#i tried writing some drabbles

[mixed-kester]

my three DPSes with the one support they all have in common

team: Kaeya, Keqing, Wanderer, Xingqiu tags: @zhongrin @meimeimeirin @ansy-tea

a/n: why the hell does tumblr not have two blue colors?

holy shit this team is...something. on battle, kaeya makes a good burst support along with xingqiu. keqing and wanderer fight for the onfield time, but they're both good at exploration.

off field, however...

kaeya ⇄ xingqiu = frozen

my first ever built DPS and support, oh where do i begin?

both friendship 10 as well, so they have a good relationship with me as their uh...handler, yes, let's use that word.

very good friends, brothers even. 

kaeya looking out for xingqiu when he goes on trips for rare books and xingqiu always being reliable in terms of that sweet sweet commerce guild discount in wine.

kaeya sees xingqiu as his little "brother of sorts", and is generally lighthearted at his pranks. 

he even pranks back. its all in good faith

"And so, our valiant hero now faces his final dilemma; will he save the family he was bound to by blood, or follow his friends who he deems his saviors?" Xingqiu writes triumphantly, his hands trembling from the hours he spent writing on paper. He rubs his red eyes, staining his face (and the mattress) with ink, and reclines back on his makeshift pillow-chair.

"Oh, still awake, i see? Now, our dear Esther wouldn't like that." Xingqiu looks behind to see Kaeya standing at his door, very tall, and sounding very deprived of sleep.

"You're one to talk, sir Kaeya." he would say back... but, Kaeya looks like he's not in the mood for banter.

At a loss on what to do, Xingqiu points to the chair on his bedside. "Bad dream?"

Kaeya doesn’t respond, but shuffles over and sits beside him.

"What do you want me to do?" "Hmm... how about you tell me all about the book you're writing?"

"Okay, but only a sneak peak! This is supposed to be secret.”

I'm worried about you.

keqing ⇄ xingqiu = electrocharged

respectful.

mainly because Xingqiu is like oH MY GOD THE YUHENG???? OH SHIT I GOTTA ACT LIKE A PROPER BOY (he isnt)

keqing is like that one family member who you don't know much about but somehow knows a ton about you and buys a shit ton of gifts to compensate for lost time.

except the thing Keqing isn't compensating for is lost time.

it's her appreciation.

This is the sixth rare book he has gotten this week.

The Man Who Stole the Lone Star is sitting in his desk.

The third volume of Vera's Melancholy, and supposedly the same series which perished amongst the flames of that one big library burning, is in his table.

Xingqiu dares not to touch the book. Besides the obvious, the book's cover is well cared for, the pages in mint condition.

Someone paid a fortune to send this to me, he thinks. But who? Everybody's best sense when acquiring a rare book is to sell it for the people who want it, isn't it?

"Has anybody seen Keqing?" Xingqiu hears Esther asking downstairs. Keqing is missing?

"She went out. Something about books." The blunt voice of the Wanderer answered his question.

"Huh. Oh well, you're up, Wanderer. I need someone to get 24 more Cor Lapis." Esther's voice turns icy.

"Are you sure it has to be me?" Wanderer asked icily.

Silence. Xingqiu coughs loudly.

"...fine, let's get this over with. That old hag better be with me." He grumbles.

Lady Keqing...hmm. Nah, she can't have. Xingqiu shrugs and lounges on his couch, finally reading the new book. Ah, that old book smell.

She might not even know me outside of battle.

wanderer ⇄ xingqiu = swirl: waves

where do i begin with this.

ever since the Wishing incident, I didn't pair him up with wanderer in fear of some kind of PTSD triggering him.

surprisingly, though, i found them together once outside the dinner table together. xingqiu's...cutting his hair.

of course, both of them denied it ever happened.

"E-Esther! Why are you still up?" Xingqiu snaps up, hiding the scissors behind his back.

"Excellent question."

Esther found the Wanderer and Xingqiu in a spare room. They found the Wanderer wrapped up in one of Xiangling's aprons, sitting and his hat off. Xingqiu is concentrating on his hair, trying to cut it as straight as he can. Without a mirror.

Well, was concentrating.

They walked forward, seemingly not seeing a very red Wanderer, and yanked Xingqiu's arm, showing an everyday scissor with indigo strands stuck in it.

Esther looked at it in dumbfounded silence.

"...stay here."

They left just as quick.

Xingqiu dared not look at Wanderer's very, very steely gaze at him, suddenly becoming very interested at his modest, worn out shoes.

Are they angry at me? Am i kicked out? WIll my artifacts be given away and tossed to the-

He feels the scissor being taken from him and....replaced with another scissor? Xingqiu looked up and saw Esther looking sheepish.

"You should have told me. Ah, no, scratch that. This guy over here will threaten you not to." They glare at Wanderer. He scoffs.

"It's good that i found you both actually, because you'll be transferred to him. Not permanent." They added hastily after Xingqiu looked shocked.

"Also, Wanderer. Treat him well. He's your senior. That good?" They looked down and smirked in Wanderer's face. Xingqiu can't see it from his angle, but he imagined that he looks very very angry.

"Fine."

"Alright, go to bed, both of you. The night is young, and the rain howls outside. Good night." Esther straightens up, nods at Xingqiu, and then leaves the room with a soft slam on the door.

An awkward silence fills the air. Xingqiu still stares at the door, at a loss for words.

...

"What are you waiting for?" Xingqiu snaps out and sees the Wanderer glaring at him.

Xingqiu straightens up and nods.

I'll try my best.

keqing ⇄ kaeya = superconduct

good friends.

initially, i was worried that they won't hit it off, but they do, fortunately.

i guess working with the public has its own problems, and having someone to relate to outside of work must be relieving.

keqing is frustrated about kaeya's "laziness", and kaeya feels like keqing is too fast and endlessly toils with her work

he got her to drink one sip of wine to relax, and it somehow devolved into drinking a whole bottle.

"They..they benched me!" Slamming her fist on the table, Keqing sniffles and downs another gulp of wine.

“They didn’t,“ Kaeya assured her. For the fifth time.

This time was supposed to be for relaxation. 

“They told me themselves. You just have, and i quote ‘a very unique fighting style’.“ He now moves his hand to the vice-grip of Keqing’s hand on the wine bottle.

“Now, let go of the bottle.“ He tries to pry her hand off, but she swats it away. 

“...Nooooooooooo.“ Keqing’s eyes are unfocused as she tries to glare at him, but she sways, the chair creaking as she laughs bitterly. 

“You’re not acting like the Yuheng right now.“

“I don’t care.“

The glints of the shards of wine glasses on the table makes Kaeya’s eye flinch. 

I’ll clean that up later. Right now...

Kaeya catches her from falling. Keqing scoffs, yanks her arm away from his hand and drags her chair closer to him, each second punctuated with a sharp crunch.

“You don’t...understand.” She points at him accusingly. “You’re favored. I...”

Her frame shivers as Keqing tries to wipe the tears away from her face. He looks at her.

“I’m unwanted. Do...you don’t know how it feels.” She now curls up on the table, heaving and sobbing. 

He reaches for another wine bottle.

I do. 

kaeya ⇄ wanderer = swirl: blizzard

Seemingly neutral.

Everybody who has been near 20m from them knows this not to be true. 

Kaeya’s banter with Wanderer has always been loaded with snarky double meanings and with more sass than ever before.

Wanderer’s, however, has been more brutal and more contemptuous than the previously mentioned team members. 

It’s like they despise each other or something...

"Ah, but you see, our dear Esther needs me to read these books in order to improve my skills properly." Kaeya drawls out, not-so-subtly showing off his newly made Amenoma Kageuchi in front of a seething Wanderer.

You see, Esther made the very wise decision, Kaeya thinks, to adorn him with a crown for reaching the pinnacle of his Elemental Skill. He will be the first one to be crowned.

Ever.

"That's fine. But don't you think they should crown someone as eminent as me? I mean," Wanderer scoffs, clearly not fine with it. "I have utility off the battle. I can fly, but you can only run."

"And what is that supposed to mean? Don't tell me that, oh, no, the ever grumpy Wanderer is...concerned about his role? I thought you learned your lesson already." Kaeya stoops down and raises Wanderer's hat.

He swats it away.

"Don't touch it. And no, I am not concerned. They clearly favor me before you, after all." He now glares at him straight in the eye, with absolute hatred hidden in lovely shades of purple.

"After all, what use does a Khaenri'ahn have on a team?"

Kaeya's eye widens. Wanderer laughs.

"You think you can hide it from me? The son of an Archon? I know who you are." Wanderer's voice now lowers to a deadly whisper.

The cavalry captain is silent.

"At a loss for words? No matter. This conversation served no purpose." Wanderer now straightens up and stares at his star-shaped eye.

If you ever betray them, I will drag you down to the abyss myself and enjoy tearing apart your limbs one by one.

keqing ⇄ wanderer = swirl: downburst

HERE IT IS, MY SHIP

Except no, at this period in time, this isn't a ship yet.

Wanderer has heard of Keqing's skepticism from the moment he stepped foot outside his room after... yeah, you'll see.

Esther warned him that some of her views are unorthodox for the people here, but he's more intrigued at the fact that a mortal is skeptical of the gods.

He has met many skeptics throughout his wanderings, but most of them border around "this god doesnt grant my wishes so i hate them."

Keqing is more concerned about other matters, though.

"Three condensed resin for Desert Pavilion, two resin runs for ley lines..." The Wanderer heard Keqing groan upstairs.

The house is silent, with the occasional snore of Esther as they sleep under the stairs, separated by only a silk screen.

Why they don't have their own room even though they're the owner, he never bothered to ask. They seem insistent on getting him his very own room, even though he insisted he's just passing by.

They think it's nonsense, even though i don't need rest.

He lounges on the couch, placing his hat on the floor. With nothing better to do, he goes upstairs to get a random book from the library.

"Wanderer. Why are you still awake?"

He looks behind to see the Yuheng, still as poised and tense as ever.

"I don't sleep. I could ask you the same question." He raised an eyebrow at her. She looked confused at first, but then remembered that he isn't human.

A reminder that I don't belong.

"Esther has relegated me the plans for your artifacts. Kaeya and Beidou will lead the team." She replies, hands behind her back and her voice as sharp as ever.

"Whatever. As long as they're out of my hair." Wanderer walked past her, no longer interested in reading a book.

He stops, seemingly thinking of something.

"How about we continue this downstairs?" He looks back on her.

She blinks. Then she nods.

"Might as well. I need to ask you a few questions."

Intriguing.

[catsoupki]

box me up until i spill | bkg x reader blurb

“what are you doing?” bakugou mumbles

“nothing, will you just go back to sleep?” you don’t look at him when you speak, but instead you focus all of your attention onto your current task

“well i can’t when you’re just making random metal clashing noises next to me, just get back onto the bed and leave it for later when we wake up again, it’s not that fucking urgent”

you take a deep breath, but with the way you roughly slam the spoons into the box that houses the forks, it sends a grimace onto his face. in turn, he rolls over from facing you and now the wall

“if you did this when i asked you to yesterday maybe i wouldn’t have to do it right now but you didn’t, so just wait two more god damn minutes and then you can sleep again okay?”

he sighs, and for a moment you think that he’ll keep his mouth shut and keep quiet for once, suddenly the utensils you’re organising feel cold and biting against your skin, they feel like they’re drooping and melting into putty right in between your grasp, and you can’t catch it

“can you just give it a rest?” he goes from facing the wall to sitting up, the curtains flutter slightly in the wind and it tussles his hair in a way that makes you want to cry

“no i can’t fucking do that! i’ve laid out my life right in front of you and i’ve given you myself yet it’s still not enough! you’re a hero who doesn’t get to sleep at night fine i get it! but i’m not any less important so don’t you ever go around and speak to me like that ever again! you promised me all those eight years ago in that basketball court the day we graduated, and you remember what i said yeah? if you did i’d fucking leave!”

all the work you’ve been doing the past ten minutes is rinsed down the drain, useless and helpless to end, the flailing of your arms has caused the box that stored all the metal utensils to fall onto the floor. chopsticks, spoons, forks and knives poke at the hardwood floor and at the edges of furniture, it doesn’t chip the wall, it chips your heart instead.

you’re tired, and even when you’re not dressed for the outside, in mere pyjama pants and a random shirt that you go to sleep in, you walk towards the door and leave the mess behind you

[magicxc]

Stay With You

Pairings: Trevante Rhodes x Black Reader x Aldis Hodge

Word Count: 1652

Warnings: double penetration, hand job, cream pies

BBJ Masterlist

“Y’all when I said let's go camping, I was thinking something along the lines of smores, maybe even a cute lil bonfire,” I ranted. “But to be out here in natures ass crack, the possible meal of a grizzly bear is where I draw the line. 

