and motivation

could apollo intuit the mechanics of the death note

not organically but i think in true trained by phoenix wright tradition he'd kind of arrive there in a moment of panic by pure accident. trucy would say something nuts and apollo would be like

APOLLO The only thing the witness has on him is a notebook!

TRUCY

Hey, anything can be a murder weapon if you try your best and believe in yourself!

APOLLO What's he going to do with a notebook, write me to death?

APOLLO .........

TRUCY Uh, Polly? You've got a weird face on.

APOLLO I just had a really bad idea.

could apollo justice identify light yagami

i think apollo would be taken in by light for the most part like, kind of kristoph style... listen the bracelet is a weird mechanic. people literally lie all day long forever and apollo only catches specific, gameplay convenient things, just like phoenix with the magatama. (we're back at 'why dont you just question your client with your truth telling powers from the beginning' and the answer is because it is a video game with a narrative that needs gameplay and stakes.) so i think apollo catches light in a couple of white lies and then dismisses it for the most part as like, light's just one of those weird guys with a fakey persona but who is mostly harmless, and light generally tries not to lie directly in favour of speaking vaguely around the truth, so it doesn't really ping apollo as particularly strange until near the end of the case where apollo is like. ive been getting weird vibes from this guy from the start what if that like. means something

anyway i think he'd figure out that it's light in like a tense moment where he feels like trucy or himself or someone else is in danger

could apollo justice survive

yes for the same reasons as above but i think it's a close thing. like i think light gets "Apollo Justic" written in the book before trucy throws a knife at him and nails the death note to the wall and then apollo is like (Y-y-yikes!!! That was close!)

[orphiclovers]

Hear me out about yjh and blondes: 999 yjh x Uriel

YES I'm so into this pairing you have no idea. and lol about the blonde thing. yjh has a type.

I've talked about them some under the tag #999yjhuri (ship name pending...) so check that out but yeah I love them they're canon to me! I don't even know where to start talking about them because I have so much to say

The thing is that Uriel loved her captain so much. 999 is the only turn we know of where she was one of Yoo Joonghyuk's companions and it's sooo significant to that round specifically because she is an ANGEL and a constellation of the Absolute Good system!

Uriel saw this one man who sacrificed everything for his companions and decided she wanted to fight by his side. He was the 'good' she saw in the world. And then she had to stand by helplessly and watch as his soul and body withered from the outer world covenant. and see up close as with the same noble sacrifice she fell in love with he destroyed himself.

But they thought they could make it to the end of the scenarios at least, they were so close, but then at the very last moment he DIED IN HER ARMS!!! And she lost her mind with grief and swore eternal vengeance upon the one who took him away.

The good in her soul died with him! She who was the righteous 'absolute good' angel of Eden for thousands of years was so broken by his death she chose to become evil, to become the very thing she swore to destroy

And of course this neatly ties into spuri, the one who was the object of her single minded obsession for thousands of years. Even to the point when it made no sense, when she learned who he was, it didn't matter because the bloody path of vengeance was all she had and all that kept her alive.

And then there's the huge complicated mess of what SP thinks about 999 Uriel. His careful neutrality when she attempts to kill him and burns down his forest with all the inhabitants. The was he doesn't react because he thinks he is reaping what he sowed. He says to Kim Dokja that this is the consequences of his mistake - sees her as a divine punishment for his sins in the 999th regression rather than as a person who wants to kill him

And at the same time in his mind there exists 999, who, quote off the top of my head, 'sighs in lamentation at the sun' when she attacks N'gai. 999 is COMPLICATED and I won't get into his insane psychology in this post but in short, he feels pity for her and all the rest of his companions who turned into outer gods (and also SP...) but makes the frankly correct decision to not come back to them even though he technically COULD, because it would cheapen everything they went through. There is no way to turn back time and save your fallen companion, even when there is. He KNOWS they live in his memory and that's why he can never return (kim dokja anyone...). He does his best to stay dead, even in his afterlife.

And, stay with me here, there's the love triangle of it all.

Both Uri and SP wanted to save 999 but neither of them could. And she despises SP for killing the love of her life but they both wanted the same thing, for 999 to be happy!

I think about SPuri in the post epilogue OD household. Even though Uriel accepted that 999 wouldn't come back and gave up her futile revenge quest against SP, there's still lingering awkwardness and tension there. After hating him for so long it's difficult to act normal around him. I imagine she treats him with civil distance.

And then, when SP does something small that reminds her of 999, she has to look away to remind herself that 999 didn't want to come back and to respect his decision, berating herself for mistaking SP for the man she loves, which is disrespectful to them both.

Even though SP didn't often think of 999 and himself as the same person, I think spending all his time around the 999th turns companions + having 999s memories in his head would inevitably bring out old habits and that side of him more. To all around bittersweet feelings from the outer gods, not just Uriel

[billybutcherrtrash]

It’s a Cover

Requested by @bohemianblasphemy

You sat beside Billy, shifting awkwardly as you looked around the room. You hadn’t expected to see so many familiar faces who didn’t even remember you. Billy smirked as he nudged your arm.

“S’matter love, none of these fucks are even paying attention to us.” He asked.

You scowled at him, “I can’t breathe in this dress.”

The dress Annie has picked out left little to the imagination and felt like it was squeezing your ribs. It was an emerald green that she said matched your eyes. That paired with the ridiculous shoes Kimiko had chosen were going to be the death of you.

“But ya look like a treat.” He winked at you.

“Can we just do what we came for?” You asked, as he slid his arm around you. “And stop staring at my boobs.”

His touched sent chills over your skin and caused you to tense.

“Gotta keep up appearances.” Billy grinned.

“My boobs are not for your entertainment.”

“Can ya blame me?” He smirked.

He guided you down a hallway, arm holding you tightly against him.

“Must be nice covered neck to toe.” You said, still annoyed you were the one showing so much skin.

“Well, take it off and we can switch.” Billy teased.