“Y/N, we’re in a makeshift tent in the backyard, I doubt a grizzly is making it this far into the city,” Aldis sighed. 

“And if he does, we’ll hear him,” Trevante added. 

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

“This is practice Y/N, you stay complaining like this on the real campsite and a grizzly will be the least of your worries.”

“Aldi, is that a threat?” I gasped. 

“No, it’s a warning, so take heed.” 

“Ohhh Aldiii, you giving out warnings now?” Trevante mocked. 

Deadpanning Tre, I look over to Aldis to assess what the problem really is. 

“Aldi, you know I don’t do the whole nature thing, but I’m legitimately trying FOR YOU." 

“You ain’t gotta try if all you gone do is keep complaining,” he protested. 

“I AM -“

“Hey hey hey y’all enough,” Tre interrupted. “Let's put a pin in it before one of us says something we can’t take back. 

Always the peacemaker that one. Trevante is quite literally the definition of lover not a fighter, whereas Aldis on the other hand is my little hot head. We tend to clash from time to time, but we’re learning which buttons not to push. 

He’s been begging us to go camping for a minute now and I finally gave in last weekend, opting to do this only if I could work my way up there. Tre is no more keen to do it than I am, but pushed those feelings to the side for all the times Aldis has been so willing to try something for us. I guess it didn’t help that I’ve been bitching since we crawled inside here. 

Sighing, I apologized for my earlier whining and creeped over to his side of the tent to seal it with a kiss. He accepts it with a grumble, but the scowl on his face tells a different story. 

“Baby, I am so sorry for not coming in here with an open mind and if you let me, I’ll have us all making noises a grizzly wouldn’t dare interrupt.”

I get a small smile in return, but it’s not the heart melting one I’m used to seeing. 

“Please, forgive me and come morning I’ll fix your favorite breakfast.”

“There are no stoves in the woods,” Tre reminded. 

“Right, well I’ll do whatever it takes to survive in nature,” I promised. “No soap, no toothpaste, just a knife and my killer instincts.”

A chorus of woahs follows from both men, Aldis urging me to relax, emphasizing the idea that living in nature surrenders the use of modern technology not hygiene. 

“Yeah well I’ll stay clean ONLY if you forgive me,” I bargained. 

Chuckling, he leans in and pecks me on the lips, formally forgiving my prior tantrum. 

“Moving forward, I don’t wanna hear no lip and you’ll do exactly as I say,” he demanded.  

Wrapping my arms around his neck I lean in for another kiss, mumbling a yes sir. Deepening it, I feel Tre’s palm run across my ass, caressing its curves in the softest way. 

Aldis’ arms wrap around my waist, pulling me in closer as his lips run over mine, trailing down to my chin, my neck, and stopping just shy of my breast. 

“Now, tell me more about those non interrupting grizzly noises,” he says through light pecks. 

Shuffling off the floor Tre gets behind me, locking me in between them, sprinkling his fair share of kisses along my back in agreement with Aldis. 

Turning so that my body faces forward, I rest my arms on the shoulder of each man; leaning firstly into Tre and then into Aldi to swap a little bit of spit. 

“Well, for starters we’d need less clothes.“

“Like this shirt for instance,” Tre proposed as he tugged it off me. 

“And these pants,” Aldis added, unbuckling them. “They don’t really serve much purpose do they?”

Shaking my head no, I help them shed the rest of the clothes by ridding myself of the remaining undergarments. Now in my birthday suit, I watch as each man's clothing finds itself in a pile next to mine. 

Tongue slipping between teeth and over my lips, I can’t help the jolt of excitement that washes over me as I ready myself for both my men. Leaning over to Tre, I sink my teeth into his skin as I suck on his sweet spot, no doubt leaving a hickey - eager to mark him in the sexiest way. 

He breathes out soft, shy pants and I reach down to grab his semi hard dick as I stroke it back and forth. Dribbles of precum ooze from the tip and I drag my thumb forward to smear it against his length, allowing me to jerk him off a little more smoothly. 

Tilting over to my left, I lean into Aldis and dip my head into the firm arch of his shoulder blade, peppering his jaw in open mouth kisses; spots of saliva left behind after each one. 

He then grabs my left breast, his mouth swirling around the hardened nipple as my head tips back at the delicious sensation, quiet mewling tumbling past my lips. Tre follows suit with my other breast, tweaking and kneading before taking the nipple into his warm mouth. 

Hand gliding down Aldis’ lap, I stop at his girthy member, tracing over each thick vein while I softly run my hand over his nuts. Bringing my hand to my face, I spit in the palm and return it back to his length, this time stroking him with ease. 

Breathy moans follow, but it comes out muffled around my nipple and I take this chance to speed up in pace on both men, hoping to see their creamy finish. 

“Tell me how good this feels,” I whimpered. “Matter of fact, cum for me so I know it’s real.” 

Heated lips run along my skin, tongues leaving wet trails in their paths while hands get entangled with limbs and moans get engulfed into the noiseless night. My body feels hot with desire, eyelids fluttering closed, and mouth ajar, I couldn’t tell who was doing what but my movements never ceased; eager to bring my men over the edge. 

Their heavy breathing becomes more erratic, my cooing and encouragement having them spill onto me as my hands come to a slow stop and I lick each fist clean. 

Grabbing the back of my neck, Aldis pulls me in for a kiss, thumbs spreading my lips open to taste himself. Pulling away, I turn over to Tre and dive in for another round of tongue twisting, saliva trailing down our chins as we pull apart. 

“On all fours Y/N, you know wassup,” Aldi directed. 

“Yes sirrrr, Tre you on the bottom baby?” 

“I’m wherever you want me,” he winked. 

Lying down on his back, he helps position me on top of him, dick in hand as he watches me slowly slide down his length. A heavy gasp leaves us both at the heated feeling of being connected. After we adjust, he gives me a lazy smile, mouthing a quick I love you to which I eagerly return it.

“Ready for me angel?”

“Go for it Aldi.” 

“I’ll be your genie, Y/N, every fucking day if you let me,” he confides, smearing his cum between my ass. 

“Your every wish would be my command,” he continued, entering first with his finger. 

“You’re my beacon of light honey,” he insisted, adding in another digit. “In an otherwise bleak and cruel world.” 

“You both reassure me that all is not lost,” he chanted, driving his fingers into me, the pace deliciously unwavering. 

“Y’all have given me the joy to call you guys family,” he admitted, removing his fingers entirely. 

“But this ass? Oh this ass Y/N is what I can call home,” Aldis ended as he thrusted to the hilt. 

No matter how many times he’s entered my backdoor, I can never get used to his sheer size. He always knocks the wind out of me and I find myself planted face first into Tre’s chest, his hands cradling my jaws as I seep back into reality. Sweet nothings are whispered into my ear but it’s the driving force of their dicks that fully reels me into the present. 

“There she is,” Tre snickered. “I got you baby girl, don’t you worry.” 

I barely recognize the sounds coming from me, my words now indecipherable, cockdrunk and drooling as they tear me apart. Aldis wraps his hand around my throat, drawing me in to plaster my lips with sloppy kisses while Tre takes a hold of my waist to drive his dick further into me, my pussy stretched around his dick as his tongue explores the shape of my neck. 

My fingers are embedded into skin, whose I don’t know, but the crescent shaped marks will reveal it sooner or later. Tongue sliding against Aldis’ while Tre’s fingers dance every which way across my waist and thighs, I can’t help the howl that escapes me; grizzly bear be damned, my body feels worked over past its limits. 

The peak that I hit seems never ending, my soul paralyzed and heartbeat accelerating, while everything around me ceases to exist. I come down just in time enough to feel them splatter my walls simultaneously which elicits a minigasm of my own. 

Loud, labored panting is all that I hear. Rough, calloused hands is all that I feel. Navy blue sky littered with twinkling stars is the view that meets me and I must admit that camping isn’t so bad after all. 

[howdygravytrain]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Prompt #19: Taken

i'm not a writer by any means, but i absolutely had to take part in the ffxiv write 2024 challenge. this drabble is super rough and i may come back and expand on it later, but i'm just happy that i managed to write anything at all :^3

here's the link to the fic on ao3 if you wanna check it out there, otherwise continue below the break! many apologies for spelling/grammar/whatever errors, i don't know how to manage time efficiently totally not obvious by sharing something a day later UwU

PROMPT: TAKEN

Premise: He knew Gravy would dance with others at the ball, but Aymeric can't help but feel taken with jealousy as he watched person after person steal a dance with his Warrior.

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

“You can just go up and dance with her, you know,” a voice said, having successfully interrupted Aymeric’s state of brooding and startling the poor elezen. Quickly composing himself, the Lord Commander turned to the perpetrator to apologize for appearing so glum, but his shoulders sagged in relief when he saw it was only Stephanivien. “I wasn’t joking, go on and ask the girl to dance before you glare everyone to death,” the eldest Haillenarte added, making Aymeric wince.

“Is it really that noticeable?” Aymeric stated more than asked, already knowing the answer.

“My friend, I had to convince Artoirel that you weren’t going to pull out your sword and skewer the next poor sod who asked Gravy’s hand for a dance!” Stephanivien exasperated dramatically with a wave of his hand. “I personally think it’d be hilarious if you did; it’d certainly bring more excitement to this absolute waste of time.” The machinist ran a hand through his blond hair and huffed in annoyance, his pale blue eyes scanning the room. “Ugh, this is the last time I let Art coerce me into attending one of these. He knows I have much to work on at the shop, I don’t have time to be stuck with these pricks and their hors d’oeuvres! And I have to wear this ridiculous garb that father insisted– ”

Aymeric tuned out Stephanivien’s ranting at that point and graciously accepted a glass of wine from a servant. He didn’t bother with a sip and threw his head back and downed the entire drink in one go, promptly returning the glass to the stunned server. His eyes trailed back towards the center of the dance floor and landed on the lone lalafell of the entire room…and the bastard she was dancing with. He couldn’t quite place who the man was, but Aymeric immediately disliked him for how Gravy obviously struggled to keep up with the elezen’s much longer legs.

The Lord Speaker frowned as he watched the Warrior try to tell her dance partner something, presumably to shorten his steps. He replied with yanking her harshly by the arm and pulled her up to his chest with a wicked grin, making the dancers around them gasp. Rage filled Aymeric as he marched his way to the pair, ready to beat the ever living shit out the fiend, but stopped a few steps short when Gravy, in all her gracefulness, slapped the man’s face with a resounding SMACK.

All noise immediately ceased in the ballroom as the man cried out in pain and dropped Gravy to clutch his cheek. She got up and nonchalantly dusted herself off as her dance partner’s companions came rushing to his aid. With one hand on her hip and the other pointed to wailing elezen, Gravy loudly said,

“That ain’t NO way to treat a person, ya pompous fuck! You oughta be ashamed of yerself!”

Aymeric stood there in disbelief as the ballroom erupted in laughter as the offender was dragged out before he let out a small chuckle himself.

[good-beanswrites]

I can't stop thinking of Kyanako's Order of Attack au... there's something so moving to me about how things getting so much worse could be what finally causes Amane to get better -- seeing Fuuta dying may be the final straw of getting her to rethink her rejection of medicine. Been a while since I've attempted something whump-y, this was fun to work with.

Tw for mentions/contemplation of death. I don't go into detail about the cult but the doctrines are implied through it all.

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying.

When he imagined his own death, he always pictured it as something dramatic and fast. Action heroes going out in a show of explosions and gunfire. Fantasy characters meeting the shining end of a blade. Even when he accepted his place in Milgram, it filled his mind with images of gallows and electric chairs. 

Whatever this slow, lengthy fever was, it was pissing him off. 

He’d lost all sense of time. He could no longer tell which hour the prison bells were marking -- morning and night blended together. Dreaming and waking blended together. His head injury and broken leg and broken bones blended together. It was all just pain at the end of the day. He had nonstop visitors that kept him awake and asked him too many questions and prodded his injuries and made his head spin. Somehow, he was simultaneously alone every time he rolled over to talk to someone. Painfully, suffocatingly alone. 

If Kotoko was going to kill him with those ridiculous emo boots of hers, she should have just done it. He was losing his mind here: devoid of all energy, suffering through broken bones and a cracked head, and boiling in an increasingly fiery fever. Maybe that was the reason he stopped commenting when he watched Amane pocket the medicine Shidou had left him. Maybe that was why he’d stopped following Shidou’s instructions himself. Even after losing an eye and taking a beating herself, Amane always looked at peace. He was tired of dealing with all of this. He wanted a bit of that peace.

Regardless of why, it was working. His fever had quickly gone from the biggest pain in his ass to the very thing that dulled his racing thoughts. 

He awoke suddenly, or maybe he’d already been awake. He couldn’t feel anything in his limbs. There was only a breathless heat around him. He raised himself into a sitting position, looking for a drink. Moving his head felt like one of those glitching computer windows that leaves a trail of copies behind it. The room swam around him. His eyes moved absently around him.

Fuuta picked up the glass that someone had left him. His fingers were clumsy, and it immediately went crashing to the ground. He hardly heard the noise as it broke apart on the concrete below. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d just go get a drink himself. Shidou told him not to get up without help. But what did he know? Thinking of the man ordering him around only drove Fuuta to step out of bed even quicker. He cried out, pain shooting through his leg. That was right, it was broken… 

Fuuta looked down, finding himself on the ground. It was so hot. Maybe this is what she felt, he thought numbly. Was it this slow for her too? Probably not. She had no regrets to fill the time like he did. The heroes got quick, beautiful deaths, and it was the villains who had to suffer the long ones. 

He lifted his right palm from where it had caught his fall. The shattered glass on the floor had cut into it. Shattered glass? What had broken? He stared blankly at the blood dripping down. 

He didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. He was burning. Why was he on the ground? Was he bleeding? He could barely breathe. What was he doing here, anyway? He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He was so weak... just to lie down... he wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. Was that such a bad thing...?

A voice caught his attention. His eyes struggled to focus on the figure who’d come running into the cell. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but he was happy when she pressed her cool little hands against his forehead. 

He allowed her to prop him up next to the bed. She held onto his hand, squeezing it tight. Why was she holding it like that? That hand was bleeding. When did that happen?

Her arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to shove her away -- it was too hot -- but couldn’t. In his ear, he could make out her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Fuuta. Don’t leave me alone. I’m so sorry...”

As she pulled back, he recognized Amane. Her uninjured eye was filled with tears. Was she upset? He thought he’d been making her happy. He wanted to keep making her happy. He’d never made anyone happy before. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. They all scrambled up in his mouth. He felt the cell swirling around him.

Amane raised her voice. She looked desperately upwards. “This can’t be --! This isn’t right!” 

Fuuta looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there. 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

She continued talking. Fuuta was too busy studying the ceiling. She was shouting. Or maybe crying. Fuuta didn’t like that she was so upset. Huh, had there been someone there? He surveyed the empty cell. What was he doing on the ground?

He looked down at his hand. The sheet from his bed had been pulled down and wrapped hastily around it. Why? His eyes felt sticky as he blinked. Everything hurt. It was so hot. What was going on? He was so angry. He was so scared. He wanted to cry. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just hurry up and die already?

The next time she entered, Fuuta recognized Amane instantly. Her one hand pointed to him, the other held onto someone else. The second figure hurried over to him. 

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying. Shidou reassured him he wouldn’t.

—

“You’re wearing the eyepatch,” Fuuta observed. 

He was playing a dangerous game, drawing attention to it like that. He was too exhausted, and his curiosity won out over his better judgment. If Amane was going to explode with one of her typical speeches, he’d just let her.

She didn’t. 

Amane’s hand drifted up to her eye. It had been hastily covered before, but now it was cleaned and wrapped in professional-grade materials. She simply said,  “Kajiyama Fuuta. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“But--”

“-- But I’m better, yeah.”

Amane nodded, her shoulders releasing. 

“Oi, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Shidou had told him what happened, but it was difficult to believe. He couldn’t quite trust his own memory of the night. No matter how much clearer his mind felt since receiving proper treatment, those days of fever still muddled together. He heard that Amane had up and switched her beliefs overnight -- she was now complacent about all of Shidou's treatments -- but Fuuta knew people didn't just change like that. He wanted to hear it for himself.

She lowered her gaze in shame. “I… I thought you hated me.” Her voice was steady. “As you should. I almost killed you. I accept any ill will you may feel.”

“I -- what? You’re wrong. You… it wasn’t…” He grabbed his head, grunting in frustration.

After standing awkwardly in the entryway the whole time, Amane took a few steps inside. She made it to his bedside when he finally collected his thoughts. 

“It was your fucked up family or whatever that caused everything. They did this. And I went along and made things worse.” He looked away. His next words felt stupid to say to a little kid. He felt like the most pathetic, weak, loser. But it was too important not to say.

“They almost killed me. You saved me.”

[2dayihaveaheadache]

I hear my heart breaking tonight

Guess who is back? Obikin RomCon AU, still inspired by Mitski lyrics, found another gem in my drafts...

(a movie still that may or may not have been the inspiration for the last scene :-)

AU prompt: Anakin is born in messed up circumstances, forced to travel from one city to the next, never forming any sense of real identity or feeling of belonging until they somehow end up in Tatooine, a town somewhere in Oregon - but that can't be it, can it? Is that all he can expect of life? That is until he meets Obi-Wan Kenobi, a boy two years his senior, so untouched by the bad sides of life, unreachable, that stands for everything that he can never have. An idolized love is born. But Obi-Wan deserves someone better than him, doesn't he?

(My roomate literally demanded for hours for Anakin's perspective on the happenings of "I glow pink in the night in my room" (here the original text if you are interested, it's not necessary to be read for this one) It turned into an expanded version with character study aspects (writer's anger I call it). Prepare for a long ride and a few TW unhealthy coping mechanisms, strong words, Anakin has anger issues and is need of a hug, seriously give the man a hug, and a steamy situation is mentioned. All thank my roommate for the idea and ENJOY!)

Anakin was six years old when the harsh realization of how fucked up his life is hit him for the first time. Fucked up, fuck, fucking, Life is shit. A cheap bitch with an open backdoor for every motherfucker. As an adult thinking back, these curses and slurs pass his mind. But back then, as an innocent kid, he might have not known them but til this day they express perfectly how he felt, rolling off his tongue with this perfectly burning sensation.

Fuck. It tastes as it feels. Harsh pronounced with a tad of spit to it, the k vibrating in the buccal cavity. Red-hot coal on his tongue.

Fucked up.

Sitting there on the terrace in their small backyard, his legs dangled over the edge, a crumpled tissue in his hands for his runny nose, it had hit him like a truck.

His 6th birthday was last week. A muffin on the breakfast table had marked the passing of another year in Oasis Spring. A cheap chocolate chip treat, that came bundled with others in the two-dollar section of the bakery aisle in the local supermarket. The muffins had smelled of lemon, not in a refreshing or natural way but in an annoyingly and excessively sugary manner, much like scented soap. The kind you find in tacky highway motels.

But his mother had smiled, so he had tried his best to smile too, forcing it onto his face. “Close your eyes, blow out your candles, and make a wish, Ani.”, she had said, “But don’t tell anybody or it won’t be granted.” He had nodded and then done as he was told, shut his eyelids, pursed his lips, and blown out his candles. Something inside him had halted. He hadn’t known what to wish for. Just one stupid wish. Something childish. Something other kids his age would wish for, but what did they actually wish for?

He didn’t know.

At the end of the day, what was there to wish for in Oasis Spring?

Six lit candles for another year stuck in the middle of the desert, six candles for more midnight microwaved lasagna dinner with plastic forks, country music, and fight at the breakfast table, six candles for more barking dogs in the neighboring backyards and the clinking of bottles next door, six years candles for another year closer to sweet sixteen and the taste of his first canned beer, six candles for being stuck here just like anybody else.

So, there he sat, a week later, barefoot on the terrace of their cookie-cutter tract house, with a runny nose and cargo shorts that barely covered his bruised knee. A band-aid had been plastered over it, carelessly, already peeling off. His skin itched, scratched from falling onto the sandy asphalt all day. He rubbed with his fingernails over the wound gingerly, careful to keep sand out of the scratch just like his mother had taught him. “You don’t want it to get infected.”

He was six and still not able to ride his bike properly. Shame tinted his cheeks and his eyes started to burn. Stupid training wheels. It was not his fault that here, in stupid Oasis Springs, all the roads were sandy and full of potholes.

And in this god-forsaken place, he would remain all his life, gradually becoming more and more like the others. The signs had always been there – the stale muffin with the floury dough for his birthday, the screaming adults inside doing “grown-up talk”, the bruises on his mum’s arm, the scratches on his knees. His life was a mess and he was stuck in it.

He was angry and at the same time he wanted to cry, so he pushed his knees up to his chest and swung back and forth, trying to calm himself down.

There was no one to console him. The other kids would only pinpoint at him and the adults were inside, the door closed, impossible for him to get in. His mum had sent him out to play like he was a toddler or a dog or some kind of pet. He scoffed angrily, wiping away his tears. She had knelt down to him, ruffling through his tousled curls, and told him that he should be a good boy now and go out and play with his friends – except he had no friends and she knew that.

He was too tiny for his age, all bones, and sinews, skinny like matchsticks, doe-eyed like a girl, always dressed in the same shorts and T-shirts from charity shops, and got his hair cut by his mum, which meant not at all or bowl cut at best. The curls reached down to his shoulders, and the ends were bleached by the desert sun, making him appear blond – like a stupid cherub or something. The kids at elementary school had dubbed him Tinykin. The perfect target to be made fun of. They grabbed him by the hair, rolled him over the asphalt (the one with the potholes) or stole his shoes – just as they had done today.

In the past, his mum had only smiled at him when she saw the bruises on his arms and legs. Bath day comes only once a week, Bathtuesday with lukewarm water and cheap shampoo. Sometimes he tried to avoid it, feeling ashamed of his marks, throwing a tantrum, and crying like a baby. Anything to escape her sad smile. Her treatment was always silent, almost mechanical. She never said anything and merely applied a band-aid over the black and blue marks, as if they would help anything. They never did, band aids were for open wounds, not bruised skin. But she felt better doing it, taking care of him. He recognized it in her eyes, so when he had to, he let her do it.

 Just for the sad smile to stop.

He found himself on the verge of crying ugly his doe-eyes out, which made him look like a girl, feeling rejected, put back into the role of a toddler, unable to communicate his pain, clenching his aching knee and thinking how fucking unfair the world was. It was not his fault he was born this way, with a girly face, with a mum that does only sadly smile, growing up in fucking Oasis Spring in Arizona, in the middle of the unforgiving desert, with grocery prices unpayable and no way to escape it all.

If he could, he would grab his bike and ride into the horizon just like the end in one of these western movies, he watched in the middle of the night when mum and the man they live with were absent – just with his bike and not on a horse. In some daydreams, he pictured himself with a cowboy hat, a smoke nipped between the lips, his plastic Nerf gun clicked to his belt like Terence Hill or Bud Spencer in “God Forgives… I don’t.”, a lasso coiled on his back, and a herd of cattle ahead.   

But of course, he was six and was not able to climb on a bike properly. He was chained to this place like a dog to its cage. A sob broke free from his throat. Fucking life. Never granting him anything.

Maybe he should have wished for that last week, the candles still burning in front of him atop his pitiful muffin.

He pulled his legs closer, hugging them like they were his only solace, much like he’d hold his stuffed bear at night. Maybe his mum was right with sending him out, he was behaving like a toddler, sniffing back tears with his eyes filled to the brim. Six years of age but still a tiny-winy crybaby inside. He will not cry; he told himself and clenched the underlip between his teeth, refusing to let the emotions take over. He was not a girl like his peers said he was. Not a Pussy like Bud Spencer or Terence Hill would say – or he imagine them saying.

So, he roughly wiped away the tears, that kept coming, and grimaced, feeling utterly ridiculous. Like an idiot with a painted face in the corner taking up space.

Inside the house, he could hear his mum’s angry shouts; followed by a loud thumb as if something had been thrown down to the ground. This time the fight seemed to be different. The arguments were typically loud and harsh, but never physically violent. The property was never damaged. The things they own were sacred because they only own so little. Shoes were worn until they fell apart and even then they were hoarded rather than thrown out. In this family, they seemed more inclined to hurt each other than their possession.

Later, the windows were shut, sealing in the noise, the screams, the world – leaving isolated Anakin outside.

The adults had forgotten about him. Anakin spent the night on the terrace, curled together into a ball, still barefoot with a runny nose, clinging to his clothes and shivering in the night’s sudden chill. Sleep did not come easy to him, it always slipped from his grasp before he could dive into it fully. No dream he could escape into. So, he spent the night staring at the starry sky, cursing fate, doubting God (he never much was of a religious person), or whatever higher-up power was up there.

Was it too much to ask for just someone to hug him? To tell him that it is ok to cry?

Or simply remember that he was freezing outside and open the door?

The next morning, his mum packed their bags, stuffing random things into their suitcases. She was angry, cheeks redden with frustration. It was the first time Anakin saw her in furious and it was almost like she was ashamed of her wrath. She wandered around the house, piling up his toys, cooking utensils and other random items. At one occasion, she threw a plate against the wall in her haste. Then she felt apologetic, collected the shards, clumsily pieced them together with one minute glue from the dollar tree and then at the end, kissed him on the crown of his hair, telling him that everything would be alright. “Don’t worry, Ani, I promise.” He wasn’t sure whether she said that for him or for herself.