You elbowed him, more annoyed now.

“Should be right back here somewhere.” He said, his hand squeezing your hip.

Nothing in the tower was familiar, not having been on this floor when you worked for Vaught. Annie has told you exactly where to find Ashley’s office to plant devices. Sure enough you’d found the door you’d been promised was there. You pushed the door open, Billy close behind and headed straight for her desk. You bent down and picked up her pencil cup, placing one under it while Billy placed a few more around the room.

“These cunts are terrible at security.” Billy mused as she stepped closer to you.

“You’d think not, but it’s mainly on the lower floors. Mostly at check in and the doors.”

Your eyes move to meet Billy’s, only to find him staring at your body. You shifted awkwardly, not sure what to say. You hadn’t noticed before but he looked good when he was cleaned up and in a suit. His hair was slicked back and he had trimmed his beard for this. You shivered as you realized you were feeling something other than anxiety as he continued to stare.

“I, um…uh…should…” You stammered to think of a sentence, causing Billy to smirk.

“What’s wrong, little Dove? You enjoying the idea that I’m enjoying the idea of you?” He asked, stepping closer.

You swallowed, completely braindead at the words he’d just spoken. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer. You hadn’t realized you were even freezing until you felt his warmth pressed against you.

“We’re on a mission.” You said, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, technically.” He agreed.

His face moved to be inches from yours, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This couple…thing is just a cover.”

“Doesn’t feel like a cover.” Billy shrugged.

You barely had a chance to think before Billy pulled you into a kiss just as the door flew open and Ashley barged in.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” She yelled, gawking at the scene before her.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry, love. This little lady couldn’t wait until we got home.” Billy grinned smugly.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Ashley yelled.

You giggled a little and headed for the door. Billy followed as you headed for the nearest elevator. You spammed the button, as if it would make it come any quicker. The two of you fell into the small box, giggling. Billy pressed the lobby button and turned to you.

“Well, dodged that bullet.” He smirked.

“How did you know she was coming?” You asked.

“What? I didn’t.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought that’s why you…?”

The ride down was quiet as you realized he didn’t kiss you because he knew Ashley was coming. You made your way outside and to the car, getting in quietly. Neither of you spoke the whole way back to the flatiron apartment. Billy let you in first, following you in. You quickly rushed to the bathroom to change out of the dress, careful not to damage it. Finally you emerged in your street clothes, finding Billy had undone his tie and it hung loosely on his shoulders. You couldn’t help but think how handsome he was. Had he always been this attractive?

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked softly.

He gave a weak smile and nodded, “Course, love.”

You started for the door, ready to be home and process what had happened.

“You looked beautiful tonight, really.” Billy called after you causing you to stop and turn.

A small smile played at your lips, “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Tomorrow. Let me know you got home safe?”

“Or you could walk me.” You said as you took a few steps back.

“I can definitely do that.” He grinned.

[rainybyday]

This is mostly based on these three ideas I had circling in my little head please send help. 

Warring States Period - First Idea

Kaguya won in this timeline and only Team Seven survived, both past and present (Sakura, Naruto, Sai, Sasuke, Tenzo, Kakashi, and Obito (all in a total of seven :D)), and so they went into a new timeline as they used their last bit of Chakra to destroy their timeline so Kaguya will never escape and take over other dimensions 

Relationships 

ObKk because I somehow am in a toxic yaoi shipper cycle, god help

Sasuke and Sakura will stay together because I have a massive pin collection with amazing pins of these two so it made me biased

Naruto and Sai are without any partners since their timeline got fucked

Pray

Ok so let me go over some little details I like to have

Uchihas love so fucken deeply its not even funny so when their loved ones are threatened, all hell breaks loose,

Hatakes are a feral clan and while they are seen as “domestic” in modern times not so much in the Warring States, there are two reactions. One (stupid) people will try to fight them to scare them off (ha) or are scared to high heaven and back away from them

Hatakes have fangs and have habits like touching and calling their close ones pack and mate and pup if considered pack 

Yes all of his students are his pups and Tenzo is affectionately called a sapling once he realizes that is a THING for Senju’s to say to their young

Tenzo secretly loves it

But before he never said it out loud since, you know, trauma

Hatakes are territorial of their pack so if anyone messes with their pack when they can’t handle it you are going to wake up with your throat being ripped apart from Hatake teeth

Having a Hatake and Uchiha couple might be a pair made in shinobi heaven if I think in that sense

Fear them

Kakashi gives head pats like it is free candy

Everyone decided to have the Hatake clan symbol on them to place a barrier between them and other warring clans because no one likes to mess with Hatakes (only dumb people do, aka, the political greedy people)

Oh wait I found my plot!

Sakura is still considered a civilian during this time, with no family name or any of that sort since, back then, a civilian was too poor to have a last name, so she, alongside Sai, are now Hatake. 

Since Hatake’s have a pack mentality they do have the occasion of adopting outside their clan and giving their last name, however, there have been very few cases in which a clan outsider is adopted into the Hatake. Usually, this is issued to the clan head of that clan and things will get sorted out. But, because Sasuke, Naruto, and Tenzo are time travelers, no one knows of them nor are they official in the clan registry they don’t do that. 

 Bastard children if you will, and while it's possible for both Naruto and Tenzo that is going to be difficult to tell with Sasuke and Obito

So they decided not to use their last names in such situations unless officially asked if they were of [instert clan here] and just said they are by blood

After all, last names are a claim so they are careful to say they are a Uchiha, Uzumaki, or Senju

Do they claim them?

I mean no?????

Let's say no

They are blood-related but do not claim name, claim blood, not name. If named they are shipped to the clan’s compound and goodbye pack member. 

NOT ON KAKASHI’S WATCH

Ok so, timeline!

I’m gonna make it about maybe a year or more before the death of Inzuma

Just because I can and because tension is still there

But not THE tension if you know what I mean

I want Tobirama to feel like something is wrong with the Chakra signatures floating around but I want Hashirama to know first what the actual problem is with the forest warning him about a pack he should not cross

Why the forest?

Because they feel another person with the forest within them

Aka Tenzo

Case and point

They find Sasuke first by accident

It was a patrol of Senju who found him and immediately didn’t know what to do but they had to capture the thing because obviously it was a Uchiha

They corner him and they are about to catch him when the trees start to move

At first, they think it's their clan head who came to trap him 

But no

The branches are capturing THEM and leaving the Uchiha alone

So now they are confused

Confused they see a man with short chestnut hair come out from nowhere, take the Uchiha into his arms, and warns them that they shouldn't mess with a Hatake cub

And

Disappears

They promptly freak the fuck out

I'll add more later and edit more of my other two ideas cus I can. Nice to do a break on the dcxdp fandom not gonna lie.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Poet on the Broadcast

This is another one based on a song; it's a more sappier side of Alastor. It was also written for a close friend, @willowaudreykeyes. They gave me this bittersweet idea in an RP that we are working on. I hope you all enjoy it! Song: Rule#46 - Poet By Fish Inside a Bird Cage

TW: AFAB Reader, death, self sabotage, hallucinations, poor living experiences, violence, Hurt-> Comfort

Time was a cruel mistress indeed, an unrelenting thief that snatched away the very things we hold most dear. With every tick of the clock, she mercilessly stripped us of youth, laughter, and loved ones, leaving only echoes in her wake.

You were no exception. You bore witness to Alastor's fall—the haunting shadow of his demise forever etched in your memory. The freezing winds whipped through the snowy woods as you ran, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. Hounds barked, their growls reverberating through the trees, a sinister chorus to the chaos all around you. Gunshots rang out like thunder, each a heavy reminder of the danger that lurked just behind you. Every breath felt like a precious treasure, stolen not just from you, but from the man you loved, who had been a light in your dreary life.

Time granted you fleeting moments of respite, allowing you to catch your breath as you evaded the hounds as your partner wished in his dying breaths. Yet, it also forced you to confront the harsh reality of survival, time and again brushing against death for the sins of your beloved. For the enemies he created and formed in the years he stood by your side.

You lived a modest life, flitting between the opulence of high society and the grit of the streets. Each day was a delicate dance, a balancing act between the world of privilege and the shadows of hardship. But with every birthday that passed, a bittersweet yearning filled your heart—a longing to reunite with Alastor. 

Then, just as that desire reached its peak, you closed your eyes letting time take you to the great unknown with the man you lost years ago. Except time no she is a cruel mistress indeed. You were awoken in a different body, younger, in a time that felt both foreign and familiar.

How cruel is time, to gift you this love only to rip it from your grasp again and again? How many lifetimes must you endure, each one marked by the haunting memory of him, always just out of reach?

In this second life, you became a PhD student, a mind lost in the pursuit of knowledge, but also a vigilante in the shadows of the city, fighting for those who had no voice. Yet, the memory of your beloved Alastor lingered, a ghostly echo of a man who was both psychotic and completely yours. 

As the years drifted by in this new existence, the lines between memory and imagination began to blur. Why had you been granted this second chance? Was it a blessing or a cruel curse? Was the vision of Alastor beside you, whispered in the dark, merely a figment of a child’s imagination, a way to escape the unrelenting horrors of your reality? 

As your birthday came and went once more, a darker fate awaited you. You found yourself thrust into a hellish red landscape, a cruel irony considering you had committed no sins. Roaming the streets of this infernal realm, you quickly adapted, your years spent fighting alongside Alastor sharpening your instincts, allowing you to rise swiftly within the ranks of hell.

Then, four years into your torment, you heard a broadcast that sent shivers down your spine. The Vee's were in an uproar, and you felt an inexplicable pull to the source of their distress. You tuned in, and the voice that emerged from the static struck a chord deep within you. It was a voice you had longed for, a melodic tune you remembered all too well—a voice that transported you back two lifetimes ago, when you would sit by the window at dusk, eagerly awaiting his return.

Could it be? That past life, once dismissed as mere fantasy, began to feel so so close to real. The stories he spun during that late-night special were ones only you knew the other half of, secrets woven into the fabric of your shared existence that you feared were long forgotten to time.

With your heart racing, you began to search for him, following the trail of his voice to a hotel for Hazbins seeking redemption. There, amid a myriad of misfits longing for a second chance, was a figure that made your heart leap—a deer demon who looked so painfully familiar yet foreign, a man shaped by the passage of time.

What is time, if not a relentless force that dulls the senses yet sharpens the soul? It is a cruel teacher, reminding us that every moment counts, that love, once lost, can sometimes be found again.

Driven by hope, you joined the redemption program, longing to get close to the man who resembled the Alastor of your memories. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and as a year slipped by, you found the courage to ask him the question that hung in the air like an unspoken promise.

“Are you Alastor, from New Orleans, 1920s, engaged to Y/N?” The question trembled on your lips, heavy with anticipation. You braced yourself for the lash out, for the fierce anger that had always danced in his eyes.

 It was the very fire that had once ignited your passion and fear alike. But instead of a storm, you were met with a soft, bewildered stare. The smile that tugged at his lips was both awe-inspiring and heart-wrenching.

“How do you know about Y/N? Answer wisely, or your screams will be broadcast next for all of hell to hear.” His voice was low, edged with disbelief, and for a moment, the deer demon seemed almost vulnerable—a rarity in any world you knew him in.

“I am Y/N…” Your voice quivered, a fragile thread of conviction woven with longing. You hoped he could see the truth in your eyes, but as his expression morphed from shock to confusion and then to a flicker of spite, you understood that time was still playing its cruel game.

“No, no, you aren’t! Otherwise, you would have found me ages ago!” He stalked over to you grabbing yout collar. He growled in frustration and his grip tightened around your throat, lifting you to eye level, his horns casting ominous shadows. “How dare you pretend to be her? Who told you about that part of my past? Who do you know?”