It was evident that more than just a plate had been broken and it wouldn’t be as easy to be glued back together as the cheap china.

She was like a hazard, pushing clothes into the suitcase with so much force, that the zipper ripped open. Anakin watched as she cried and then brought yarn and needle and fixed the bag. It was a never-ending cycle of emotions and shattered glass. Sometimes things got messed up in her hurricane. What followed was a halfhearted attempt of redemption and a kiss on top of Anakin’s head. The fleeting touch of her lips that she gave him out of some obligation she felt. To be a better mother, to look like a better mum or to feel like a better mum. She loved him, he knew that, so let himself be hugged, kissed, or plastered with band aid to make her feel better – or just to avoid her sad smile.

After a couple of hours, she packed their bags into her car, stuffing it to the brim until nothing more fitted inside. It was not her car technically. It belonged to the man lived with them in the cookie cutter trac house and who had been the other partner in the screaming match last night. But this morning his mum did not care for his and her, splitting things up, just taking with her whatever she could get her hands on. It seemed like she did not care for a lot of things, wandering around the house like a whirlwind, leaving behind a trail of destruction. So, she loaded their things into the trunk, fastened Anakin’s seatbelt, drove out of the garage and sped down main road.

It was a Friday morning, they left Oasis Springs.

The early morning sun had bleed over the horizon and the first heat shimmer lingered over the asphalt. It was four hours until school would start and two until the town would slowly start waking up. Most of their neighbors had closed window shutters, not noticing them passing by, too caught up in their own world. Only the old Nicky, an ex-veteran, sitting in his white tank top and boxershorts in the front lane, barely raised his head when they drove past him. He muttered something like “God...”  

Oasis Spring wouldn’t miss them.

Anakin asked why they had left his bike in the house, he still wanted to learn riding it. His mum only smiled as answers. It was the sad one. The one he hated. So, he kept his mouth shut, not pressing any further.

He looked out of the window, recognizing remnants of his childhood pass by. The streets with the potholes, he had wished to speed down on his bike till the crossroad. The neighborhood, tract house lining up the next tract houses but not the nice variant Anakin saw in movies. No white picket fence, no mown front lane, no swings in apple trees. The difference to a trailer park was little. Then the concrete cuboid with the tiny sandy backyard, that was his elementary. The pathetic palm tree on Kinsey Alley, which he had fallen down and scarred his brow when he was four, doing some stupid bet with the neighbor’s boys. Mr. Miller’s house with the dog cage in the backyard. Anakin had sneaked to it one time, expecting cute pups. Instead, he found a Pitbull, barking at him aggressively.

Last night he had cursed Oasis Springs, his life, but even now driving past it, he was carrying it within him, in this car, in the air he breathed, in his mother’s heart. It was inescapable. There would be other Oasis Springs, different sandy streets, new kids mocking him, other barking pitbulls and more screaming matches behind closed doors.

Because his life was fucked up.

His mum’s eyes were focused on the road as she turned the steering wheel to the right, right like she was driving north, out of the town. She did not notice her son clenching his hands to fists – or if she did, she did not say anything.

After five minutes Oasis Springs was out of Anakin’s sight when peeked out of the window. Seven more hours and the godforsaken desert was gone, after two days the whole state of Arizona. Out of sight, not quite yet out of mind, he thought, running his fingers over his bruised knee.

=

After eight years of running, ending up in Oregon and with that in Tatooine was not the plan – at least not from the beginning. They just happened to stay there. At first glance, Anakin thinks Tatooine is just one of the many intermediate steps, they do on their trip. It always works like that, his mum chooses some town nearby, she gets a job there, they move out of their motel room into some kind of semi-permanent living condition with the new money and then she gets him to attend the education there. Once the bills start to pile up and the dept collectors chase them, she packs their things, drives north as she always does, and then they start somewhere else from scratch again.

But somehow, they manage to stay in Tatooine. The bills still come in, and the dept collectors still knock at their door but nothing drastic happens that would force them to run away like always. No screaming neighbor, no bad ex-boyfriend, and definitely no dead man in the pool. 

After three months of working, his mum finds them a tiny apartment a five-minute walk down the main road, she takes over the night shift at the local Wendy’s and enrolls him in Tatooine junior high. He is 14 and a half, too old for junior high but that is their only option. His CV is a patchwork of gaps and bad grades, so he repeats a year. It’s only for his best, the teachers say and his mum believes that. 

She tries her best, she really tries, he knows that when he sees her putting her strands into the hair net, flipping burgers in some greasy diner till late at night, and then cleaning the floor on her knees for the extra bucks.

He knows it when she comes home at night, still trying to be cheerful after a long day of work, and when she tries to buy him things to make him fit in better. 

These things are clothes from Goodwill, band T-Shirts from the late 70s when she was young. Music, that nobody listens to anymore. They are not his style – they are black, at least - but she loves it when he wears them, make her feel like a good mum. So, he does it. No matter, that they do the opposite of what his mum thinks they do. 

She never wants him to get a job, even though he has got pretty good at tinkering with vehicles, she wants him to focus on school instead. As if he would care for that, he curses silently, it is only purgatory. The moment he walks in, the teachers have already formed their opinions about him, just punishing him ends and ends for simply existing. 

In Tatooine, he finds Mace, a grumpy old man, who owns a workshop on Jefferson Alley, a seedy neighborhood but good enough for him. Anakin is 15 now, all the height he missed when he was a kid, has rushed to him in his teens. So, now he towers over all his peers and most of the adults, tall and lanky, all bones and sinews. He looks older than he is and he uses that to his advantage – at least, he thinks he can outsmart Mace. 

Mace knows Anakin’s real age but he decides not to comment on it. He lets the boy tinker in his workshop – that is more a garage than an actual shop – lets him spray paint the cars, wash off the dirt, and if Anakin is patient, lets him help fix the vehicles. He pays the boy a minimum wage in the garage but what can Anakin do? He is lucky enough that Mace even lets him work there. 

Sometimes Anakin ditches school just to take over one shift, midday especially, feeling better with his hands dirty under some engine cover than in the hallways or the physics classroom. His engineering talent is only wasted there. He loves the smell of the motor oil, the grease of the machines, and the scent of the solvents in the paint, better than anything the school can offer. 

But most importantly, Mace lets him be himself – or the version Anakin has become. Mace gifts him the first mechanical parts for the build of a motorbike, which he has no use for anymore. He does not comment on Anakin’s black-painted nails and once the boy asks him, he just shrugs with his shoulders and shaves off the boy’s curls with a razor blade. It is nearly buzzcut, in the back there are still some longer locks, that Anakin ties together to a tiny ponytail, a short mullet. 

The haircut makes Anakin feel relieved like he finally shed off his past, he is no longer girly with his now-cut-off curls. No one can grab him by the hair, roll over asphalt or steal his shoes.  

He is not Tinykin anymore. 

The kids in school fear him with his shaved mullet. The scarred brow from the fall when he was four, the black nail polish, the oldies Rock’ n’ Roll’ T-Shirt, and the biro doodles on his arm, which he draws because he has no tattoos yet, looking realistic though. They all perfect the image people want to see in him. 

For the first time, Anakin feels powerful. His looks, his attire, and his public image have become his armor, shielding him from any sort of harassment. Tinykin is gone. The kids whisper when they see him in the hallways with held-up hands but stop when they feel his glare on them. Fear is control, he realizes, brushing through his short hair with one hand, one leg crossed over the other, the used combat boots shimmering polished, red shoelace marking him as a leftist. 

So, he lets them stare at him, he lets them call him a Satanist and he lets the teacher think of him as a delinquent, never granting him the hallway pass. As a provocation he smokes on the school grounds, shares a pack with the older students, smudges coal liner under his eyes, and picks up any fight he can, snarling with bared teeth like an animal. 

There is surprisingly much power in his lanky limbs, he thinks one night, hunched over the sink, observing his bruised rips in the mirror. He hisses once he touches them, his skin is adorned by black and blue marks, some already fading while others blossom on top of them. Battle marks. Soldiers are proud to carry them, so he should feel the same. 

Tinykin can bite now, he has gone through a metamorphosis, and he is like Chuck now. A Pitbull. No longer girly. 

And it makes him feel good, the adrenaline rushing through his veins when he sees red. Him pushing his body further than he ever thought was possible, the limps aching out of exhaustion, the sinews impossibly stretched but still going further. And he likes the dominance, the sentiment, when the others crouch beneath him, feeling sorry about whatever comment they made about Anakin or his mum. Anakin makes them beg – or wishes to make them beg, wishes to spit on them.

The thought is aggressive and venomous. Suddenly he is afraid of it, afraid of going too far, afraid of the Pitbull inside. Still, he is dependent on it, addicted to the taste of blood on his tongue. So, he just continues. Fist fighting, bleeding, caring for the wound, and fighting again. 

One day he will end up in the hospital but he still does not care. 

One fistfight later, it is enough, states the school when they call him into the administration office. He just shrugs it off, his lips bleeding, from one punch, adrenaline still rushing through his veins. The other one looks worse, is his only thought as he stares down at his split knuckles. 

It has consequences. Everything has consequences. Life does never grant him anything. 

The principal’s office calls his mum and tells her about his disruptive behavior in class, how his grades have fallen since last December in every subject, that he has vandalized the school toilet with Anarchic political propaganda, dresses inappropriately, and is missing in every second-class unit. She apologizes over the phone, begs him to not throw him out yet, and gives him another chance, offering a donation with money they do not have. 

So, they let him stay and punish him with detention. For two weeks he scrubs gum from school desks, cleans the dirty tiles in the toilets, or sweeps the schoolyard. His mum takes over another shift at Wendy’s to pay off the money and smiles at him sadly. There is disappointment in her eyes. He feels embarrassed, pinches his bruised lips, avoids looking at her, and still starts to cry, feeling suddenly like his real age, a fifteen-year-old teenager, and hugs her like a little kid. She only hushes, strokes through his now short hair, and plasters one of her infamous band-aids over the cut on his lips. 

Her words are that people like them just have it harder in life, so they must keep fighting. 

People like them? People who just take their legs and just run away all life?

He hates that expression, hates that he was born like that, that he never had a fair chance, and feels a sting of hatred for his mum. Why did she even get him in this messed up world if she knew his life would be a fuck? She had done that to him, chained him to this, made him endure it. 

And if she talks about fighting back, why does she always submit to others and crawls on her knees over the dirty tiles in some diner just for a few bucks more while other people spit at her?  

Why did she back off just because the principal called her? Why did she not have his back like a real mum would? Why did she not defend him? 

But his mum only wraps her arms around him, holding him tightly, smiling at him. It is the sad smile, the one that always shuts him up. She walks through the tiny living room area, grabs two plates from the kitchen cabinet, and puts the takeaway on the dishes. It is left over from Wendy’s she got to take home after her shift. “Come on”; she says as if she had not just bribed the principal, “Turn on the telly, there is a Bud Spencer film on Channel 3.” 

For a second he stares at her. He has just cried a minute ago but he turns to the TV, a cheap model he got from eBay for free, and turns on the screen. It awakes with a screech, that makes him wonder how long the model will last. She takes the seat next to him on the couch. “Everything will be alright.”

He cringes and feels the sudden urge to curl up into a ball or disappear. He truly feels like 15 now. Nothing is fine and she knows that. But she searches for his warmth and cuddles him. He feels uncomfortable with the contact, incredibly stiff, but he lets her do it just so that the fucking sad smile disappears.  

That night his mom falls asleep in front of the Television while watching Anakin’s favorite Western. In the dimmed lights of the electrics, he recognizes the exhaustion, that marks her face, new wrinkles have formed next to her eyes. He carries her to bed, sitting next to her for an awkward minute. He fidgets with his fingers, feeling embarrassed of his teenage anger outburst from before but not knowing how to put it into words, so silence stretches out in the room. 

“I’m sorry.”, he tries to whisper, barely audible. “I’m sorry for calling you a bad mum.” He nearly swallows the words, that is how uncomfortable he feels speaking them. 

He waits for her to react but she is already asleep.  

Maybe she is a fighter, he thinks as he rests her head on a pillow, a warrior just in a different way than him. She is not young like him and has not the power in her limbs to just start a fight with everyone who behaves nasty. 

Another wave of embarrassment hits him, so he escapes the room, flinging a window open, gasping for breath, just out of that room. 

So, he sits on his windowsill, biting his bruised lips ashamed, the pain clearing his head. With his nails, he breaks off the Black polish, a nervous habit. His mind conjures images of his six-year-old self. The same heated anger wrenches his heart, he hears the phantom scream of his mum inside, cries ugly with a runny nose, cursing the world silently for his fucked-up life. 