Steadying your breath, you summoned every cherished memory, every detail only you could recall. The words poured from your honey-coated lips like a sweet symphony, and as he slowly let you down, a fond smile broke across both your faces.

“Lastly, you thought it blasphemous that I would put ice, honey, and lemon in my tea when you made it for me, telling me I might as well not be drinking it anyway.” As you spoke, the memory unfolded like a picture book bare before you, and before you knew it, he had pulled you into a tight lasting embrace.

Was this it? Had time finally allowed you to win? Had you endured enough in this limbo of two unfair lives? This embrace realigned everything that had felt lost for so long, a warmth spreading through your very being.

“I waited for you! I waited for years—ninety long years, my dear!” His voice trembled with emotion as he produced a collection of scripts, each one a fragment of his past, a thread leading back to you. Stories from the early days to the most recent broadcasts, all crafted to help you find him.

“I’m sorry it took so long, Ali… I truly apologize. I would wait a million years to stand beside you. But I am not who I once was. I am broken, scared, and changed by the lives I’ve lived. Would you really want that beside you?” Insecurities threatened to seep into your resolve, but the deeper you delved into the truth of your rough pasts, the more you realized how time had shaped you both.

He looked at you, confusion etched on his face, and then he laughed—a sound free of static, pure and unfiltered. Gently, he pulled you closer, his sigh a whisper of shared pain and understanding.

“You are stronger than you know. When you’re ready to let that strength show, let me guide you. You have every right to be scared; I have walked those same shadowed paths myself. When you’re ready to let go, I will be right here. I will always wait for you.”

At his words, tears welled in your eyes, a torrent of emotions spilling forth. No matter the hardships time had imposed or the years spent apart, you recognized that this love spanned lifetimes—enduring, unwavering. If he was willing to wait for you, then you would fight for him, heart and soul, against the cruelty of time.

Thank you for the support, my Moons~

[whiskeyghoul]

With a stranger's kiss || [The worst!Logan x Reader]

A/N: Okay so this needed to be written. I am obsessed with the new song released by one of my favorite bands. I heard it and this idea for a the worst!logan fanfic just filled my head. So please enjoy the hurt and a little comfort. My first time writing Logan too so I am quite excited, though it might mean it is a little ooc.

Recommended listening: Hotel flamingo - Kelsy Karter and the heroines, Tangerine - led zeppelin

WC: 3,4K

Tags: angst, fluff, hurt comfort, logan, soft logan, the worst!logan, alternate timeline angst, strangers to lovers, wolverine x reader, maybe a bit ooc.

Warnings: mentions of death

Your pov.

You were sitting at the bar on a Saturday night. Music was loud, people were chattering carefree. It smelled like beer, fruity mixed drinks and mingled perfumes. There was a highball glass in front of you, condensation on the outside dripped down. The wet stain on the napkin grew ever bigger as you stirred the drink with the straw. You leaned your head on your hand, absentmindedly staring into space. There to heal a broken heart that had left you feeling empty the past few months. Needing a distraction and willing to give it a try tonight.

You had known before going into a relationship with Logan that it would end in tragedy. He was much older, rougher, beaten down by the world around him. The first weeks of knowing him he was angry. Angry at the hand life had dealt him. It was attractive in a way, you wanted to see why this man was so bitter. See if he was able to warm up. He managed to open up to you eventually, your constant prodding and incessant need to be close to him. It weakened his defenses. It turns out he was kind too, flirty, funny at times. You remember the late nights together with him, listening to his heartbeat as you laid together. Silent, needing nothing more than each others company. His hand trailing absentminded patterns on your skin. How he’d kiss your temple, murmuring sweet nicknames and affectionate compliments. Which you gladly returned. Running your hands through his hair, kissing his jaw as you whispered into the intimacy of the night. He was everything to you. And then you lost him.

Wade had tracked you down afterwards, wanting more information on your late lover, to track him down as he said. Which at first had caused you much distress. Angry at Wade for even bringing up the idea. Logan wouldn’t do that to you. Not ever. You remember how the emotions ran its course, grief running its course again. How hot tears rolled down your cheeks as your throat closed. That was a few days ago. You had calmed down again but needed a change of scene. Your apartment was filled with memories of the past. The bar was close to Wade’s place, it was one of the few that played the classic rock songs you loved so much. You had asked Wade to come out but he never had responded. Probably on some weird mission that deserved all his attention. Though you hoped he would show up, so you wouldn’t be alone. Drinking your sadness away, pretending to be fine when in reality you don’t know if you ever could be fine again.

The ice in your tequila sunrise clinked as you raised the cup of the bar. Taking a few big sips, downing the drink in one go with a sigh. Placing the glass back down with a thunk. “You always put away drinks like that, sweetheart?” A familiar, deep voice spoke up maybe 2 seats away from you. You looked over, a familiar face, younger than you last saw him. His hair wasn’t enveloped by the salt and pepper yet, with those little peeks you had only seen in old pictures of Logan. Kitty ears, as you had called them. His arms flexed under a flannel shirt. A cigar, unlit, held between the fingers of his left hand as his right held a glass of whiskey. Logan. Maybe it was the alcohol, or you were dead and this was heaven. Maybe it was a cruel joke played by the universe. But it was him.

No. no. This wasn’t real. This was a delusion. A grief filled hallucination conjured up by the worst parts of your brain. A liquor filled haze that would have you end up in the bathrooms in 10 minutes if it went south. Though this was just your second drink, and your vision was crystal clear. “Only when I have a reason to drink.” your voice was a little choked as you answered him. Feeling that if you kept staring, with no answer, he would think you were crazy. Locking eyes with the man across from you there was a sadness, a loneliness in his eyes. This wasn’t Logan, but he looked a hell of a lot like him, sounded like him. “What’s the reason today?” His voice didn’t carry too much over the music but you were so tuned in to him you could hear him perfectly. As if your body moved on its own you stood up from the high seat. Taking two steps closer. You watched his eyes flicker over you, a moment of something else in those hazel eyes, his lips part as if he was about to say something else before closing them. Swallowing away whatever he had almost confessed. “Life has never been this hard.” You answered as you sat on the chair next to him. Offering a wry smile to him which he returned with a somber nod.

“Even for the prettiest girl in the bar?” His words were sincere, not the empty compliments that you had heard from men before. His eyes held yours with intent, like he was searching for something. Maybe you were looking for something in him too. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, before using that movement to take the whiskey glass from his grip. “Even for her.” you answered as you took a sip, letting the familiar taste shock your senses for a moment. The burn, the warmth, the smell, it was all a memory of him. “What about you, does the most handsome man always drink by himself on a Friday night?” You asked as you placed his drink back for him, your lipstick stain adorning the rim. Though your fingers loosely stayed around the cold glass. “Not just Fridays.” His answer was short as he picked up the glass. Fingers barely brushing yours as he took it. Calloused, large, but gentle. He wasn’t a hallucination, he was physical, real. Following his movement you watched as he put the lipstick stain to his lips, sipping from the same spot. An indirect kiss.

There was a moment of electricity, a connection between the both of you. Two strangers who were so familiar to one another. “Well then, please let me hold you company.” You waved to the waiter, motioning for another round of drinks for the both of you.“I won’t mind that.” He said placing his now empty glass on the bar. It was only a few moments before the new drinks were placed in front of you on the bar. Taking the cold glass in your hands you raised it, “To two people drinking alone, together.” you said with a soft smile. He returned your smile, just the barest uptick of the corner of his lips. “I will cheers to that, sweetheart.” The way he said it, sweetheart, it made your heart ache. The roll of the r, the lilt in his voice as it dipped slightly lower. You heard it so many times, yet you never got your fill. Quickly, you took a sip of your drink, hoping the cold would bury the feelings of sadness under them. Like a layer of snow covering the ground, preventing sprouts until the time was right.

“Someone used to call me that a lot. Sweetheart.” You confessed to him, a morose chuckle leaving your lips. Not knowing why the words bubbled up. They left your lips before you could think them through. “That why you drinking alone?” He asked, as he leaned a little closer. A waft of his cologne crashing into your senses. Like a wave enveloping you, leaving you under the surface, weightless. “One of the reasons.” Another sip of your drinks as you held eye contact. His stare was heavy, he wetted his lips with his tongue before he spoke. “We must be in a similar boat then.” He shifted in his seat, ever so slightly closer. “I moved away because I lost a lot of people. You remind me of the girl I used to call that all the time.” That confession caused another ache to shoot through your heart. He was a little broken, like you, losing the person you loved most. His eyes drifted away from you and to the cigar in his hand. “I’m heading out for a smoke. Join me.” he nodded his head towards the door. Shifting and standing up, you took your drink in your left hand ready to follow him out through the crowd of bodies that separated the bar seats from the door. You felt his hand take yours, chilled finger tips from his drink, looking up to see the cigar already between his teeth, the whiskey glass in his right hand. You thought he winked before quickly turning. An image that would be forever burned on to your brain. He was pulling you through the mass of people, and out into the night.

The outside air was cold compared to the inside of the bar. The smell of weather turning in the air, like at any moment the clouds could break and rain could soak you through. The moon peeked through the clouds every so often. The music is still audible though ever so slightly muffled. Your drinks were placed on the table near the bouncer. There were other people outside, leaning against the brick wall as they talked and smoked. The neon flamingo sign lit the surroundings in a pink hue. Standing with your back against the brick you watched him pull out a lighter, taking a flame to the end of the cigar and inhaling the smoke. Breathing out you watched as the tendrils faded into the night sky. Eyes lingering on his lips, wondering if they would feel the same. Your body was yearning for the touch of Logan, months without it, grieving the loss of him, it had been torturous. And now, a vision of the past that stood in front of you, close enough to reach out. He took another drag of the cigar, holding in the smoke for a moment before breathing out again. Tapping off the ash he held it out to you, quirking a brow up inquisitively. “I don’t smoke.” You said, a shrug of your shoulders as you wrapped your arms around your torso, it was colder out than you had thought. “What do you have to lose?” He urged with a smirk, looking down at you. The pink light casting shadows on the side of his face. Making him look more like the man you lost. You reached out, gently taking the cigar from his hand, fingers lingering a second too long.

You brought the cigar to your lips, breathing in, holding it a second and letting the smoke settle in your system. Your eyes fluttering close. It was just like when you used to kiss Logan, smoke and tinge of sweetness. Though he used to take great care not to kiss you immediately after taking a smoke. Because you would scrunch your nose, feign disgust, because you had been disgusted the first few times. Before getting used to the taste that was uniquely him. Opening your eyes again after a few seconds you blinked away the tear threatening to form. You exhaled, watching those wispy tendrils leave your own mouth. Your gaze locked on him, his expression was weirdly soft as he took you in, like he was burning your image into his memory. Or perhaps he was transported back to the past, to the girl he used to call sweetheart. Holding out the cigar for him you smiled softly, “Yeah, not for me.” you tilted your head, smile fading as you pressed your lips together. Holding back from letting sadness take over. He took the cigar back, eyes glancing at the lipstick stain left behind on the butt, “S’alright. It’s not for everyone.” his voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard the slight quiver in the tone. Emotion taking over. Watching as his Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed away the feelings.