He does not want to wake her up that night. Does not let her see that she made him tear up. 

=

Half a year after his 15th birthday, he has collected enough parts to build an entire motorbike from scratch. Mace helps him and tells him the do-s and don’ts of the process while handing him the screwdrivers. Once it is finished, he pads the teenage boys on his shoulders. There is even a spark of pride in his eyes.

Mace has grown into some sort of fatherly figure over the last year for him. The man has a stoic face, never emotionally caring for others, never hugging Anakin, never asking how he feels – but he helps Anakin, never asks questions when the boy is on his mat at 2 am or if he has school tomorrow, just silently guiding the boy into the garage and to his newest project.

Mace never raises the wage, still paying the boy only a few bucks an hour but he buys him lunch when Anakin takes over the midday shifts – that is the deal, midday shift for a Chicken Sandwich, or he gifts the boy mechanical parts for Anakin’s projects and lets him build them in his garage once he is finished with his tasks. 

One of them is the motorbike. At 15 and a half Anakin’s bike is finally ready, half a year too young to be legally driving it, but who cares for a license in Tatooine? He grabs a can of spray paint and colors it in black to match him but something is missing. Mace nudges him slightly, handing him another spray can. It is red. He adds another single line, creating the illusion of fire when it is speeding down the streets. A flaming motorcycle, could be a reference to a Comic book, Ghost Rider, or something, Anakin grins to himself as he puts on the helmet to drive it for a test run. 

It is Mace’s Helmet, the same for the Jackett, that Anakin has thrown over his shoulders, some bike gang insignia stitched on the back, two knives crossing. The older man has said that he had no use for it anymore and now that Anakin has a bike, it would be better off with him than lying around in the dust of his closet. Anakin had started to tear up but Mace had just hushed, grabbing the boy for a brief hug, in which both felt uncomfortable and later just stared at the ground embarrassed. 

It was too early for such an intimate act. 

When his mum recognizes him pulling up in front of their apartment building, she is anxious. She runs down the stair, meeting him, about to scold him but then she sees the joy in his face. 

So, she asks if he is now finally able to live his dream and ride a bike. He nods and he speeds down Jefferson Alley, his mother clinging to him in the backseat, screaming against the wind.

For the first time in fifteen years, Anakin feels truly happy, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Maybe his life isn’t as fucked up as he thinks. 

=

He is sixteen when his curls have grown back so that they reach his jaw now. He lets them hang loose, never caring for them with any styling product like his peers do. They frame his angular countenance, the small chin, the sharp bone structure, that has grown more prominent in the last year. His face still has big eyes and plush, reddish lips but they are contrasted by his sharp jawline now. He looks different, harder, matured, marked by life just like his scared body, he thinks when he sees himself in the mirror. A fighter. A troublemaker. 

The brio doodles on his arms have become real tattoos, once he has hit sixteen. Now a barbed wire twines around his triceps, fading down into billows of smoke, a cityscape blooming on his lower arm. His chest is covered by a St. Andrews cross. Rex looked at him strangely when Anakin requested to let a catholic motive cover his chest and lower abdomen. He raised his brows the stencil hovering in the air. Are you Sure, his eyes said. Anakin has only nodded., 

He is not religious but it’s a sign of protection. Why should he not feel a need for protection? 

He still spends most of his time at Mace’s workshop but somehow school has become more prominent too. The cause is the invention of the Tatooine High Physics Club – not that he is particularly interested in Physics, quanta, or atoms, they just give him the perfect opportunity to tinker. Last month he built his first robot and the other had helped him with the programming. IT has never been his strong suit. To a certain degree he was interested in the construction of electronic devices but the world inside, the software has never been his aim. Partly fault for that was that he has never had a computer at home and has ditched most of the classes where it was used – but suddenly it became of interest to him. 

It is a better future, his mum tells him one dinner, IT is better than whatever he does at Mace’s garage. He could study computer science someday. He looks at her, suddenly feeling nausea, the leftover from yesterday rumbling in his stomach. He digs his nails into his palms, biting his tongue, holding any backlash back. 

They have started to have a lot of conversations like that since he started Highschool. 

Just look at him, he thinks, the tattoos, the black painted nails, the music taste, the red shoelace in his combat boots, the biker jacket over his shoulders, he is not the guy for Uni. It would be the same as in school. Everywhere he goes prejudice marks his way. He would have to fight harder than anyone else, suddenly get a good GPA, and find a scholarship. As if he could ever afford to go to college on his own. 

He would just end in a purgatory of endless debts, that he never in his life could pay back. 

He will just end like his mum. After the school graduation, he will work at Mace’s workshop full-time but that will never be enough money to support them both, so he will take over any job he finds, flipping burgers in some kind of fast-food chain and cleaning the floor for the extra few bucks. 

He swallows. It is like he was born to become like that. It was his destiny from the start and after all these years of ditching school, fighting, and doing the absolute worst he has only dug his grave further. Life was never fair to him. The fucking world is unfair. He was destined to become like that and everybody has pushed him further on that path. 

Anakin feels sad and then angry. All the sadness that does wrench his heart, he pushes it into his anger. Wrath is an easier emotion to deal with than tears and all the fuck. When he feels angry, he can get drunk and pick up the next fight till his knuckles split open and blood runs down his cheeks. Life does make Anakin kneel to it but in a fight, he can make others kneel to him. Be the one in the prominent position for one fucking second in his life. 

When adrenaline is running through his veins, the only thing that counts is who is the better fighter and not who was born in the better situation. 

Or he could fuck, get wasted and pick up someone, lets himself be dragged into a cheap motel, and then shag like an animal. It’s carnal intercourse, not lovemaking – who has time for that and who is the idiot and believes in love – then he is like a predator, just doing whatever his body needs to let go of this anger. The next morning, he forgets whoever his partner was, not that it does ever matter to him. He just leaves the motel room early the next morning.

He has become an arsehole, he realizes, and his mum would be disappointed. 

So, sitting there at the dinner table, all his behavior of the last years, all the time he has acted out of anger or thought he has fought the unfair system, start piling up on his shoulder, revealing themselves to be only burdened. 

Others have never liked him, so he became unlikeable instead of trying, bared his teeth, and hissed like an animal. 

Others have seen the delinquent in him, so he has become the delinquent, smoking on school grounds, fighting, and ditching class. 

He runs to the bathroom and only vomits, tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands gripping the sink. His mum does ask him what happened later, there is a spark of worry in her eyes, but he refuses to answer, once again putting up the face of the insolent child, the troublemaker. 

“I’m sorry.,” something deep inside whispers. 

=

Anakin has his first time with a man the day his mum gets the cancer diagnosis. It is a rainy day in August, and the cloud ceiling lowering over the town of Tatooine, suffocating him from above. How ironic, a fucking symbol for his emotions. He chokes, he swallows, he lights himself a smoke, grimacing bitterly. 

The hospital calls him at work, midday shift like usual. Mace tells him to pick up the phone, he suspects nothing, speeds down to the telephone, and answers. For the next fifteen minutes, he listens to the doctor in a trance, answers yes when it is needed, yes to if he would pick up his mum – she is still affected by the anesthetics from the screening, yes if she should start chemo and yes if he would cover the costs.

It takes him another fifteen minutes to realize what it does mean for them as a family, what he has agreed to. Stage four breast cancer, chemo, no health insurance. They do not have the money for treatment, in no world will they ever have. The doctors tell his mum, she knows it, he knows that she knows. He picks her up, she tries to say it, he ignores her, and the rest of the ride home is silent. 

He carries her up the stairs, sets her down on the couch in the living room area, pulls her favorite blanket over her, and rests her head on a pillow. She tries to protest, tell that she is no porcelain doll but her voice is hoarse, her arms are shaky and midway she realizes that herself, so she stays silent, ashamed. He makes her a cup of chamomile tea, the cheap one from the supermarket around. They talk, they talk about everything, how lovely he was as a child – he only remembers himself crying, how she always dreamed about opening a real restaurant – he only knows the taste of leftovers from Wendy’s, and what his dreams for the future are – he lies to her about studying, she knows but she still smiles, clinging to the nice words because what else has she left?  

They talk about everything and nothing. 

In the end, he is exhausted, excusing himself, lying about having a shift at Mace’s workshop, willing down the sobs that want to escape his mouth, brushing his hair into his face to hide the specks. 

He wants to escape the apartment where he only finds disappointment in his mother’s eyes, where they only lie to each other, and where the air tastes of death, that suffocates him with every breath. 

 He feels bad for going, leaving her alone, leaving the death-forsaken woman but he still does it., crying with a runny nose, feeling selfish, and at the same time desperate for a hug. 

That day he finds himself in the same bar, he always goes when something bad happens to drown himself in liquor. The barman Yoda already knows him and his favorites. The first few shots are on the house and then an “anonymous” person starts paying for them. Anakin does not care enough to actually ask who it is, he just drowns them in one go and grimaces at the burning feeling in his throat. 

The world starts turning around him and it is a pleasant feeling, nothing is clear, and everything is hazy. He roars like an animal, falls from his barstool, and fails to stand up again when a stranger helps him up. He has a nice face and friendly hazel eyes – at least Anakin thinks he has. He offers the teenager a hand and tells him he would drive him home; the smile is open and honest – too nice for a seedy town like Tatooine. 

Anakin tries to protest but the stranger has already manhandled him out of the bar. He is placed in a car, diagonally laid over the backseat. He feels like he wants to vomit but the stranger is nice, helps him up, holds up his hair, and helps him unbutton his shirt. It is hot in the car, and the stranger smiles. 

The moment, Anakin lays bare on the cheap plastic leather of the Ford, he realizes what is happening. The stranger has started to fidget with Anakin’s jeans, fumbling at the zipper. There is still a genuine smile on his face, telling Anakin that everything will be ok, abusing Anakin’s drunkenness. His jeans are pushed down to his knees, exposing his boxer shorts and his bare tighs. Anakin is suddenly shy, trying to cover his naked skin but the stranger pushes his hands away, pining them over his head with force. 

Anakin’s mind is still gone, still sitting in his apartment with his mum, conversing stifling Smalltalk, crying for his mum and missing her so much but his body does react for him instead. He feels a warmth forming in his core, a tinge of drunk arousal, mixed with disgust for himself. It is strange and his drunk body tries to convince him that it is hot. 

Then he is flipped over, his chest hits the backseat and he moans at the sudden friction. His jeans are pushed down even further, his boxershorts following. Nervous fingers explore his backside, the touch is fleeting, unsure, embarrassed. The fuck itself happens in haste, it is quick and dirty, the other man fucks him bare, nervously, fingers grabbing Anakin so tight that it bruises for a second and then disappearing, never quite there, as if he wants to leave no trace. The stranger gives Anakin the feeling that he is a plastic toy, something to be used and then thrown away. 

For a second Anakin does not care, likes the sound of bodies slapping against each other, the feeling that he has some use. It does his job and makes him forget about his fucked up life for a second. 

Once the stranger is finished, he cleans himself with a wipe, pulling up his trousers as if nothing happened, and leaves Anakin dripping on the backseat. So, there he lays, another man’s body fluids running down his thighs, still in a drunken haze, with a mum with stage four cancer, he grimaces bitterly. 

He does not feel angry, he does not cry. He just feels empty. The St. Andrews Cross burns on his chest. 

The embarrassment takes another day to enter his system. Then the wrath follows, wrath is easier to deal with than embarrassment, than feeling dirty, than the need he has to shower to wash off the other man’s scent from his body. So, he lets the anger roar in his chest. 

=

He meets Obi-Wan Kenobi for the first time at a house party – meeting for the first time is not the right expression. He knew Obi-Wan Kenobi before, he recognized him in the hallway when he saw the copper strands and the horn-rimmed glasses. Kenobi is the president of the Physics Club Anakin sometimes attended, Kenobi is the golden boy of the student newspaper, he was the guy on the bleacher that Anakin saw when he finished PE class and Obi-Wan has collected his dad's car a few times at Mace’s garage. 

So, technically he knew Obi-Wan Kenobi before but this evening he gets to know him for real. Whatever that means. 

Rex, Anakin’s tattoo artist, and semi-best friend, drags him there. Rex is two years Anakin’s senior, has a bleached buzz cut, arms covered with black and blue Ink, and a smirk, that Anakin can hardly say no to. Last summer Mace hired him and the two have instantly linked. Rex is not the best mechanic but he needs the money, so they made a deal. Anakin taught him the fundamentals and for that, he got a discount on the tattoos he wanted to get. 

His mum has stopped working four months ago, half a year after her cancer diagnosis. Too late in Anakin’s opinion, too early in hers. They have started to fight more often. She thinks that he is too overprotective over her, he thinks she is only working herself to death. She scolds him for his life choices, he screams at her how she thinks he is paying for her chemo. It only escalates and, in the end, both cry and he is feeling once again like the true teenager that he is, clinging to her like a little child. 