He took another drag, lips pressed where you had left a mark for the second time that night. When his lips left the cigar you saw the tinge of red on his lips. Like how it would have looked when you had kissed Logan, it used to be his favorite shade on you. Instinctively you reached out, overwhelmed, “Sorry, you have something here.” your thumb connected with his bottom lip. As the rest of your fingers splayed out over his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against your skin. You wiped at the lipstick stain until he caught your wrist in his free hand. It was surprising, yet his hold was so gentle. His eyes bore into yours, “That’s okay, sweetheart, I don’t mind.” He said before moving your hand, pressing a kiss just below your thumb. It was tender, a fleeting moment, a living reflection of the past. His lips left just as soon as they had connected with your skin. Still, his grip on your wrist didn’t loosen, he lowered your arms together, to hang between you. As if a bridge connecting two islands. “Was that too far?” He asked. You shook your head no, though it was barely a shake. If he hadn’t been staring you down he might not have even noticed it. “Not at all.” You said softly. He nodded his head, as if to say ‘good.’ before taking the last drag of his cigar. Letting the small stub fall to the ground. Stepping on it to put it out.

The music changed inside. An all too familiar melody started playing. Tangerine. You let out a choked laugh, the irony not lost on you. “You like this song?” he asked. You slipped your hand down, where he had been holding your wrist you were now holding his hand. “I think it’s pretty. Sad, melancholic but so filled with love.” Your fingers found their way between his. Running your thumb along the skin of the back of his hand almost absentmindedly. It was something you used to do quite often, not just a comforting gesture for Logan. It was almost self soothing, to feel his warmth at your fingertips. He hummed in agreement with your sentiment. Something about the scene in front of you made you think back to when you last heard this song, when you had danced together with Logan in the living room. Old songs playing in the background. You had leaned your head against his chest as he had held you close. His heartbeat mingled with the soft acoustics, the rumble of his voice whispering along to the song. Now that his mirror image stood there in the pink neon light, you couldn’t help yourself.

Pushing yourself off of the wall you stood closer, tugging on his hand to force him closer. He let you, a little too easy, so you looked up and stood nose to nose. “Dance with me?” You asked, peering in those hazel eyes, seeing the shift in his demeanor. How his eyes softened as he breathed in. “Anything for you.” His response was quick, easy, like he had said it a thousand times before. His left hand found its perch on your hip so effortlessly, his thumb stroking over the velvety fabric of your dress so carefully, like he had done so a million times before. You let go of his right hand, it quickly went down to your hip. You were letting both of your hands slip up his chest to his shoulders. Feeling the heartbeat under his skin for a moment before latching your fingers together behind his neck. Feeling the brush of the hair at his nape. He started to sway softly, as you stood almost chest to chest, the warmth radiating between the two of you. A coil formed around your heart, tightening with every sway, every small step you made together. Everything around you was falling away. All you could hear was the music. The only thing you saw was him. The only thing you could feel was his touch as the second verse set in.

Thinking how it used to be.

Does she still remember times like these?

To think of us again.

And I do.

Breathing in sync, he leaned slightly closer, his nose nudging yours. There was an edge of hesitation. His eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t seem to find. A brief second, before he sighed and created a little more distance, looking almost defeated. You wanted him to kiss you, even if it was just to see if his lips felt the same. If he kissed with the same hunger. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, “I can’t. ‘Cause you aren’t her. Even though you are just like her.” You closed your eyes, taking in the words you knew were true for the both of you, leaning into his touch. “I know, Lo…” the name slipped from your lips like it was nothing. Because every neuron, every fiber in your body was saying it was him.

In that moment he stood just a little straighter, his touch on your forehead left. You opened your eyes. His were intense, on you, filled with devotion. Your name sounded from his mouth. It lay heavy between you. 

Tangerine, tangerine. 

Living reflection from a dream.

I was her love, she was my queen.

But now a thousand years in-between.

The hands behind his neck unclasped each other, your fingers raking through the soft, short locks at his nape. Realization dawned. A tear escaping your eye, just the singular one as a sad smile was on his lips. “You’re not really him, are you?” you didn’t want to ask, but you had to know for sure. Wanting to live in this moment where you were back together, just a glimpse of what was. “I am. Just not yours, just like you aren’t mine.” Logan’s right hand cradled your face, thumb wiping away the tear that had rolled down your cheek. A similar soothing motion you had done just moments prior. Leaning into his touch your eyes stayed on him, catching every expression, every little look and emotion. “I wasn’t gonna look for you, didn’t think I could handle seeing you.” He said softly, “But when I saw you, with pain in your eyes, I couldn’t help myself. I never could help myself around you.” He continued, stroking your cheek continuously. Soft motions, keeping you grounded, his grip on your hip tightening ever so slightly. A barely there twitch you wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact you were completely engulfed by him. Like he was afraid you weren’t real. Like you could slip away at any moment. Just like you couldn’t fathom him being there.

The pain you felt when you saw him for the first time soothed with the knowledge it was Logan. Not yours, like he had said. But a version of him that had loved a version of you. You had both lost each other, and for some inexplicable reason, had found each other again. A little more broken. A little more weathered. But a little lighter too.

“In this moment, you could kill me if you wanted to. I would be happy, just to have been able to see you again. Something I never thought would happen.” You spoke up, “In fact, for a moment, I thought this was heaven.” Logan let out a soft chuckle at that. The idea of a bar, filled with drunk people chattering, being heaven was a strange thought. But it felt like heaven. And so did being outside in the cold of the night. “I thought I saw an angel, too.” There was a slight humor in his tone. His smile is a little lighter, a little sweeter. It was infectious. Biting the inside of your lip, holding back the smile. “Would I be a terrible person if I asked to kiss you anyways?” You asked, knowing he had pulled away before. His gaze softened as he searched your eyes again. “You could kill me if you wanted to.” he echoed your words, your sentiment. 

The moment felt weightless as he leaned in. Hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head. Tilting your head gently. Your eyes shut automatically. The soft press of his lips against yours followed. It was so gentle. Sweet and smokey. Filled with regret, pain, loss, passion, love. Your hands slid to the front of his shirt. Holding on to the soft fabric. His left hand squeezed your hip just a little more. You pulled away for a moment, a smile spreading as you watched him. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”  He laughed, short, but genuine. A melodic sound that made your heart skip. “Nice to meet you too, sweetheart.” He said before his lips found yours again. Letting yourself melt into the feeling. There was a lot that needed to be figured out. Or explained. But you could do that later. When you would both be getting to know each other again like it was the first time.