So, Anakin lets himself be manhandled by Rex to the party in Quinlan Vos’ house. It is near the Jefferson Alley, a quick walk by foot from Mace’s workshop, far enough from his apartment, and far enough from his mum. 

Since his mum’s cancer diagnosis, he has dropped out of school, working full-time at Mace’s garage, the count of his tattoos has doubled, now covering more than just naked skin. There is now a bike and a sandy backyard on his left thigh. Fucking Oasis Springs, he thinks, he could not escape his past, so why not embrace it? 

He has thought about a tattoo of his mum’s name but then he discarded the idea, as too cheesy. She would hate it, tell him that is like looking at her own gravestone and she is still very much alive. 

He has just grabbed his third beer – his drinking habits have become worse too – when he notices Obi-Wan. The other man, also two years Anakin’s senior – in the same year as Rex, wears a white polo shirt, stuffed into his cord jeans and cute horn-rimmed glasses. He looks like he does not belong to this party, totally out of place with his outfit and the nervous laughter that speaks of insecurity. Anakin nudges Rex’s shoulder but the other man just shrugs in a manner of Why would I care, so Anakin steps closer to Obi-Wan. 

The other man has something about him, that makes Anakin want to look closer at why he is so nervous. Anakin has no savior complex but something like the abuse, that happened to Anakin in the parking area of Yoda’s bar should not happen again – or at least, if Anakin can do something against it, so he steps closer to overhear the conversation. 

They talk about “Seven Minutes in Heaven” and Obi-Wan seems nervous, and uncomfortable with taking part but Quinlan Vos - Anakin cursed a silent “arsehole” – seems to be reluctant to listen to his friend. He has put one arm around his shoulder, nudging him closer, trying to encourage him. It makes Anakin cringe, it is uncomfortable to watch, makes his inner Pitbull bark aggressively, and makes him want to split his knuckles open on Vos’s skull. 

Since his mum’s diagnosis, his anger issues have become worse, too. He fights, smokes, and fucks more than ever. – much to his mum’s disappointment but it is the only thing keeping him together, keeping him working at Windu’s, and with that the only thing paying for the chemo. 

So, Anakin joins in last minute, kneeling himself to the circle, taking another sip from the beer. Some raised brows but nobody refuses him to take part. He is Anakin Skywalker, a heavy drinker, a delinquent, known for his bed stories – why not have him in a round? 

The bottle gets spun a couple of times but nothing happens to him or Obi-Wan. People get taken to the closet; they snog there until the next couple takes their place. Anakin is bored, he stares at Rex who has already found himself another activity, he yawns bored. Maybe he should have stayed at home. 

That changes when the bottle stops in front of Obi-Wan, who lets out a nervous laugh. “I guess it’s my turn now.”, he says with a voice that sounds surprisingly tiny for a teenager. He brushes with one hand through his copper strands and rearranges his Polo Shirt, the glasses nearly fall from his nose because of his hasty movement, his cheeks are blushed and his body posture speaks of insecurity. “Who wants to do it with me?”

The question is asked with a tone that breaks Anakin’s heart. It reminds him of himself, him before most of the bullshit had taken place, before his job at Windu’s, before his first tattoo, before his first fist fight, before his mum’s diagnosis, before he has become who is now before he was broken. It is like looking into a mirror and seeing the young boy in Oasis Springs with a runny nose who just wanted to learn to ride a bike to make friends. Tinykin, he wants to sigh. 

Anakin feels stupid to raise his hand that quickly but what else can he do? The Pitbull in his chest roars with the need to protect, bite away Quinlan’s greasy hand from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, protect Obi-Wan at all cost, shower him with compliments till all insecurities go away – but Anakin is not a man of nice words, life has hardened him, so all he can do is stand up and play the part of the heartbreaker who has taken a liking in the shy boy. 

Nobody makes a comment, they do not care enough – or they care enough to spread a rumor the next day, whatever. So, the two get taken to the closet and Obi-Wan laughs more nervously as if his insecurity would disappear if he does it more often. It is a painful sound in Anakin’s ears, making his heart wrench. He wants to grab Obi-Wan’s hand, squeeze it, tell him that everything will be alright – but it would only scare Obi-Wan way, too soon. 

The closet is so small that both must stand with only a few centimeters between them, a contact that is forced to be intimate and uncomfortable. Obi-Wan shivers, trying to distance himself, laughing one more time when he realizes that Anakin notices it, it is like saying “Nothing against you, but could you please stop invading my personal space?” 

Anakin clears his throat and steps the tiny step back, that he can take in the small closet. His back hits a shelf with canned food. 

“So, we have to kiss now, don’t we?”. Kiss is pronounced breathy, a word with insecurity laced to it. Obi-Wan has never kissed anybody, it is clear as daylight, and he is nervous to do it now. He does not want to do it, he just feels like he needs to do it. 

“We don’t have to do anything”, Anakin answers and takes another sip from his beer. It is room temperature now, tasting disgusting on his tongue but still better than nothing, a bit of liquid courage for the next words. “Just because some bastards tell us to do something, we don’t have to do it.” 

“You are Anakin, right?”, Obi-Wan asks unsure, trying to change the subject. “I saw you a couple of times in Mace Windu’s shop, you work there, don’t you?” 

Anakin only nods, adding another “Still do.” after the silence stretches out uncomfortably. 

“I have not seen you in school for a really long time. You used to attend Physics Club; I noticed you there a few times but then you just stopped coming. CP30 still needs the new gadget for his eyes, the boys have been too shy to add it without you.” Obi-Wan’s chuckle is still nervous. “Why did you stop? – I mean coming, why did you stop coming?”

“Bad things happened.”, Anakin answers taciturnly, taking the last sip from his bottle, already regretting it. The closet is so tiny that he feels the warmth the other man radiates, a bead of sweat runs down his cheek, and he wipes it away, trying to grin reassuringly. Everything is alright. He brushes a lock behind his ear, suddenly feeling itchy, and uneasy on his feet like he needs to do something. He starts drumming on his empty bottle, avoiding eye contact. 

It was a stupid idea to cage himself with Obi-Wan in a closet that barely measure two square meters. 

“You still can come, CP30 is waiting, nobody will touch him if you don’t want that.” 

“I-“, tries Anakin but Obi-Wan’s nervous talking interrupts him, the other man fidgets with his fingers. “We have classes as always and the Physics classroom is open as usual, Thursday afternoon and Fridays till 3 pm.” 

“Yeah”, grumbles Anakin, staring at everything other than Obi-Wan, trying to get his inner Pitbull under control that roars to surge forward and kiss him til all the nervous words stop flooding from his mouth. The other man’s cheeks are still blushed from the heat and some of his copper strands are damp, slightly curled, making them look impossibly fluffy, that Anakin gets the itch to brush through them.

It is an itch he should not scratch. 

“I’m sorry, I’m making you uncomfortable.” 

“No-“

“I just thought after you volunteered that you might be slightly interested.” 

The shy man makes Anakin cringe. Obi-Wan looks so unsure of himself, pushing and pulling at his Polo shirt, cheeks heated because of his words. Obi-Wan has never kissed anyone before, roars his inner Pitbull, why don’t you take his first kiss? You are a good kisser, you could make him enjoy it. 

Anakin plunges forward, cupping the other man’s face with a swift movement, surprised by his actions. He turns his head away, staring at his shoes instead, the combat boots are old and used, has bought new ones since his mum’s diagnosis, saving any money he has. His voice is hoarse and slow when he continues, “Ehm -I am interested.” 

Then he leans in, brushing his lips slightly against Obi-Wan’s forehead, getting addicted to the taste of the honey-kissed skin with the slight hint of male sweat, the urge blooming to taste it with his tongue and then he wills it down, jerking back like he has burnt himself, nearly falling over himself, embarrassed by his own animal-like thought just to take. 

In that second the closet is opened and a weirdly grinning Quinlan Vos eyes them, scanning for a sign of snogging. He eyes Obi-Wan’s damp curls, his heated cheeks, and the Polo shirt. 

“Happy Seven Minutes in Heaven, Obi.” 

“Ehm-“

Anakin feels like he wants to vomit. 

= 

Anakin is 17 when Obi-Wan graduates. He watches from afar, sitting on the bleachers Obi-Wan used to sit on, smoking a pack – he has even called Mace for a free day, knowing that this will only end in Yoda’s or some stranger’s backseat, all just to stop the throbbing sound of his breaking heart. 

It’s like watching everything, that could have been, and at the same time never will be. He could be standing there, getting his A-Levels done, posing with his friends in these stupid robes, hugging his mum, and hearing her whisper into his hair how proud she is. 

But it will never be. He will never finish school and instead works full-time to pay the bills. And what friends? The kids, that have harassed him in Oasis Springs or the kids who were afraid of him in Tatooine? Who would be standing here with him now, grimacing like an idiot for some graduation photos? 

You could have been a part of this now, the Pitbull whispers to him bitterly as Anakin lights himself another cigarette, you could be standing there now, planting a kiss on the shy boy’s lips if you just had been brave back then. You could be there now as just a friend and maybe even as his boyfriend. 

I am broken, sighs Anakin, I have a fucked-up life. Obi-Wan deserves better, Obi-Wan deserves the world, he should leave this shit hole that is Tatooine and finally find someone who cherishes him. 

So, he sits there and watches from afar as everybody becomes older, graduates, leaves the town, starts studying and he just stays Anakin, working in Mace’s garage, sitting the evening with his mum in front of the telly, watching some western, crying himself to sleep at night for everything that could have been. 

= 

Anakin is 19 when he meets Padme again. The night before he has drunken until he blacked out and she had been the first face to greet him in A&E. As strange as it sounds, they fall in love quickly – or she falls in love quickly. She is a doctor, she likes to heal, likes to take care of, likes to amend and he is her little project. She thinks she can fix him, takes him out, controls his drinking and smoking habit, stops him from fighting – she is good for him, his mum smiles. 

He reads that Obi-Wan has left Tatooine. He is for the first time in the Newspaper for some charity event in New York, that he attends with his newlywed wife. She looks pretty, tall, blond with a perfectly proportioned body and the wedding ring glimmers on her finger. Obi-Wan has not changed much, it has been years and yes there is a beard now covering his dimples, but there is the same insecurity, the same shyness in his posture, that makes Anakin's inner Pitbull beg him to take care of him. 

He is happy now, he tells himself and smiles bitterly, Obi-Wan has become what he has deserved, a perfect life. 

But Anakin cannot help to feel jealous of the other man, of all the possibilities the other has, no chain caging him in Tatooine, no mum with stage four cancer, no same old job, that he carries out every day since he is fifteen, no debts that he can never pay back, no emptiness in his heart, that he cannot fill. 

But isn’t Anakin happy now, too? He has Padme – at least he has someone, he should be happy now. 

And his mum loves Padme, they form a bond quite easily – she loves Padme probably more than he does and that hurts. Padme is perfect for his mum, the definition of a woman with a golden heart, for the first time his mum is truly proud of him. It hurts his heart to lie to her like that, to pretend to be the happy boyfriend in love but he does it. 

When their high school friends start asking them why they are not married yet, he decides to propose to her. He does everything the others do, he books a restaurant, hides the ring box in his best jacket, and then falls to his knees when it is the right moment. She smiles, cries out of joy, and showers him with kisses – he only feels uncomfortable, fidgeting with his fingers. Later on, he blames it on his nervousness. 

He is 20 when he stands at the altar waiting for the bride. He is 21 when the twins are born and he holds Luke and Leia for the first time in his arms. 

He tries to be happy, tries to be a good father, reads all the fucking books about parenting, makes himself a total idiot just to make the kids love, shows them his favorite westerns, lets them ride on his back, and sleeps next to them every single night for the first three nights of their life. 

And he tries to love Padme, God knows, he tries so much. He takes Padme out for date nights, tells her how beautiful she is every morning, and kisses her open-mouthed and hungry to make her feel loved and desired in the marriage just to make him feel less guilty that he thinks of another man every time in bed. Over the years, he learns to love her, as cruel as it sounds, he learns to pretend to love her, to say the right things to make her smile. 

And no matter how hard he tries; his life remains fucked up.  

= 

Anakin is 36, a divorced man, father of two teenage kids in puberty, with the first few grey hairs growing on his scalp when he wakes up early, yawning, rubbing his tired eyes, expecting to find the bed next to him empty and unused, just like he is used to it. 

But instead, this morning a warm body is curled to his, a chest and a soft belly pressing against his backside, arms intertwined with his face and grumbling something like “Don’t go. It’s too early.” 

A sweet, soft smile curves his lips as he leans down to kiss the other man’s cheeks and brushes his fingers through the copper strands. “Obi-Wan.”, whispers into the other man’s hair, tracing the jaw with his fingers, tracing the lines of his beard. 

For the first time in 36 years, he has a chance to be happy - however, his fucked up life may be. 

(this is a draft, that means it is still in the condition of a draft, not betaed... just wanted to rant about the idea, so enjoy!)

[destinyandcoins]

bruh idk what's the damage on all those spiteful writers who have to have a twist ending and change shit at the last minute when people guess what's going on. when someone speculates about an upcoming twist or catches on to what I've been doing I light up like the fucking vegas strip at dusk

[theovergrowth]

(( ok I colored them both WHAT OF IT ))

[bandaids-and-blisters]

"Odi?"

Robbie tiptoed through the doorway, eyebrows furrowed in concern when she laid her eyes upon the mound of blankets lying slapdash in the middle of the room.

Odyssey's presence was still strong here, so she had no trouble working out who might be underneath all those layers, but still...

Was she trying to make a nest? A burrow, perhaps? What for?

Well, she supposed Odi did tend to get a little instinctual whenever she was uncomfortable or in pain. It would make sense that she'd want to be comfy and cosy, especially if she was going through her own equivalent of a werewolf flu.

Robin moved closer to the mound, gently shifting later by layer aside until she was able to peer in, the lamplight filtering in through a small hole and shining onto that beautiful loose, curly black hair.

Chuckling, Robbie reached a hand in, slowly, and ran her fingers through the curls, gently combing out the knots and soothing out the hair- an action of old habit. It was quiet for a few moments, with Robin simply adoring her baby and Odi seemingly curled up asleep, until, that is... one of her fingers caught up in a big snag.

"Mngh..."

Odi yanked her head away, huffing. She was nice and cosy, damnit!

"Ro, you woke me u-U-MFUGH- AGH!"

Robin gasped, stunned as Odi abruptly grabbed her jaw in agony, aura spiking with fear and pain, fingers jamming inside her mouth in an attempt to stem whatever pain it is that had caused her to scream so suddenly.

"D-darling, what's wrong?"

Robin dropped down to the blankets, hands about to come up to cusp her lover's face, but she was taken back by the panicked growl that ripped from the cub's throat the moment she tried to get near to her.

Robbie took a few tentative shuffles back.

"Wai-" Odi burst into another yowl of pain the second she tried to speak, eyes wide in fear and confusion at the sudden surge of pain coursing through her gums.

It felt like someone had jammed a needle into it.

"M-my...!" Robin resisted the urge to, but she could tell that she had a matching expression. "Sweetheart...!"

Odi's eyes welled with tears, clawed hands shaking around her mouth when miraculously, something suddenly dislodged itself from her aching gums and all the pain seemed to subdue.

"Blegh..."

She spat it out immediately.

Robin's face quickly grew a lot paler than usual.

"Y-your fang..."

Odi flicked her gaze down to where Robin was now staring, jaw still hanging open even as blood began to pool over from the middle of her gum.

Robin hesitated. "D-darling... half your fang... I think it just... i-it just fell out?"

Odi frowned.

Had she. Had she just...

Bit her own tooth in half?

Instantly.

Just like that?

It wasn't supposed to just fall out, she was sure of it.

What the fuck?

"...Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

Odi stared in shock at the tooth laying innocently on the ground, claws digging into her thigh, barely reacting even as Robin flitted off to the living room to make a phone call to the private werevet, panic thrumming between their bond as Robin's shrill voice warbled down the line.

Well.

Just imagine both their shock when the vet came back with that Odi was actually just teething, and in that time it was totally normally to lose a tooth or two as they became brittle and loosened themselves in preparation to be pushed out by another one in their place.

Excuse me, but where was that in the info when she signed up to be a werewolf!?

[splenderai]

.

[kira-the-whump-enthusiast]

🧠for andre

Seems like Andrei has some fans now lol, maybe I should do some writing with him?

From this ask game!

---

🧠- has whumper used conditioning/brainwashing on you? If so, how much?

Andrei sighs. "If someone decided to brainwash me, then maybe existing would be a little easier. Maybe they could trick me into not minding or even liking being trapped in this cell?"

"Oh, here's a fun thought. Maybe locking me in here is the brainwashing!" Andrei could almost laugh. He shakes his head immediately afterwards. "Well, probably not. What would even be the point of this, anyways?"

[ehslye]

some enshroud shenanigans btw

[goldenxeyedxfamily]

Kin: Bro why did you abandon me? Gold: You're the one who took off for two months and wouldn't answer the phone. Kin: It died...

[good-beanswrites]

heyo!! i thought I sent this in already, but I guess not o.O

for the writing ask game, morning! :D

Woo thank you pal! :D Fingers crossed for an upcoming inno sweep, have something with Kazui and Fuuta in the morning

(From this ask game)

Kazui's body remembered the sunrise. His mind wouldn't have thought much of it, stuck in a place like this, but his body pulled him from sleep at the same time each morning as if he were still in the habit and standing on the balcony watching the sun with his morning coffee.

He couldn't quite replicate the experience, though not for lack of trying. He'd dress, pick up whatever drink he could grab from the dining hall before it officially opened for breakfast, then move to the common room to sit and enjoy the morning in solitude. Even Kotoko, the next earliest riser, wouldn't make an appearance for an hour or so.

Which is why he nearly spit out the orange juice he'd swiped when Fuuta strolled in just after him and sat himself down directly next to him. It looked like his little silent retreat was out of the question for the day.

"Can I sit here?" Fuuta said, already taking a seat. He rubbed his good eye groggily.

"Uh, sure! I'd love the company." Kazui nodded to him, trying to hide the surprise in his face. He must have failed. Or maybe Fuuta would have leapt to defend himself regardless.

"I couldn't sleep, okay? I hear you come out here at the ass crack of dawn every day, I just wanted to see what you were up to."

Kazui gestured a hand across the empty room with a dry smile. "Just this, sorry to disappoint."

It was easiest to leave it at that. He wasn't sure how to articulate the reason early mornings were so sacred to him -- the peace and the solitude and the ability to be himself without a single expectation put on him. He could take some time to prepare himself for the day ahead without putting up any airs for anyone. It probably would've sounded pathetic to a kid like him, anyways. He was always so full of energy, Kazui doubted he'd need more than a minute to get himself ready for his day.

Fuuta sank deeper into his hoodie. "Hmph."

The two fell silent. Kazui grew antsy as he sipped his drink. At first it had been nice, sitting in something reminiscent of his old fishing trips. But he didn't think Fuuta appreciated the quiet the same way. Was he looking to talk? Was he waiting for more from him? Kazui had never wanted kids -- not like Hinako had dreamed of them -- so he didn't know the first thing about starting a conversation with someone his age.

As he scrambled for something to say, Fuuta whispered. "It's nice."

"Hm?"

"This. No prying eyes, nobody trying to start shit."

Kazui didn't mention that Fuuta was usually the one starting shit.

"I hope I didn't interrupt."

"Not at all! I'm glad you think it's peaceful too."

"Yeah... I do."

This time when neither of them spoke, there was no anticipation in it. Kazui breathed deep. His thoughts were allowed to drift freely. His mind felt at ease. He closed his eyes. Though there was no need to, he found himself opening his mouth.

"You know, I didn't realize how much I'd miss the sunrise."

Fuuta shifted. "Eh, I never saw it. I usually slept pretty late." He added, "I'm sorry you miss it, though."

"Thanks. I just hope I'll see it again..."

He wondered if the thought was too suddenly sentimental, but Fuuta nodded gravely. "I hope so too."

By the time prisoners started trickling into the common area, Kazui was calm and ready to begin his day. Fuuta stood to leave.

"Thanks for letting me hang out," he said.

"Heh, I should be thanking you. I didn't expect anyone to stick around for a boring old man like me."

Fuuta's expression twisted up. There was the energy Kazui had been expecting. "Jeez, you keep thinking you're so special! You're just like everyone else, you hear? You're not some boring old man no one likes. There's a lot of people just like you. A lot of us are just like you."

Kazui sat for one more moment after he left. He took the final sip of his drink.

A lot of them just like him? Now, that was a nice thought.

[dandyshucks-moving]

i think I'll attempt to draw an interaction picture tomorrow ,,,,, i miss drawing self insert w him fjfkdl

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Touch of Madness

Logan Howlett X girlfriend!reader

Summary: Logan comes to you after being away, and all he wants is your touch, and he knows just how to get on your good side. This is just porn without plot.

Takes place in the same universe as Too Sweet but can be read as standalone

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), fingering, couch sex, soft rough sex, Logan talks you through it, the claws make an appearance (I have a thing for his claws okay), Logan is obsessed with his girl, fluffy relationship, established relationship

WC: 3.9k

A/N: how did I make this longer than too sweet when it was supposed to be a Drabble. Hello idk how to write short shit. But like hello yall are so awesome? I appreciate all the love yall have given my first Logan fic. I also have an older Logan fic in the works but that one has plot so it’ll be a minute before its out. For now here this <3

He couldn’t take it anymore. You were driving him mad. It’s not like he deserved your anger. Not fully anyway. It wasn’t his fault he was gone this long. He had been thinking about you all week, about your soft lips, about the warmth of your thighs, about your sweet moans only for his ears to hear. And all he wanted was to pull you into his arms and take you, over and over, until you begged him to stop. 

But no. 

You were being childish. That’s what he called it anyway. 

“Sweet girl,” he called after you, like a puppy following close behind you as you strided around your apartment. He knew you were doing it on purpose, the excuse of having to do chores so you could elongate his torture. The way you so innocently looked back at him made him clench his jaw. “C’mon.” 

“Don’t sweet girl me, Logan. I told you, I’m busy.” You sassed him, huffing as you kept walking, finding the most insignificant of chores to waste your time with. He rolled his eyes at you, eyebrows furrowed into this perpetual gaze of annoyance. 

The truth was, you were aching for him, your thighs warm and your skin tingling solely at the thought of him taking you to do as he pleased. But, if there was something in this world you could be, it was petty. And if you had to suffer a whole week without him, he could suffer for an hour, even if it was also at your expense. Truly, you almost enjoyed the annoyance in his face, the sharpness in his voice, him damn near groaning behind you every time you evaded him under the excuse of needing to get some dumb chore done. 

“You’re killin’ me here, sugar.” He actually groaned this time, his jaw set. You stopped in your tracks and turned your head to look at him, shooting him a pointed look. “I said I was sorry.”

“Serves you right. And I don’t care if you’re sorry. You haven’t called me in a week.” Your words were sharp with bitterness and it dawned on him. That was why you were upset. A slight bit of humor tugged at the corner of his lips and he breathed out a laugh. You stared at him with blank eyes, you weren’t laughing. 

“C’mon, is that seriously why you’re upset? You know I was out of the state.” He tried to reason with you. Charles had entrusted him and Storm with finding a certain mutant that was causing havoc, three states over. And Logan had very much underestimated how long this would take them. So here he was, after a whole week away, damn near begging you to let him touch you. “It wasn’t like I wanted to go anyway.”

No, he would much rather be with his sweet girl, one that was being particularly difficult and making him suffer when all he wanted to do was hold you, to feel the warmth of your soft skin. 

He stepped into your personal space, his intoxicating scent almost making you give in. You counted to five in your head, eyes closed to remind yourself that you were, indeed, angry at him. 

“So? You got a phone, don’t you? You could’ve called me.” You huffed, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a small pout, Logan had to hold back the urge to laugh at you. “You can’t disappear for a week and expect to come here and do as you please.” 

You shot him a sharp glare, he just stared at you, eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden shot of confidence. His sweet girl was talking back to him? Giving him attitude? He tilted his head at you, almost as if to dare you to walk away from him.  

There was a bit of malice in your eyes as you gave him one last look before you walked away, thinking of what other useless chore you could add to continue his torture. But Logan had other thoughts in his head. If you weren’t going to behave, he would happily put you in your place. 

“Hey, c’mere or I’m gonna bring you here myself.” He called after you, the strings of his sanity hanging on by a thread, just waiting for you to tug at the last strand. He knew you too well. You turned your head, eyes big in feign innocence and you tilted your head at him in defiance. 

“Make me then.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. In hindsight you should have known better, but you also wanted to see just what could happen if you pushed him hard enough. You saw the way his eyes flashed with malice, he stared you down, and in that moment you remembered just how small you were compared to him. “Oh fuck.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest as adrenaline rushed through you, but it wasn’t like you could go outrun him, especially not in your tiny apartment. He caught you, though he did purposely chase you into your living room, simply because he wanted to get you going, pumped with adrenaline. You squealed as he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you against his chest. His sharp canines nipped at that one spot on your neck that had you whimpering. 