A fresh start with a familiar stranger’s kiss.

[starzzmissthesun]

i think you should totally drop whatever hc/ideas you have lying around honestly...i would love to see more into ur brain...pls <33

:DD

Hi!!!! Sorry this is a little late, I got so distracted with an animatic im working on(😈) and then a stupid essay😭😭 being honest rn... Almost all of what I've been thinking about is my fic.. 😔

But!! I can still go a little into that without spoilers. I've finally figured out The Perfect ending for this story that I feel fits with the overarching themes I wanted to tell. I've been making sure that every little detail fits with the themes I wanted to show, I wanted it to overlap Regulus and barty's characters and their overarching themes with PD. I also didn't want to just replicate PD cause I feel like that doesnt have the depth or commentary I want to out into it. Idk ive always thought it's super fun to put everything as some sort of symbol or metaphor or foreshadowing. I'm like literally so close to being done drafting and then I can actually talk about it a little more😭

Anyways! I've also been thinking about barty post regs death 😔(when am I not) But more specifically how every memory he had would almost be tainted, everything now would have an air of questioning and unsureness. Even memories where Regulus isn't there, just wondering where was he? What was he thinking? Am I remembering this right? What could've I changed? What was the domino that caused all of this to happen? Eventually finding it hard to accept the way it really was, having the "I guess it was" and feeling it, but overintellectualizing it. His logic and reasoning is his downfall in this situation, that's what makes him go crazy. (Side note I NEED to make a little post about his intersection between intelligence and madness) Hes doing a complicated version of when there's a task that seems so simple that you think it's a trick, but it's not, it's just that. What happened with Regulus was just that.

Also, I've recently self reflected and realized that a lot of my barty characterization is similar to how I think of Leonard Cohen's art(who I LOVE LOVE LOVE) Idk if you've listened to him or read any of his work, but I HIGHLY suggest it, it's perfect for fall. Anyways, a lot of his songs and poems carry themes of having a twisted self image, not completely self deprication though it may seem, but something else. It's closer to understanding and knowing that you are. Different. And unconventional. It's an uncomfortablility he has with himself. Being soemthig twisted from what you should've been. A lot of his stuff is also to do with tragically losing someone, out of their own choice, and still feeling very loyal yet bitter. Also of loving something so much that it turns dark, or it goes too quick, it spirals. Also his love songs are very barty's perspective on bartylus to me. And like, obvious war mentions. I could give some specific recs similar to barty or them if you'd like.

Another thing is of Regulus and his relationship with his dad. Though I see it completely reasonable if his dad was just kind of, not there and neglectful, it could give very interesting implications to his character, I like it the other way around. Orion seeing what a more carefree attempt at raising a child does and keeping Regulus even closer than he did before. I think Orion always liked Regulus more, despite him being the second, because he was a model son. I don't think he wanted this life or even to have kids, so Regulus being so complacent and in line with what he was supposed to be as a pure blood made him the decided favourite(as much as he could have one). He was always keeping a close eye on Regulus and he could feel it, but he didn't do anything out of place anyways. Orion could tell when he was even thinking something he wasn't supposed to. I believe that, no matter how much she tried, walpurga was too caught in her own head about her duty as a mother to see S+R as anything other than Her Kids, as property that she was supposed to care for and tend to, she obviously loved them, but couldn't see through them. But Orion was there around every corner looking through regulus' eyes into his soul to search for any thing out of his perfect kid.

Anyways.... That's all I can think of rn😭 but if you have questions about ANY of them lmk!!! I love yapping about my little thoughts 😁😁

[peachyfnaf]

I'm sorry but "MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS WITH A DISORDER<3" really made my day and I needed you to know

🤣🤣🤣

I can't believe Nexus is bullying peepaw war criminal.

Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?

(Please talk about baby cringe Lord Nexus, I want to hear about your blorbo 🙏)

That's because Nexus IS my beautiful princess with a disorder, I'll have you know <3 they're diseased but it's okay I can give them their tetanus and flu shots and it'll all be better I GOT THIS

But. ahem, okay, blorbo yapping time. I'm not even gonna say "I'll try to keep this short" because I know it wont end up that way HAHAHAHAHA

"Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?"

I... have absolutely no idea!!!1! (and also it took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize peepaw war criminal was Ruin KJDFHSDF)

The most frustrating thing about canon Nexus is how his morals, motivations, and goals seem to see-saw back and forth all the time. at first, he became how he is now due to Solar's death. he spiraled in his grief, identity-issues, and abandonment. but... now his motivation is to become an all powerful god??? while it's most likely that NSP is at play and affecting his thought process, it's... well, it's really hard to take him seriously as a villain because of it, lol. for an audience to enjoy, and even sympathize in some cases, with a villain, their goals and motivations have to be concrete. they have to be relatable, or at least understandable, but Nexus' whole thing is... not, Imho. and I know I'm not the only person who feels this way!!!

I see a lot of people calling Nexus "cringe", and the thing is, when it comes to canon Nexus, they're not really... wrong??? The worst thing Nexus has done so far is make Old Moon see his past victims, which is fucked up of him to do, but.. so far, that's kind of it??? other than that, his "villainy" consists of saying empty threats and cheesy evil one-liners. hell, he was supposed to kidnap Sun yesterday but instead spent the whole episode yapping and venting to him, chasing Sun around in the worlds darkest game of tag before getting some lead right in the face dkfjhsdfsd

Also, notice how he's only targeted Old Moon when it comes to actual physical violence? not Lunar, Earth, Solar, or Sun, but Old Moon? yeah, I did too. we already know that Nexus does everything because he's lashing out, but as of rn the only target he's gotten his hands on physically being O.M...? well. I think it says a lot. cause' yeah, he sure as shit scared the life out of the other Celestials, but he's never put his hands on them!! the only other one of them he harmed physically was Earth- and not only was he not aiming for her, she was just in the way- he felt immediate regret for his actions once in space, and has yet to even see Earth ever since that day.