“You goin’ somewhere, sugar?” He husked, his lips hot on your cheek. You couldn’t help but sigh in contentment, eyes closed. God, you missed him. 

“Mhm, still mad at you.” You mumbled, barely hanging on to your silly grudge. A chuckle rumbled in Logan’s chest. 

“That’s alright. I don’t need you to be happy with me to do what I want to do.” He inhaled, breathing your sweet scent, and he spoke as he threw you over his shoulder. “Just need you to look pretty while I do it.” 

You weren’t complaining about your position, you were in fact, bursting into giggles as he effortlessly carried you to the couch, though your giggles turned into another squeal when he smacked his hand flat against your ass. Logan had a grin on his lips as he tossed you on the couch, wasting no time in spreading your legs apart to settle between them.

He leaned down, gripping the armrest above your head, caging you in as he leaned down. He brushed his nose against yours, sighing softly.

“Don’t be such a brat. Kiss me.” The words rumbled in his chest with a groan, his primal needs overcoming his senses. He didn’t have to tell you twice. You laced your fingers in his hair, pulling into a hard and heated kiss.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as he shrugged off his flannel, tossing it somewhere on the floor, his belt soon following the same fate. You tried to sit up against the armrest, but you quickly realized Logan had other plans deep in his perverted mind. With a hold of your ankle he dragged you down on the couch, your back flat on the surface as you looked up at him with big eyes.

“Stay just like that, pretty.” He spoke, pressing another heated kiss to your mouth before tugging off your sweatpants, followed by your panties. He tossed them somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere you would have to run around searching for later. But you couldn’t give a fuck about that. All you could focus on was the heat forming between your legs as Logan settled between them.

His eyes met with yours one last time before he was diving in between your warm thighs. His tongue licked long stripes from your hole up to your clit, circling around the sensitive nerve before going back down. Over and over until your soft gasps and sighs of pleasure turned into moans. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open to do as he pleased. One leg hung over the back of the couch and the other was thrown over his shoulder, and he effortlessly held you down as he shoved his tongue into your cunt. He was like an animal, insatiable as he took you on his tongue.

“Oh fuck. Shit—Logan—” Your eyes rolled back, lips parted as you whined. You gripped the back of the couch, soft twitches taking over you each time his nose brushed your clit.

It was no secret that Logan found pleasure in giving you yours, and he ate you like it. Grunts and hums rumbled in his chest as his tongue found your clit again, and he reveled in the particularly high pitched cry you let out when he slipped two fingers into your wet core. 

“Needed to taste you so fuckin’ bad. I thought about it all week.” He spat into your clit, groaning at the way your tight walls squeezed his fingers. He could only imagine what you would do when it was his cock stretching your walls. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted, fingers lacing in his hair as he lapped at your clit. You wished you could hold your pleasure, rivet in it for just a little bit longer, but the way he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot, the way his tongue was so relentless on your swollen clit, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my—”

Your words never left your throat, chest pounding with sheer adrenaline as your release coated his face and fingers. It was sudden, it left you breathless as your thighs twitched with aftershock. Your eyes were wide and glossy in shock as you shuddered with the remnants of your orgasm. It wasn’t until you pathetically attempted to drag yourself away that Logan stopped. You were shaking, gasping softly when he pulled his fingers from you, but you all but cried when he licked at your wet pussy, getting a taste of you.

“Logan, please I can’t—” Your voice was shaky as you tried to move away from his face, he chuckled at you, pressing his face against your inner thigh before he crawled up to your face.

“‘Is okay. You did good.” He kissed your lips, his large hands holding your face as he let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned, clenching around nothing already in anticipation of him filling you. “You wanna stop?”

“No, no, no! Need you, please!” You were quick to protest, wrapping your legs around his waist to prevent him from going anywhere. You couldn’t really stop him from doing anything, but he found it endearing that you tried. He bumped his nose against yours, lips pulled up into a tiny smile.

“Need me where, hm?” He opened his eyes to look at you, and truly how he didn’t bend you over the nearest flat surface the second he saw you was beyond his comprehension. You looked so perfect like this, underneath him, clinging to him. His sweet girl. He didn’t know what it was about you, but from the moment he met you he was done for. You drove him absolutely mad and now he just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Inside me, Logan. Please.” You sighed out, face flushed with embarrassment. He smoothed out the frown lines on your forehead with a tiny kiss. A sweet gesture in comparison to what he was about to do to you.

In one swift motion he had you bent over the armrest, with your ass to him and your chest flat against the armrest. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip as you glanced over your shoulder to watch as he pulled off his white tank top. Your glazed eyes fawned over each perfect muscle in his body, taking particular interest in the veins that popped in his arm when he flexed them as he ridded himself of his jeans. How you ended up with a man so incredibly hot, you had no idea, but you were thanking the Gods for that.

“I need to be inside you, too.” He rasped into your ear, groaning in ecstasy as he sank himself into your needy cunt. Your jaw fell open he filled you, inch by inch. He pulled your t-shirt over your head, instantly attaching his lips to your shoulder as he rutted his hips against your ass. 

His pace was grueling from the start, grip tight on your hips, sure to leave bruises in the morning. A little reminder of his intoxicating presence. You braced yourself on the armrest, sounds of pleasure leaving your lips almost instantly. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, the thick hairs on his chest leaving a tingling sensation across your back as he held you flush against his chest. Heavy breaths filled your ears as you so desperately reached to touch him, any of him. Your trembling fingers found the sound of his face and he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“This what you needed, hm? Maybe I should fuck sweet pussy more often? Give it more attention?” He grunted the words in your ears, lips pressed against your cheek as a sheen layer of sweat began to coat your soft skin. You whimpered and nodded weakly, your cunt clenching him with excitement. He smirked softly, his hand coming up to lace through your hair. “Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl?”

Logan held your face down as his hips drilled into you, each delicious drag of his cock bringing you closer and closer to your sweet release. God, you needed it. All you could do was moan in response.

“Y-yes! God, yes. Please Logan.” You whined out shamelessly, eyes rolled back into your head. Logan hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pressed his lips to your temple, the gentle gesture ironic considering just what he was doing to you. He said nothing as he sneaked his free hand to the front of your body, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles on your sensitive clit. Your jaw fell open, your hand flying to grip his wrist. Your thighs clenched around his hand, whining as his cock  brushed that one spot that had you seeing white. “Logan—”

Your voice was a warning, but he welcomed it. He flicked his wrist without mercy as he rolled his hips, his words only encouraging you to fall apart for him.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You can do that, can’t you? I know you want to.” He let go of your hair to turn your head to meet his eager lips. He happily swallowed the pathetic sounds that left your mouth as he flicked at your clit, his cock hitting so impossibly deep you were left trembling as your release seeped around him. 

Logan held you down on his cock, his thumb playing with your clit until you were gasping and your nails dug into the skin of his wrist. He kissed along your jaw as his hips stilled for just a second, your body still shaking underneath him.

“You okay?” He asked softly, grabbing your face to look at him. You looked at him with hooded eyes and nodded weakly, barely lifting yourself off the couch.

“Yeah. ‘m okay.” 

Logan tilted his head at you, an eyebrow raised with amusement as he leaned down to leave a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Perfect.”

He grabbed your hips, pulling out his cock to manhandle you onto your back before he was sinking himself into you again. Your slick walls welcomed him perfectly, like this was the only place he belonged, but he wasn’t complaining. If he could die, he would die happily buried deep in your cunt.

“Oh, God, Logan.” You gasped, thighs twitching as you looked down to find where his thick cock is filling you, splitting you open over and over. Your jaw fell open as you watched him grab one of your ankles and he held it up by his shoulder, spreading you open for him to dig himself deeper and deeper within you tight walls. 

“Look at me, baby.” He groaned, chest heavy as a thin layer of sweat covered his muscled body. You did your best to comply, you looked up, eyes blurry with tears of pleasure as he damn near folded your body in half. Your knees were pressed against your chest as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “Yes, there she is. My pretty girl. I missed you.” 

You couldn’t help but moan at his words, and also at the sting of his cock rapidly bringing you to your third release. The way he brought your legs to his shoulders, he sunk himself so deep within your walls you swore you felt him in your stomach. It felt so good you wanted to cry.

“Missed you too, Logan.” You brought your lips up to his, eyebrows furrowed into an expression of pure arousal as you gripped his hair, clinging to him for dear life.

Your release was quick and sudden, hitting you without a warning the second Logan pressed his thumb to your swollen clit. You were just so sensitive, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed. You clutched on to his large bicep as you spilled around his cock. The way your tight walls squeeze him made him groan, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on chasing his own release while fucking you through your own.

“Look at you, you’re just so good for me. Fuck it, I’ll just take you with me next time.” Groans fell freely from his soft lips as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one hand, and the other held the armrest above your head. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours as your sweet praises and chants of his name filled his ears. 

The sound that rumbled in Logan’s chest was animalistic, a deep growl as he coated your insides with his hot release. The metallic sound of sharp claws filled your ears once more as his claws unsheathed themselves from his knuckles, one on the back of the couch and the other just above your head, again. You gasped his name with a soft laugh, though you would be lying if you said it didn’t drive you feral when his claws accidentally came out. You brought a hand to his face as he pulled his claws out of your couch, the sharp metal once again hiding themselves within his knuckles with a sound. He held himself up on his forearm as his head fell to your neck.

“I’ll pay for it.” He muttered a chuckle into your neck, leaving a soft kiss to your jaw. You laughed, draping a hand over your forehead, breathing in deeply as you felt your mixed releases seep around his cock and drip onto the couch. He should just buy you a new couch, he thought.

“Wanna buy me a new body while you’re at it?” You teased him, already sensing you would have bruises and your thighs would ache for days.

“Did I hurt you?” Concern filled his voice as he lifted his head to scan your face for any discomfort as his hand came up to graze the thigh draped over his waist. You scrunched up your nose at him and shook your head.

“Of course not hun. Don’t be silly.” You traced your fingers over his face and gave him a lopsided smile.

“I did miss you, for the record.” 

You pressed a kiss to his lips. “I missed you too Logan.”

“Lemme clean you up sugar.” He sneaked a kiss to your cheek as he untangled himself from you, much to your protest.

You whined at the emptiness he left you as he stood up. Though you did quite enjoy the sight of his perfect ass he walked off to find something to clean his mess with. When he came back, he had a small towel and he cleaned you without protest, he left warm kisses on your face as you talked to him about your day. He ultimately tossed the towel aside and slipped on his boxers, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his still hard cock, but you needed a break. You didn’t let him leave though, reaching to grab his wrist with soft eyes

“Wanna watch a movie? I miss watching movies with you.” You mumbled, voice soft as you looked at him with pleading eyes. He laughed softly at you, you made it sound like you hadn’t seen him in a month.

But, how could he ever say no to his sweet girl?

“Mhm, put on somethin’ .” He gently moved you so that he was lying behind you on the couch, his big arms wrapped around you as he held you against his chest. Though you were still completely naked, you paid no mind to it. It actually felt kinda nice to be so close to him and feel the warmth of his body in such an intimate way.

He covered you both with the throw blanket you always kept over the couch for days exactly like this, for those days you wanted to feel warm and close with him on the couch. He ignored the three holes where stuffing was coming out of the ripped fabric as he pulled the soft blanket up to your chest and as you happily settled in his arms, clicking away at the TV. He would buy you a new couch, just as he bought you new pillows, and new blankets. And anything you asked him to, really.

Logan wasn’t used to domestic, the soft touches, cuddling, but he liked doing it with you. He craved it actually, probably just as much as he craved the sex.

“Next time you’re away that long, just give me a call? Please? So that I’m not worried sick thinking you died.” You finally said, the whole reason for such intense feelings merely an hour ago finally surfacing. He laughed softly at how ridiculous you sounded. He technically can’t die, he thought.

“I wouldn’t.. I can’t…Y’know what? You’re right. I’m still getting used to this whole having a girl thing. But I'll do better, yeah? Don’t need you to be mad, sugar.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, settling his face on your neck as he attempted to pay attention to whatever horror movie you decided to watch today. “But if you’re gonna let me fuck you like that when you’re mad, get mad more often.” 

“Logan.” You scolded him, nudging his ribs softly as a warm blush coated your cheeks, knowing you wouldn’t hurt him, but it still made him chuckle. 

He had to admit, he lasted way longer than he did last time. He lasted almost halfway through the movie before the feeling of his cock sitting hot and heavy in his boxers became apparent to him again. He inhaled your scent softly, his lips ghosting over your neck as he rolled his hips softly against your ass. And while you did try to protest, whining that you wanted to get through one movie with him, the sting of his cock was better than any movie in this world. The credits rolled, the soundtrack now drowned out by the sound of your sweet moans. Logan would be damned if he let you leave the warmth of his body for even just one second tonight. Or maybe ever.