So, I really have no idea if he's going to be "redeemed" or not. one second he's showing signs he might be, and the next he's falling further down the "pretty badly written villain" rabbit-hole. if he does get something akin to a redemption arc, he'll prolly mostly be accepted in the eyes of the viewers, considering a lot of peeps sympathize or at least understand where he's coming from, but I seriously doubt the other Celestials would take him back. the only one's who might see him as family/a close friend again are Sun and Solar, but even then, nothing would ever be the same.

I hope he gets redeemed, or at least freed from the hold Dark Sun has on him and he's able to live his own life, I really do. at his core, Nexus is a good person. a good person who was crushed under the weight of the shadow of the man he was born under. and we know this because he used to be New Moon. sweet, dorky New Moon.

New Moon, who made inventions like sentient knives and whoopee cushions. New Moon, who had matching My Little Pony stickers with his best friend. New Moon, who bought a whole ass island-luxury-house for Sun because he wanted to make him feel better and give him the proper space to heal. and New Moon- the poor freshly-baked A.I who gave his all to make sure he could do everything that Old Moon could, but it just wasn't enough. he tried and tried and tried, but it wasn't enough.

So yeah, idk if he's getting one in canon, but to me, he more than deserves a good ending, for the life he was given. let him be at peace.

[atriza]

Time is Ours

Yandere Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: Five Hargreeves becomes increasingly possessive of you as his only anchor in a chaotic world filled with time travel, loss, and destruction. His obsession grows as he watches possible futures where you slip away, die, or love someone else. Unable to bear the thought of losing you, he constantly appears by your side, disregarding your need for space. His intensity escalates, revealing a darker, desperate love fueled by the need to keep you with him forever, even if it means bending time itself. Five refuses to let anyone take you away, seeing you as his only salvation.

Word Count: 812 words.

**Content Warning:**

This story contains dark and potentially distressing themes, including obsessive behavior, violence, manipulation, and psychological distress. It portrays a relationship that is unhealthy and toxic, where one character exhibits controlling and possessive tendencies that lead to extreme actions.

If you are sensitive to these themes or find them triggering, please consider skipping this story.

Have Fun Reading!

Five Hargreeves had seen the world burn a thousand times. He had witnessed the end of everything. But nothing terrified him more than the idea of losing you.

You were the one constant in his chaotic existence, the only person who understood him — or at least, the only one who tried to. In a life filled with death, time travel, and broken family ties, you were the only thing that felt real. The only thing worth protecting.

And that’s why he had to make sure you stayed by his side.

It started with small things. Five would appear wherever you were, no matter how much distance you tried to put between you. If you were in the kitchen, he’d teleport in, grabbing a cup of coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world. If you were out running errands, he’d suddenly be beside you, hands in his pockets, offering to walk you home. His presence was always there, always lingering, as if he couldn't bear to let you out of his sight for too long.

At first, you thought it was just him being protective. Five had been through so much, and you understood that his past had left him scarred. But as the days passed, his behavior grew more… unsettling.

One evening, you were sitting in your room, reading, when you heard the familiar zap of his teleportation. Without looking up, you sighed, “Five, you’ve got to stop popping in like this. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

But when you did glance up, something in his expression stopped you cold. His green eyes were darker, more intense than usual. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t cracking a sarcastic comment like he usually would. Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Why do you keep avoiding me?” His voice was low, controlled, but you could hear the tension underlying it.

“I’m not avoiding you, Five,” you replied, though your voice wavered slightly. “I just… need space sometimes. Everyone does.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, as if the very idea was absurd. “Not you. Not from me.”

He moved swiftly, closing the distance between you in an instant, his hand gripping your wrist tightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you realize he wasn’t going to let go.

“I don’t need space,” he continued, his tone almost pleading, though there was an undeniable edge of possessiveness. “I need you here. With me. Always.”

You pulled back slightly, your heart racing. “Five, you’re scaring me.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but the intensity never left them. “You don’t understand, do you? You’re the only thing keeping me grounded. Without you, I—” He paused, his grip tightening. “I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere, but—”

“I’ve seen every possible future,” he interrupted, his voice rising with frustration. “Do you know how many times I’ve watched you slip away from me? Die? Get taken from me?” He was pacing now, his agitation growing with every word. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to watch you love someone else?”

You froze at his words. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve lived lifetimes without you,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I’ve seen the future where you leave me. Where they take you. And I won’t let it happen. Not again. Not ever.”

“Five, you can’t control everything—”

“I can,” he snapped, turning toward you. “And I will. I’ve seen too much. Lost too much. You’re the only thing I have left.”

His confession was raw, full of desperation, but it was the intensity behind it that terrified you. This wasn’t love. This was something darker. Something far more consuming.

“You think you can just leave? Walk away?” He laughed, a bitter sound that sent chills down your spine. “No. You don’t get it. We’re connected, you and I. Time is ours, and I’m not letting anyone or anything come between us.”

“Five, you can’t just keep me here,” you said, trying to reason with him, your voice trembling. “This isn’t right.”

“Isn’t right?” He echoed, stepping closer again, his hand reaching up to cup your face, almost tenderly. “What’s not right is the world without you in it. What’s not right is losing you. I’ll protect you, keep you safe from everything and everyone that could hurt you. You just have to stay with me.”

You swallowed hard, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Five, I—”

“I’ll make sure no one can take you away,” he whispered, his face inches from yours, his voice like a cold promise. “I’ll make sure you’re always mine. Forever.”

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. And maybe, in his fractured mind, you would.

“Time bends for us,” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck. “It always has. It always will. You’re the only thing that matters. The only one who understands me.”

As you stood there, trapped in his embrace, a sinking realization set in. Five Hargreeves wasn’t just obsessed with you — he was willing to bend time itself to keep you with him.

Forever.